CHAPTER TWO

東館の男

Higashikan no Otoko

She was a boy.

The realization shocked me, but not as much as I would have expected. In a bizarre way, it almost made sense, as if a puzzle piece was fitting into place. The mask-like smile, the strong legs, she always gets a room to herself... The obviousness of it, the hints I had not gotten, irritated me deeply for some reason.

Of course, his face was guilty, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't– it was odd, to see such a vulnerable expression on the face of someone usually so composed. Nadeshiko would not have shown such weak emotions to me; I don't think she would have shown them to anybody at all.

This was not the face of Nadeshiko, then, only the face of a terrified boy. It forced me to conclude that the Fujisaki Nadeshiko we all knew did not exist, no more real than a Noh mask.

A mask worn for what sake? Why bother?

I peeked through my fingers, only to catch him staring back at me. I promptly disappeared behind my fingers again. Don't look. Don't look!

"Rima."

My name rolled off his tongue like the rumble of wind before a storm, and an electric tremor ran up my spine. Her voice had always been a naturally low, but passably effeminate and breathy; it was now plain that her "naturally low" voice had been in a higher register all along. I clapped my other hand over my face with a wail.

"Mashiro-san," Nadeshiko's voice sounded a little exasperated now. As he spoke, I slid down the wall into a crouching position, face still buried in my hands. He raised his voice over the sound of my back screeching down the wall. "While I would be lying if I said your eyes on my midsection weren't flattering, you appear quite strained. Perhaps you should leave the room for your own sake."

I kept my hands over my face, and did not budge an inch.

I heard Nadeshiko sigh. "Very well, then."

I heard the rustle of a skirt being folded; I opened my eye a crack, watching through my eyelashes. I had the sneaking suspicion that he knew I was peeking— his shoulders rolled back proudly as he pulled on a jinbei, upper arms noticeably strong, midriff toned. It must have been a lonely existence, having no girls to show off your abs to. What a twat.

Then again, I was the one looking. I had no brothers, nor men in the house save for a two-year-old nephew; the male body was a mystery to me. Perhaps I had no right to criticize him for showing off if I was the one so fascinated by such a lewd thing. But it was scientific interest. Who could blame me?

"Alright," he said, in a soft voice, and I heard him straighten up. "I'm done."

The idea that Nadeshiko could speak to me in such a soft, cautious voice was almost laughable. Then again, the power balance between the two of us was beginning to tip; did Nadeshiko truly have the upper hand, now? I was slowly getting over the shock of Nadeshiko being male, realizing the implications, the things I could do. I did not want to enjoy the idea of manipulating Nadeshiko; but after the hell she had put me through, I was tempted.

A single word, and the school would know: he would be expelled, entire family shamed, Fujisaki Nadeshiko out of my hair. And all this was only the tip of the iceberg, just the beginning; in the hands of someone truly cruel, one could extort and blackmail at their leisure. Most temptingly, I could twist the truth to Amu; make him morally reprehensible in her eyes because of this deceit. His entire family shamed. A strange chill settled over me – I did not want that, could not want that.

I lifted my head from my hands; my face felt quite strange, unlike my own. Clearly, it must have looked that way, too, because the boy Nadeshiko took a cautious step back.

I stared at him.

He took another step back. My heart had already won out over malice, as it often did. I was not capable of tarnishing an entire family's reputation over a bitter schoolgirl's grudge. He didn't have to know that, though.

"You're a boy," I said. My voice could be toneless at the worst of times.

"I am," he replied quietly. I couldn't have expected anything more. He made no offer of an explanation or apology; he simply stood there, leaning against the foot of his own bed, staring with bright eyes.

I had thought Nadeshiko conventionally beautiful, but transferring her features to a male face was difficult. In a unisex garment, hair down, I couldn't tell if he was handsome, beautiful, both or neither. Yet, he seemed to walk a blurred line between the genders, one I had not seen anyone breach. He was a boy. What would I do with this information?

Perhaps this was simply another Nadeshiko game; whatever I did would communicate something about my character. I was damned if I did, damned if I didn't. So be it; I would withdraw.

"I'm going to sleep," I murmured, turning around.

That did the trick. I heard the bed creak. "Mashiro-san, wait–"

It gave me a thrill to hear Nadeshiko making pleas to my retreating back. I turned over my shoulder, eyes bleary. "It's ten o'clock already– a half hour past your curfew. And I'm tired."

