Chapter Seven - "You're going crazy."

By mid-afternoon, jitters were spiking Hizashi's nerves like she'd had a double dose of concentrated caffeine. Barely a millisecond passed after the teacher of her last class exited the classroom when she leapt out of her seat. Her legs felt like springs had been installed into them. Grabbing stray books, she jammed them unceremoniously into her backpack and was charging out the door before anyone else could do more than stretch their legs.

Out in the corridor, the soles of her black leather shoes tapped upon the ceramic floor tiles, brisk and purposeful, orderly, completely devoid of the excitement building up inside her like the contents of a fast erupting volcano. I must not run, I must not run. She liked the sharp, executive sounds her shoes made, she decided. She liked the way her uniform skirt swished frothily around her knees. She liked the way her hips swayed rhythmically as she walked. In fact, at that moment, she could hardly think of anything she did not like, especially about herself.

Apparently, the prospect of going on a date made a girl feel extremely beautiful. The very concept of being invited to spend time with someone held a sort of empowerment, a reinforcement of self-esteem. Hizashi had always thought she was a fairly confident person, but this, this was indescribable.

Even if it was only a pretend date. I have to keep that in mind, she addressed herself sternly. I can't get carried away by the wrong idea. Nevertheless, she couldn't suppress a vibrant smile from lavishing itself liberally on her lips. Although it would technically be an act, the date would have all the appearances of being real. As Fuji had so sensibly pointed out, a sloppy, obviously fake date wouldn't help him accomplish the real thing at all.

Hizashi acknowledged that the only reason why Fuji had agreed to see her ever again after dinner a few nights ago was because he hoped she could help him practice snagging girls. In the best case scenario, he would successfully woo the girl of his dreams, and she would get…nothing, nothing whatsoever except for maybe a free meal or so. She thought she should probably feel used, or something of the like. But…oh, whatever. A date was a date, fake or not. And if she didn't hurry home now, she wouldn't be able to get dressed in time for it.

Clattering down a few flights of stairs, she practically hurdled out the school building, making a hairpin turn into a shortcut to the gates. She was one of the earliest to be leaving; the tennis courts she passed were empty, uncommonly peaceful without half of Hyotei inside and around them—

"In a hurry, Hizashi?"

So brilliant was her mood, a wide grin sprang to attention on her face, although she wasn't particularly pleased to see her friend at that particular moment. "You're early, Miyumi."

Pushing back her thick hair into a tight ponytail, the girl smiled proudly. "Got to get everything ready for today's training. We're having practice matches for Second Years and above, didn't you know? I thought you said you wanted to join in."

Hizashi covered her mouth in dismay. "I knew there was something I'd forgotten."

"Well, now you remember," Miyumi said reasonably. 'So, are you coming?"

The brunette bit her lip. "I don't think I can," she admitted wistfully. "I already have plans."

"Really?" The other raised a brow. "That's rare. Meeting someone?"

Hizashi's pulse sped into overdrive. Yes, meeting someone. To be exact, I'm meeting Fuji Syusuke, Tennis Tensai of Seigaku, for a date that's not really a date but will be like a date because it'll look and feel like one. But obviously she couldn't say that. "Yeah."

"Who?"

"A friend."

Miyumi nodded. "I see. It's really too bad it had to be today."

"I know," Hizashi agreed apologetically. "I'll try to make it next time, I promise." With that, she gently but firmly made her excuses, and hurried on her way.

Should I go with the pink, or the blue? Hizashi stood in front of the full-length mirror hung inside her closet door, scrutinizing her reflection critically. The mirror was a tall, narrow oval with a simple wooden frame banged up and scratched by years of indifferent neglect. It had been installed on Hizashi's eleventh birthday, when her mother had decided it was about time she should be interested in clothing and such.

If her mother saw her now, actually using the mirror, she would have a heart attack.

