Chapter Fifteen

"This meeting should come as no surprise, Miss Hanamura."

Her homeroom teacher, Mrs. Osakabe, seated herself at her desk in the teachers' lounge, taking special care to smooth her blouse and adjust the glasses perched on her nose. Hanamura sat beside her, steeling her nerves. The lounge was empty save for the lone administrative assistant who was making copies in the corner, but it was second lunch which meant most of the faculty were already back inside the classrooms.

They were alone.

Hanamura's stomach growled, but she had no appetite. Only an increasing feeling of fear as she watched Mrs. Osakabe pull several papers from a folder and lay them across her desk.

"You're aware your test scores are unsatisfactory," she began, "You have fallen behind the class average."

Hanamura leaned forward, stricken.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, shaking her head. She picked up the nearest exam, crushed to see it riddled with red markings. It was the lowest test score she had ever received in school – and in science too, her best subject. How could she have performed this badly?

"A student in your position is placed in what we call 'academic probation.' You run the risk of being unable to continue on to your second year," Mrs. Osakabe explained in a cold tone, sounding as if she were not at all surprised by her predicament. "I have observed your behavior these past few months, and I'm concerned that you're not retaining the material we cover in the classroom." She pulled the test from Hanamura's hands, returning it to the folder along with the others. " I think it might be wise to contact your parents to discuss your next steps."

"No!" Hanamura leaped out of her chair. Her fists were shaking, and she was on the verge of tears. "Please!" The thought of disappointing her parents was too much to bear. If Mrs. Osakabe contacted her family, they would know she was failing. This was all her fault.

Her teacher scowled. "Have a seat, young lady."

Hanamura sank back into her chair, her face burning.

How could this have happened? She had done nothing but study for weeks, memorizing everything from sunup to sundown until she was a walking encyclopedia. Stacks of flashcards were crammed inside her desk, the pages of her sketchbook filled with math equations, her dorm room walls covered in an elaborate collage of diagrams. She spent more time with the librarian, Ms. Moriyama, than her own roommate. So much so, she was embroiled in her daily melodramas over a cousin who left medical school to become a professional mermaid.

Can you believe that? Ms. Moriyama would always whisper heatedly over the stacks. She just dropped everything to wear a seashell bra and swim in the pool for money. And people actually pay her! Birthday parties, aquariums, festivals…I've gone into the wrong field.

Daily discussions of mermaids aside, Hanamura poured everything she had into preparing for finals and it had cost her dearly. Not only was she emotionally taxed, she hadn't slept well in several days. It was beginning to show, the dark circles under her eyes deep enough to rival the night sky.

She swayed in her chair. The carpet beneath her feet swelled, and she felt the cold rush under her skin as if she were about to faint.

Mrs. Osakabe observed her closely, a pen rolling between her fingers.

"I see you're quite distraught over this," she said, at last, her expression fractionally less stern. A decision seemed to be hanging in the balance. Hanamura sat there in perfect silence, staring at her lap until the pen was finally put down. Her teacher sighed. "If that's the case, then perhaps we can work on a plan to get you out of probation."

Hanamura glanced up, cautious.

"We…we can do that?"

Mrs. Osakabe reached for a binder, looking very lawyerlike as she perused the different-colored tabs, searching for something with a frown. She flipped to the very back and removed a form with Summer Remedial Courses written in fancy characters in the letterhead.

"If you agree to it, I'll arrange for you to participate in the makeup exams during the summer break," she explained, filling out the form with Hanamura's information, "You will stay on campus for an additional two weeks to complete your makeup work. Your days will be structured exactly as they are now, but you will be under Ms. Moriyama's jurisdiction. I should also remind you that this will be in addition to the coursework that is assigned to everyone over the holiday. You will be expected to complete all of this by the start of next term."

Hanamura considered the prospect of staying on campus. It meant she would not be going home as scheduled, prolonging her homesickness, but it was an opportunity to recover her grades. Her only opportunity.

"I'll do it," she said feverishly.

Mrs. Osakabe nodded. "Sign here and I'll have it submitted for approval."