It wasn't a lie; this new knowledge exhausted me. Already I knew more than I wanted to, and lessons hadn't even started... my stomach churned in anticipation of the needlework and rhetoric that would follow tomorrow.

Without waiting for a response, I took the glass cylinder off the oil lamp, blowing it out softly. The room went black.


Sleep did not come easily, mind too busy whirling with the thoughts of cross-dressers and cross-stitch. I lost count of the times I turned over and drifted off into a shallow, unpleasant doze only for a half-baked nightmare to jerk me awake; the entire time, Nadeshiko's face danced through my brain, incessant and unyielding.

I was sleeping a few feet away from a boy. Why?! My mother would have a brain aneurysm if she knew! After spending fourteen odd-years keeping me away from men of ill repute, this had to happen... It wasn't as if I was afraid of men, but I was wary. They weren't like women; they were dangerous, obsessed with body parts. Men leered at me on the streets. I rolled over, staring at the dark shape across the room. Was Nadeshiko like that, too?

By the time I finally fell into an uneasy sleep, it seemed only five minutes later that a hot, red-white brightness pressed down on my eyelids, pulling me from slumber. Try as I might to ignore it, it was stubborn; I could not, for the life of me, fall back asleep.

I groaned. My own bathroom was not worth the sun in my eyes.

Eyes still shut, I folded the covers back, stumbling over to my uniform, folded neatly at the foot of my bed. After banging my shins on my bedframe, I opened my eyes. Nadeshiko was gone; bed impeccably folded, hospital-cornered, one could bounce a quarter off it. Show-off.

This, however, suited me just fine; I could change in peace, nobody any the wiser. Considering the events of last night, I was in as good a mood as I could have hoped for; Nadeshiko had made themselves scarce, I had gotten some sleep, and at least I could immerse myself in a day of distraction.

My good-ish mood evaporated as I opened the door to a deserted hallway. It was not a good sign. Morning usually meant a frantic flurry of girls, the tossing of hairbrushes and ribbons across rooms, socked feet thudding on wood. Instead, the outer hall was utterly quiet; I could have heard of a pin drop.

And that meant I was late.

Hell! I broke into a run. What was first thing, today? Music with Sanjo-sensei. Ugh. Remembering that runs were neither attractive nor ladylike, I slowed to a half-run, a sort of jogging hobble. It only succeeded in making me look like a donkey with a broken leg.

Not to be deterred in my ladylike running quest, I donkey limped across the lawn and up the stairs to the schoolhouse. I was very impressed with my own grace and coordination right up until I opened the door and Sanjo-sensei snapped, "Mashiro, what the hell are you doing?"

There was a flurry of frantic giggling. I slid the classroom door shut behind me, hastily slowing to a walk towards my desk. Late for class on the first day, and no breakfast– my day promptly soared from Reasonably Well, All Things Considered to Utterly Pants like a graceful crane crash-landing into a swamp.

I never had a chance to reach my desk. The door open again no sooner than I had shut it, and Sanjo-sensei put down her notes slowly, an extremely irritated look on her face. "One girl is already tardy," her voice rang out, thick with sarcasm. "Pray tell, what natural disaster occurred to keep so many of you from class?"

"Please, sensei. The headmistress wishes to speak with Mashiro-san."

The irritated look wilted slightly in the face of Nadeshiko, adored even by teachers. I felt my heart sink further in my chest cavity, settling somewhere around the bottom of my ribcage where it growled softly. It was a minute before I realized it was hunger, not sadness.

I had to think fast. Excuses, excuses. "I'm sorry, Nadeshiko-chan, but I cannot neglect my education," I replied, sweetly. Damn! Clearly, Nadeshiko thought I was going to squeal and had come here to pull me out of class before I could tell everyone what a complete and utter man she was! "Singing is very important to me, and I must work harder at it, therefore, I cannot leave class..."

This clearly didn't fly over well with Sanjo-sensei, who glared at me, glasses flashing. "I expect you back in ten minutes, Mashiro."

"... Really need to focus hard on my vocal cords this term..."

"Mashiro."

"... Yes, sensei," I said meekly, and ducked under Nadeshiko's arm with a sulky air. Perhaps he let me oversleep, knowing that it would be easier to kidnap me if I was sleep deprived and late for class. Dammit, how could I have been so stupid? I let my guard down!

