Chapter 4: An Assingment

The first couple of weeks I spend readjusting to the strange schedule. I have 5 periods a day, and the two scheduled days are switched from A to B every other day. There are two classes I have both days, Japanese (language) and Acting. I'm one of the few students in Musical Theatre, being joined by Atobe and Ryoma.

By now, I have been told gently from a teacher that the reason why I am taking Japanese is to catch me up with the other students, who are all Japanese themselves.

It occurred to me that I probably should have realized that myself, but it's a bit too late for that.

On my first weekend, Mrs. Ryuzaki took me aside and informed me that all the students were required to play a sport, despite a decent percentage in dance. It turned out all the boys liked tennis—something that surprised me, coming from the States where football and basketball were predominantly featured—so there weren't any other sports available.

So, my first weekend into town was spent buying a girl's version of not only my dorm house tennis uniform but the school uniform as well.

That also meant I had to buy a racquet and sweatbands.

Note my joy.

I really wished that someone had told me before that time-so much for Niou being my "sponsor".

Of course, my first few weeks were spent learning the rules and main movements of the game. Once I actually started to play, it was the most embarrassing highlight of my day.

It's like my mind knows what to do, but my body refuses to comply. I now have a bruise that is permanent on the top of my head from all my missed serves.

I think my cheeks are permanently stained red.

On another topic, my subjects aren't all that bad. At first, Japanese just seemed like a pile of gibberish, but as I applied myself and had the people around me speak it, I have gradually begun to be able to speak it in a simple conversation, much to the people around me amusement.

Strangely, though, it seems familiar. Like I knew it in another place and time. If I believed in reincarnation, I would say that I knew it in a different life, but since I don't, I don't really know how a complicated language could seem so familiar to me, and I might as well say I learned it in a different life for all the memories I have.

My favorite class so far will have to be either European literature with Mnsr. Enjorlas or Human Geography with Ms. Glover.

At first, Mnsr. Enjorlas seems quiet and demure, but when he begins to talk, he has a player's voice, rich and mesmerizing. Many a time I have been late to dinner because I stayed to listen to his tales.

He has assigned us to do a creative writing assignment. The only point of it is to get us to not make clear who is the protagonist and who is the antagonist. I hate these types of stories, because I like to make clear who is the good guy and who is the bad guy.

Unlike Edgar Allen Poe, who disguises the antagonist as the protagonist until the very end. (Cough The Cask of Amontillado cough).

Wait…The Cask of Amontillado…

I opened up a Word file on my laptop, and started to type, lost in the world of printed letters.
I sighed in relief as I walked back to my seat. I just handed in my writing assignment, and when Mnsr. Enjorlas saw the length; he gave me a smile of approval.

I hadn't intended it to be so long…it just happened! I swear!

Of course, then Mnsr. Enjorlas had to commit the coup de grace for all of us poor students. He decided to read them out loud so we could all debate about the positions of the protagonists versus the antagonist.

We heard a rather good account of a tailor versus a rich man. Apparently, the rich man had ordered a robe from the tailor done with the tailor's finest cloth. However, because the tailor was poor, he only had cotton and other homespun. So he took his finest materials that he had (which were few) and made the rich man's robe. However, when the rich man came back and found a robe made of homespun and not silk, he threw a fit and had the tailor jailed for fraud.

We heard a not-so-good story that seemed to be a Biblical parable rewritten. The one about the denarii, and the men who all earned one, no matter how long others had worked or how short.

The next one Mnsr. Enjorlas seemed to have particular joy to pick out from the pile. He smirked at the class, adjusted his glasses, and began to read.

"On a warm June night, the moon shone innocuously from her pedestal above the earth, seemingly unaware the events that would take place that night.

In a dark room, high above the cobbles of the street, it was empty and alone. It seemed to be waiting, though for what was anyone's guess."

I slunk down in my seat. Damnit, this can't be happening. He's reading my story.

"In the bottom floors of the same house, it was a riot of color and music, of silks and satins, full of talk and laughter, such a contrast to the empty rooms above. It was a party meant to celebrate the owners' of the house announcement of an engagement taking place between their oldest daughter and a man who had recently begun school for his Ph.D. in pathology.

Above the party, 2 others, who did not like parties as a rule, met in the cold, dark rooms above, that were so perfect for assignations. Down below, the orchestra truck up a tango, and the two who knew that dance suddenly came together, dancing with each other in a way they could never dance with each other in public.

The tango is a dance of passion and fire, and these two had it perfect in a way that is rarely seen. It is said that the best dancers are those who are lovers, and the way these two danced that conclusion was impossible not to reach.

Once the music was over, the two found a chair, where they began to exchange touches and kisses. They could not do this in the world below these rooms. Theirs' was truly a tale of forbidden love, but it was not even that they were from two different castes or belonged to feuding families.

No, it was the fact that they were two girls who preferred each other to the world below the stairs.

Often, the more adventurous of the two would talk about once becoming of age, abandoning this shallow world of money and politics and striking out on their own, refusing to conform to those who had other expectations of them. The less adventurous of the two would giggle and listen in rapt attention, loving the idea, but knowing she would never be able to do so without the other. She had no courage to go by herself. She needed her lover next to her.

