Title: Stranger

Rating: T, because who knows where this is going to go

Disclaimer: I do not own La Corda D'oro or any of the characters mentioned here.

A/N: Thanks, Dream Cager, for letting me know so quickly the problem with scrunching so I was able to fix it as soon as possible. I hadn't even noticed that it was doing that – I am amazed you managed to get through it in the first place. Again, thank you!

Thanks, also, to lovescent and Garowyn. I'm so glad to hear you like this and are enjoying it, thank you for the feedback and kind words!

Sorry this is a little late, I had my SATs last week. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

"Fuyuumi-san?" The housekeeper's voice was accompanied by a light knock, and Shoko, dry-eyed and void of energy, slowly uncurled from her position in the corner, raising herself up on one arm as she stared dazedly at the door.

"Fuyuumi-san? Is something the matter?"

She glanced around her. The bright morning sun easily penetrated the whimsical white curtains of her bedroom window, and she looked dumbly at her surroundings, for a moment not comprehending.

She suddenly realized she was holding something. Glancing down, she released her grip, and her clarinet teetered dangerously in her palm. Sweaty fingerprints covered it, and her fingers prickled as the blood rushed back into them.

I must have fallen asleep, she thought, setting down her clarinet next to the rumpled edge of her school skirt.

Then her brain rewound, unified with another, more urgent knock. The bright sunlight? It must be after seven-o-clock!

"Fuyuumi-san? Are you in there?" She shot up from the floor, her eyes wide as she frantically patted her hair. Her legs wobbled a bit, and she began to stumble towards the mirror before she remembered the housekeeper.

"Y-yes! I'm sorry, j-just a moment please!" she tugged the white wooden comb with it's hand-painted flowers through her tangled hair, wincing at the sight in the dresser mirror. On one side, spidery clusters extended upwards, whereas the other side seemed to lay hopelessly flat. Panic rose in her chest. What time was it? She was going to be late. The only time she'd ever been late for class was . . .

She swallowed. In her haste, she'd managed to shove yesterday out of her mind. But the memory of another time when she'd been late had brought the entire thing rushing back, a flashing slide of pictures and jumbled phrases. She shook her head, trying to quash the wrenching feelings rising from the dull hollowness that had previously overcome her.

Empty was good. Empty was safe. In fact, empty was familiar.

She yanked the comb violently through her hair, trying to focus on her task instead of the echoing pain inside her chest.

Dismayed with the end result, a dull-looking flatness, she forced herself to write it off. She still needed to brush her teeth, and good heavens, she couldn't wear this uniform again, it looked like it had been balled up and stuffed in the hamper for a week!

She tripped over the wool rug on her way to the closet doors, and it slid askew an inch. Distractedly shrugging off her jacket and trying to unbutton her shirt as she walked - or rather, made a series of slippery lurches - towards the closet, she looked back at it unhappily, a sense of frustration rising in her. Hopefully the housekeeper would fix it when she came to tidy the room, but Shoko would try and remember to do it anyways, just in case . . .

The thought was interrupted as her socks happily slid her backwards and her face, with equal enthusiasm, jumped straight into the closet door, causing her panicked expression to contort into one of agony.

With no time to nurse her wounds, she ignored the mind-boggling pain and clumsily yanked down on the gold handle, swinging the heavy white wooden door open in a wide arc at the same time she used it for support. This was the worst of all possible mornings to lose functionality in most of her mind and body, but with the way things had been going lately, she should have expected it. But then, how could she? Nothing she'd ever encountered had prepared her for that awful feeling.

She quickly tugged the zipper down on her skirt, letting it drop to the floor in a heap around her ankles. It took a lot of willpower to resist picking it up and folding it neatly in the hamper, but she told herself she'd rather avoid the humiliating awkwardness of walking into the classroom late, all eyes on her. Fear clenched in her gut at the mere thought, and she practically snatched the new shirt and blazer off their hangers.

She felt a soreness twitch in her shoulder as she wriggled her arm into the sleeves. She didn't remember ever having slept on the floor before. Absentmindedly, she made a mental note not to do it again if she could help it.

On went the skirt, the crisp white shirt hastily tucked into it. She raced into the bathroom, brushing furiously at her teeth and was running back out it forty-five seconds later, hoping she'd done a good job. She'd followed time rules for brushing her teeth since she was a child, and the few times she'd done without them always left her fretting over her dental hygiene.