Hanamura did as she was told.

Her teacher signed the form as well, laying it on top of her exam folder. Shuffling everything into a neat stack, she added, "I understand that adjusting to a new school can be difficult, but we did warn you that Shiratorizawa has high expectations of its students. I can only do so much. You're responsible for asking questions, staying on top of your assignments, and devoting adequate study time in the evenings. Painting is but a small part of your educational experience with us. Is that understood?"

Hanamura was gripped by an acute sense of injustice. Clearly, Mrs. Osakabe was blind to all she had done in an effort to maintain her grades. Hanamura couldn't remember the last time she had taken a stroll in the park let alone begin a new piece. To think, all of her efforts had gone unnoticed.

"Yes ma'am," she said, disconsolate.

"Good. Now, the other matter I wish to address is your uniform."

Hanamura tensed. "My uniform?"

Mrs. Osakabe swiveled in her chair, crossing arms over her chest, her expression once more disapproving. She cast her eye over Hanamura, instantly making her feel tainted, unclean.

"Several teachers have commented that you are transporting things around campus that you have not been given permission to do so. Tarps, sticks, buckets, among other things."

"Those are for – "

Mrs. Osakabe raised a hand. "Regardless of what it's for, your actions reflect the school. And it's with the school in mind that I ask you to please conduct yourself with the proper behavior we expect of our students. No more gathering."

As if to illustrate her point, she reached out and pinched the sleeve of Hanamura's blazer, noticing the streaks of dirt from her last haul. It contrasted starkly against the pristine white of her own blouse.

"Your uniform is to remain clean at all times, understood?"

Hanamura recoiled from her teacher, shame rising deep inside her.

"Yes ma'am," she said in a small voice.

"Good. That is all for today. We will meet again to discuss your makeup exams."

. . . . . . .

Hanamura left the teachers' lounge extremely discouraged.

Her head filled with anger and frustration, but it quickly blurred into a cloud of confusion.

In fact, everything started to spin.

Stumbling near the water fountain, she leaned a shoulder against the wall. The egg-shell paint felt cool against her forehead as she closed her eyes with a deep sigh. She stayed there for a moment, letting the vertigo run its course. If she moved too quickly, the hallway would tip sideways, and she would faint.

How had it come to this?

All her carefully laid plans had backfired, and she was faced with spending an extra two weeks at this militant school. Her heart plummeted as she thought of all the things she would be missing out on at home. Her family always went camping during the first week of summer. She'd miss out on the woodfires and smores, swimming in the creek, hiking the woods with her friends.

I'll have to call Mom and Dad, she thought miserably. Tell them my trip is postponed.

Her father was scheduled to arrive in Sendai to fetch her home, but she would have to find another way of navigating downtown once her makeup exams were finished. Shame overwhelmed her as she realized she would be among the few students staying on at the school while everyone else was on break.

If that wasn't bad enough, Mrs. Osakabe had forbidden her from scavenging. Hanamura had come so close to acquiring everything on her list. Just a few more items and she would have had everything she needed to carry out her next big experiment. Why couldn't her teacher understand it was all a part of her scholarship? Hanamura felt as if her wings had just been clipped and she was expected to flock with all the other birds.

It was an impossible situation.

She traveled down the stairs to the second floor thinking she could spend a few minutes in the library until lunch was finished. She didn't feel like facing Asano or Izakaya who were probably still discussing the adjustments to his mage costume. They had no idea she was scheduled to meet with Mrs. Osakabe. She told them she was meeting up with Rumi to catch flies, too ashamed to tell them the truth.

I just need a minute to think, she decided, a moment to decompress. Somewhere quiet.

To her disappointment the library was packed, but she was relieved to see that Ms. Moriyama was preoccupied with helping other students. She would be spared another round of mermaid gossip at the very least. As she made a beeline for her favorite spot behind the leather sofa, she spotted red hair and immediately panicked.

Tendou was in the library with his teammates. In fact, there were several classes that seemed to be working in the computer lab that afternoon. The copy machine was spitting out papers just outside the lab, and it was this device they all congregated around idly.

