Help Line
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Chapter 7
I chewed on the end of my pen, real estate brochures spread out on the bed, and my computer crammed with slow loading tabs each displaying one-bedroom and studio apartments. I had narrowed my search down to the areas Boss had recommended, and he was right, they were the most affordable.
I had gone through them on their online listings, cutting out those that were suspiciously cheap, obvious health hazards or only showing one picture of the home, be it the outside or a single, badly-lit wall. By eight-thirty, I had shortlisted a total of four apartments, two of which were in the same complex.
With a great wince and a sigh of reluctance, I emailed three different real estate offices and quickly looked away like that somehow gave me deniability for what happened next. I glanced at the inbox, but in those three seconds of terror, no replies had come in yet.
I slumped in relief and disappointment before going over the properties again. This wasn't how I imagined getting my first apartment.
My friends and I used to spend nights on call comparing monthly incomes and browsing houses both outrageously out of our paygrade and mostly accommodatable. We'd laugh and make fun of interior design - mustard yellow walls and powder pink door trims, what monster - or play rock-paper-scissors for the master bedrooms we didn't even own yet.
But I was never in a hurry to leave. Sure the house was always deafening, and I always tripped over everyone's shoes in the morning, and every meal at the kid's table was a mad scramble of human-Hungry Hippos-
I blinked and rubbed my eyes, sniffing thickly. Okay, five-minute sob session: go!
: : :
Puffy eyes and a sticky face stared back at me in the plastic bathroom mirror, the light of the room casting me in a sickly white light. I huffed and scrubbed my face with water, trying to soothe that swelling with the cool water.
"Lookin' hot," I uttered flatly, looking like a drowned rat with clumps of hair sticking to my cheeks.
I fumbled for the towel and pat myself down before waddling back over to the main room. My face planted into the pillow as I gave a great groan of exhaustion, feeling emotionally beat up and willing to express it in my solitude.
I sat up and cleared my throat. I needed to take a walk. Being in this tiny room for so long was making my eyes sting.
I slipped on my black flats and grabbed my umbrella before stepping out into the light drizzle, a chilly breeze sweeping the streets and dragging the fatigue from between my bones. Cold air stung my nose and filled my chest as I walked, shoes shiny as they caught backsplash. Sun through the clouds cast everything in dappled white light and made everything seem so much softer. Maybe that was just my subconscious trying to calm me down.
"Mary-san."
I blinked and turned to the young voice.
A familiar little boy was standing behind me, dressed in a bright yellow raincoat and little booties. Sharp eyes glared up at me from under his bird-faced hood and, like some Pavlovian response, I inclined my head and said, "Hello Hibari-san. Patrol again?"
"Yes," he said simply, nodding firm. "It must be completed every day."
"Of course," I agreed.
I wondered if I should even bother looking around for his carers.
"You are going somewhere." He somehow even made a question sound like an accusation.
"Not particularly," I answered, turning fully to face the youth. "I'm...Waiting."
Hibari perked up a bit, head lifting and eyes narrowing further. He took a step forward, yellow boots clomping on the path.
"Waiting," he echoed.
I looked down at this child. Well, he was never going to have confidence problems. If anyone said something he disagreed with, he'd say they were wrong and he was right like it was a universal law.
"I plan on living in your town," I smiled, watching him respond to 'your town' with a smug and content curl of his lips. "I'm just waiting for the real estate agents to respond to my inquiries."
"They haven't talked to you yet?"
"I only contacted them this morning."
Hibari stared at me.
"Goodbye Mary-san." He turned on his heel and the quick-paced 'clomp-clomp-clomp' of his boots disappeared around the corner in a flash of yellow.
"Uh, bye," I uttered even when he was long gone. "Why are the kids here so odd?"
I didn't jump as a large figure walked past me without so much as a sound. My clouded brain barely registered that I should have been surprised by the unexpected presence of what I recognised as the man that was often seen around the Hibari boy.
The man regarded me out of the corner of his eye before he inclined his head in greeting.
I nodded my head wordlessly, unable to think of anything worth saying to him at the moment. That seemed to be enough though and breezed around the corner, following the trail of the youth.
"...I should just go back," I sighed, and a soft roar of thunder agreed with me as I scampered back to the hotel.