"The blue goes better with the blouse," she muttered to herself, holding a knee-length pleated skirt the color of forget-me-nots against a frilly-hemmed blouse tinted with the lightest shade of violet, "but the pink is more…" Pursing her lips, she waited for the right word to come to her. And it did. "Feminine," Hizashi declared. "The pink one is more feminine."

The instant the word was out of her mouth, she prepared for the usual rant of emotions. Disdain. Contempt. Disgust. Scorn. All the connotations she'd long since tagged onto femininity—anything associated with being girly, silly, frivolous, shallow, and weak.

But the wave of detestation didn't come. In its place was an oddly exhilarating feeling. The pink one isn't really so bad. She wondered why she'd never even bothered to cut off the price tag since receiving it as an ill-chosen Christmas present. In fact, it looks kind of pretty…

With a jolt she dropped the garment onto the floor, scattering the small mount of tissues she'd used to wipe down the thick layer of dust previously coated on the mirror's surface. Pretty? Hizashi scowled. She didn't go around looking pretty. Everything article of clothing or accessory she voluntarily owned was either sporty or just plain practical. All her frequently worn clothes were so frequently worn because they could stand wear and tear, or allowed freedom of movement necessary for working out. Not because they were pretty.

Sighing, she sat down on her bed, tossing the blouse onto the pile of discarded apparel next to her. This wasn't right. This wasn't 'her'. This wasn't normal. She'd never paid more than a cursory effort to make herself presentable, wasting no more time on her appearance than was absolutely necessary, as a personal rule. If it wasn't for this date, she wouldn't be—

Oh, right! The date. Grabbing the blouse and skirt, she slipped into them and returned to face the mirror. A few turns, and few half-ashamed poses… She looked all right. Her body (if made her squirm a little just thinking along these lines) wasn't bad at all, by the world's standards. Her outfit flared and hugged at all the right places, showing it off to her best advantage. And imagining what Fuji might say when he saw this…

Hizashi smiled. Screw practical. Silly and frivolous and weak could all go out the window. Feminine attire wasn't making her feel inferior. So why stick to previous misconceptions? In fact, she thought she remembered stowing a way a makeup kit she'd gotten for her birthday… Oh, she was definitely having fun with this!

"Grip that tighter!"

A First Year dropped her racket in surprise.

"Keep your wrist still before you break it!"

Another girl snatched at her wrist, alarmed.

Her face ominously dark, Miyumi stormed past her schoolmates. Before her, First, Second and Third Years alike scrambled to make way, parting like the Red Sea before an exceptionally foul-tempered Moses. Ignoring the impressive phenomenon, she swept into the clubhouse she shared with her team and slammed the door behind her.

"What is his problem?" she raged at no one in particular, throwing her tennis supplies into a corner. Stomping over to the benches, she sat down so heavily that the wooden plank sagged.

The girl had come to the conclusion that there was something seriously wrong with Oshitari Yuushi. She could overlook his taking a misguided interest in Hizashi even when she herself was clearly much prettier (to hell with equality and respect between friends; she was much prettier), but to blandly ignore her even when dream girl Hizashi wasn't around? The nerve of him!

And here she was being good enough to warn him about Hizashi's budding romance to save him the pain of finding it out himself. Well, she'd had enough of being underappreciated. Let the guy discover the truth on his own, then. Hopefully he might catch sight of Hizashi and Fuji holding hands, or kissing, or preferably doing something even dirtier. Anything to make him realize what an idiot he was. Then he might actually open his eyes and look around—and see that she had been right there waiting for him, all this time. He'd be sorry he'd wasted time shunning her.

With these vehement thoughts in mind, Miyumi collapsed against the wall behind her with a long-suffering sigh. It wasn't just Oshitari's behavior that bothered her; Hizashi was annoying her no end as well. How long, exactly, did the girl expect to be able to hide her relationship with Seigaku's tensai? The whole story would be out soon enough, anyway, him being so well-known, so why drag it out? If going public didn't do Hizashi any good, it would at any rate help Miyumi some, so why couldn't Hizashi be the great friend she normally was and just announce it already?

