Warnings: None
Cultural Notes: The Japanese word 'gaijin' literally means 'outside person,' and it's what foreigners are called in Japan. Sort of derogatory, ish. Senpai is a term of respect for students older than yourself. Kouhai is for your lowerclassman.
Random Note: The text messages between my mother and myself are transcribed verbatim.
Lucky Child
Chapter 26:
"What Are Friends For?"
One week after Thanksgiving, my mother told me Grandmother was dying. She told me through a text message. I was in the middle of a Dungeons & Dragons game when I got it, playing the role of the Dungeon Master.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. My world changed.
"Hi, darling," the text read. "Hope your week is going OK. Wanted to let you know that Grandmother received a bad medical report today and it appears she has lung cancer which appears to have spread. She will go for biopsy I guess in the next few days."
It ended with the phrase: "We are very sad."
Judging by the date stamp, this was the first text Mom had sent me since mid-October.
My friends laughed as one of them rolled a critical failure while attacking a monster. They ate pizza and drank beer, unaware of the text I'd just received. I sent my mom a quick response.
"Oh my god," I said.
"What happens now?" I said.
Her reply came fast, phone's vibration inaudible under the laughter of my players: "For now a note is best. She is going to go to doc. in Austin to consult for treatment options. Then we'll know more about what's in store."
She said: "I hope she'll stay with us and get treated at CDA like your Aunt Diana did."
I stared at the phone until someone said my name. My players needed me to resolve an issue about game mechanics. Such is the duty of the Dungeon Master. I put my phone back in my pocket. I pasted on a smile and consulted the Player's Handbook because I didn't know the answer offhand.
Too bad there wasn't a handbook for learning your grandmother was dying.
When my players left, I curled up in my bed and cried.
We'd lost Aunt Diana only four months prior.
How was this fair?
I loved my grandmother. Obvious statement, probably, but it bears saying. She was my world. She was the family matriarch. She was the indomitable matriarch who taught me to make poppyseed kolaches, how to sew, how to curl my hair, how to say "Bless your heart" as sweet as peach pie but still manage to make the words sting. But she hadn't had time to teach me to make chicken fried steak with her recipe yet, or how to make that wild cactus jam she sold each year at the county fair, and now I'd lost my chance—
No. Don't think like that. There would be treatments. Grandmother was 88, but there would be ways to extend her life. There had to be.
More time. That's all I needed. I just needed more time.
Two weeks later, Mom texted me again: "Sorry, darling, but Grandmother has pancreatic cancer. Treatment isn't an option. Hopefully will live six months. Try not to worry."
We had her for one month more.
She lived through one last glittering Christmas, full of goodbyes and tears, and died on New Years Day.
I never learned to make her cactus jam.
If fanfiction taught me anything, it's that fangirls are not to be trusted.
Not that that conclusion should surprise anyone. All the fics I'd ever read had portrayed Kurama's fangirls as vicious, territorial snakes—girls concerned with scoring a hot boyfriend and eliminating competition above all else.
…not that that was their fault, when you got down to it. They didn't write themselves that way. They existed in two dimensions across the realm of fan-work, in so many fandoms, cardboard cutouts of young women who existed to accomplish little more than stand between a canon cutie and an original character's love.
These chicks, though? They were very real. No one was writing them (unless an unseen author pulled the strings somewhere in the multiverse) and they were far more solid than any fictional character.
Which meant I was in very real danger, if these fangirls were anything like the ones that existed in fiction.
Not counting Amagi by the door, the room held ten girls. Hotaru stood in front of me, leering down her nose. Junko stood behind her, leaning against the windows overlooking the schoolyard. Three girls by the chalkboard to my right, three girls by the desks to my left, another by the windows at the back of the classroom, one more way over by the coat closets. Unless any of them had training, a fight with all of them was just barely doable—foolish because of their sheer numbers, of course (training hardly matters when you're vastly outnumbered). I devised a strategy in snap: push Hotaru into Junko, toss a desk at the girls by the board, turn and pile-drive Amagi and run out the door before anyone could recover, and—
Hotaru's eyes narrowed. She laughed through her nose.
"Pigtails?" she said. "Really?"
I ran a hand down one tail on reflex. "My mom likes them."
The tall girl laughed, louder this time. "Mama's little angel, that's you," she sneered.
From behind me Amagi said: "Hotaru. Back off."
I looked over my shoulder. Amagi stood with hands on hips, glaring past me at Hotaru, dark eyes alight with dedicated fire. Her kind face had arranged itself into a stony mask, full lips pressing into a thin white line.
…why the hell was Amagi defending me? Wasn't she the one who brought me into this snake den in the first place?
Hotaru didn't leave me time to ponder. "Whatever, Amagi." She tossed her hair as she looked me over. "This little brat—"
Her hand lifted from her side, reaching for one of my pigtails. I shifted my right foot behind me, placing my weight on it in case I needed to dodge or leap. Given Hotaru's lax stance and off-balance center of gravity, she didn't have martial arts training, but the girl wasn't stupid. She pulled the hand back and frowned when I moved.
"Touch me and you lose the hand," I said.
Hotaru bared her teeth. "Cheeky kouhai. Respect your upperclassman."
"I don't give a damn that you're my senpai. Respect is earned," I said, "and you haven't done anything to earn mine."
Hotaru clearly wasn't accustomed to being disrespected. Her hand lashed out, fisting in the collar of my uniform.
"Why you little—" she said.
She did not complete that statement.
I'm not terribly proud of what I did then. Picking on untrained children wasn't really my style, but much as I had a reputation of nobility to maintain, I also had a reputation of do not fucking mess with me to maintain—and that latter reputation mattered just as much as the former. She grabbed my collar, so I grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm to throw off her balance, and performed a simple leg sweep, guiding Hotaru to the ground by my grip on her wrist. She went down like a sack of potatoes. Soon as her shoulder and hip collided with the floor, I let her go and sunk low in my stance, ready and waiting for the other girls to defend their fallen friend.