The stairs rang out under my flats and I fiddled with the umbrella bag that kept all the rain from dripping along the floors as I made my way to my room. My phone pinged with an email.
I screeched to a halt and scrambled for my phone, tapping the screen urgently to awaken the device. An email from the real estate agent.
I stood in the hallway, an umbrella bag hanging from my fingers. I had gotten my hopes up again. I really should be learning by now.
I shook my head and opened up the email, giving it a thorough read and tried to ignore how English would turn into Kanji in the corners of my eye. I had an appointment today, he was willing to fit me in at 10:30am as a 'priority appointment'.
'Priority' confused me, but I wasn't going to look a prized horse in the mouth. I sent a confirmation email back and ran the rest of the way to my room. Shoving everything I could need for an inspection into my messenger bag and hiding everything else of value, I racked my brain for all the tips my uncle Jake had told me and those I had looked up last night.
Check for fresh paint, they might be trying to cover something up, like mould. Find out who else has a key to the place. Figure out the security situation, will you need to bring your own stuff in? Noise pollution, neighbours, hot water source, water metre, power metre.
"I can't be picky," I reminded myself. "I can make it sanitary and I can handle noise. I just need somewhere safe."
The apartment block was a twenty-minute walk from the centre and I spent the time brushing my appearance down and brushing up on my knowledge of the apartment I was going to see. It was one of the one bedroom-ers with a bathroom and kitchenette. From the pictures, the living space seemed cramped, but for one person with minimal possessions, I didn't think that was going to be an issue. There was even a little balcony!
I double-checked the price. $617 per month, the far low end of the rental spectrum. That was, like, $154 per week. I could afford that!
The low dollar was probably helped by how out of the way Namimori seemed to be. I didn't see many tall buildings here, no skyscrapers or highrises. There was, however, the routine roar of a train coming and going, so it would make sense that those who could afford the trip would buy cheaper real estate out here and make the commute every day.
"Better for me, I guess," I shrugged, and tried to not think of the utilities.
My phone pinged and an alert covered my screen with an inboxed email. Another real estate agency. Two of the apartments I had inquired after had been pulled off the market, they were sorry for the inconvenience.
I had two options left. One of which I was going to now.
I took a breath of cold, fresh air and accepted the drawback. Those had been the nicer apartments too, no wonder they were snapped up.
What I had left were a studio apartment and this one bedroom. I opened a new tab and tried to find that studio, going over its details.
The studio was a bit closer to the Namimori Center, but with that came a kick up in price. Compared to the one I was going to, it probably wasn't worth the extra money. The only benefit for the studio was travel distance. Everything else seemed to be a negative. They had tried to hide it, but you could see what looked like black mould in the corners of the bathroom and kitchenette.
"Please let this one work out," I pleaded quietly to the rainy sky.
I had two nights left in my hotel room.
A rise of panic hit me in the back of my chest and I let out a shuddered breath. My earrings clanked lightly as I reached up and pinched one between my fingers, feeling the grooves of the shell-like prayer beads.
When I arrived at the apartment block, the agent was pacing the strip of path outside, talking rapidly to himself as he raked his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. I took a moment to look at the exterior of the building; it was an off white, two-storey tall building with brown and yellow watermarks dripping down the wall from the exposed gutterings. Corners of the balconies were chipped away and painted over, and I craned my neck to see one of the apartment's window panes were replaced with cardboard.
"Make it work, Mary, make it work," I chanted to myself before straightening my shoulders and striding towards the real estate agent. "Excuse me, I'm here for the 10:30 inspection."
The agent whipped around in a start and clutched his pamphlets when he saw me. Then he cleared his throat and straightened, smiling in a professional manner as he approached.
"Mary Smith? Wonderful to meet you," he greeted and bent politely at the waist.
I blinked, social awkwardness and people-pleasing manners made me mirror the action. Seemed to be the right thing to do, at least.
I followed the agent, the screws in the number 3 were rusted and the plastic coating was peeling from the number on the door. But those can be replaced easily enough, and a bit of sugar soap could get rid of the residue.
"What we've got here is a cosy, open-plan space for single living. The kitchen comes with a stove oven and a large sink to let those dishes pile up."
