Entry 2

..3 Weeks

Hello again. It's been a little while. Yako-nee found out I had been skipping out on the journal and got mad at me. I guess I need to write in this more often. I want Yako-nee to be happy.

The days are pretty boring, most of the time. Early in the morning Yako-nee needs to wake up and eat a small breakfast—ten eggs, five pancakes and enough bacon to choke a horse (I've never actually seen a horse before, but I heard this phrase on the television and thought I would try it out)—and then run off to this place called "school" where she learns things. I asked her if I could follow her at first, but she kept saying that I should stay here and so I gave up on it. Instead I watch TV and wait for Yako-nee to come back. There's never anything on that interests me, but I don't complain to Yako-nee—she's taking care of me, and doesn't need me to complain. She's always so frazzled about homework and solving mysteries and some guy named Neuro anyway. Neuro… I feel weird whenever she says that name. I don't know why, or even how to explain it, but I feel… strange. This "Neuro" guy… I want to meet him.

When Yako-nee comes home she starts on homework—as long as "Neuro" hasn't pulled her away for a mystery first. Her homework is interesting, but at the same time boring. Things like Japanese (which I don't really know why they teach because anyone Yako-nee's age should be able to speak Japanese pretty fluently), or Math (which I find very annoying and I can easily live without), English (which is always fun because my pronunciation is so much better than Yako-nee's and I know some words even she doesn't know), and the like. Yako-nee tries to teach me her homework while she does it, but I'm really not interested, so I just sit there and nod and glance at the textbooks, recognizing that I already know whatever it is I'm reading. I wonder how I know all this—and how Yako-nee doesn't know that I know. How well can she know me if she doesn't even know that?

We cover everything Yako-nee learns in school, and then she starts making dinner for us—or "Neuro" pulls her away for a mystery. I hate "Neuro" for that—I never know when I'm going to see Yako-nee or how long I get to be with her.

After dinner I sit on my couch and Yako-nee and I will just talk; I have a habit of staring up at the ceiling while we discuss things. Yako-nee doesn't seem to mind. She's usually always so happy and full of things to talk about, I don't mind just listening. Sometimes lately I've been tuning her out, but I don't mean to. I really like anything Yako-nee likes, and I try to pay attention. But sometimes I just can't.

After we're done talking, Yako will wish me a good night and go to her room to sleep or do other things. I don't really know what. Sometimes I hear her on the phone with people, but I never know what's going on.

One time I asked Yako-nee about "anatomy" while she was busy ranting about her latest mystery and how creepy the guy had looked before he turned ugly as Neuro denounced his plan. Usually such things like my questions can't even put a dent in my sister's tirade, but this one brought her to a solid stop.

It was really weird; it was as if her blood had frozen completely solid in her body, making her rigid. For a moment I wondered if her blood really had frozen—and what blood looked like; I'd never seen blood before, except on TV. Was it really just some red-colored water? She suddenly started talking, but her voice was that shaky, embarrassed laugh I've heard her use when I comment on an interview of her I saw on the television.

"Where'd you hear that?" she asked, still laughing nervously. I cocked my head to one side, my light purple eyes gazing at her. She seemed to grow even more nervous, something I didn't like. Why would she be nervous? Was she lying to me about something?

"I overheard you on the phone with your friend," I said, dragging my finger in meaningless circles on the couch fabric. "You were talking about your anatomy homework. But we've never done anatomy homework. What it is it?" She laughed nervously again and started to stand up. Her phone rang and she quickly answered it; in a second she hung up and looked apologetically at me.

"Sorry, but Neuro says there's a mystery I have to go solve!" she said apologetically. She waved at me and then ran out the door. I frowned after her. I could have stopped her if I wanted to. It wouldn't have been much of a hassle for her—Neuro hadn't really called. I'd seen her fumbling with her phone, trying to make it ring. What was it about "anatomy" that she was hiding from me? What did she not want me to know? "Anatomy". It's a strange word. What does it mean? It sounds like "monotony". "Monotony" is what my life is—the same thing, over and over, until you get bored of it. So is "anatomy" the opposite of "monotony"? Yako-nee wants to protect me from having a life that's different everyday?

No. I don't think that's right. I think I'm looking at that word the wrong way. But what is it…? What could it mean? "Anatomy". "Anatomy". What could be so terrible about "anatomy"? What doesn't she want me to know?

What could it mean to me?