Back in the stillness of her bedroom, she knelt by her clarinet and gingerly tucked it back into it's case, fastening the leather container before clutching the handle and setting off.

Shoko thrust open the door, a burst of cold air rushing at her and unsettling her hair. She anxiously patted it down, skidding to a slower pace as she entered the hall, lest the housekeeper think she was crazy. Hurrying down the stairs, Shoko grabbed her book bag from it's neat position near the door, waved at the housekeeper, who furrowed her brow and looked concerned, and then darted out the door.

She returned ten seconds later for her shoes, and this time the housekeeper stopped her.

"Fuyuumi-san . . . where are you going?"

Shoko froze, pinning her slightly bloodshot gaze on the baffled woman drying her hands on a dishtowel.

"What?"

"You're all dressed for school . . . is something going on there?"

Shoko looked blankly at her.

"I thought . . . I thought I was late for school."

"But it's a Saturday."

Her book bag slid off her shoulder and she transferred her stunned gaze to it's slump on the floor.

"Oh. It is, isn't it?"

The housekeeper bit her lip and frowned, before nodding.

"Well."

"Um . . . would you like some breakfast? I know you haven't had much of an appetite the last few days, so I made some cherry turnovers . . . You still like pastries, right?" She looked very unsure, and with good reason. Shoko was not the type of person who forgot what day of the week it was, and certainly not long enough to get completely dressed and ready for school. But then, Shoko also was not the type of person who cried herself to sleep on her bedroom floor and had horrible, stomach knotting feelings of . . . of something,just because a boy had asked her friend "Are you busy next Saturday?"

Her face turned crimson.

"Y-yes . . . I'm so sorry . . . I'm not . . . that is, I, um, haven't been feeling well, and I was disoriented when I woke up . . . ah, I'm going to go . . . go shower and change." She wanted to disappear. Takano probably thought she was going mad.

"Alright, then, I'll let it keep warm in the oven and take it out when you come back down."

"Ah, thank you very much, Takano-san! I . . . I'll be back soon," she said in a rush, before hurrying back up the stairs to bathe, dress, and maybe throw herself out a window along the way. With her luck, Len would be passing by as she did so and her prone form would end up hitting him in the face.

Unlike yesterday's pie, the turnovers were amazing, and Shoko mentally sent up a fervent prayer of gratitude for Takano, who was seated on a barstool, drinking her special herbal tea as she surveyed the table.

"It's a shame your mother isn't here to get more flowers," she commented thoughtfully. "The table seems empty without them."

Shoko dropped her fork.

"The flowers!" she scrambled out of her chair and to her feet, and hurried over to her bag. She wasn't sure why she was hurrying; getting to the slouching book bag faster wouldn't help any thing, but she nearly dived at the bag nonetheless, kneeling next to it and hastily undoing the zipper.

Her spirits fell. The flowers, carefully placed on the outside, had taken a beating on her race home. She hadn't even thought of that. Petals were strewn all over the bottom, and a stem had slid out of the plastic covering, it's soggy bud crushed against the side. Takano had quickly padded over, her brow wrinkled in concerned lines.

"Fuyuumi-san? What's wrong?"

Sighing, Shoko carefully lifted the crushed bouquet out of her bag, and held them up for the woman to see.

"I-I purchased them yesterday, when I was out with my friend," she explained quietly. "I thought things . . . the table, that is, looked a little lonely. Like how you were saying . . . it made me remember I had bought these." For some reason, the destroyed flowers made her want to run back to the corner and cry some more. Had she always been so emotional?

Takano nodded in understanding, then smiled, looking thoughtful.

"Well, when I run to the store, I'll pick up some more like these. They were a good choice. But speaking of yesterday, I forgot you'd gone out! How did things go with your friend? Did you have a good time?"

Shoko knew the appropriate answer here was to murmur, "Fine, thank you. And yes, we had a lovely time," but she was speechless at the unexpected query. This was not her morning. In fact, this was not her week.

"I . . . we . . . actually, we met up with Tsukimori-senpai, from the concourse, and Kaho-chan invited him to come with us," and yesterday might very well have been the worst day of my life. She wasn't sure why she had gone into detail, but she desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, that there was something very wrong with her and she was scared because she didn't want to feel this way.

"Oh? He's the flutist, isn't he?"

"No . . . um, the other violinist."