It was tiny. The living space was about as wide as I was tall even with the large window giving a false sense of size. The kitchen on the other side of the shallow genkan was sparse, with a fridge cavity, old stove, metal sink and a single countertop. This apartment was the definition of 'bare necessities'.
"The minimalistic bathroom has been designed for easy upkeep."
The bathroom wasn't much better. A tiny strip of a room fitted with a toilet that faced a shower, no sink. The caulking was black, the grout was brown; I didn't think that was the original colour. Whoever had this before obviously didn't agree with 'easy upkeep'.
Across the hall - narrow enough that I could stretch out my arms and legs to climb the walls - was the bedroom. It was probably the largest room in the apartment, large enough to fit a double bed and perhaps a dresser, despite how the agent had described this place as ideal for 'single living'. Also for the room were two large windows again, one facing the brick wall of the laundromat next door, and one facing out onto the balcony.
"There's a spacious, north-facing balcony, perfect for those post-work sit-downs in the sun. Or an excellent place to practice some pot-plant floriculture."
The balcony was reasonably sized for the apartment, large enough for a few plants and maybe a small seating set.
"We've been working with the landlord of this complex for nearly five years now and he's very relaxed when it comes to renovations. So long as you can return everything to how it originally was upon completing the lease, you're generally free to make any alterations."
I nodded politely. I didn't think I'd be here long enough to make any changes worthwhile. But maybe hanging up some curtains would make the rooms feel better.
"How long is the current lease offer?" I asked as we returned to that tiny living room.
"We're looking at a one-year minimum," he explained, "The landlord is hoping to keep some longer-term tenants."
"I see," I said vaguely, trying not to show how daunting 'one year' sounded.
One year. A whole year. How long was I going to be lost? How long before anyone found me?
"And how much was this place going for again?"
"12,687 yen per week, not including utilities."
$157 per week. Affordable. Much more so than those apartments my friends and I poured over at nominals of $300 and higher.
I looked around the place again. Tiny, dirty, gritty. I had two days left in my hotel room. I needed a bank account. I needed an address.
"I'd like to put my name down."
"Of course!" The man beamed, but the harsh lights of the living room showed how a light sheen of sweat had built upon his forehead. "If you could come to the office with me, we can get you the keys as soon as tomorrow afternoon!"
I blinked. That was faster than I expected, when my cousin had moved out it took her a full three weeks before she had gotten her hands on any sort of key.
I glanced at my watch and pondered for a moment. 11 o'clock; I had work at 2, but I needed a Hanko before I could start any sort of paperwork I needed to change before I clocked on, as well.
My silence seemed to make the agent stutter his enthusiasm, and he offered a nervous, "Or, we could arrange another time..?"
"Yes, I have some-" Hanko, work, I needed to talk to Boss I'd never done something like this before oh god "-business to attend to first. Are you available tomorrow, Saturday?"
I had forced the word 'business' out after a build-up of stress had welled in my chest, it might have sounded too sharp, but the agent did little more than smile with gritted teeth.
"Saturday, yes, would 11:15 suit you?"
"That'll suit me just fine," I inclined my head, then I paused and added, "I am having some difficulties recalling my financial records. That won't be an issue, will it?"
The agent smiled blankly, "No, ma'am."
I hummed as that little knot of tension unwound, "Good. I'll be seeing you tomorrow then?"
"Yes! I'll have everything prepared for you tomorrow!"
: : :
I slumped on a bench in the Namimori centre, feeling exhausted and desperately needing something disgustingly sweet and aggressively caffeinated. Nonetheless, I scrubbed my face and pushed my fringe from my face before heaving myself up to my feet.
"After the travel agent's," I uttered to myself, remembering what Boss had told me over dinner. "After the travel agents...Over there."
Tomoe-san's Hanko-ya blended with the other department stores lining the shopping strip, but as I approached the display window, I saw a lineup of different designs and branches. There seemed to be three separate designations of Hanko, and as I stared at them, I read the words Mitome, Ginko and Jitsu.
Ah, I was suddenly very stressed again.
"Hello! Welcome!" a voice called out and I turned to see a middle-aged woman standing behind the counter.
I pulled myself together sharply and walked into the store, smiling politely as I approached the register and said, "I'd like to get my hands on a Hanko. From the looks of it, there seem to be a few types; I'm a foreigner, could you help me pick out a suitable one?"