But when Nadeshiko had slid the door shut behind me, the two of us locked in the quiet sunny hallway, he didn't exactly look very well himself. He had faint bruises under his eyes, and it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't heard any deep and even breaths from the other bed.

"You're not in trouble," Nadeshiko said warily, as way of explanation, and I bristled a little bit. "Why would I be?"

He did not reply; I suppose he didn't have to. I followed him resentfully, mind whirling. The headmistress wanted to speak with me, he said? ... Fujisaki-sensei, then. I hadn't met her, although she gave a speech at the start of each term that was often quite dull and involved quite a bit of flowery language rubbish that I never listened to. She was also notoriously terrifying, striking fear into the hearts of pure, law-abiding maidens such as myself.

What did she want with me? Was I going to be expelled? I may not have been thrilled with my position at Seiyo Girl's Academy, but my friends were here. It was a thousand times more preferable than returning home to omiai and cotton machines.

Perhaps I could run while Nadeshiko's back was turned. My half-hearted escape plan was immediately thwarted, however, because at that moment he turned his head over his shoulder and tried to smile.

I stared back. We were in a seemingly older, slightly built-up part of the school that I had never seen before, despite attending classes here for so long. This must be Fujisaki-sensei's office, but what did she need an office for? Spying on girls learning how to sew?

Nadeshiko slid open the screen door and stood to the side, waiting. Did he think he was a gentleman, now? What a twat. I walked through, giving him the suspicious side-eye. Why are you doing this?

"Wait here."

His ponytail swished out of view behind another screen. I was left alone in the reception room with Fujisaki-sensei's secretary. Even though it was small and plain, it was arguably more luxurious than our classrooms. There was a flower arrangement on a side table in front of a calligraphy scroll, and the secretary's black lacquer desk had certainly not come cheap. The only indication of modern influences was the soft clack-clack-clack of the secretary typing on her typewriter and the muffled, distant sound of enka music on a record player. I could have been staring at the replication of a well-off Heian period lady's receiving room. Typical rich bastard Fujisakis.

I took a resigned seat in one of the chairs, feet barely touching the floor. I saw the secretary look up at me, curiously (did she think I was a delinquent?) but I stubbornly stared at the flower arrangement instead.

While I had been vigorously tutored in ikebana until I never wanted to see another flower again, I lacked an eye for harmony and style. This one was heika— I thought, anyway. Possibly. My knowledge was purely technical; the branch hung over the vase, which meant it was a cascading style... I guess? The longer I stared at it, the sleepier I felt. It was a nice shape: a tall, pretty vase with its arching branches. Fujisaki-sensei had nice taste in dumb flowers. I closed my eyes, enjoying how nice it felt to rest my eyelids.

"I made that."

I jerked awake with a sickening lurch. Nadeshiko was standing there, looking rather smug; it took me a second to realize he was looking at the flower arrangement. What a prissy, obnoxious thing. Just like him.

"Nice heika. I really like the part where you stuck flowers in a vase."

He smiled humorously, as if he was about to make a very clever hiragana wordplay joke. "Thank you. It's actually a nageire."

What kind of pun was that? Choke on a hosepipe, Fujisaki.

Before I could say as much, he nodded at the door beyond, with an unreadable expression. "She's ready for you. Do try to keep a civil tongue in your head, if it's not too difficult for you."

What gave him the idea that I struggled with speaking politely?! Shows how much he knew. I gave him a look, opening the screen before he had a chance to do it for me.

The headmistress's office was an exact replica of the reception area, except it was bigger, grander, and emptier. It must have had something to do with aesthetics. The desk was centred on its own raised platform, and I spotted the record player that had been playing the enka music on a nearby shelf.

My attention then turned to the two cushions set out in front of Fujisaki-sensei, with a sinking feeling. Oh, no: I knew what this meant. Thanks for making me sit seiza, Fujisaki-sensei, god forbid you buy some normal chairs. I grew up in a relatively Western home, and every time I laid eyes on a cushion, I could practically feel my knees screaming. Seiyo had never sufficiently gotten me used to sitting still with my legs underneath me.

While Nadeshiko could sit as upright and graceful on a cushion as a peony does in dirt, I noticed that he instead opted to walk around his mother's desk and stand comfortably behind her seat, half in shadow. As for the headmistress, I could not tell you what she looked like; I was too busy staring at the floor. I did hear her speak, however.

