Chapter 2

Digital Boy

"Good morning children!"

"Good morning Mrs. Wightman…"

The next day of school could not have come slower to Kim; could never have come slower. Kim sat at one of the front desks in the room, so that Mrs. Wightman could make sure she wasn't playing with her keychain. At the front of the room, Kim didn't have to endure the insultingly cheerful posters and stuffed animals hung around on the walls, but she was forced to look at the display of educational awards on Mrs. Wightman's desk. But however slowly she'd wished school would come, Kim couldn't help but come alive faced with the surprise it brought today.

"Today, class, we are pleased to welcome a new student. Not only is he new to this school, but he is new to this country, so, not only do I want you to be on your best behavior, but I want you to each be little guides for him until he is used to the way we do things here," instructed Mrs. Wightman. She smiled, more as an example to the class than as an actual expression of pleasure. "He should be here any minute now."

Shortly after the teacher said this, the room's tinted glass door opened. A boy, shadowed by the imposing ex-linebacker principal, took a single step through, and glanced around, almost timidly. Every head in the class turned individually to look at him, except for Mrs. Wightman's, which was watching the kids for signs of misbehavior.

Kim thought the boy was rather good looking. His eyes were gentle, green in color, and he wore his black hair in loose dreadlocks. Rather than being pudgy like most kids in Kim's class, the new boy was actually in good shape. He was dressed in jeans and a blue-green camouflage t-shirt, with a tan vest over top. Mrs. Wightman whispered with the principal for a few seconds, then escorted the boy to the front of the room, keeping one of her hands on his back. The principal slunk back to whatever principals do.

When the boy passed Kim's desk, he seemed to try and pretend like he wasn't staring at her hair. She thought she saw his eye twitch slightly. Everyone Kim had ever met since she started spiking her hair had been surprised, but no one had ever tried to hide it. Maybe he just doesn't know what's 'normal' here, Kim surmised. Suddenly, a thought struck her. If someone didn't know what was 'normal', then perhaps, to that one person, Kim wouldn't have to be an exhibit.

Mrs. Wightman smiled at the new boy in a way she probably thought was comforting. She tapped one fingernail on her desk. "So, can you tell everyone what your name is?"

"My name is M- Gen Maeda," answered Gen.

The teacher glanced at the class as if worried they'd laugh at his name, then reaffixed her special-class smile to the new kid. "And where are you from?"

"…Wakayama."

"And where's that?"

"Wakayama is a city in Japan. That's a country." It was always hard to tell, when someone had an accent, but it seemed pretty obvious that Gen didn't think Mrs. Wightman was very smart. Well, that probably made them even. Embarrassingly, there were several "oh"s from around the class.

Mrs. Wightman was unfazed. She tapped again. "Very good. Now can you tell us a little about yourself? If you can't that's all right."

Kim was surprised Gen didn't roll his eyes. "I can speak English," he replied. "I'm eleven years old, and was meant to study math in a class two years older at the last school. Our family is now living in a house made of brick at a place where two roads cross."

"Wow, great for you! I'm very impressed," cooed Mrs. Wightman, very deliberately. Gen didn't seem to react to her tone of voice, but Kim recognized the mood in Mrs. Wightman that got students stuck with things like Storytime Duty. She continued, splenda sweet. "Is there anything you like to do?"

"I like swimming… And computers."

At last, the teacher seemed satisfied, having gone through the standard roster of questions. She ushered Gen to an empty seat at the back of the room, and returned to the front of the room, where she was queen of her own little world. At least, that's how Kim always imagined her feeling.

"Alright, class, schedule is as normal, we begin every day with Local Studies. What was the name of the mayor who rebuilt the city hall in 1898?"

There was a general sighing and whisper of fabric as kids sunk lower in their seats. Normal could be comforting sometimes, but other times it could be a pain in the neck.

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It was lunch time. Lizzie McGilberry bustled across the lunchroom to the table of room 112, where she bent over and whispered loudly to her friend Jasmine.

"Hey Jazz-meen, do you see that guy over at table 144?"

Jasmine whispered back, also rather loudly. It was the only way to be heard over a hundred other whispered conversations. "Lizzie, you haven't gotten lunch! Are you going on a diet?"

Lizzie ignored her. "He's a new guy. He's Japanese. That's foreign."

"Wait." Jasmine snapped to attention, laying her hands on top of Lizzie's. "You're not considering…!" She turned her head to room 144's table, and located the unfamiliar face.