"Of course! Foreigners mostly gravitate towards Mitome, the general inkan," she explained and picked a stamp from the rack beside her, a simple 'Izuna' engraved on the end.
"I'll be living here for a while," I explained further after a moment, "Would a Mitome work for banks and renting properties?"
The woman blinked before putting down the Mitome and drawing out the other two kinds.
"Well if you're living here, I'll give you the full rundown. Mitomes do have some legal power, but they're mostly casual. Things like receiving parcels or signing up for gyms. Think of it as an acknowledgement."
"Fair enough," I murmured, before taking the Mitome and looking it over as she moved to the next type.
"Ginko is a bit more formal. We mostly use these for money matters, so opening bank accounts or withdrawing large amounts. We'll have to register this with your bank to link it with your account."
"Mitome is casual, Ginko is money, okay."
"And this one is Jitsu," she said and showed me the last one, a bit more fancy looking than the previous. "It's your true seal, and very private. You'll use this for big life events like buying a house or opening a company. This one needs to be registered with the Town of Namimori - just go to the big service building across from the library. Don't share this with anyone, even your partners."
"Okay," I wheezed, noticing how she stressed this. "Um, just checking, which one would you use for renting an apartment."
"Jitsu, you'd use a Jitsu."
Mitome for every day, Ginko for the bank accounts, Jitsu for the apartment.
"I'll need one of each. I need to personalise it with my name, yes?"
"Yes, but most forms won't accept Romanji alphabet so we'll need to translate your name into Hiragana or katakana, then with those characters we can design your three Hanko. Don't be too worried, it's a quiet day so I can help you through it," the woman assured, and I smiled in thanks as she pulled up a stool to the computer on the counter.
She turned the screen towards me so we could both see, and I spent the next half an hour picking out my three Hanko; Translating my name and then breaking it down into characters. I chose the best value option at every turn, staying cheap where I could.
"Okay, in summary, that's an order for one black plastic round, one black wood rectangle, and one black wood round - later two at 30% off with the sale price - and customised characters. That'll total to Y3,435.10."
$42.28 AUD. Not horrible, but I had skimped everywhere I could. The Mitome I could replace so I left it plastic, but I had to go better quality for those Ginko and Jitsu since I'd have to jump through hoops to replace and reregister them.
"When's the earliest I can get them?" I asked as I counted the notes and coins.
"Well, I can get them done by," she peered at the characters, "By tomorrow morning at the latest. Or if you need them sooner, then a few hours. We close at 5 tonight, drop by around 4:45 and I'll have them ready."
"Really?" I blinked, and the woman shrugged.
"No orders today. Got nothing else to do."
"Thank you," I smiled, before watching as the woman moved to her register, clacked in some item codes, and printed off my receipt along with the previews of the inkan prints.
I stepped out of the store as I folded and slipped the paper into my messenger bag
12:30; what else did I need to do before 2 o'clock?
The rain had stopped for another break and I wanted to get as much done as I could in the time I had before the next wave. I shifted on the spot and glanced at my watch. No, I didn't have anything else I needed right now.
The scent of rain was heavy and refreshing in the air as I made my way to the hotel again, watching the reflections of light on wet concrete. I played with my earrings as I walked, running my finger along the grooves and gold-dipped curves, remembering all those times I had seen my Nanna wear these earrings.
Nan had sat me on her lap years ago in that sturdy old house on the cliffside that smelt of salt and potpourri, and showed me polaroid pictures of her and her sisters in her youth. It was around then, I had noticed great-grandma Teresa also wore the earrings. Always to the eldest daughter, Nan had told me.
"She loves you, and she misses you. Good luck."
My mother had been the one to tell me the message, but it was my father who had handed off the earrings. James Smith had been the eldest of four sons, so as per tradition Nan had held the earrings until I came around.
Needless to say, my cousin Sally, the eldest of my generation, got a very shiny new computer and spent the weekend away at the beach with her friends as compensation. She still kicked me under the dinner table, though, and I may have responded by flipping her off from behind uncle John's pavlova.
"I want pavlova," I uttered forlornly.