"Ahhh, I'm sorry, it's been a few months," she shook her head, and smiled at Shoko, oblivious to her inner conflict. "Did that go alright . . .? I know it's hard for you sometimes, so I hope his being there didn't make you feel awkward."

It did. More so than I can ever say.

"Oh, I . . ." how to answer a question that, though unknowingly so, was right on the mark. "He likes chocolate cake," she finished lamely. The response didn't even make sense, but she couldn't think of anything else to say without revealing everything or plainly lying.

The housekeeper looked at Shoko curiously.

"I see?" Shoko backtracked. Of course she'd be confused. Anyone would, but Takano, though she'd only been there a few years, probably knew her better than Shoko's own parents.

"Um, that is, it was surprising, b-because he doesn't really . . . neither of us thought he would like sweets." But did he like sweets? Or just cake? Or just Dark Chocolate? She wanted to know. Why did she want to know something as trivial and meaningless as that?

"Why wouldn't he like sweets?"

"Because he seems so cold," she said without thinking, but hurried to amend it. "He isn't, though. I, that is, he is, but he's not . . . I mean, not in a bad way, I think he's actually very - but I don't know him, s-so I shouldn't presume, but he . . . I think, maybe Tsukimori-senpai doesn't always know how to deal with people, even when he wants to." Honestly, it would be a miracle on Takano's part if she managed to understand any of that.

Takano took a moment to parse that, and smiled wryly.

"Well. I'm sure, then, he would be happy to know you understood."

But Shoko was sure he wouldn't. Who needed someone to understand when you had someone - someone lovely and kind and empathetic - who could also fix it?

"Maybe," she murmured. "But maybe not."

She felt very odd, sitting there as Takano peered at her through kind brown eyes.

"But you wouldn't know until you found out, would you? If he is a nice boy like you think, then it would be worth it to make friends with him. Don't you think?"

Shoko wondered if Takano remembered whom she was addressing. She continued sitting by her bag, confusion filling her.

"Hm." Takano shook her head and turned back toward the kitchen. "I'm glad things went alright, then. Are you going to finish your turnover, or should I clean up?"

Shoko snapped out of her daze.

"Ah, um, yes! It was - ah, is - delicious. Thank you for making them . . ." she paused. "It was . . . it was very kind of you, to make the effort for me. I'm . . . I appreciate it," she finished softly. Takano had noticed her lack of appetite and had been worried about her. In addition, she'd made the effort to try and fix it. Shoko hoped she had managed to get across her gratitude for the gesture of concern.

"You're very welcome, Fuyuumi-san," she said, and Shoko knew she understood. Moisture crept into her eyes, and she simply nodded, slipping into her chair and picking up her fork, her head tilted downward.

She really was overemotional lately. She wished someone could give her a good reason why.

"Fuyuumi-san." For the second time that day, Takano knocked on the door.

Shoko set her clarinet down, stood, and straightened her skirt before opening the door.

"Ah, yes . . .?"

Takano held something up. An envelope, addressed to Shoko . . . Mother's handwriting.

"A letter for you, from Kiri-sama."

"Oh . . ." Shoko took it, turning it over in her hands. She glanced back at Takano. "Ah, thank you for bringing it up . . ."

"Certainly, Fuyuumi-san. I'll leave you to read it, then. I'm going to head out to the store. Will you be alright? Should I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine. I'll just be up here."

Takano nodded.

"Alright, then. I'll be back soon," she said, and shut the door behind her, leaving Shoko to eye the letter with wary anticipation.

She went to her desk, fetching the letter opener from the drawer, and opened it, pulling out two beige stationary sheets with white roses in the corners, both sporting the same elegant script she knew well from many other letters.

Dear Shoko,

-

How are you? I hope things are going well for you. You must be thinking it is unusual for me to write, given that this is a one week-trip, but I am afraid we will be extending it.

Alessandra is doing marvelously - evidently, while we were away, she was wed a third time, to a very handsome cellist . . . three times, I cannot imagine it. It makes me so glad I still like your father - and the weather during our stay was beautiful. Very peaceful, and Alessandra is always a very entertaining hostess, if a little unorthodox, but I won't bore you with the details.

Bore her? More like send her into shock. Shoko had plenty of illusions as to what insane things her classy-but-a-little-crazy parents got up to on their frequent trips to foreign places, and she wanted to keep it that way. Thankfully, her mother was happy to oblige.