Hanamura flung herself against the nearest bookshelf. Her heart was thumping rapidly inside her chest, the motion enough to make her stomach lurch. Not for the first time she felt guilty for hiding from him. A couple of second-year girls eyed her strangely as they shuffled past with books in their arms, but Hanamura remained where she was, tucked behind the collection of leather-bound atlases.

Tendou's voice traveled to her ears, sounding annoyed.

"Can we please put this to rest already?"

He had his arms crossed, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled all the way up to his biceps. The tie around his neck was loose, the end tucked into his shirt pocket. He looked especially languorous as he leaned against the copy machine, frowning.

"Is it true?" Reon asked, his tone sounding amused. "She asked you out?"

Hanamura froze.

"Looked more like a fight to me," said Semi. "We thought she was going to throw a pom-pom at you."

"Right? I never would have thought," Tendou agreed, raising his shoulders in a shrug. "She always looked so nauseated. I thought it was because I smelled bad or had something in my teeth."

They broke into snickers.

Their libero was the only one who remained solemn.

"Sasakura, why? You're wasting your affections on the wrong person!" Yamagata lamented. "With all the suitable matches at this school, why did she have to set her eyes on you? Such a waste."

Tendou pulled away from the printer with his paper in hand.

"Why don't you go tell her then?" He goaded Yamagata with a surreptitious grin. "Isami's sitting right there with the girls from Class 2B. I can call her over," he offered in a threat.

Yamagata quickly retracted his whining.

"You're right, we should drop this."

Papers in hand, they left the copier and filed dangerously close to her bookshelf. Hanamura shrank back, praying that Tendou wouldn't see her. It had been a few weeks since she stood this close to him, and his sudden presence produced in her a terrible longing.

He approached, his eyes dancing along the shelves until someone asked him a question, drawing his gaze. He returned to the computer lab, leaving her undiscovered.

Hanamura was devastated. Did this mean the cheerleader confessed to him? Had Isami finally worked up the courage to tell Tendou how she truly felt? It was inconclusive on whether he had agreed to her proposition or not. But the way his teammates were treating him suggested they were astounded by the prospect – Shiratorizawa's Guess Monster dating a cheerleader.

Her heart began to break.

"Hanamura?"

Gasping, she spun around. Nurse Hino was standing right behind her with an inquisitive look on her face.

"Shouldn't you be at lunch?"

Hanamura placed a hand against the bookshelf. The room started to spin again.

"Oh…I was just…I was sent on an errand for Mrs. Osakabe," she quickly fibbed.

"Is everything alright? You seem ill." Nurse Hino reached out to place a soft hand on her forehead. The contact was enough to draw a lump inside her throat as she watched the nurse's brow crease with concern. "Hmm…no fever. But you look dreadful." Mrs. Hino clicked her tongue with a small shake of her head. "Would you like to rest in my office? I can let your teacher know."

"I'm fine. Really," Hanamura reassured her, waving her hands in refusal. "I better finish my errand before it gets too late. See you, Mrs. Hino!"

Hanamura dashed out of the library before anyone else could catch her.

She was in dire straits. There was a deep, hollow pain in her chest now, and it made her entire body feel empty. Like someone had scooped out her insides, leaving nothing but a brittle shell. She couldn't go to lunch like this, nor could she suffer an entire afternoon in homeroom pretending that everything was fine. She wandered numbly through the school, her feet carrying her back to the fourth floor.

Of course, he moved on, her inner voice chided ruthlessly. What else did you expect?

When Tendou had surprised her with the volleyball net, she had been feeling exceptionally low that day. Things were tense with Tashima. She had her grades to worry about. She wasn't feeling confident about her art. And to make matters worse, they had received word that Coach Washijo had canceled the poster commission. She didn't think that, by pulling out of the project, she would be jeopardizing it for Tashima as well, but the announcement had come as a shock to the second year. All of this weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she never meant to treat Tendou so coldly.

I'll leave you to it then.