Then I heard the sound of shoes clapping on concrete, quick footfalls and the splashing of puddles. I quickly stepped to the side to let whatever manic that was jogging in this weather to pass-
"Hi! Hi! You're new, I haven't seen you before! What's a pavlova?"
I blinked and lowered my eyes to the child that was bouncing on the spot. His raincoat crinkled loudly as he hopped around, backpack swinging wildly and yanking on his shoulders. Blond hair was damp and plastered to his head, running must have thrown back his coat's hood.
I squinted; child. It was 12:30, wasn't he meant to be in school? Where was his carer? Why are people leaving their babies to wander the earth?
"Pavlova is a kind of cake," I answered slowly, glancing around to try and find an adult but, conveniently, the paths were surprisingly vacant.
"Really? Cool, it must be tasty. Who are you? You're new. I know everyone, I don't know you!"
Dear God, this boy can talk.
"Yes, but it's very sweet," I managed to follow, taking a beat to organise what he had said. The boy was still bouncing, but had started to spin around as he did. "And I am new, yes. I've only been here for a few days."
"I knew it! I knew it!" He cheered, still spinning on the spot. "I know everyone in town! I see them every day so I know all the faces and you're new!"
"Yes, I am new," I agreed, "May I ask you a question?"
"Yeah, go ahead!" The boy nodded and changed course to start hopping around me on alternating legs.
I glanced at my watch, "It's only 12:30 now, shouldn't you be in class? Or, at least with your parents?"
The boy stopped and I had to turn around to find him looking off to the side, picking at the skin around his fingers and twisting his foot. The sunny energy from before had been smothered, turned into a restless anxiety that I had started to recognise in children around here.
"Gotta love childhood trauma," I grumbled under my breath, before lifting my head to attention as the boy finally spoke again.
"I got sent home," he admitted.
"I see," I sighed.
"It's not my fault," he pouted and started shuffling again. "I just don't get what they're saying and it's boring. And the chairs are uncomfy and the carpet makes me itchy-"
I listened quietly as he ranted and raved, shuffling turned into pacing and in moments the boy was jogging circles around me again.
"Where're your parents?" I asked, looking around for a responsible adult.
"And I don't mean to break the books- huh? Oh, they're at work! Tou-san's a- a personal trainer! Yeah! Personal trainer! He makes people workout! Kaa-san makes the newspapers!"
"Oh wow," I smiled, despite the little alarms going off in my head that this kid - maybe ten or eleven - just walking home in the middle of the day without any parental guidance, and seemingly eager to just talk to any random adult he saw.
Adult. Ha, I guess I was an adult now.
"Yeah! Yeah! So they said I can walk home by myself! They said they can't pick me up every time-" 'every time' I'm going to slap someone- "But I'm old now! I can walk! And tou-san said it'd be good! Run it out!"
"Run it out?" I echoed, watching him continue to zip around me, his bag jangling and shaking with all the movement.
"Yeah! My teachers say I have too much energy! Dad says to run it out!"
"Okay, that's fair," I hummed, "Is...Is this energy why you have trouble in class?"
"Uh huh! That's what my teachers say!" He agreed, still running circles. "But, like, I just think they're boring! It's always the same thing, numbers and talking and reading and-"
"A lot of sitting still, hands in lap and head forward?" I asked, smiling a bit as he rounded on me and threw his arms up.
"Yes!" Wow, the lungs on the boy. "But I can't! I get so itchy!"
Okay, okay, I'm starting to see a pattern here.
"And so I got sent home today 'cause I didn't do my assignment, and I couldn't sit still and I wasn't listening to the teacher so I was being 'disrespectful'-" oh the sass is strong in this one. "But I couldn't do the assignment! I didn't know what was going on!"
"That would definitely make it hard," I nodded and he beamed before going back to his pacing.
"Yeah! But the teachers said I should have been able to! Said if I had been listening I'd get it!"
"But you have trouble listening because they want you to sit still."
"YES!" He shouted, and I laughed at the audible cathartic exasperation in his voice. "You get it! Why don't they get it!? They think they know everything!"
"Adults can be like that sometimes," I hummed. "I suppose the teachers don't accommodate for you then."
"Accommodate? What does that mean? Big words are cool."