There followed a moment of silence.
Hotaru gaped up at me, stunned, lying wide-eyed and short-breathed on the floor.
The other girls reacted first. A series of shrieks ripped through the quiet; three girls rushed to Hotaru's side and another three grabbed at each other, gibbering in fear. Hotaru, of course, started screaming, calling me a bitch and swearing she'd kick my ass. She struggled to sit up with the help of the other girls, pointing an accusatory finger at my face.
Junko, however, started laughing.
The laughter cut through the din like a blade. The other girls quieted at once, staring at Junko like she'd sprouted wings (I stared at her much the same way because what the heck was she laughing about, exactly?)—and then Hotaru slapped her hand against the floor.
"Shut the fuck up, Junko," she spat. She lurched first to her knees and then to her unsteady feet. The girls scattered as she slammed one fist into the opposite hand. "You won't be laughing when I make this bitch bleed."
Junko merely rolled her eyes. "Pretty sure she won't be the one bleeding in five…four…"
Before I could wonder at this ominous countdown, Amagi emerged from behind me. I almost lashed out at her when she invaded my periphery, but just as I started to move, I saw her face. She didn't look at me. She walked right past me, toward Hotaru, dark eyes blazing like hot coals.
"Three…two…" Junko continued.
Amagi walked up to Hotaru. Stopped. Stood feet shoulder-width apart, glaring at Hotaru with ferocity I didn't know Amagi was capable. Hotaru bared her teeth. Amagi's shoulders tensed. Her right hand lifted.
I knew what would happen even before Junko finished her countdown.
"One," Junko said.
Amagi's hand, cobra-like in its speed, connected with Hotaru's face.
The girls all gasped. A few looked away, flinching.
But some of them…they started smiling. Smiles of bolstered confidence, eyes on Amagi as she put her hand to her side and Hotaru stumbled from the force of her slap.
…so the fangirls were attacking their own, now?
What the heck was going on with these people!?
"Hotaru, you should be ashamed of yourself," Amagi said, voice as cold and controlled as a surgeon's knife. She gestured at the room, at the girls in it. "We talked about this. All of us, we talked about it, and we made rules."
Hand on flaming cheek, Hotaru snarled: "That bitch attacked me!"
"Stop calling her that," Amagi snapped. "And she only attacked you because you grabbed her. She was defending herself. You started this, not her!"
"But Amagi—"
"No. You know the rules." Amagi's control slipped, tone quivering with anger. "Grabbing people, name-calling? That is not how we do things! It might've been at first, but not anymore. So shape up, or get out."
Amagi waved at me—no, not at me. She waved at the door behind me. The girls held their breaths as Hotaru looked between Amagi, and me, and the door in turns, weighing options I didn't understand…but soon her eyes lost some of their rage.
"Fine," she huffed. Her baleful gaze held mine for a moment. "Sorry, Yukimura-san."
I didn't reply—mainly because I had no idea how to reply. Too confused. I watched Hotaru stalk off and plop into a seat with my mouth open, rising out of my fighting stance when she reached into her pocket and began examining her enflamed face in a compact mirror.
"You must be confused."
I turned. Amagi's penitent smile made her look older, adding worried lines to her young face.
"I'm so sorry about this," she continued. "I didn't think it would go this way. But if you could just give me a chance to explain…"
"Explain why you dragged me into an empty classroom to be accosted?" I asked. "I'm not sure I want to stick around after such a warm reception, to be honest."
Her cheeks flushed like blooming peonies. "I am so, so sorry about that. It's just—this is a sensitive matter."
"And it's hard to explain without all of us here," Junko piped up. She sat on a desk, legs kicking in the empty space below. "Just sit a spell and we'll explain, OK?" Her bright brown eyes canvassed the room. "Girls, sit. We've got a story to tell."
Obediently, because there appeared to be a pecking order and Junko and Amagi occupied the top of it, the other girls took their seats in a cluster in the center of the room. Some of them whispered as they shot me wary glances. Hotaru ignored me in favor of her pocket mirror. None looked outright hostile anymore, whatever that was worth. Should they turn hostile, my main method of attack would be to take out either of the group's ringleaders and—
Amagi touched my arm. I jumped. Her fingers brushed the elbow of my sleeve softly, as if to soothe.
"If you'd stay a minute," she said, "we'll tell you why we brought you here."
Part of me wanted to pack up and leave, but another part wanted to know what this was about—fangirls fighting each other? Now that I hadn't expected, and Amagi's huge, dark eyes were too pleading (and adorable; ugh, hormones) for me to deny. After a moment's hesitation I picked a desk near the door, back to the wall: a defensive position close to the exit. Amagi gave me an approving nod. She stood between my desk and the knot of girls, the mediator of…whatever this was. Still wasn't quite sure.
"OK," I said as we settled in. "What is this about?"
I saw her answer coming from a mile away: "It's about Minamino Shuichi."
Outwardly, I quirked a brow to indicate confused skepticism, but inside I pumped a triumphant (if not exasperated) first. Bingo, baby. Here it comes. The fangirls I'd read about in a million fics were going to tell me to leave Minamino alone, that he was theirs and I needed to stay away. Hell, I hadn't just read about girls like this. I'd written them, too, into the fics I'd dabbled with back in my old life. They'd probably try to intimidate and blackmail and—wait a minute.
Why was one of the girls crying, all of a sudden?
I stared in abject confusion as a girl near the middle of the pack sniffled. She pressed her face into her sleeve as a single, delicate sob wracked her thin frame. The rest of the girls murmured comforts and hugged her, some of them similarly emotional as they held their crying friend. Junko and Amagi watched with sorrowful eyes, mothers worrying for their children.
"Sorry, sorry," the first crying girl said. "I just get so sad when we have to talk about this."
