Chapter Ten
--Evan--
Evan allowed the willowy old woman--his guidance counselor? He wasn't certain--to lead him through the long halls of the school, each lined with rows of lockers.
He felt very self-conscious; he was dressed in his usual khaki pants, as was in order with the dress code, and a long-sleeved 'dress shirt' with the school logo imprinted upon the collar of the right sleeve; his attire was fairly loose-fitting.
After passing through several turns--the school felt a maze to him, and it was significantly larger than the high school he'd experienced back in America--the woman leading him stopped abruptly.
"Here is your classroom," she informed him curteously. He bowed and thanked her as she received his gratitude and promptly exited back down the hallway.
Before opening the door, he took the time to re-examine his two posessions, besides his bookbag and worn clothes; an excusal notice on behalf of his lateness, and a form schedule, with his classes written upon it.
If he read his schedule correctly, this would be first period world history class. He gently opened the door, allowing the movement to forecast his entry; he heard the teacher's voice quiet through the doorway.
As the door lightly swung open, he took in the sight of the classroom. The desks were rowed, around two dozen in all, with students occupying most of the seat, excepting a few empty seats in the last row.
Evan stepped forward and through the door, briefly looking over the class and returning a few curious glances before focusing his gaze upon the teacher, a middle-aged man with a flat face and round-rimmed glasses.
He walked over to the teacher and presented his notice, which the teacher read duly before curtly telling Evan, "You may be seated." Evan thanked the man.
As he walked along the side of the classroom to the back row, he recognized a boy in the back row; Ienji. He blinked upon this recognition, but hid his reaction and took the farthest-away empty seat, two spaces away from Ienji's.
The lesson resumed; Evan quietly unzipped his backpack and brought out a notebook, and began to take notes with the rest of the class.
--Ienji--
Before the door had opened, Ienji had somehow known the arrival to be Evan. It came as a great surprise to him when he saw that the other wore a student uniform, and then took a seat in the same classroom; for some reason, Ienji had assumed that Evan was past the status of student.
Apparently not. The two were sitting in the same classroom, a class only for sophomores and juniors in high school.
Of course, Ienji's hand was still occupied, taking notes as the teacher dictated. But his mind had traveled back to the events of the previous day.
Who was this kid, Evan? He said he'd come here to help guide Ienji--how could he do that if he was a minor? Was he an exchange student? American, certainly.
All these strange changes, twists, were.... intriguing. Evan had needed to leave abruptly yesterday afternoon, leaving many questions unanswered.... perhaps today, he would have a chance to answer such questions.
Refocusing his mind, Ienji once again attempted to concentrate on the subject matter, the Byzantine economy. He didn't succeed very well.
--Evan--
The lesson went by slowly as Evan furiously jotted down the teacher's notes on the Byzantine way of life; either this teacher was an especially difficult one, or Siojaton City held a much higher standard than his old high school.
As he wrote page after page of outlined phrases, he found himself recalling the habits of high school life; notably, the ability to take notes effectively while allowing the mind to wander.
Time passed, and his eyes slowly and steadily scanned his environment. It was a medium-sized classroom, not particularly decorated. He sensed that most of the kids didn't feel oppressed, but there was quite a bit of unvoiced emotion, subconscious tensions--he was good at sensing such things.
All of a sudden, he noticed what should have been blindingly obvious; he'd let his own experience in multicultural America influence his observation. This was a prominent city in eastern Japan, yet only a quarter of the students appeared of Asian heritage; there were more students with caucasian, hispanic, black, and other such characteristics, than Evan would have believed reasonable.
He momentarily broke off from his note-taking at this realization, before remembering himself and writing faster to catch up. He would have to inquire about this statistical improbability at a later, more convenient time.
--Ienji--
Ienji started at the sound of the bell; he'd drifted off for a while there. An entire period of taking notes often had that effect upon him (and a few other kids in the same class, he'd noticed).
Every student sat up as one from their desks as one, beforing threading through and out into the hallway. Ienji lagged behind--as did Evan, he noticed.
The hallway swarmed with students; there was only a two-minute interval between classes, and the late were often penalized. Ienji regretfully glanced at Evan one last time as he turned right down the hall in the direction of the science wing, hoping to himself that they'd have a chance to talk later.
--Evan--
Meanwhile, Evan did not notice Ienji's meaningful glance; his eyes were quickly glancing at his schedule in an attempt to figure out what, and where, his next class would be. He sensed an overall hurried, worried feeling among students, and hoped to himself that there was no consequence for lateness.
"Let's see...." he muttered to himself, "Where's the math wing....?"
"You're heading to the math wing?" asked a smooth voice from over his shoulder. "You're new here, I see, so follow me."
Surprised, Evan turned his head, and found himself facing a well-dressed brunette, who was already trotting off down the hall at an energetic pace, and motioned for him to follow. Responding immediately, he half-walked, half-ran to catch up to the girl.
Two minutes later, he was still a half-paced behind her when they both stepped into a classroom a half-second before the bell rang. As she went to take a seat in the second row, she suddenly stopped, turning to face him.
"My name's Andrea," she informed him cordially. "What's yours?"
He blinked once before answering. "Uh, it's Evan, thanks. Am I in the right classroom....?"
"You are if it's trigonometry," she replied matter-of-factly as she took her seat. As he moved to find a desk for himself, she continued, "Welcome to Siojaton High."
As he took the seat near the back, it suddenly occurred to him that they had been speaking in English.