"You may sit down, Mashiro-san."

I awkwardly dropped to my knees as if I was a block of cement dropped from great heights — not like a bird settling into its nest, as Kichigai-sensei would like. I heard Nadeshiko barely repress a snort from his vantage point in the Shadow Realm. I shot him a glare.

Reluctantly, I turned my gaze to Fujisaki-sensei. Many people said she was the spitting image of Nadeshiko; I had always privately disagreed. Her face was sharp, with cheekbones that could probably commit homicide. Where Nadeshiko's facial malice was that of warm butter and sugar, this woman made no pretense of softness; she was a cold-eyed war machine in a kimono.

I couldn't tell if her smile was genuine or sarcastic, and this terrified me. Even with her strict face, she was beautiful in an intimidating sort of way, and could not have been a day over thirty-five. There were rumours, resurrected every few years by a schoolgirl with romantic notions, that Fujisaki-sensei had once been a celebrated geiko in Gion. An accomplished dancer (so the stories went), she performed in the finest teahouses of Kyoto and overseas. When she abruptly retired at the peak of her career to marry an equally eminent kabuki performer, there was quite a stir. I wasn't sure how much of this tale was a lie, but an accomplished dancer she must be: every one of the trophies behind her desk was for some sort of dance.

"Tea?" Fujisaki-sensei's eyes flashed, and she held up the teapot.

Oh no, don't give me the opportunity to mess up on drinking tea, Fujisaki-sensei, I mentally begged.

Pause. I glanced automatically to Nadeshiko for help. As unhappy as the prospect might be, he seemed my only ally in the room. After all, he had made an effort to speak to me when it would have been easy to pretend I didn't exist; I hoped he intended to help me navigate this dark world of veiled tradition in which I was hopelessly lost.

He gave me the tiniest nod. It could have been either acknowledgement or advice. I went with the latter, out of both politeness and starvation.

"Of course," I murmured, awkwardly, accepting the tea. "Thank you."

I hoped it wasn't poisoned. Nadeshiko shifted in the shadows and met my eyes, gesturing frantically.

I paused, staring at him. He was making a circular motion. I must have looked like a fool, staring slightly past Fujisaki-sensei's shoulder with a vacant look on my face. I suddenly understood what his hands were doing– tea ceremony. Crap. Very slowly, I began to rest my teacup on my right palm.

Left! Left! Nadeshiko mouthed, pointing to his left hand; I exhaled sharply, switched rapidly to my left palm, and spun the cup far too little before taking a rather large sip. I could clearly tell Nadeshiko had thought my cup turning a shoddy thing, from the way he slightly wrinkled his nose.

Fujisaki-sensei waited before speaking. Her voice was steady, her words spoken as if every one was deliberate and important.

"Nagihiko has just informed me that you discovered his identity last night, Mashiro-san. Is this true?"

I glanced up from my cup, bewildered. Who the hell was Nagihiko?

It was a moment before I realized that surely no mother would name their son Nadeshiko; that was practically asking people to shove him into lockers. Nagihiko... his real name was Nagihiko? It felt almost too personal, something obscene I should not use.

I glanced at Nag...eshko, but he was no longer looking at me; he was absorbed in the dancing trophies.

"Yes," I replied, quietly. I prayed that Nageshiko (?!) had not gone into specifics about how, exactly, I had figured this out – for some crazy reason, I didn't think his mother would be too impressed with the fact that I had stared at him shirtless for far longer than necessary.

"I see," Fujisaki-sensei raised her own cup to her lips in a beautiful vertical motion, arm sweeping up with gusto. It was painfully entrancing to watch her put it back down again.

"Firstly, I must beg your forgiveness. For a young lady such as yourself, I'm sure such a thing was quite a shock. If necessary, you may assure your family that no dishonour was done; this incident will not leave the confidence of the three of us."

I was hardly worried about being damaged goods, and had little intention of telling my mother as much. It would only give her something else to worry about.

"Secondly, I understand that this is a huge secret to keep. But I believe you will find it takes little effort. Nagihiko is fully adept at making his own excuses; you will have to do little." Telling anybody Nagihiko's secret was not an option, from the final tone in her voice; I had expected as much, and indicated it with nothing but a nod.