"It's OK, Kara-san," Amagi said. "You know we understand—"
"What is going on here?"
I didn't mean to say that so harshly, but it came out like the bark of an irate dog. A few girls gasped. Amagi just shut her eyes, lips thinning, and Junko shot me a scathing glance. I paid her no heed.
"You drag me here, ambush me, attack one of your own—and now everyone is crying?" I said. "None of this makes sense. What the hell is going on?"
Amagi and Junko exchanged a look. Then as one they looked at me.
"There's something you should know," Amagi said.
"It's not a secret, not really, but please keep this to yourself if you can," Junko added.
"We aren't embarrassed, but we would prefer privacy," Amagi finished.
I nodded. OK, sure, whatever I had to say to get them to start talking.
The pack of crying girls went very still at that point. Junko sat up straight and crossed her arms over her chest. Even the ornery Hotaru stopped examining her face, in favor of sticking her haughty nose in the air.
Amagi took a deep breath.
"Every single girl in this room has feelings for Minamino Shuichi," she said. I doubted she would've spoken with such solemn gravity if she knew I already suspected that little factoid. "Some of us admire him. Some of us owe him…and a few love him."
Some girls hung their heads. Junko shut her eyes. Hotaru humphed and slumped in her seat, lips drawn in a sullen pout.
"We all care about him in some way or another," Amagi continued. "That is what we have in common."
I pretended to look like this was completely new information, with careful consideration etched into my expression. "So is this like a club, or something?"
"Sort of." Amagi grimaced, all-business-face replacing her solemn one. "We noticed he's been eating with you this week."
"Yes. He has." There was no use denying it.
"Did you push him into it?" Amagi said. "Are you pestering him into eating with you?"
"Of course not." I rolled my eyes. "He invited himself along, not the other way around."
Although I told the truth, the girls didn't look convinced. I suppose that was to be expected. Minamino had a reputation for aloof disinterest in his classmates. The idea of him willingly inserting himself into a classmate's life ran counter to his character. If only they knew the truth…but since I couldn't tell the truth about his demonic nature, the best I could do to gain their belief was tell a different truth.
"You know Kaito Yuu?" I said. "Genius literary nerd? He's my one good friend at this school, and he dislikes Minamino because Minamino's the only person who beats him on exams." I spread my hands in a supplicating gesture. "Why would I invite someone my only friend hates to sit with us at lunch? I wouldn't jeopardize my one friendship like that. Minamino just started showing up at lunch this week, and believe you me, I wish he wouldn't."
Some of their skeptical expressions eased. Amagi, however, looked confused.
"If you're not inviting him," she said, "why is he eating with you?"
Because I didn't trust myself to lie believably, I opted for a twist on the truth: "I think he's just curious about the new girl." I looked at Junko askance. "Lots of people at this school seem interested in the new girl's drama."
Junko grimaced. I suppressed a smirk. Amagi considered my words a moment before pressing on.
"Why were you at the greenhouse last week?" she asked.
"He stood up for me in class. I wanted to thank him."
Amagi's eyes widened. "He stood up for you?"
"Yeah. Junko can vouch for me on that one."
The girl in question blinked her glittery eyelids. "I can?"
"Uh-huh. He called you over when you were in the middle of interrogating me, remember?" She nodded, but when she opened her mouth to speak I cut her off. "He did it on purpose to get you away from me. He saw I was uncomfortable and intervened. He told me so himself."
Junko turned the color of a pickled beet. "Oh."
Ha! Take that, Junko. Think twice before demanding details from the grieving. I didn't let my triumph show on my face, though, instead looking back at Amagi. "I was at the greenhouse to thank him for stepping in. I don't a lot of friends here yet, so…" I shrugged. "I guess it meant a lot."
Amagi's measured stare held mine for a moment.
"Do you have feelings for him?" she said.
Ah. There it was. The question I'd been expecting from the fangirls, no matter how weirdly they behaved. I smoothly replied, "I just met him, so no. I do not have feelings for him."
Her brow lifted. "Some of us met him and knew at once he was someone special."
"I'm not the type to fall for someone at first sight," I replied, tone dry. "That's just not who I am."
Amagi continued to stare, brow still lifted above her lovely eyes. Junko chewed on her lower lip. The rest of the girls murmured to each other. I didn't catch much of what they said, but I heard a few phrases here and there: …telling the truth? Does she really not like…? Why do you think Minamino…
"Look, what's going on here?" I said when Amagi's stare didn't waver. "All of you have feelings for him. I get it. Are you mad he's been eating with me? I'm not competition. Because like I said—"
"We're not mad," Junko interjected.
"We're worried," said Amagi.
I snorted. "Well, I'm fine, and—"
Junko rolled her eyes. "Not about you. About him."
I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that statement. "Minamino doesn't strike me as the type who needs people worrying about him," I said. "Seems like a pretty capable person, if you ask me, so—"
"Minamino's mother is dying."
I stopped talking at Amagi's bald statement. Junko winced. A few of the other girls hung their heads. One started to cry again. Amagi's all-business-face did not waver, but her voice….
"She got sick months ago," Amagi said. Every word trembled, even if her eyes stayed stone. "It's a progressive illness. At first there was hope she might live, and with experimental treatments her life expectancy has been prolonged…but…"
She didn't need to finish that statement for me to know its ending: despite those treatments, Minamino Shiori was going to die.
I'd been wondering at the state of Kurama's home life, and at the state of his mother's health. Seems I'd finally gotten my answer. While this answer didn't exactly surprise me, it did hurt to hear the truth.
I'd heard it before, after all.
Oblivious to my inner machinations, Amagi pressed on.
"All of us, we used to compete for him," she said. "Letters, presents, whatever we could do to get his attention. There was drama. Friendships suffered for it. He suffered for it." She shook her head, eyes closing. "He constantly had to worry about who he spoke to, so he didn't look like he was playing favorites. He had to be careful of our feelings when he turned us down."
