Chapter Twenty-One

Hanamura arrived on campus at a quarter past two. Her trek from the train station to the school was sluggish in the summer heat, but she remembered the patisserie along the way and treated herself to a frozen gelato. From there, she took the winding path past the shrine, through the apartment complex, and underneath the rail bridge overlooking the spillway – just as Tendou had shown her – spotting the school bell tower through the trees.

Wow! I actually found it, she thought, shocked. I might actually be getting the hang of this after all.

In fact, her journey to school was significantly different this time around. Instead of wracked by nerves, wondering how on earth she was going to survive on her own in the big city, how she was going to manage her studies while making friends in an unfamiliar place, Hanamura was filled with a resilient determination that radiated outwards, transforming her walk into a strut. By the time she arrived at the main gate, she was practically glowing when she ran into a group of third-year boys playing soccer on the lawn.

Alright, here we go, she thought bracingly. New day, new you, Suzume. Let's try something different.

Suitcase in hand, Hanamura gathered her courage and marched toward the dormitories. She took the sidewalk that cut through their playing area and felt the familiar twinge of discomfort that came along with the possibility of confrontation. But Hanamura held her ground, keeping her chin high and her posture strong. As she drew close to their game, someone in the group paused.

"Guys, watch out," said a tall third year, motioning his friends to the side. "Let her through."

The others glanced at her before plodding to one side of the sidewalk.

They waited politely as Hanamura strolled past, resuming their game once she was out of harm's way. She could feel several curious gazes trail behind her, but it was only when she was safely under the shade tree that she fist-pumped, celebrating her victory.

Alright! No one is ever going to make me feel small or insignificant again. She vowed. Not on my watch.

As she reached the girls' dormitory feeling infinitely more confident, she found the marmalade sunning itself on the steps. He watched her with large golden eyes, his tail curling.

"Hullo, Cosmo," she scratched him behind the ears, stoking a loud purr. He placed a fat paw on her shoe as if to say, Welcome back, nice human. She ran her fingers through his luxurious mane until he had enough and sprinted back into the bushes. "Bye, Cosmo," she waved.

Fishing around for her student ID, she quickly climbed the stairs to her room on the third floor. As she swung the door open, panting, she was greeted by a menagerie of overgrown houseplants. The weeping fig near the window had nearly doubled in size, and the decorative strings-of-pearl was cascading thick ropes of beads over her desk. There was a mason jar full of dead flies sitting next to the flytrap, and by the look of things, Rumi had already settled and vacated the room for some afternoon harvesting.

"If the hall monitor sees this, we're in deep trouble," she said with a small laugh.

There was a buzz inside her pocket. Her heart leaped inside her chest, sensing who it was without her having to even glance at the screen. Thoughts of Tendou had occupied her mind all during her ride on the train. It only seemed fair that his ears were burning.

Still slaving away at camp, I'm afraid, he wrote, but we're due back on Tuesday. The gelato looks good! Did you find the school?

He sent her a picture of Kawanishi sprawled in the grass, volleyballs surrounding him like funeral offerings. Grinning, she snapped a picture of her room and sent it to him.

Yes! Made it safe and sound, but I might get eaten by the flytrap. Keep working hard! I'll see you on Tuesday.

She added a couple of emojis and exclamation points but, after a moment of deliberation, sent the message as is. Texting was almost as nerve-wracking as speaking to Tendou in person, but she had developed a particular fondness for his log entries regarding boot camp:

Day 1: We've just won the tournament and already they are trying to break us. Our recent victory seems paltry in comparison to the death matches they've lined up to tear us apart. It's hard to believe this is a training camp and not some Lucha Libre wrestling competition. One of the rival teams has an ace named 'The Destroyer.' Kenjiro refuses to talk about his match…too traumatized.

Day 3: The coaches are now depriving us of sleep. Morale is at an all-time low. Half the team has slipped into a state of insanity, confusing the infirmary for a chance at naptime. Hayato welcomed a spike to the face with open arms. The others have begun to follow suit.

Day 5: We have lapsed into a delusion that this is not a training camp at all, but in fact, prison. The team has wizened up and begun dealing orange slices at the end of practice in exchange for favors. Yunohama has amassed an entire bag which he intends to swap for double portions of meat at dinner. No one has the heart to tell him that the current exchange rate guarantees him a few broccoli florets at the most. The price for meat is a kidney.

Day 7: We cannot hold out much longer. The other teams have broken through our walls. They have taken Wakatoshi as their own. We have barred the gates as best we can against 'The Destroyer' but doubt if we can hold out much longer. If there is no escape, a horrible fate we will suffer at the hands of the Demon Coach, but I shall hold. They are coming…they are coming…

Hanamura felt a strong pull in her chest and could hardly wait for the team to return to school. It would be quiet without Tendou zipping all across campus like a firecracker. As an act of compassion, she sent him a motivational picture of a kitten hanging from a clothesline, the caption at the bottom of the image reading, "Hang in there. You got this!"

His response was a close-up shot of Kawanishi's nostrils, and it made her laugh.

. . . . . . . .

Freshening up, Hanamura headed downstairs for a late lunch. The kitchen on the main floor was sparsely occupied. Students were expected to trickle in over the weekend, most not arriving until late Sunday evening, but as she crossed the room, she spotted a familiar blonde ponytail sitting by the windows, a girl with a portfolio and fancy silver pen.