"I feel..." Here, she hesitated, and I saw Nagihiko shift slightly. "... I personally feel that because of what you have witnessed... you are owed an explanation. You must have surely asked yourself why we would do such a thing, despite keeping it to yourself. Yet, I hesitate, for our traditions can at times seem backward – almost barbaric – to outsiders."

Now she truly had my interest; she was a good storyteller, something even I could appreciate. Perhaps the stories of her being an entertainer weren't such poppycock after all. I nodded and settled down on my already-numb legs in preparation for a long story.

"Well, rest assured, being sorted into Nagihiko's room was an administrative mistake." (Ha. I knew it. Typical incompetent Kichigai-sensei.) "Nagihiko has always roomed by himself, for obvious reasons. The teachers that know about the true reason are a select few... perhaps an error, on my part. The shortsightedness of a mother's protection.

"Our family specializes in female-style buyō." Seeing my baffled look at the sudden topic change, she smiled gently. "Nichibu, Mashiro-san. Traditional Japanese dance. We only dance female roles, in the style reserved for women. It makes sense, does it not? Nobody can appreciate a woman's beauty and grace more than a man."

I begged to differ.

"But a woman is a complicated thing, as you know. It takes many years to understand. This is why males in the Fujisaki line are raised as women, from the time they begin their dancing training to their stage debut. In order to play females realistically, we give our sons female names and garments. In doing so, they learn the mindset of the opposite gender more than any regular man could; it shows in their art, at how convincing we are at our craft. Do you know what monomane is?"

I surprised myself by, indeed, knowing what monomane was. I was expecting it to be a long, theatre-related word that I did not understand. Monomane was a term used in comedy shows, for people that could humorously imitate famous figures; this definition, however, did not seem to fit with what Fujisaki-sensei was asking.

"Mimicry," I replied nervously, feeling as though this couldn't be the right answer.

"Simplistically, yes. For us, it has a deeper meaning; it is the intent of an artist to convey the character they are playing on the stage. It is transcending the character, becoming the person."

Privately, I thought this explanation a load of hogwash, and being raised as female smothering. Heeding the warning to keep a civil tongue in my head, I kept my mouth shut and nodded.

"Nagihiko, like everyone else in our family, is destined for such a life. Oh yes," she added, seeing the mildly surprised look on my face. "He will inherit this school, one day— but first, he will master all forms of traditional Japanese dance, as is customary in our family. Until then, he will live as a girl."

There was something forceful in the way she said it that took me aback; surely to play a role, nobody need be this strident. There was desperation in her voice, real emotion. Suspicious, I wondered if I wanted to know why, or ignore such an uncomfortable thing, as was tempting.

Nagihiko appeared not to have noticed, despite his apparent excessive interest in his mother's certificates. His mother followed my gaze, as if becoming aware for the first time that her son was there. The way she spoke as though Nagihiko wasn't in the room with us made me very uncomfortable, to the point where I was grateful when she turned around, sweetly:

"Nagihiko, dear– I'll have Shion show Mashiro-san out. Thank you for bringing her here; you may return to your classes."

Nagihiko gave me a reluctant stare, as though he didn't wish to leave me alone in the room with his mother. Who could blame him? She was probably going to cannibalize me.

With little choice, he exited the room, throwing me a dubious look over his shoulder. Fujisaki-sensei waited until his footsteps had faded, before refilling my cup in silence. I silently continued slurping tea like a whale shark.

"Seiyo Girl's Academy was my father-in-law's idea." Fujisaki-sensei raised her head, staring at the ceiling over her head with something resembling fondness. Great; now I was getting a history lesson on my own school. Once a teacher, always a teacher. My stomach growled.

"Before the Meiji administration, this was a dancing school. But after the war, nobody had time for beauty and dancing... there were factories to run, iron to mine. So we opened our school for all girls who wished to learn. Some people scoffed at us. They said that a woman had no place in a school, that they should keep to their homes and learn domestic arts from their mothers. I disagree."

She looked back at me, smiling. I didn't know if I was supposed to smile back or not, so I kept my face poker-straight. Distracted, stomach yawning with hunger, I wondered when lunchtime was.

"To be a good wife, a woman must be educated on many topics. After all, what kind of man is interested in a simple-minded woman whose only thoughts are of cooking and children? Wise, worldly women raise strong sons. A boy learns more from his mother at the breast than he does in all his years of school. The fates of men are held and shaped in our hands, Mashiro-san."