In the world below the stairs, a boy who was a friend to the less adventurous one fidgeted. His mother, a proud, controlling woman, had finally browbeaten him into agreeing to court his friend, something that struck anguish in his heart. He loved someone else, if it was possible to think of love at fourteen.

His mother imperiously had ordered him to find his friend so that they could dance, a sign of the impending courtship, but he could not find her anywhere. Since they had been friends as younger children, he knew her dislike of loud, chaotic scenes, and so he headed to the world above the stairs to look for her.

The two girls had become so wrapped up in themselves, the more adventurous making the less adventurous laugh with her plans of escape, and how they had begun to save money so they wouldn't be penniless when they did leave. In between kisses, both joked with each other, teasing and lighthearted.

The boy who belonged to the world below the stairs turned on the harsh overhead light of the library, his friend's favorite haunt, bringing the world below stairs to world above it. To his astonishment, he found his friend kissing another girl, the daughter of a distinguished man who was currently in Iraq, and apparently not knowing what his daughter was playing at.

His friend extracted herself of the pretzel they had managed to squeeze themselves into, and held out a hand. "Jon…what are you doing here?"

A blind rage began to fill him. That she would act so innocent when she was committing a sin against God, and against him for not telling him! He stalked towards her, his rage present on her face, making her shrink back and take back her hand. "I could ask you the same thing," he snarled. "You are here…kissing another girl! How disgusting."

Hurt flashed in her eyes. "Jon, I love her. Like you love Cecilia."

"You can't possibly love her," he growled. At the sight of that statement making her stand up straight, a sign of her infamous stubbornness taking hold, he lost his control over his terrible anger. He whipped out his right hand and backhanded her viciously. She fell, putting a hand to the cheek that was screaming in pain.

Her friend picked her up off the ground, and cradled his friend's head against her chest. She glared at him, anger present. He turned on his heel, and stalked off, rage radiating off of him in waves.

When he reached his mother in the world below stairs, he said clearly enough to garner attention, "I cannot court the one who you would have me to do so because she loves other women."

With that statement, he guaranteed her societal damnation."

Mnsr. Enjorlas finished reading, and around me, my classmates came out of the trance that was a by-product of his reading voice.

"That was really good, nya!" Eiji said in surprise.

I relaxed my clenched fists under the desk. Mnsr. Enjorlas laughed, and glanced at me. "Yes, Kikumaru, it is, isn't it?"

More agreement sounded.

"So who is the protagonist?" the teacher asked.

Many answers greeted him. The less adventurous one, the more adventurous one, the boy. However, Tezuka raised his hand. "It's both girls, because they are the ones to defy society by simply being together, and furthering it by planning on escaping. They didn't associate themselves with the world below stairs, preferring their own."

"Very astute, Tezuka. I also think so. Now who is the antagonist?"

Many said the boy, because he couldn't control his temper and belonged to the belief that is seen so often about homosexuality.

I felt eyes on me, and looked up to meet Fuji's open-eyed gaze. We locked eyes, and he said to the teacher without removing his stair from me, "The mother."

"The mother?" Oshitari replied, frowning.

"Yes. If she hadn't browbeaten the son into courting someone he didn't love, he would never have discovered his friend's 'world above the stairs'. She wanted to be in control of what went on, and in doing so, helped contribute indirectly to the girl's societal damnation." Fuji continued. In a voice barely above a murmur, he added, "Isn't that right, Cassandra?"

Everyone looked at me. I shrugged. "I like it's the boy because he slapped her. He didn't have to do that. He could have kept better control over his temper, and didn't have to go all out. Actually, the reason why his friend might not have told him was because she knew he would react that way. But he was being a stupid boy, and didn't realize that at the time."

"Do you really blame him?" Fuji reposted, his eyes amused, like this was all a game to him. "After all, he just saw his childhood friend essentially making out with another girl. Do you think he should have held onto his reason, when she hadn't even hinted at that before."

"She might have, and him being the blockhead he was, might not have realized what she was hinting at," I was beginning to lose my temper, but before I could, I slammed a lid on my growing agitation. "She had, and he obviously had to see it to believe it. But there are other ways to get your revenge or confrontation, and he didn't have to tell his mother, a notorious gossip, and ensured it that way. He should have waited until they were alone to get her to explain it. After all, if they were friends," my emphasis on friends had many raising their eyebrows. "He should have cared more for that, and waited for the simple sake of the friendship they might have had. He obviously didn't, and in doing so, hurt her badly for the cause of his revenge. He should have served compassion, not vengeance."

As Fuji opened his mouth to continue, Mnsr. Enjorlas broke in. "All right, all right. Continue this at a later date, both of you. The bell will be ringing soon."

Then it did.

As I packed up my notebook and pens, Fuji came over. "It's true, isn't it?"

"What?" I played dumb, hoping for him to get the hint.

"The story. It's true, isn't it?"

"Parts of it," I said uncomfortably.

Fuji opened his eyes, and gazed at me.

"Most of it," I amended.

He continued.

"Mostly all of it," I hissed finally. "Can we go to dinner? I'm starving, and it's cold in here."

He chuckled, and offered me his arm. "It would honor me if you took my arm."

"I'm still ticked at you. Don't count on it."

This was the edited version. The original was rather boring.