Miss Cavendish, from England, dropped in for an impromptu visit. You haven't met her, dear - in fact, it was our first meeting as well. She's very young, but very amusing. Though she can be a little hotheaded and melodramatic. I suppose all youth are like that . . . well, except for you, but you have always been unusually . . . well-behaved.

Well-behaved. Another word for dull.

In any case, Miss Cavendish does not play an instrument, but she has a great appreciation for classical music. So much so that at her main estate in England, she is hosting a two week house party, and several talented musicians will be attending. Miss Cavendish has graciously extended a last minute invitation.

I am sorry we can't come home and be with you, but it promises to be a wonderful experience, and an opportunity to make new friends. We wouldn't, if not for Takano-san, but you seem to do alright with just the two of you, so we accepted. I hope you understand.

We shall return in a little more than two weeks, my dear. I look forward to hearing you play again - Alessandra and her friends are a delight to listen to, but your father and I miss your peaceful, delicate sound. You do practice while we are away, don't you?

I will try and find time to write to you again, but if I don't, I hope you continue to do well, and as always, I hope something wonderful and exciting will happen for you.

-

Love,

Mother

But wonderful, exciting things did not happen to girls like Shoko.

Just confusing, dreadful things.

She tucked the letter back in the envelope, and put it in the drawer with all the others.

"Shoko-chan . . . Shoko-chan!" Kahoko's voice carried on the wind, and the lovely girl tried to pull her hair back, but to no avail. She laughed as the breeze blew it back into her face, and Shoko laughed with her, tucking her own hair behind her ears as she ran towards Kahoko.

"Aren't the daisies beautiful?"

Shoko slowed, an unpleasant feeling drifting into the peaceful atmosphere, but she shook it off and smiled back at Kahoko, who was holding out a hand to her. Shoko took it, stepping forward, farther into the field, but slipped. The two girls went tumbling to the ground, giggling.

Shoko felt very strange. Happy. Not at all shy, or nervous, or wary. It was a beautiful day, and yes, the daisies were beautiful, too. So many of them . . . though she wondered, for a moment, why they were in a field of daisies. And where had a field of daisies come from? But the day was too pretty to spend thinking about things like that, and she pushed the hair out of her face as she and Kahoko sat up before leaning on each other's shoulders.

"It's so pretty out here," Kahoko said, plucking two little daisies from the ground and absentmindedly tying them together. Shoko nodded, inhaling the fresh air.

Kahoko glanced down at her handiwork, and her face lit up.

"Shoko-chan, have you ever made daisy chain crowns?"

"Daisy chain crowns?"

"Yes. We'll be like princesses. Princesses of daisies." Kahoko laughed, and Shoko smiled, running her hands through the grass.

"I haven't. I . . . I never had anyone to make them with."

"Well, you do now. Come on, you just tie the daisy stems together in a circle about the size of your head, and then you put it on. Let's do it!"

"Okay," she agreed, and the two girls set to work on their daisy crowns. Kahoko hummed.

Overhead, the sky in the direction they'd come from seemed to darken, and far across the field, Shoko thought she saw the grass wilting and turning grey, like a black and white picture.

But that was unreasonable. She ignored it, working diligently on her daisy crown.

The darkened clouds built on towards them, and steadily, the field began to turn grey, the daisies crumpling to the ground.

Kahoko did not seem to notice until the greyness was close to them and there were no more daisies around them.

"Oh no . . . the daisies, Shoko! They've all died. How will we finish our crowns? You can't be a princess without a crown, and if you're not a princess, you don't have a prince."

Shoko glanced down at her daisy crown, and realized that both she and Kahoko needed only one more daisy each. Her heart sank, and the sky overhead rumbled, the thunder cracking. She and Kahoko huddled closer, as across the field, the rain started, coming steadily closer to them.

And then, as it neared, a figure appeared, against all that grey. It rained on him, soaking him through, but he retained color, and finally, he came upon them.

Blue, she thought. Everything else is so grey, but he has such lovely colors . . . He stepped closer, and she realized he was very handsome. He looked so familiar, and something tugged at her heart. Kahoko squeezed her hand.

He came even closer, and Shoko saw that he held something. A daisy, but just one. The only daisy left. Her heart raced, and he came to a stop just in front of them. She and Kahoko stared at him with wide eyes.

He leaned down and spoke.

"Kahoko." His hand, with its long, elegant fingers, grasped Kahoko's, turning her palm upward, and he put the daisy in her hand. Kahoko stared at it, then back at him, before she clutched it to her chest, then tied it into her crown, completing the circle. He took the crown from her, and she looked down shyly as he put it atop her head.