"Looking back," Junko murmured, "we realize the unfair position we put him in."
The girls nodded in agreement. Amagi surveyed the group, meeting every member's eyes one by one, coaxing a small smile of reassurance from each before turning back to me.
"We were deep in competition for him when his mother got sick," she said in that same brittle voice. "He started coming to school late. He lost weight. And we realized the only thing we were accomplishing was adding stress to his life." She shook her head again, a sorrowful smile slipping across her lips. "We realized our feelings didn't matter. Minamino is his own person, and we need to respect that he just doesn't have time to accommodate us anymore. Not when his mother..."
Her mask cracked. Her voice broke. Dark eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Junko slipped off the desk and touched Amagi's shoulder. Amagi breathed deeply before meeting Junko's eyes. They stared at one another for a moment, sharing strength until Amagi could speak again.
"We have no right to add more stress to his life," Amagi said. Her voice held steady. "We all care for him. Because we care for him, we want him to be happy. So we collectively swore to leave him be, and to not pursue him unless he approached us first, or until his mother recovered."
As the girls murmured their agreement, an image of a bento box—huge, too big for one person, left on the porch of the greenhouse—flashed through my head.
"You've been cooking for him," I said.
"Yes," said Amagi. "We cook food for him every day—for him and his mother both, so they can keep up their strength. Anything we can do to make his life easier, we will do." And then her business-face was back, eyes hard and unrelenting. "So you understand, now, why we're concerned about your presence in his life. We're concerned about anyone new causing him trouble."
"Of course," I said, mostly to myself as I pieced together this odd puzzle. "You're his guardians."
Amagi's mouth parted in momentary surprise. Then she inclined her head.
"Yes," she said. "That's right."
Her eyes glimmered with renewed strength after I called her 'guardian'. The last crying girls stopped crying, too, wiping away tears and snot as they sat up straight. Junko muttered 'guardians' under her breath and chuckled, looking pleased and maybe a touch embarrassed at the grandiose label…but she didn't deny it, either. None of them did.
Guardians. These girls, these girls who loved Minamino…I hadn't considered they might do something like this, band together for his sake instead of the sake of their love lives. I'd underestimated them. Shame made my cheeks color. I'd really assumed the worst of these girls, and yet…
"He's lucky to have you in his life," I said to cover my emotions. I scanned the room, smiling. "All of you. A lot of people aren't so lucky to have friends like you."
Junko shrugged. "We don't do that much."
"No, you actually do." My voice rose as the implications of the situation sank home. "You recognized his emotional needs and you support him unconditionally, even to the point of personal sacrifice. That's rare. It reflects highly on all of your characters." Even though some of the girls looked pleased, flushing at my words, I crossed my arms over my chest and firmly stated, "Now, if you bullied people who got close to him, that would reflect poorly on you."
There followed a series of awkward, guilty glances. Amagi cleared her throat. Hotaru very carefully stared at the floor.
I suppressed a giggle. Seemed the fangirls weren't so perfect, after all.
"We…made mistakes, at first," Junko admitted (Hotaru's floor-stare intensified). "Tactical mistakes, I guess. But that caused Minamino trouble, so we made some rules. No more intimidation. Only open dialogue and honesty for us these days."
"Gotcha," I said, not indulging in the amused smile threatening my expression. I stood up and spread my hands again. "Well, you have nothing to fear from me at all. I have no intention of causing him trouble." This time I let the smile break, accompanied by as conspiratorial wink. "If there's a contract, I'll sign it. I'm with you."
Amagi didn't react for a moment. We looked at one another, her eyes wide and astonished, until Junko hopped off the desk behind her. She gestured and the other girls stood, too, in a cacophony of sliding chairs and desks rattling over linoleum title.
"Thank you, Yukimura," Junko said. She folded her hands and bowed. "We appreciate your understanding."
As one, eleven girls bowed to me—even the taciturn Hotaru. I bowed back.
"My parents own a restaurant, by the way," I said when I rose. "I know a lot of recipes. You can use our kitchen to cook for Minamino, if you want."
Amagi practically started glowing. "That would be nice. Thank you."
They let me go after that, with promises to keep me informed, and requests I let them know if learned anything from Minamino himself. I left the room and stood in the hallway for nearly a minute, stunned, because that had not gone the way I'd expected.
Maybe fangirls weren't to be distrusted, after all.
The idea would take some getting used to.
On Sunday I ate lunch with Eimi and Michiko. Once I told them all about my new school and caught up on Sarayashiki Junior High gossip, I boarded a train and made my way to Tokyo.
Kagome waited on the platform, an adorable child in shorts and a baseball jersey bouncing excitedly on her heels. Blended right in with the rest of the civilians milling about the train station. When I trotted over she slipped her small hand into my large one with a squeeze.
"Good trip?" she said.
"Yeah." Sarayashiki was basically a glorified suburb of Tokyo, hence Kagome's easy commute to our weekly aikido lessons. "Didn't take long at all."
"Awesome!" She tugged me forward, skipping along like a giggling mountain goat. "Follow me!"
A few train stops and a walk later, I glimpsed Kagome's family's temple for the first time. Sort of weird to see a full-blown temple like Genkai's in close proximity to the tall, mirror-glass buildings looming on the city's horizon, but that didn't stop it from being gorgeous. The template sat tucked behind an office building and a neighborhood like a forgotten relic of another time. Red arches, sloping roofs, and a tumble of wild greenery marked the temple as something other, alien, mystical—and the gigantic tree looming above it like Jack's giant from fairy tales only drove the point home.
"The go-shinboku," Kagome said when she saw me staring at its leafy crown. She shoved her hands in her pockets, expression fond. "The god tree. Over 500 years old. Inuyasha'll get pinned to it someday. Isn't it great?"