Why was she telling me this? I could not speak for the children, but my only thoughts were definitely of cooking. Cooking pot stickers. Pork-stuffed pot stickers... yum. God, why did I miss breakfast?

"This is why we educate women; so that they may educate sons for our country. But it is also more than ideal for Nadeshiko's education: what better place to learn how to be a woman than alongside other women, learning the skills he will need to portray them?"

Although my face was blank, I understood what Fujisaki-sensei was saying all too well. Nagihiko was destined to become a woman on a stage, a glamorous painted face in a kimono, and I was destined to become a woman in a kitchen, a good wife and a wise mother. I felt something dark stir inside me. This couldn't be fair.

I swallowed, hard. "I see."

"Which leaves you, of course, Mashiro-san."

Me? Please. I wanted no part in this.

"I am left with a bit of a dilemma," she swilled the tea in her cup, staring down at it. I had no tea left. Oops. "On one hand, for you to stay in Nagihiko's room is unthinkably inappropriate for a well-bred lady."

"Yes." Yes, this is true.

"On the other hand, we are very overcrowded this year, what with the influx of new students. Space is sought-after enough already, and Nagihiko's single-boarder status has aroused enough rumours of favouritism already among students and teachers alike. It will not do to cause a ruckus by transferring you out now: people will talk."

Oh, no, I didn't like where this was going.

"This aside, it would make a good learning opportunity for Nadeshiko, to ensure he is not isolated after classes. I raised him better than to be untoward. And, anyway..." There was a shrewd expression on her face; one that pried farther than it had a right to. I shrunk on the spot, back hunching over. My knees screamed with the pain of holding seiza.

"... It is true that you are not the mostwell bred of ladies... Mashiro-san. Due to your unfortunate circumstances, you are somewhat more expendable."

She knew; how, I did not know, but I supposed it wouldn't be hard to figure out. It confirmed and deepened the dislike I had been cultivating for her throughout her speech. I wouldn't trust her with a bucket of water if my knickers were on fire.

Self-consciously, I said, quietly, "I do not mind remaining where I am, sensei."

My thoughts were full of nothing but Amu, as they always were; but this time, there was a little bit of Nadeshiko there, as well. No, not Nadeshiko— it was Nagihiko. He was not as cruel as he pretended to be, and he had helped me out today. I hardly felt friendly toward him, but at the very least, I had defrosted to the point of not minding if we shared a living space. There were worse roommates to have than Fujisaki Nagihiko was; I would manage, especially when, according to Fujisaki-sensei, I had little choice. I might as well agree on my own terms.

"I will not mind," I said, a little louder. "If I can ask of you a favour, Fujisaki-sensei."

She regarded me with bright eyes, faint smile playing around her mouth. She looked like a panther before it eats its food. "Oh? Whatever could you have to ask of me, Mashiro-san?"

I hesitated. Not much, admittedly; but I was determined to get something out of this deal. Fujisaki-sensei held up a gentle hand, and I went silent at once.

"I understand, Mashiro-san, that it would be naïve of me to expect you to keep such a huge secret for nothing. I will let you think about what you want, and you may ask me after I've seen how things go. Clearly," and she spoke with a laugh in her voice, with a nod at me. "You enjoy comedy, which can be arranged– or if your parents wish to send you to university, or for you to marry into higher society. It all depends on where your family wishes you to go."

Clearly, for all of Fujisaki-sensei's airs, she at least dabbled in comedy shows enough to have understood my definition of monomane. I suppose Fujisakis had to study all kinds of performance. Still, the idea of Fujisaki-sensei sitting beautifully with her lovely kimonos watching people slap each other with paper fans was a very amusing mental image. I had to stifle the urge to smile and pressed my lips together; it looked as if I had swallowed a lemon.

That aside, I had little interest in university. It was a man's world, for people with academic promise; I held little of that, and it would be a waste of money for zero payoff. And marrying up? Giving me a well-bred husband would be like giving gold coins to a cat.

I knew which one I would choose, and which one my family would want me to choose. Thank goodness Fujisaki-sensei had just given me several months to think it over, because I knew that whatever I picked wouldn't please everyone.

I bowed low on the cushion towards her; I had lost all feeling in my legs from kneeling, so the sudden rush of blood gave me pins and needles. "Thank you very much," I said, dispassionately.

"You may return to class, Mashiro-san. It is... just past nine o'clock in the morning, so you are currently doing embroidery."