Then she remembered that most likely, none of this had occurred to the girl at all. Sighing again, Miyumi eased herself off the bench and retrieved her tennis bag. If only she'd gone a bit further and asked Hizashi who the 'friend' she had to meet was earlier on when they'd bumped into each other. It was too obvious who that person was, and she thought it highly unlikely that Hizashi would lie to her of all people. Then she would've been able to spread legitimate news—"Hizashi told me so herself!"

The situation being the way it was, though, there was nothing she could do but wait. Heaving yet another resigned sigh, Miyumi shouldered her bag and prepared to exit the clubhouse. When she opened the door, her club scrambled to attention and promptly proceeded to act as though they were doing something productive.

Half-ashamed at her earlier outburst, she gave everyone a dazzling, friendly smile. Being mean was no way to be captain, and besides, it wouldn't do for Oshitari to see her behave like a shrieking hag. If Hizashi and Fuji didn't come out into the open soon, she might have to try and claim him for herself in the conventional way—'stealing' him from Hizashi—and that meant being on her best behavior.

"Oi, Yuushi, what's the matter with you?" Vaulting lightly over the tennis net between them, Gakuto marched up to his partner, frowning.

Oshitari frowned right back, fishing out a tennis ball from his pocket. "What? I don't suppose you've never missed a shot in your life?" he snipped haughtily. "Get back to your side of the court before Atobe starts dishing out laps."

Gakuto scowled, not budging an inch. "So sue me for not being perfect. But, come on, Yuushi, what's up? You busted three easy shots in, what, five minutes? You're playing like a Freshman—"

"Just get back over there before we have to run. I won't miss again. I'm not warmed up yet, that's all."

Confronted with the very real threat of fifty laps around the court—Atobe was looking their way—the acrobat vaulted the net again, albeit grudgingly. "Get your act together, that's all I'm saying."

"You're no one to tell me that," Oshitari muttered curtly, but luckily Gakuto didn't hear. Readjusting his grip on his racket, Hyotei's tensai mentally gave himself a firm shaking by the shoulders. So what if Miyumi was making a pathetic attempt at being manipulative by suggesting that Hizashi had skipped practice matches with the girls' club (an activity she had attended with stubborn regularity before) in favor of a date with some guy? And that she was on her way to said date right that moment?

It wasn't like he remotely believed her. The idea of Hizashi going on a date was just so embarrassingly ridiculous. She didn't flirt, for one thing. She wasn't particularly attractive in the normal sense, for another. Most importantly, he knew of no male student in Hyotei with whom she spent any significant amount of time. Except himself, that is. And he was fairly sure she hadn't scheduled a date with him.

But despite knowing that, he couldn't just ignore the evidence laid plain before his eyes—Hizashi was most certainly missing out on something she usually looked forwards to, and so far no semi-reasonable explanation had presented itself other than that she had acquired a boyfriend out of the blue. He'd glimpsed her a little while ago, talking to Miyumi (the latter claimed that they had been discussing Hizashi's plans, but please), and she'd been smiling, so the standard family-member-suddenly-fallen-sick scenario could be ruled out.

Still, that was no excuse for—

"Out!"

Oshitari jumped. "What do you mean, out?" he snapped irritably at Gakuto. "I don't serve out—"

"Ore-sama thinks—and sees—otherwise." The dry comment preceded Atobe as he stepped up to the court where Hyoteii's Doubles 1 pair was training. "Your serve went behind the baseline by a clear foot. Unless Ore-sama is much mistaken—and he is not—that qualifies as 'out'."

As there had been more than one witness to the crime, Oshitari knew it was pointless to argue. "Fine. Out, then, if you must. But I still have one serve left before double fault, so—"

"Don't bother." Atobe waved a hand distastefully as though the whole issue wasn't worth his time. "Clearly your mind is elsewhere. Ore-sama hopes you will be able to bring it back where it belongs in the time it takes to run twenty laps." He started to walk away, but stopped and added as an afterthought, "ten more laps for being preoccupied with girls when you should be concentrating on tennis."