"It's beautiful."
"Yeah. Reminds me of Colorado. Man, I miss home." She eyed me sidelong with a smirk. "But that's not what you came to see, is it?"
The Bone Eater's Well sat in shadow, hidden from public eye in a little shack near the back of the property. Kagome needed help pushing open the doors ("I hate being ten!" she groused) before she ran inside. The shack looked small from the outside, but inside the floor fell away into a deep shaft. A walkway surrounded the shaft on all sides, platform overlooking the shadows within. Stairs led down into the darkness. I didn't go close to them. Kagome, meanwhile, ran to the railing and leaned over it like a kid peering into an enclosure at the zoo. Her sneaker-clad feet kicked the air behind her butt while she dangled precariously above the well that would, one day, drag her screaming into the Feudal Era.
"Hello!" she called into the pit. Her voice echoed in the void, "'Hello, 'ello, 'lo."
I chafed at my arms, glad I'd worn a cardigan but wishing for a jacket. "Cold in here."
"It always is." Kagome dropped off the railing, only to turn around, hop up, and sit on it. "Grandpa comes in here for a cleansing ritual once a year."
I looked around. Didn't see any cobwebs, leaves, or debris. Huh. Oddly clean for an abandoned well. "Do you spend a lot of time in here?"
"Yeah. But it's too early for anything fun to happen. Bo-oring. Unlike Kurama." She leaned forward atop her perch; my pulse sped up as the wood creaked beneath her weight. "What's been happening, girl? Spill!"
I told her everything: feeling him out in the greenhouse, the flowers, his suspicions, the fangirls. She laughed when I was done, but without any trace of malice.
"See? What have I been telling you?" she said. "Your overthinking got you in trouble!"
"Ha ha, yeah, very funny." I put my back to the wall and slid down its expanse, tangling my fingers in my hair as I put my elbows on my knees. "I feel sick about it. I feel like I'm one wrong word from getting caught. And Kurama is scary. Who knows what he'd do if he finds me out?"
Kagome's sympathetic smile didn't make me feel better. "Yeah. Best not let him find out. What are you gonna do now?"
I let my arms flop, hands dangling loose on my wrists. "Well, I can't give smooth answers, and I'm a bad liar so playing dumb probably won't work…and the last option left to me is risky."
"Risky how?" Kagome said with a lifted brow. "What's the last option?"
I told her.
She stared at me.
Then her jaw dropped. Laughter spilled out. Kagome rocked atop the railing so hard I feared she'd fall in. Her hand slapped her thigh hard enough to bruise.
"Oh my god!" she cackled, eyes watering. She shrieked when she nearly fell backward off the rail, overcorrecting so hard she pitched forward onto the ground. Didn't seem to hurt, though. She rolled around like a kid, slapping the floor and basically screaming with humor. "Oh my fucking god, Eeyore! That's hilarious! I haven't heard anything so funny in my entire life, and I've lived two of them!"
"Hilarious?" I repeated. I watched her roll around with a scowl. "You have a warped sense of humor, you know that?"
"No, really," she said. She sat up, wiping her eyes on the hem of her shirt. "Kurama is such a cool cucumber, but your plan'll drive him nuts." Her cheeks puffed as she tried to hold back laughter. She failed in short order. "Oh my god. That is fucking great! Ha! You're gonna drive him up the goddamn wall! I'd pay money to see Kurama lose his cool!"
Fun as it was to watch Kagome lose her shit, and to watch foul language come from the mouth of a kid, I didn't feel too jovial just then. I waited for Kagome's laughter to subside to giggles before speaking.
"I feel bad, though," I said. "His mom…"
Kagome knew Yu Yu Hakusho well enough to not require elaboration. She winced and sat up with legs crisscrossed, gripping her ankles and hunching like a reprimanded child.
"Oh, right," she said. "His mom. That's so sad." She perked, smile hesitant. "She'll get better though, right? With the mirror?"
"Yeah. But Kurama doesn't know that yet." I mopped my face with a hand. "I mean, I don't think he knows that yet. I don't know how far along in the mirror plan he is. Even if he's planning to save her with the mirror already, I imagine he's still hurting right now just thinking she'll die."
Unbidden, an image of the fangirls crying popped into my head. Amagi's face swam forward.
"We have no right to add more stress to his life," she'd said. "We all care for him. Because we care for him, we want him to be happy."
The fangirls, maligned though they were, cared for Kurama so much—and suddenly my plan to preserve my secrecy seemed cruel. After all, I knew what it was like to wait for a loved one to die. If someone had caused me undue pain while I was already hurting so much, I would've been so upset…
I sighed and leaned my head against the wall. "I don't know. Maybe my plan is too much." When Kagome looked confused I added: "He's grieving, in a sense. Adding stress to that pain seems cruel."
She nodded, eyes toward the ceiling as she considered this. Then she met my gaze with a mischievous smile.
"I mean, you can look at your plan as a source of stress for him," she said, "or you can look at it like…like a helpful distraction for him!"
"A distraction? A distraction from what?"
"From his pain." She leaned forward, smile growing. "Think about it. You're a puzzle for him to solve. Maybe a Keiko-puzzle could distract him from his pain, give him something to think about other than his mother's slow death." She snapped and pointed at me. "Yeah! You could be a distraction from his grief!"
"Or I could be a distraction from his efforts to save her," I countered. "What if he gets too focused on me to come up with the Forlorn Hope plan?"
And besides. He would want to be with Shiori right now. Mirror plan or no, he wouldn't want to spend his mother's final days chasing after a classmate. He would want to be with her the way I'd wanted to be with my grandmother when we learned she was sick—learn all the little things she had yet to teach him, soak up as much of her light as he could be she left.
Or before he left.