--Evan--
Evan allowed the willowy old woman--his guidance counselor? He wasn't certain--to lead him through the long halls of the school, each lined with rows of lockers.
He felt very self-conscious; he was dressed in his usual khaki pants, as was in order with the dress code, and a long-sleeved 'dress shirt' with the school logo imprinted upon the collar of the right sleeve; his attire was fairly loose-fitting.
After passing through several turns--the school felt a maze to him, and it was significantly larger than the high school he'd experienced back in America--the woman leading him stopped abruptly.
"Here is your classroom," she informed him curteously. He bowed and thanked her as she received his gratitude and promptly exited back down the hallway.
Before opening the door, he took the time to re-examine his two posessions, besides his bookbag and worn clothes; an excusal notice on behalf of his lateness, and a form schedule, with his classes written upon it.
If he read his schedule correctly, this would be first period world history class. He gently opened the door, allowing the movement to forecast his entry; he heard the teacher's voice quiet through the doorway.
As the door lightly swung open, he took in the sight of the classroom. The desks were rowed, around two dozen in all, with students occupying most of the seat, excepting a few empty seats in the last row.
Evan stepped forward and through the door, briefly looking over the class and returning a few curious glances before focusing his gaze upon the teacher, a middle-aged man with a flat face and round-rimmed glasses.
He walked over to the teacher and presented his notice, which the teacher read duly before curtly telling Evan, "You may be seated." Evan thanked the man.
As he walked along the side of the classroom to the back row, he recognized a boy in the back row; Ienji. He blinked upon this recognition, but hid his reaction and took the farthest-away empty seat, two spaces away from Ienji's.
The lesson resumed; Evan quietly unzipped his backpack and brought out a notebook, and began to take notes with the rest of the class.
--Ienji--
Before the door had opened, Ienji had somehow known the arrival to be Evan. It came as a great surprise to him when he saw that the other wore a student uniform, and then took a seat in the same classroom; for some reason, Ienji had assumed that Evan was past the status of student.
Apparently not. The two were sitting in the same classroom, a class only for sophomores and juniors in high school.
Of course, Ienji's hand was still occupied, taking notes as the teacher dictated. But his mind had traveled back to the events of the previous day.
Who was this kid, Evan? He said he'd come here to help guide Ienji--how could he do that if he was a minor? Was he an exchange student? American, certainly.
All these strange changes, twists, were.... intriguing. Evan had needed to leave abruptly yesterday afternoon, leaving many questions unanswered.... perhaps today, he would have a chance to answer such questions.
Refocusing his mind, Ienji once again attempted to concentrate on the subject matter, the Byzantine economy. He didn't succeed very well.
--Evan--
The lesson went by slowly as Evan furiously jotted down the teacher's notes on the Byzantine way of life; either this teacher was an especially difficult one, or Siojaton City held a much higher standard than his old high school.
As he wrote page after page of outlined phrases, he found himself recalling the habits of high school life; notably, the ability to take notes effectively while allowing the mind to wander.
Time passed, and his eyes slowly and steadily scanned his environment. It was a medium-sized classroom, not particularly decorated. He sensed that most of the kids didn't feel oppressed, but there was quite a bit of unvoiced emotion, subconscious tensions--he was good at sensing such things.
All of a sudden, he noticed what should have been blindingly obvious; he'd let his own experience in multicultural America influence his observation. This was a prominent city in eastern Japan, yet only a quarter of the students appeared of Asian heritage; there were more students with caucasian, hispanic, black, and other such characteristics, than Evan would have believed reasonable.
He momentarily broke off from his note-taking at this realization, before remembering himself and writing faster to catch up. He would have to inquire about this statistical improbability at a later, more convenient time.
--Ienji--
Ienji started at the sound of the bell; he'd drifted off for a while there. An entire period of taking notes often had that effect upon him (and a few other kids in the same class, he'd noticed).
Every student sat up as one from their desks as one, beforing threading through and out into the hallway. Ienji lagged behind--as did Evan, he noticed.
The hallway swarmed with students; there was only a two-minute interval between classes, and the late were often penalized. Ienji regretfully glanced at Evan one last time as he turned right down the hall in the direction of the science wing, hoping to himself that they'd have a chance to talk later.
--Evan--
Meanwhile, Evan did not notice Ienji's meaningful glance; his eyes were quickly glancing at his schedule in an attempt to figure out what, and where, his next class would be. He sensed an overall hurried, worried feeling among students, and hoped to himself that there was no consequence for lateness.
"Let's see...." he muttered to himself, "Where's the math wing....?"
"You're heading to the math wing?" asked a smooth voice from over his shoulder. "You're new here, I see, so follow me."
Surprised, Evan turned his head, and found himself facing a well-dressed brunette, who was already trotting off down the hall at an energetic pace, and motioned for him to follow. Responding immediately, he half-walked, half-ran to catch up to the girl.
Two minutes later, he was still a half-paced behind her when they both stepped into a classroom a half-second before the bell rang. As she went to take a seat in the second row, she suddenly stopped, turning to face him.
"My name's Andrea," she informed him cordially. "What's yours?"
He blinked once before answering. "Uh, it's Evan, thanks. Am I in the right classroom....?"
"You are if it's trigonometry," she replied matter-of-factly as she took her seat. As he moved to find a desk for himself, she continued, "Welcome to Siojaton High."
As he took the seat near the back, it suddenly occurred to him that they had been speaking in English.