My name is Midori Tanaka, and I'm seventeen years old.

I had a family, had friends, and had everything I could every dream of.

But that was the past. Everything has changed since my father's death on August, 5, which was today. It's been twelve years.

The breeze that swept across the street didn't relieve the stifling heat. It only, in fact, made it worst and unbearable. Just like that dreadful day twelve years ago when my life was lost, like missing pieces of a puzzle.

I stroked the scarlet red umbrella in my hands, running each finger down its torn fabric. Thin lines at the edges were loosening and the wind tugged forcefully at the ragged threads.

The umbrella was old and torn and no longer useable, but I kept it anyway because it was the only thing that evidenced father's existence.

And those sandals.

The white chalk screeched as it left a line across the board. Our professor turned around, eyeing each one of us with eyes sharp like a lady examining her purse.

"So, who can give me the answer?"

A couple of students glanced down and away, into their textbooks as if that would give them the answer. A few hands shot erect into the air, I raised mine slowly. He nodded at me.

"Please, Tanaka."

I made my way slowly around desks and chairs, barely conscious when Akatsuki, professor's favored pupil, tugged at my uniform and almost caused my tucked white shirt to fall out.

"Bastard," She whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. "Who do you think you are?"

I paid no attention and numbly wrote the complex equation on the board, all the time feeling professor's gaze locked on the back of my head.

The chalk made a sharp clang against the metal holder and I returned to my seat.

"Very good, that's certainly the best answer I've seen."

I only dipped my head and remained cold as stone to his praise, not daring to show any emotion. I could already feel Akatsuki eyes burning with anger. A few of her friends exchanged glances and pursed their glossy lips in a silent smirk. Professor paid no attention and I didn't expect him to do so.

There was a knock on the door, and a short, stout woman pushed it open.

"Professor? There's a matter to be discussed." She paused, then added,

"Right away, please."

"I'll be gone for a minute or two," He announced, looking over our heads and exchanging a look with the woman. He set down the textbook on his desk, "Study for now, and be quiet."

He walked to the back of the classroom and examined us sharply a final time before turning to the woman and leaving, closing the door behind him, leaving a moment of rare, hushed silence in the room.

The voice that broke it was no doubt Akatsuki's.

"Modori, when did you start stealing my answers again?"

I kept silent as she raked me with her thorn sharp gaze. Some girls were turning around and shooting me dirty looks, the others just pretended that it never happened.

"Teach her a lesson." A smooth voice chipped in, belonging Reiko.

I said nothing, only stared intensely at the text book in my hands though my mind was racing. Suddenly I caught sight of a figure looming over; it was Akatsuki, leaning over my desk. Her face was so close I felt like I could touch her nose with my tongue. Soft brown hair brushed my cheeks. Brown eyes met black eyes.

"Listen," She hissed, "One more time I catch you giving a pathetic answer, especially when I have my hand raised; keep your dirty tongue to yourself."

A slender hand reached over and snatched away the notebook I clutched in my hands, raising it in mid-air.

"Your punishment, as requested." She sneered.

Without waiting for a response, she straightened up lazily and walked back to her desk in no hurry, stuffing my notebook inside her desk. As if on cue, the doorknob turned and professor walked in, unaware of what happened during his short absence. I looked back to glance at the clock that was hung above the door, only to find myself locked eyes with Akatsuki.

Her brown eyes were unmistakeably hostile, and a single phrase, barely more than a whisper, slipped out her lips.

Watch out.

The elevator door made a sharp clang as it closed. I stared at my own metallic reflection on its door, wondering if mother was home yet.

If she was, it would be an extremely bad day for me. I've earned another warning from the professor about losing my notebook, again.

I pressed my finger against the button four, using more strength than I intended to and it throbbed with sharp pain. The pain to come would be much worse than this.

I clutched my school bag tight when the elevator door opened and I stepped into the hallway. Warm yellow light soothed my vision and, with great self-control to not turn and run, I approached my apartment door and drew my house key from my pocket.

The key made a scuffling noise against the lock and the door finally opened with a creak. I drew a breath, and entered the house with careful measured steps. With dread I caught sight of mother's familiar black high heels placed neatly on the racket. She's home.

"I'm home." I called cautiously, trying my best to keep my voice light.

There was no response, only the opening of and closing of the kitchen cupboard and faint echoes of dripping tap water.

Setting my bag down on the floor and removing my shoes, I entered the kitchen to find mother searching through the kitchen cupboard. She froze, then hastily glanced up at me and turned back to her search.

All my previous thoughts of asking for money to buy a new notebook vanished and were replaced by a calm self-consciousness. She wasn't in a good mood.

I held my breath and retreated the kitchen silently, turning around as soon as I felt the lump of wood that separated the kitchen from the living pressing against my feet.

"You want money."

I felt as if the blood pulsing through me just a heartbeat ago had been frozen with dread.

"A notebook, what I need." I said quickly, not daring to look up.

There was a long pause, minutes of silence that felt like centuries. A great movement from mother broke it but I kept my head low. It was the clatter of jars, the distinctive rattles of glass that alarmed me.

Too late.

The vase flew like a diving bird towards my head and I ducked. Ear piercing shatters echoed painfully in my head as pain soared in my back. I ducked the vase, but glass pieces were shattered everywhere and some landed in my back. I glanced over my shoulders, finding the once delicate bottle broken into millions of pieces. A crack in the wall indicated where it had crashed into. With trembling fingers I touched my back gently and felt a warm sticky substance trickle between my palm.

Everything was silent except for the water that slithered between broken glasses.

She stirred, locking eyes with me as mother pushed herself to her feet. Something flickered in those deep distant eyes and she turned, leaving the kitchen.

I kneeled there for a long time, wincing once at the searing pain.