Embroidery. Curses. I nodded in understanding, and walked out of the sparse office, backwards.

The young secretary, Shion, left me at the door of my classroom, where I walked in with a resigned air. I knew Yaya would be dying to ask me why darling Nadeshiko, of all people, had pulled me out of music – and I had to think up some kind of excuse, and fast.

A tiny, elderly woman who was going slightly deaf taught embroidery; I was not concerned with being verbally dragged through the dirt, as I would be with Sanjo-sensei. Indeed, the woman gave me little more than a nod as I slid the door closed behind me.

Yaya noticed me immediately, and stage whispered in a voice loud enough to be heard by the entire classroom. "Rima-tan! Come sit with us!"

The four desks, mine included, were pushed together in a row. Yaya was at the end against the wall, closest to the window; next to her was Amu, desperately trying to salvage a mess of thread— and next to Amu, a waterfall of violet-black hair. Bollocks. The only open seat was next to Nagihiko, and I could tell by the way his eyes glinted at me from across the classroom that he had set it up this way on purpose; I had no choice but to sit down at my desk on the end of the row, seething. What was he planning now?

"Here, Rima," Amu passed me my embroidery hoop, smiling obliviously. "Are you okay? Fujisaki-sensei wasn't too mean, was she?"

I stared at her. I then turned my gaze, accusingly at Nagihiko. I should have known that he would come up with a cover story before I could. Knowing him, it wouldn't be anything terribly flattering.

"She was okay, considering," I said vaguely, taking my embroidery hoop and re-threading my needle with a mournful air. Nagihiko saved me from speaking — a mixed blessing.

"You needn't worry about how you're doing in dancing classes, Rima-chan! We're all here to help you."

Dammit! Is that what my cover story is, Fujisaki? The fact that I have two left feet? I should have guessed as much. I shot him a glare. He beamed in unison with Amu and Yaya, all smiling quite eagerly.

"Of course, Rima. I-I'm not very good myself, of course, but I can give you a couple pointers!" What a lie. Amu had zero form, but she had what Fujisaki-sensei glowingly called a "radiant heart". Amu was almost as much a teacher's pet as Nadeshiko; except unlike Nadeshiko, she had absolutely no idea how it had happened. Helpless to deny it in the face of further suspicion, I made a noncommittal "hmmm" noise, and continued stubbornly stitching my yellow rose. Nagihiko skilfully switched the conversation to something appropriately ladylike, cherry blossom viewing or something, and I embroidered in silence while they chattered.

After a while, Amu and Yaya got distracted with talk of something-or-other about other schools, and Nagihiko joined my Silent Sewing Vigil. He had already made an exemplary scene with trailing wisteria branches on the surface of a pond. Typical nature junk; the teachers ate it up.

Watching his hands lovingly stitch the ripples on the water, I could hardly believe he was a boy. Everything, from his leg crossed girlishly over the other, to the delicate way he grasped the needle, was uncannily feminine. Even knowing he was a boy, I was still somewhat fooled.

Before I could pretend I hadn't been staring at him, he turned to me, curtain of hair forming a barrier between him and Amu and Yaya; in a low voice, he continued stitching. "What did my mother talk to you about?"

I stared back at him, motives suddenly clear. He had set the desks up this way to interrogate me on what Fujisaki-sensei had said after he left. While Nagihiko was still the lesser of two evils, I wasn't exactly willing to tell him that his mother and I had a quid pro quo about his transvestism.

"Well, my mother has been terribly concerned about how badly I am performing in dancing lessons, you see, Fujisaki-san." I raised my eyebrows at him, in a singsong voice. "So worried that she wrote the headmistress. Fujisaki-sensei told me I should work harder, and she's quite right, of course."

Nagihiko smiled softly back, although his eyes betrayed a hint of irritation. He truly had unfounded faith in his wheedling ability if he thought he could just flat-out ask me and expect an honest answer.

"Mashiro-san," he began to fill in the wisteria leaves, a soft, cloudy green colour. "My mother is very skilled at commissioning a hut and then demanding a castle."

I goggled at him, forgetting to be aloof in the light of his bizarre metaphors. "What does that even mean?"

"It means," he turned to look at me. The purple wisteria on his canvas stretched towards the water like reaching hands. "That if you made an agreement with her, you might end up with more than what you bargained for."