Oh my God, no one's ever tried to help this kid, teachers what are you doing-
"Accommodate'' means, like, to make room for, or change to help. Uh, so, like, if you don't like…" I made a vague movement with my hands as suddenly every food in existence escaped my brain. "Cauliflower." Okay, that works. "You don't like cauliflower, so your parents don't give you cauliflower in your fried rice. That's accommodation."
"I get it!" He called out from far away, climbing on a bench.
"So, in a classroom, for more active students," I continued, raising my voice so he could hear me. "Your teacher might make a maths lesson a game."
"Like with the dice?" He frowned, "I don't like those! I keep losing them! They roll off the table all the time!"
I hummed and mindlessly walked over to the bench, sitting down as the boy leapt off the end and started doing his laps again. His stamina was enviable, like damn, but I was starting to see what his teachers were finding so hard to wrestle with.
"That might work for some of your friends, but it looks like you'd do better with some bigger games. Things that make you move your whole body."
"Yeah! I wanna do that!"
I turned in my seat and baulked, seeing the boy clawing his way up a tree. Oh, sweet Jesus, his parents really just let him loose upon the people, don't they?
"Hey! Hey! Can we do that now!? Play a game!"
I looked at the blond boy for a moment, his face much brighter compared to when he had come to me. He seemed looser; the wonders of good conversation.
I checked the time, 12:45. Work was only at 2.
"I have time for a short game," I shrugged and got to my feet, looking around at the green strip we had crossed paths at. "Let's stick with maths, since that's easier-"
The boy scoffed so loudly I thought he'd hacked up a hairball.
"Oh don't worry, I'm terrible at maths too."
"But you're an adult!" He gasped, aghast and disbelieving.
"Hey, I thought we just agreed that adults don't always know everything," I shot back with a smile, and he thought about it for a moment before uttering a more level: "True."
I huffed jokingly before looking around and grabbed a stick off the ground. I kicked some twigs off a patch of dirt where the grass didn't grow and drew up six large boxes all around, spacing them widely apart.
"What are you doing in class right now?" I asked the boy as he came running over to watch me draw.
"Division! Threes!"
"Oh, ew, division," I scrunched up my nose and he let out a booming cackle of agreement. "Okay, we can do that. I believe in us."
There was a beat of silence from the boy and I looked up to see him staring at me with wide eyes. Then his face lit up and he bellowed, "Yeah! We can do it!"
I smiled to myself and scratched in the numbers 2, 4, 5, 7, 10, and 11, all scrambled around the space. Just the key numbers with that one annoying 7x that seemed to trip people up.
The boy was bouncing on the spot beside me, looking between the boxes and me excitedly, his bag still bobbing with him.
"Do you want to take your bag off?" I asked and he dropped it at his feet without any further prompting. "Okay, so, I'm going to explain the game now okay?"
"Yes!"
I blinked, seeing him near physically vibrate. Okay, the explanation had to be fast or he'd burst.
"I'm going to call out a division, like twelve divided by three-"
"THREE!" He shouted. "No, wait, FOUR! It's four!"
"Yes, it's four," I laughed, my ears nearly ringing. "But here's the game. When I call out the question, you need to say the whole question with the answer and then run to the answer on the ground."
"I get to run!?"
"Yes! Run as fast as you can!"
"Okay! Okay! Okay! I'm ready, go! Go!" He urged and looked to the six boxes on the ground.
"Remember to repeat the question, full answers! Twelve divided by three!" I asked.
"Four!" He shot off and screeched to a halt on the 4 box.
Ah, I'd need to play this on chalk and concrete next time. He had dug out the number already. Or maybe little flags, since if they fell over they'd get hurt on concrete-
"I didn't hear you say the question!" I gasped theatrically.
"Oh! Ah! Twelve divided by three is four!"
"Next! Fifteen divided by three!?"
He lurched off the nine before stopping and shouted, "Fifteen divided by three is five!" and then ran across the dirt to the 5 box.
"That was perfect!" I applauded and he glowed until he started calling for the next one.
"Thirty divided by three!"
"Thirty divided three is ten!" He ran to the other side of the patch and jumped on the box.
"Twenty-one divided by three!"
The boy lingered for a moment, looking to each box with a pinch in his brow.
"Hey," I called and he turned to me, foot starting to shuffle again. "You're doing great. What was fifteen divided by three?"