She knew she hurt him. It broke her heart to push him away, but she couldn't bear to lose face, to show him how incompetent she truly was. It was embarrassing. She was failing her classes and risking expulsion. How could she face him knowing the terrible dilemma she was in?

You're a coward, she thought to herself, you could never measure up to someone like him anyway.

Hanamura stepped through the doors of the studio and found the place completely vacant. Everyone was either in class or at lunch. She was suddenly overcome with loneliness. Mrs. Osakabe had warned her that substandard performance meant she would no longer be able to participate in extracurricular activities. She would have to let the art club go if she had any hope of recovering her grades.

The thought saddened her.

As she moved across the room, bright rays of sunlight caught her eye, drawing her gaze to the giant painting of a tsunami. Tashima's latest masterpiece was nearly finished. The mess of grays, blues, and creams had come together to produce a colossal wave breaching on itself spectacularly. Hanamura could feel the cold sea mist on her face, taste the ocean in her mouth. The water frothed violently in the foreground, revealing the faintest silhouette of a ship drowning into the surf.

Tashima had encapsulated the feeling of helplessness so masterfully, it left her standing there in awe.

And then a truly distressing thought occurred to her, twisting her gut as she realized that Tashima was capable of wielding paint in a way that she would never be able to do herself. The second year knew how to lay down brushstrokes, coaxing the paint into a vision of such raw and turbulent emotion. The wave threatened to spill through the canvas, to swallow her up as it swallowed the ship, casting her adrift in the storm.

She could never rise to such skill.

As she began to compare her spontaneous experiments to Tashima's meticulously-disciplined work, she had the terrible, sinking feeling that Tashima was right. Art was supposed to mean something. It was supposed to invoke something profound, to leave people breathless. Hanamura never gave much thought to how others viewed her work. The only thing that concerned her was finding new ways to apply paint to canvas.

Compared to Tashima, she was a cheap imitation.

Hanamura backed away from the painting, suddenly very lost. She could no longer hold back the tide of voices that were gnawing at her insides, dragging her under the surface. She buckled under their weight.

Have you ever thought about becoming an artist? You have such an interesting outlook on the world, Suzume. It would be wonderful to see it through your eyes.

We offer only a handful of spots each year, so it's essential that funding goes to candidates who can fulfill our expectations.

You're not from around here, are you?

Are you building a collection of some kind? The whole school is dying to know.

Just how many techniques do you need?

She claims to never use a paintbrush.

Your actions reflect the school. And it's with the school in mind that I ask you to please conduct yourself with the proper behavior we expect of our students.

Are you really an artist or is this just an elaborate attempt at grabbing attention for yourself?

Despair unlike any kind Hanamura had ever encountered took root inside her, ripping her apart. It preyed on her senses, leaving her standing at the edge of something beyond her comprehension. It filled her with the wild, uncontrollable impulse to run.

Striding over to her closet, she pried the curtains back and gazed at the paintings that hung from the ceiling, waiting to be stretched across wooden bars. Almost instantly, they had become the remnants of a girl who was a figment of her imagination – a sliver of a dream and nothing more. One by one, she ripped them from the rafters, letting them pool at her feet as she bundled them up and tossed them into the garbage.

Then, she ran.

A/N: The Dark Night of the Soul, indeed. :(

Confession time: I have a particular fondness for the moment in Shoujo Romance where the leading lady finds herself backed into a corner with a broken heart. This is the moment in the anime where we get a gut-wrenching musical score that brings me to my knees. Sounds sadistic, I know, but it's always so satisfying to see how she overcomes everything once she's hit rock bottom. And to have her love interest so near yet so far away - ugh! The epitome of heartache.

Hanamura is facing what all creatives face on their journey - that test of identity and self-worth that is so deeply entangled in their work. Though she gives in to this impulse to destroy, I hope the creatives who are reading this story know that anything you put your heart and mind into is priceless beyond measure. Even if it's just for your eyes and your eyes only, it is solid gold, baby. Hold onto it always.

Now, I really ought to make myself a drink and think about what I've done to poor Hanamura.

"The Green Light ft. The XX" - Craig Armstrong

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Until next time, take care!

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