Grinning impishly, Lizzie explained. "Shaniqua S. told me. He's in her class. You know I've been looking for a new boyfriend, and Tasha O. will think twice before bossing me around if I have a really cool one."

"Ooh, you're so cold, girl!"

"You know it!"

Lizzie scurried off. Jasmine turned back to her tray. She raised her hand. "Mr. Amcharski, someone stole my ice cream!"

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After lunch, Kim's class always went to the library. Some days they studied books, and other days they were shown the basic functions of a computer. Kim hated this class. It was entirely review- the lessons this year were the lessons of the previous year, rehashed, and no one was allowed to use the internet.

It was computers today. The kids filed in and took seats around three long artificial wood tables, laden with computers almost as old and slow as Kim's. The assignment- explore formatting Word documents- and precise instructions how to do that were displayed on a projector, so that the librarian could stay in her office. Kim had heard she was young, and engaged in black-market trade. That was probably untrue, but you never know. Mrs. Wightman stayed to keep an eye on everyone.

After a few minutes, Kim got bored. Her hand automatically reached towards her pocket, where Nagainamon was kept during school. But Kim had a better idea.

Under the pretense of getting a tissue, Kim passed by Gen's seat. His screen displayed a news website- in Japanese, of course. He was on the internet! Kim managed several more looks throughout the hour before people started to get suspicious. She returned to her seat for the last time, and started thinking. Her school wasn't even connected to the internet, except on teachers' computers. This new kid must be pretty slick to get onto the internet from a library computer. He must know computers inside and out!

Kim took Nagainamon out of her pocket, to make sure she wasn't hungry or anything. But looking at the little Digimon on the keychain screen, an idea began to work its way into her head. It was a plan based on assumption, but it filled her with an energy she hadn't felt for a long time. She resolved to talk to Gen after school.

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The bell rang. Even after the other students had left, Gen stayed at his new desk for a few seconds, taking in the strange room. There still hadn't been time for it to sink in that he'd never see his house again. The packing, the plane trip, the new house, the unpacking; after all that, everything somehow didn't seem real anymore. He had only grudgingly learned the English language when his parents announced they'd be moving to the United States. They could be so selfish sometimes. And now life was supposed to go on like nothing had happened, though everything was different, everyone was a stranger, and he couldn't even talk to them without thinking embarrassingly hard about it.

The teacher saw him sitting there, and began to walk towards him. Not wanting to deal with her- she already seemed to have formed a low opinion of him- Gen collected his things and left as quickly as possible.

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People gushed through the halls like migrating salmon. In those blessed tides of freedom, Lizzie sidled over to Jasmine. "He's coming this way," she whispered.

"Who?"

"That foreign guy!"

"You'd better go talk to him."

Lizzie craned her neck to see the boy in the blue shirt. He was coming closer as they spoke. Lizzie hissed urgently, "But I don't know what to say!"

Jasmine thought. "Well… He's foreign, you say?... Ask him if he's eaten couscous!"

"Okay!" Lizzie stepped in front of the boy just as he was about to pass her. He was rather attractive, she noted. Perfect. She smiled coyly and batted her eyes at him. She assumed a shy voice. "Hellooo… I was just wondering… Do you like to eat couscous?"

The boy looked adorably confused. "No… Is that a staple here?" he asked.

"Uh…" Lizzie scurried back to Jasmine.

"Ask what's his name!"

"Okay," Lizzie sprinted back in front of the boy, who had been trying to get away. She laid her head on his shoulder. "Uhh… What's your name?" she cooed.

"… Gen Maeda." He shrugged uncomfortably. Lizzie withdrew her head, grabbing his arm instead. A name like that lost him a few points, but it was still good. She could just not tell Tasha his name.

She squeaked. "Ooh… Jazz-meen's name is foreign too, you know." Then, Lizzie was struck by inspiration. "Hey, is Caucasia near Japan? 'Cause that's where Jazz-meen's from."

The boy gave her a tired look, before running away.

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Nearing the door, Gen slowed down. Those girls were incredibly creepy… He just wasn't ready for that sort of thing. Earlier, a boy had said to him, 'If you're Japanese, then Kimberly's gonna really love you.' Was that her?

Gen couldn't help but notice when the other creepy girl of the day walked through the hall. He could see her shock of orange hair, which reminded him uncomfortably of his mother, over the crowd. Soon she was in sight, with her plain face and floppy, oversized sweatshirt.

He hadn't expected her to do anything to him; his eyes had just been drawn to her. But when she saw him, she grabbed his shoulders and whispered in his ear, so rapidly he had trouble understanding. "Quick, into the closet! We have to talk- I saw your stunt in the library!"