Gosh. I'd sort of forgotten the suicidal tinge to Kurama's plan. If he was going to save her at the cost of his own life, he'd surely dedicate himself to spending as much time with her as possible before—
Kagome rocked forward and scrambled toward me on her hands and knees. She braced her arms on my legs and peered up into my face, lying halfway across my lap. Despite her childish body language, her expression was every inch a determined adult's.
"Remember what I told you?" she said, voice low and urgent. "Nothing you do could possibly throw Kurama off his path. He's Kurama. He's too disciplined to let a schoolgirl distract him from his goals." Her mouth curled in a wry smile. "From his pain? Sure. But not his goals."
"I suppose…" I murmured.
Kagome hummed approvingly and moved off my lap with a wink. "C'mon, Eeyore. You gotta keep yourself safe and trust that Kurama can handle himself. Do what you gotta do to keep incognito."
I snorted. "Might be too late for that, but…thanks, Tigger." I smiled and, in spite of myself, felt the confidence radiating from Kagome soak like rain into my soul. "I feel better."
Kagome jerked a thumb at her chest, tossed her hair, and beamed.
"Dontcha worry 'bout a thing, honeybun," she said. "I got you. After all—what are friends for?"
Later that night, Kuwabara and I reached my parents' restaurant at the same time. Call it fate, I guess. We came from different directions down the sidewalk, and when I spotted him coming I broke into a jog. Kuwabara did, too. We skidded to a halt in front of the shop's guardian Ebisu statues wearing identical smiles.
"Hey Keiko!" he said, grinning. "Thanks for helping me today. I really appreciate it!"
"Eh, what are friends for?" I said, parroting Kagome's earlier assurances. I started to ask Kuwabara if he'd brought the right textbooks, the ones I'd told him to bring at our last tutoring session, but something caught my eye. I leaned forward and scowled. "Are those bruises?"
Kuwabara touched the purple halo on his cheek with a wince, but he covered the reaction with his trademark goofy smile. "It's nothin', honest! Just some punks trying to get the upper hand while my hands are tied, that's all."
His jolly tone did little to allay my worries. I put my hands on my hips and glared. "Kuwabara…"
The big guy's hands came up, waving in frantic denial. "It's nothin' I can't handle, Keiko, promise! I'm a tough guy! Whatever these punks dish out, I can take." He grinned and pumped an arm to display his muscles, their bulk straining against the confines of his windbreaker. "And besides. Only one week left till I can fight again! Soon they'll be the ones havin' t' watch their backs, not me!"
"I just worry, is all." I smacked his arm in gentle admonishment. "Try not to get hurt too bad, OK? I need you in one piece."
Kuwabara (that adorable, loveable lunkhead) blushed bright red and mumbled something about his promise as a man to not get himself killed. I couldn't help but smile.
"You and your manly promises," I said. "Anyway. Let's go upstairs and get to work."
We didn't get far, unfortunately. As soon as we walked in the door, one of the servers—a twenty-something woman named Sara—trotted up and grabbed my arm.
"Keiko! Right on time," she said. I muttered for Kuwabara to wait while Sara pulled me aside. "There's a gaijin at table fifteen."
"Really?" I said. I craned my head to see into the restaurant, but table fifteen lay against the back wall of the restaurant, around the other side of the bar and out of sight. "That's rare."
"I know!" Sara ducked her head, bashful. "Sorry, I know you don't normally help out during Sunday dinner hour, but can you handle her? Your English is so good and mine is just awful."
"Sure, sure." I looked over her shoulder and caught Kuwabara's eye. "Hey, change of plans. I have to take care of a few things down here."
His face fell. "Oh. Should we reschedule, or—?"
"No, no, no worries—we can still study," I assured him. Kuwabara's expression cleared at once. "Just not upstairs. I have to wait on a customer for a bit, nothing major." I gestured at nearby tables. "We'll set up in the restaurant. Dad can make you ramen with extra pork cutlet if you want."
"Oh, yeah, that'd be awesome!" He promptly looked embarrassed, kicking a toe at the floor. "I mean, are you sure that's OK?"
"It'll be fine." I grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him after me. "C'mon."
The busiest area of the restaurant had to be the bar, which overlooked the kitchen and afforded customers a view of their food as it was prepared. I set Kuwabara up in a corner, at one of the tables along the back wall of the dining room, where he'd remain out from underfoot of the servers and other patrons. I glanced toward table fifteen as Kuwabara took his textbooks from his bag. I caught sight of a woman with white hair, but she had her back to me, so I didn't see much else. Hopefully she knew English…
"Be right back," I said after Kuwabara got settled. I trotted to the coatroom outside the kitchen and donned an apron. Sara shot me a thumbs up when I passed her on my way out. I returned the gesture, then slowed my pace to a walk as I approached the gaijin in the corner.
"Hello, ma'am," I said, bowing when I reached her table. My English was flawless, as always. "I apologize if this is forward, but do you speak English?"
The woman had been studying a menu. She put it down when I spoke, gestures deliberate and slow, and shifted in her seat to look at me. Snowy hair crowned a dour face, mouth a slash of no-nonsense displeasure below her grey eyes—eyes peering over the top of a pair of dark sunglasses. Sunglasses indoors? And the sun was setting, too…but never mind that oddity. How old was she? White hair indicated age, and sure, lines rimmed her silvery eyes and irritable scowl, but she could've said she was anything from 40 to 70 and I'd have believed her.
"Yeah, I speak English. And I speak Japanese, too," she said. She smacked the menu with the back of her hand before I could apologize for making assumptions. "The thing is, I can't read a damn word of it. What's good here?"
"I prefer option nine," I said, pointing at the item in question. I maintained my professional smile in spite of her steady, searching stare. "It's very traditional Japanese cuisine. Definitely give it a try if you're visiting the country for the first time."
"Hmmph. Polite, aren't you?" she said. She had a voice like a creaking hinge, or ropes straining under the weight of a boat's vast sails, touched by a musical accent I couldn't name. "I'll get that, then."