"Princess Kahoko," he said, his voice cool and warm all at the same time as he took her hand once more, drawing her up with him. She smiled, that lovely, sunny smile of hers, and Shoko thought she felt her heart twist. It was so cold here. And she was all wet.

And then the familiar, beautiful blue haired boy led Kahoko away, and they walked along, the sky clearing over their path.

"N-No!" Shoko cried out without thinking. Several yards away, Kahoko slowed, turning around and giving Shoko a questioning smile. The young man stopped, too, turning around and looking startled to see Shoko there.

"Are you alright, Shoko?" Kahoko called.

The rain poured down atop her head, soaking her, and Kahoko smiled kindly at her, radiant and happy in her little trail of light and flowers. Shoko felt sick.

No. No, please don't leave. Please don't take him away from me. I'm not alright. I need . . . I need . . .

And Kahoko waited for her response, patient, but glowing. Happier than Shoko had ever seen her, happier than when they'd been laughing in the daisies or tying them together.

"I . . . yes, I'm fine," and she smiled back at Kahoko, happy Kahoko, who nodded and turned back to the boy, who smiled, too, a smile full of warmth. And they walked away, and Shoko knelt quietly, her knees sinking into the muddy, smashed daisies while it rained and rained . . .

She woke up crying, thinking of daisies and Len and stormy weather, and wondering why.

Monday Afternoon
The lunch bell erupted into a shrill ring that went on for several seconds before fading into silence, initiating a rush of students who created a noise all their own. Shoko slowly, in a manner reminiscent of Keiichi's halting steps across the stage, gathered her things, one eye on her task and one eye watching, waiting for the students to clear out of the classroom so she wouldn't be caught and hurtled around in the crowd. Maneuvering around and through large groups of people was very hard to do when you were desperately trying not to make eye or physical contact with anyone.

So Shoko waited, and when the crowds had thinned as people made their way to the cafeteria, Shoko slipped out the door and quietly followed.

Or she would have, had fate not been bored and full of mischief.

"Fuyuumi-san."

She nearly jumped, and slowly, ever so slowly turned. Her ears had not been mistaken - they never were - and her heart resumed the thudding tempo it had already become familiar with. Len was standing there, looking distinctly uncomfortable and more than a little disgruntled, despite his efforts towards a neutral expression.

"Ts-tsukimori-senpai," she stuttered, hoping she didn't look as horrified as she felt. She waited, unconsciously holding her breath. He paused for a long time, glancing around as if trying to decide what to say. Finally, his jaw tightened and he looked straight at her - that was five years off her life, no doubt - and spoke.

"Come with me," he commanded, and turned and began walking without waiting to see if she followed, though she suspected that this was less out of rudeness so much as a lack of concern for what she did or did not do now.

She looked at his retreating back worriedly. Whatever it was he had not been able to find a way to explain was probably something she wanted nothing to do with. Come with me.

And of course, like the fool she never was, Shoko followed.

"Um . . . Ts-tsukimori-senpai," she began, and flinched. She couldn't even get his name out with stuttering! How was she going to survive walking down what had suddenly become a dark, endless corridor leading straight to hell? She pressed on, feeling not unlike a nervous sacrifice. "Where are we going?"

"To one of the music rooms." He did not elaborate, and Shoko, fairly certain he didn't want to play a duet, was left with more questions than answers. She settled into resigned silence, and counted the tiles, lest she end up studying her companion too closely. She had already done enough of that.

The count had reached two-hundred-twenty-nine when they stopped outside the second music room. Len straightened and opened the door, and to her surprise, there were people waiting inside.

"Good job, Tsukimori-san!" Kazuki waved excitedly, and gave her a friendly smile. "Hi, Shoko-chan. Sorry we're taking up your lunch hour . . . but we thought you would want to be part of this too."

What, were they forming a cult? She glanced around the room, and Len stalked over to a wall, folding his arms and looking annoyed. He did a lot of that, she thought. It was starting to become less threatening and more . . . endearing.

Endearing? She was losing it.

In separate places around the room, the former participants of the concourse stood, wearing a wide range of expressions. Well, Keiichi was propped against the wall and looked suspiciously vacant, but the rest of them stood, Ryotaro raising his eyebrow at the irritated Len, Azuma surveying the scene before him with a little smile, and Kazuki still looking like he'd just had three cups of coffee and an epiphany.