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Kim pulled Gen into a nearby storage closet, drawing a few stares. But everyone was in such a hurry to be gone, they didn't stop to investigate. That was good- Kim didn't want their conversation to be overheard, since it would probably get Gen in trouble. Gen himself, though, was looking from her to the door with fear in his eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm not kidnapping you," she tried to reassure him. "I just want to talk. Do you ride the bus?"

He shook his head. "I'm riding in the car with mother."

"I walk home. Now… Did you really sneak onto the internet on the library computer?"

"That's not your business."

The way Gen was looking at her made Kim realize she was probably being rather intimidating. She was squeezing pretty hard on his shoulders. She slowly let go of him, and shuffled her feet sheepishly. "Sorry… I didn't mean to come across so mean. You can call me Kimiko."

Gen smiled halfway. "Kimiko isn't your real name, is it?" he probed.

"No, it's Kimberly, but I'd much rather be called Kimiko, wouldn't you?"

"No I wouldn't. I'm a boy," Gen responded. Kim laughed, and for a second Gen laughed too, nervously. Laughter is contagious. But Kim couldn't help but see that Gen kept glancing at her goggles. She pretended she hadn't noticed.

"Don't change the subject," she admonished, trying to still sound polite. "I don't really care why you wanted to read the internet news in library class; I'd probably do the same thing if I could. But I need someone with those kind of skills for a… project."

Gen looked sideways at her. "What kind of… project… is this?"

Kim thought, He's probably thinking I'm up to no good. Well, there's nothing I can do about that. Except… well, so much for suspense, I could just tell him what it is. "I need you to help me find the Digital World."

Gen's jaw dropped. He took a step backwards. "You're crazy!" he blurted.

"I thought you'd say that… If you don't want to do it, that's okay." Kim shook her head, touching her goggles gently with one hand. "But I'm not crazy. I just have a… a dream. Here," she forced a scrap of paper into his hand. "It's my address. You can ask your mom to drive you there if you change your mind."

With that parting gift, Kim left the closet, accidentally tipping a mop over with her foot. In her experience, it was almost impossible to go in and out of a closet with a broom in it without tipping the broom over. Once she was on the road home, the talk already seemed like ages ago. Kim doubted that Gen would agree to her request. She'd probably made a fool of herself for nothing. But she was an honorable fool, and that was the sort of world Kim wanted to live in. There were far worse things.

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Gen was thoroughly shaken up. So that was Kimberly. It was true, then, what his dad said. America was full of hotheads. But Gen put the address in his pocket; it might come in handy.

The halls were already empty, and the busses gone. But his mother's sleek red car, which she had ordered to be shipped across the ocean rather than be left behind, was just rolling into the parking lot.

Gen took a breath of spring air. Spring smelled the same everywhere, though in parking lots it was accented with gasoline. He climbed into the car, and set his still-small stack of stationery in the seat beside him. His mother turned her auburn head and smiled at him with her thin, cherry red lips, before starting the car up again. The radio was on, playing some modern music, the lyrics of which he couldn't understand at all.

Until now, Gen would never have known how good it could feel to hear Mom talk in plain old Japanese. Though she only said, " How was your first day of school? "

" It was… queer, " Gen answered. He stared out the window. The houses and buildings weren't all that different, when you got right down to it. There were only so many ways to build a sturdy house.

Gen's mom smiled at him mischievously in the rearview mirror. " Did anyone comment on your clothes? I see you aren't wearing my necklace. "

Gen fished a black choker, beaded with black wooden 'X's and a black dog tag with some English gibberish written on it, out of his pocket, and looked at it. His mom had been delighted to take him shopping for clothes to wear on his first day of school. " I don't think anyone cared, mom. " He thought for a minute, then spoke again. " Mom… Why did you do it? "

" I wanted you to make a good impression on your first day. Those clothes are supposed to be very fashionable. "

Gen shook his head. " No, not that. I meant… why did you write… that show? "

The car stopped at a red light. Gen's mom looked back at him, surprised. " Why did I write the Digimon story? Is that what you mean? I wanted to see something of mine on television. And it's been a big success, hasn't it? I heard it was popular in America, too. " She grinned knowingly. The light turned green, and she started driving again. " Ah. Did you mention it at school? What happened? "

" Nothing. I didn't mention it. I was just… wondering, that's all… " Gen sighed. His mother embarrassed him. And now that he'd met this Kimberly girl, he also felt strangely guilty…

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