"Excellent. And would you like a drink?"
"Coffee."
"I'll bring it right away. Will that be all for now?"
The gaijin inclined her head. "For now."
After another bow and smile I placed her order (not to mention Kuwabara's) at the kitchen window, made a cup of coffee, and brought it to the white-haired woman. She sat in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest and merely grunted at me when I placed the cup before her. When I left her table and slid into a seat across from Kuwabara I muttered, "Grumpy old lady at three o'clock."
He glanced in the appropriate direction. His eyes widened. "Wow. Nice jacket."
"What?"
"Her jacket, it's leather. It's cool."
I hadn't noticed, but he was right—she wore a leather jacket, the kind with snaps at the collar and cuffs. It wasn't a fashionable jacket, but rather a practical, protective choice for a person who rides a motorcycle. Road rash ain't no joke, people, and neither were the scuffed leather boots encasing her leg from toe to knee. I hadn't noticed a motorcycle parked on the street, but if there was one outside right now, it doubtless belonged to the gaijin in the corner.
"She looks tough. Think she's American?" Kuwabara whispered, hand cupped around his mouth.
"I don't know." I leaned my chin on my wrist, replaying her voice in my head. "Her accent is unusual. Greek or Italian, maybe? Not sure."
"Hmm. Don't see many gaijin around here. I'd expect tourists in Tokyo, but here?" He shrugged, pencil poised above his textbook. "Oh well. Hopefully she likes the food."
"Yeah," I said. "Hopefully."
We commenced with the study-session. I glanced at the gaijin every few minutes. She never moved. Her finger traced the rim of her coffee cup in slow circles, but that was it. Apparently she was content to stare at the wall by the kitchen. Huh. Weird lady. I put her out of my head and concentrated on Kuwabara until a bell rang at the food counter. I got up and grabbed the two steaming bowls, delivering the gaijin's first.
"Thanks," she said as I set it before her. Her leather jacket creaked when she reached for chopsticks. "Busy night?"
"Not for me," I said. The bar was full and the tables were at three-quarter capacity; good thing I only had to worry about her and Kuwabara. "But for the others, yes."
"Why's that?"
"Oh, um—I'm the owner's daughter. Special privilege, I guess." I hefted Kuwabara's soup bowl over my shoulder so the steam wouldn't rise into my face. "I only have to wait on your table tonight."
Her expression, baleful and cold, didn't shift when she pointed over her shoulder. "And your friend's table over there, too, it seems."
I chuckled. "Yes. And his, too." I dipped my head. "Enjoy your meal. I'll be back to check on you shortly."
She harrumphed and cracked her chopsticks. Kuwabara almost leapt out of his seat, chortling with glee at the sight of his meal.
"Oh man, this looks amazing!" he said as he tucked in. "Your dad really is the best."
"Yeah. He is."
As I watched Kuwabara eat one of my father's recipes, I thought of my grandmother and the recipes I never got a chance to learn. I wouldn't make that mistake in this life. I wouldn't underestimate my time here. I'd soak up every last bit of my parents' techniques, every chance I could get.
I glanced at the gaijin in the corner. It felt good to speak in English, even if she didn't have a comforting Texan accent like my former family. Gosh, what would it be like to visit Texas in this new life, in this new body? Not for the first time, I wondered if my family existed somewhere in this world, and if maybe I could meet my grandmother again. Finally learn her cactus jam recipe, though somehow I doubted Hiruko sent me to this life to learn to make jam—
My thoughts stopped short.
As soon as I thought of Hiruko's pink hair and ocean eyes, the gaijin twisted in her seat and looked at me.
I looked away, of course, the way anyone would look away when they'd been caught staring. I focused on Kuwabara as we practiced pronunciation, but when I looked the gaijin's way after a minute…
I put my hand on Kuwabara's. He stopped mid-sentence, face flushing.
"Hey," I said. I took my hand back and tilted my head toward table fifteen. "Is she staring at me?"
Kuwabara's blush disappeared. He paused for a second, then 'accidentally' knocked his pencil off the table with his elbow.
"Oops!" he declared before diving under out of his seat. "My bad!"
He lingered under the table for a moment. When he surfaced, he leaned his cheek on his hand—effectively covering his mouth from anyone's view but mine.
"She's staring like a hawk," he whispered, mouth barely moving. "Do you know her or something?"
"Never seen her before in my life." In either of my lives, in fact. I took a deep breath and stood up. "Give me a minute."
The gaijin sat sideways in her seat, arm pillowed along the back of the chair. She didn't look away when I turned and met her gaze head on. She just smiled, lips curling at the corners as I approached. Her glasses sat high on her nose this time. I couldn't see her eyes, but I did not doubt she looked straight at me.
"Does everything taste OK?" I said when I reached her. Though polite, I allowed an edge to creep into my tone—what the fuck you starin' at, lady? "Can I get you anything else?"
"No. And it tastes great." She rapped her knuckles on the table next to her empty bowl. "Good recommendation."
"Happy to hear it. Would you like the check?"
"No need. I remember the price. I'll pay cash."
I watched in silence as she pulled a wad of bills from her jacket pocket. She placed twice the price of the dish on the table, but when I protested, she waved me off.
"Consider it a tip for the great recommendation." A smile twisted below her glasses. "And don't argue. You'll just lose."
"Tipping isn't common in Japan, I'm afraid," I said (it implied the business owners didn't pay their employees enough). "Forgive me for resisting."
"You're forgiven. Thanks for the cultural lesson."
"Of course. Thank you for your patronage." I bowed and turned away. "Have a good night, ma'am."
"Wait."
She sat sideways in her seat, back firm against the wall. Long legs crossed at the ankle as she reached once more into her jacket. I watched in silence as she placed an object on the table and folded her hands atop her thighs.
"Anything to say?" she asked in her peculiar, creaking voice.