"Um, it's fine . . . but why am I here?"

"Ah, we'll get to that . . . did Tsukimori-san explain anything to you? And thanks for getting her Tsukimori-san." The look Len shot Kazuki was less than gracious.

"No . . . um, he just came and told me to come with him . . ." Shoko explained uncertainly. Leaning against the piano, Ryotaro looked skywards, and next to him, Azuma laughed lightly.

"Oh, my. I'm surprised you're here, Fuyuumi-san," he said, giving her a warm smile, and she ignored the sudden urge to quickly back out the door and instead returned the smile nervously. To her left, Len seemed to be approaching the Tree stage of irritation, as Shoko had come to know it. She edged away.

"But it's good that you are, Shoko-chan. See, I thought . . . Kahoko has been so great to all of us, and since we haven't all seen much of each other since the end of the concourse, we should have a little party. In honor of Kahoko. It'll be a surprise," Kazuki explained, and Shoko imagined him as a dog, his tail waving enthusiastically as he darted around the music room in poorly contained excitement. She shook her head to clear the picture. I need to sleep more.

She thought for a moment. The idea had merit. Kahoko had done a lot for everyone, and Shoko knew everyone in this room, including herself, jumped at any chance to see her. It was a solid plan.

"Okay. That sounds like a good idea," she agreed quietly, and Kazuki pumped a fist in the air. "Ah, when were you thinking . . .?"

"Next Saturday. Len already asked her if she was free, and she is, so we have a little less than a week."

Shoko, who's heart had just stopped and was going into shock, did not really care how long they had. She was still reeling from the blow which had just been dealt her.

All weekend, she had replayed the scene, examined her feelings, and fought back tears and all sorts of weighty emotions.

And she had misinterpreted it. The hell she went through. The crushed flowers, the stammered explanations to Takano, the restless nights and the strange dreams that had her flitting in and out of consciousness. Because of a misunderstanding.

If she hadn't still been motionless, she would have leaped forward and strangled Kazuki.

"Are you unwell, Fuyuumi-san?" Azuma was giving her a charming, yet somehow eerie smile. "You're very pale. Tsukimori-san, was she alright when you saw her Friday?" He turned his attention to the irritated blue haired boy, who barely spared her a glance.

"I don't know. I don't pay that much attention."

Azuma's brows lifted fractionally, and Ryotaro narrowed his eyes.

Len's statement certainly served to send the color racing back into Shoko's cheeks. Her face burned, and she wasn't sure who in the room she hated most at the moment. Kazuki, Azuma, or Len.

Len didn't seem to even notice. Of course. Because he didn't pay that much attention. To her, at least. Because she was willing to bet that, with thought, he could tell them what Kahoko had ordered, every single thing she'd said, and probably even how many times she'd had her water glass filled.

It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, she clung to the thought, desperate not to feel this way. It was unreasonable, irrational, and it hurt.

"Th-thank you, Yunoki-senpai, b-but I'm fine, I-I just . . . didn't sleep well. I'll be alright, th-though."

"Oh. I'm glad to hear it," he said, smiling brilliantly. She almost went and hid under the piano.

Kazuki glanced around the room uneasily.

"Ahaha, well . . . I'm glad you're okay, Shoko-chan . . ." he cleared his throat. "So, um, for the party! We should split into pairs. Each pair will be in charge of getting something for the party, and also, finding a joint gift. I thought that would be best, so you could get it done at the same time, and it might help you decide if you have two people thinking about it. Sound good?"

There were several nods of assent, Shoko's included.

"Okay! Um, Azuma-kun and I will take care of decorations. Tsuchiura-san and Shimizu-kun," Keiichi's head bobbed up sleepily at the sound of his name, "Can you guys get drinks and figure out some activities? Yeah? Thanks . . . so I guess that leaves -" Kazuki stopped, but apparently didn't dare amend the arrangements and have to explain why. "Well . . . Shoko-chan, Tsukimori-san, can you take care of food?"

Shoko swallowed. Of course. Of course. She should never have followed Len down the hallway. She should have just gone back into the classroom, stuffed herself in a cabinet, and hoped nobody found her until it was too late.

Len looked over and furrowed his brow slightly, before turning back towards Kazuki.

"Fine."

"Shoko-chan?"

No. No. Absolutely not. No, no, no, no, no.

"O-okay."