Oshitari objected heatedly to this. "Oi, Atobe, you're jumping to concl—"

"Ore-sama is not jumping to conclusions. Nor is he stupid or imperceptive. And while he understands that you consider Jukumaru Hizashi a worthy challenge, he will not tolerate inappropriate usage of training time."

Oshitari almost said that Hizashi wasn't just a challenge. But she was. A challenge he hadn't overcome yet, which was supremely aggravating. "I am not—"

"Five laps. For lying to your superiors."

"Oi, are you even listening? I said I am not—"

"Very well, not for lying, then. For being in denial. Does that suit you better?"

"You're going crazy, Atobe, you know that?"

"You're going to run now, you know that?"

Hizashi found herself standing outside a classy restaurant. In a pink skirt.

Everything felt weird. Everything, not just the skirt—she had heels on, for Kami's sake! Granted, they weren't particularly high, just half an inch or so, but they were heels all the same. The last time she'd worn those shoes, she'd been going to a wedding. Weird. Just plain weird. It wasn't that she'd objected to her outfit, initially. She'd picked it out herself after all, and still thought it looked reasonably good on her. It was just that—

"Jukumaru!"

She smiled as her 'date' jogged up to her. "Hey, Fuji. You look great."

The brunette glanced down at his outfit. "A suit is a little too much, isn't it?" he asked ruefully.

"No, no, you look great," she assured him approvingly. "And suits aren't too out of place, where we're going." She jerked a thumb at the restaurant, which clearly imposed a dress code. Nobody under smart casual was going in.

"I guess you're right. And in any case, nothing less would be deserving of your loveliness this evening." He made a sweeping, admiring gesture at her outfit. She smiled.

Shall we?" Fuji offered his arm, and she took it with practiced ease. Not for nothing had her father taken her to all those business functions. "Next time, though," he said quietly into her ear as they waited for a stiff-mannered doorman to let them inside, "let's go someplace more ordinary, ne? Then we'll be able to wear clothes we're both more comfortable in."

Hizashi laughed, then snuffed out the laughter when a waiter turned to stare at her. "What gave it away?" she inquired amusedly, matching his lowered voice. "My posture? The way I'm avoiding every crack in the floor because my heels are almost stiletto-thin?"

"That too, I suppose." He shrugged lightly. "I mainly noticed that you wore very different clothes the last time we met. Although, skirts do have their virtues," he said in all seriousness. "They are more convenient if we wish to be more active with each other later on."

Hizashi blinked. "Active? What do you—" Suddenly she flushed red. "Fuji!"

"Sorry, sorry…" Immediately the boy shrank away from her, a faint blush on his pale cheeks. "I didn't mean…I wasn't really…I'm sorry. It's an unfortunate habit. Tezumi hates it too—Tezumi is…" He looked away.

"The girl for whose benefit we're here right now," Hizashi deduced, having mostly recovered herself. "And don't worry about your shameless flirting. Really. In fact, I think you're doing surprisingly well—better than Atobe, anyway, and girls are all over him. Are you sure she really doesn't like it when you say things like that to her? Might she be pretending?"

Fuji smiled regretfully. "I'm quite sure she isn't."

Frowning, Hizashi allowed Fuji to seat her (a waiter would have done it, but her date politely declined and undertook the task himself). "Strange…well, we'll just have to make you even better, then." She smiled a tad wickedly as he sat down opposite her. "I give you full permission to do any amount of shameless flirting as you wish, using any innuendos or sappy pick-up lines as you like."

His smile became rather helpless, and despite the dim lighting she could see that his blush had deepened in a way she would have found annoying had it been anyone else, but was simply adorable on him.

Hizashi grinned. She was glad she'd come on this date.

Even though, she tried to bear in mind without success, it was only pretend.