She'd placed a pair of scissors next to her empty ramen bowl—at least, I think they were scissors. They weren't like any scissors I'd ever seen. Made of gleaming copper, they'd been forged from a single piece of solid metal, with a twisting figure eight handle that flowed into a pair of flat, pointed blades. Carved runes covered the blades like a colony of marching ants. I didn't recognize the language. The scissors (or were they more like shears?) looked antique, but sturdy and shiny, so maybe a reproduction of an antique? No idea. They resembled a movie prop more than anything.
"Sorry," I said. "Do you want me to cut something for you? Got an itchy tag in your jacket?"
My attempt at a joke fell flat. The woman's gaze remained inscrutable behind her dark glasses, but her lips pulled into a line.
"Hmmph." She tossed her head, hair floating like cobweb around her shoulders. "So he hasn't told you yet."
I scowled. "Who hasn't told me what?"
Her glasses slid down her nose.
Silver eyes speared me where I stood.
"Hiruko hasn't told you to watch out for me," she said.
Utensils clinking. Chairs scraping. Patrons laughing. My dad barking orders in the kitchen.
I heard none of that, just then. Just the sound of my own pulse beating like war drums in my ears.
And the gaijin…she smiled at me. Smiled this big, knowing smile as she pushed her glasses back up her nose, watching me panic and try not to panic all at the same time.
"Who are you?" I said. My dry mouth rendered the words a whisper. "Who—who are you?"
"Someone who knows your name," the gaijin replied. She smirked. "And no, I don't mean 'Yukimura Keiko.' I mean the name you've probably forgotten."
I didn't reply. I couldn't reply. And I think this woman knew that. She chuckled, grabbed the shears off the table, and slipped them back into her breast pocket.
"Don't worry. I'm not here to hurt you," she said. Like an afterthought she added, "Although, Hiruko would probably claim otherwise. But he says a lot of things that aren't true."
It was all I could do to grind out, "I don't understand."
The gaijin snorted, derision audible. "Of course you don't. You're a pawn."
I couldn't help but bristle. Her smirk got…smirkier. Words. They failed me in that moment. But she looked at me like she knew something I didn't, and that made me feel sick to my stomach, and were those black spots in the corners of my vision or was stress just making me hallucinate?
"You're a pawn," the woman repeated, "but from what I've seen, you're the type who'd learn to use that to your advantage. So maybe being a pawn isn't so bad, after all."
She stood up. I stumbled back, barely managing to register how intimidatingly tall she was (six feet, maybe more?) before she slipped past me toward the door.
I stood rooted to the spot for a moment.
Then I turned and dashed after her.
Managed to catch up to the gaijin just as she exited the building. I found her on the stoop, hand atop the head of one of Dad's prized Ebisu statues. She regarded the statue with a scowl, fingernails tap, tap, tapping against stone like a rattling Tommy Gun.
"That brat," she muttered. "He always did have a sick sense of humor."
I blurted, "Who the fuck are you?"
The woman looked over her shoulder. She hooked a finger under her glasses and pulled them down her nose, meeting my eyes with her silver ones. How had I ever mistaken them for grey? They were liquid mercury, dangerous and beautiful.
"I'm Clotho," she said. "Friends call me Cleo."
"Friends," came my hollow repetition.
"Yup." She pointed, finger leveled right at my stunned face. "And believe you me, girl: you want me for a friend."
"Do I?" I said. My voice kicked high-pitched with panic. "Do I really want you for a friend, Cleo?"
"Oh, yes. I'm not your enemy." Her smirk faded into a scowl. "That role belongs to Hiruko."
I had no idea what to make of that. I'd long ago decided Hiruko was too shady to be completely trusted—but he didn't seem like a straight-up enemy. Was he more insidious than his chipper demeanor suggested? Who the hell was this Cleo person? What did she want? How was she involved in my lucky second life?
And the most pressing question of all: Was she right about Hiruko?
She didn't give me time to ask questions, of course. No one ever gives me time to ask questions. She patted the Ebisu statue one more time before shoving her hands into her pockets.
"Consider this a warning," Cleo said. "Don't trust Hiruko. And whatever he says about me, he's lying."
"But—who are you?" I asked, plaintive as a helpless kitten. "Why are you here and what do you—?"
Cleo shoved her glasses up her nose.
"Not yet," she said.
My fists clenched. Anger rose like bubbles from an overheated pot. Go fuck yourself budded on my tongue, insult ready to fire—but before I could say anything, Cleo...well.
She vanished.
NOTES:
Photo of the scissors available on my Tumblr, for those who want a visual aid!
Regarding the fangirl scene: I guess this was my attempt at humanizing Kurama's fabled fangirls/subverting the fangirl trope. Less vicious, more selfless in a teenage-girl-romanticizing-their-unrequired-love sort of way.
Completely and totally wowed by the response to the last chapter, which broke records for this story, thanks in part to user Selias recommending the story on a forum (Spacebattles). I think that brought in a ton of new readers and I'm honestly a bit amazed? And disbelieving? And thankful? Anyway, THANK YOU SO MUCH, YOU MEAN THE WORLD TO ME: Leahcar-Soutaichou, rezgurnk, Melissa Fairy, PainfulKaramatsuGirl, xenocanaan, Sky65, giant salamander, Lady Hummingbird, Kaiya Azure, DiCuoreAllison, Marian, reebajee, DarkDust27, Lirio, Guest (x2), Just 2 Dream of You, Yunrii, Maester Ta, buzzk97, FireDancerNix, McMousie, Selias, La Femme Absurde, Miqila, elianne, ShadedEclipse, musicisalifestyle, read a rainbow, Gwen Flaming Katana, EVA-Saiyajin, AnimePleasegood, Sassasaurus, rya-fire1, DrAnime203, alicemisuzu, Gobstein, Anonymous, EridanusV, EvalydYamazaki, CrystalVixen93!