"Fifteen divided by three is five!" and he ran to the 5 box again.
I nodded, it wasn't what I had expected to happen but a physical response works too. "Great, five! Okay, so that's fifteen divided by three. We want twenty-one divided by three! So, we're going to count to twenty-one, every time you hear a multiple of three, jump up high!"
"Okay, okay!"
"Okay," I copied with a laugh, "So, fifteen!"
The blond boy bounced like a tigger.
"Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen-"
Up the boy went with a whoop of success. Then he joined in with a loud, "Nineteen, twenty- Twenty-one!" He bounced again.
"How many times did you bounce?"
"Two!"
"Our start point was fifteen, which is five. So, two plus five is-"
"Seven! Twenty-one divided by three is seven!" And he shot off the to 7 box.
"Yes! Look at you go! You are excellent!" I cheered and he grinned as he wiped his nose with his arm. "Keep it going! Thirty-three divided by three?"
"Thirty-three divided by three is eleven!"
I walked around and scratched new numbers into the boxes, pressing down kicked up dirt with my shoes as I did to make everything more legible for the boy. 3, 8, 9, 12, 6 and tossed in a 13 to see how far his thinking could go.
The boy raced off as I called them out, slowly working up the numbers before mixing them up.
"Nine divided by three!?"
"Nine divided by three is three!"
"Thirty-six divided by three!?"
"Thirty-six divided by three is twelve!"
I smiled, "Eighteen divided by six?"
The boy blinked. His face crumpled for a moment, his brain visibly stalling. The flip had made him stumble, he was overthinking it.
"Eighteen divided by three is?"
"Six," he answered, and stared down at the number under his feet. Then his head snapped up and he started springing around with a loud shout. "Oh! Oh! Eighteen divided by six is three! It's the same thing! It's the same thing, isn't it!?"
"Exactly!" I cheered and clapped my hand as he ran out a burst of energy, sprinting circles around as he beamed his own genius.
This kid wasn't made for a classroom. He was the kind of kid that learnt how to count by throwing rocks, colours by climbing trees to pick the brightest flowers and knowledge through experience.
I snuck a glance at my watch, it was already creeping dangerously close to 1 o'clock. I had to get back to the hotel, maybe take a shower, and then head back to work before 2 o'clock.
"Let's go again! New numbers! Four divides, we can do it!" The boy shouted and came running.
I gave the boy an apologetic little smile as he stared up at me, "I can't, sorry. I have to get going now."
"Huh? But we've only been playing for, like, 10 seconds!" He complained and jumped to stress how short our session had apparently been.
"It's been half an hour," I laughed, "And I've kept you for too long too. You need to go home, you bouncy bean."
The boy blinked before his face split with a grin and he boinged around shouting "Bouncy! Bouncy! Bouncy Bean!"
"But, I think we just proved that you can do your times tables. You just have to accommodate yourself."
"Yeah! I can do it! Sensei can suck a lemon!"
I resisted the urge to read too far into that and merely nodded. I picked up my messenger bag off the ground and shrugged it up onto my shoulder.
"Eh? You're really going? Already?" He asked, spinning around. "But I'm doing it! I'm doing it, aren't I?"
Oh heck, right for the heartstrings, kid.
"Yeah, you're doing great," I assured, big brown eyes staring up at me like I had drop-kicked his ball over the garden wall. "But I have things to get to, and you have to get home."
The boy frowned and crossed his arm - before deciding that was too still and started swinging his arms in complete discontent.
"Then you have to come back and we can do it again! Tomorrow! Tomorrow you have to come! Okay? Okay! You're coming tomorrow!"
"...Huh?" I blinked, god this kid talked fast.
"Tomorrow! Come! Here! I'll wait and we can play! All the way to, uh, divide by 1000! I'll be the best at division! Can we play other games too? I'll think of some tonight! I can use the computer until three, but after it's Kyoko-chan's turn!"
My brain lurched to catch up and I scrambled to answer but before I could so much as utter, "Wait-" he grabbed his bag and hauled it down the road.
"Okay! Bye, nee-san! Tomorrow! I'll see you here! We'll play games again and I'll be smart and run it out and bouncy! Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy beans!"
And he was gone.
I stared at the empty road. My bag fell off my shoulder.
Tomorrow was going to be busy.