Hanamura froze.

The sight of Tashima produced feelings of sudden discomfort, and for a moment, she had the overwhelming desire to run back up the stairs. Glancing around, she could find no traces of Yamada or Fukuhara anywhere. Without them, Tashima was as good as a snake hidden in the grass – ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Hanamura ducked behind the buffet cart. But as she huddled there, crouched underneath the fruit salad with heart hammering inside her chest, her anxiety was replaced by intense embarrassment.

What on earth was she doing? Had she not just vowed to never let anyone make her feel small or insignificant again?

This was hardly an improvement.

Hanamura chewed her cheek. It would be easy for her to come up with excuses why she couldn't talk to Tashima. She could pretend to have moved on and keep her at a polite distance. But deep down inside, Hanamura knew that if she couldn't face her now – discomfort and all – she would never be able to face the rest of the school year on her own terms.

She had to be brave.

Taking a deep breath, Hanamura stood and headed straight for her table.

"Hullo, Tashima," she blurted, causing the second year to jolt violently. Tashima had been crouched over her portfolio, scrawling away with her nose nearly pressed to the page. Her table was littered with several abandoned attempts that had been crumbled and gathered like snowballs.

Tashima whipped around, caught.

"Hanamura!" She gasped, hastily scooping up the bits of paper and depositing them in the chair beside her. A strand of translucent hair escaped her ponytail and she swiped at it anxiously. "Erm…," she glanced around the kitchen, a look of panic on her face, "The Asano sisters haven't returned yet if that's what you're wondering."

Hanamura studied her with a frown.

This was the first time she had seen the older girl so unkempt. Instead of the smooth, polished lines she had come to associate with Tashima, she took in the over-sized sweatshirt, the dark circles under her eyes, the silky sheen of her hair now lank and pulled back into a purple scrunchie. This version appeared as if she had rolled out of bed and called it good.

Tashima was definitely rattled.

"Actually, I was looking for you," Hanamura said softly. "Mind if I sit down?"

Tashima blinked in confusion before nodding slowly.

Taking the chair opposite her, Hanamura reached for the pitcher of water at the end of the table. As she poured herself a glass, she could feel Tashima's eyes on her, taking in her new appearance.

"Oh, that's right! I almost forgot," she said, "I decided to change things up a bit over the break." She ran a hand over her shorn locks, adjusting the red bandana she had tied around her head. "No more pesky hair in my face while I work. At least, not for a while." She smiled. "How was your summer?"

Tashima sat rigid in her chair, her jaw tense.

"Fine…I suppose. Nothing too exciting." She shifted her gaze, frowning. "Yours?"

Hanamura gulped her water. She hadn't realized she was so thirsty.

"It was good." She said, feeling slightly refreshed. "I trampled a wasp nest in my dad's workshop and got stung eight times," she shared with a pained expression, lifting a leg to show Tashima all the Band-Aids still covering her skin, "but other than that it was nice." She leaned forward across the table. "Whatcha working on?"

"NOTHING!" Tashima shouted suddenly, covering her portfolio with her arms. She had a hunted look on her face, her nostrils flaring. When Hanamura straightened back in her chair, she was quick to clear her throat. "I mean – nothing art-related." Tashima cupped her brow, the dark circles under her eyes appearing even more prominent in the sunlight. When she spoke again, her tone was sheepish. "Sui recommended I give journaling a try over the break…you know…to process my emotions. She says it's supposed to help."

Hanamura eyed the small heap of paper sitting next to her. "Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Helping?"

"Oh." Tashima looked grim. "I'm not sure. Somehow I feel worse."

An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, Tashima looking vastly out of sorts as she peered out the window, crestfallen.

Hanamura bit her lip.

"Listen, Tashima," she began tentatively, "I was hoping we could...talk...about what happened last term."

Tashima pinned her with a guarded look, her eyes glacial.

"Really?" She scoffed, sounding more like her usual self. "And here I thought you'd have nothing more to do with me. We haven't spoken since that day," she said, referring to the afternoon in the classroom. As the words left her mouth, her frown deepened. "Wait – did Noriko put you up to this? She's here, isn't she?" She searched the room, expecting to find their club president lurking somewhere nearby with her menacing chisel in hand.

Hanamura shook her head.

"No! No one put me up to this. I've been wanting to talk to you this whole time, but finals and summer school and other things got in the way before I had the chance," she explained. Her pulse began to pound at her temples as she became flooded by nerves. "I...I want you to know that I feel awful about the poster, and...and that it was never my intention to take it away from you!" She paused, taking a breath. "I guess what I'm trying to say is…I'm sorry."

There, she said it.

A great deal of pressure seemed to slip off her shoulders as the words she rehearsed on the train were finally spoken aloud. But there was no telling whether Tashima would accept them or not. The second-year remained inscrutable as she stared at her for a long, strained moment.

But then, the ice began to thaw.

"Oh," she said quietly, taken aback. "Oh, I wasn't expecting that."

Tashima appeared as if she had never received an apology in her life. She tugged at her sweatshirt, awkward.

"Well then...I uh...I suppose I owe you an apology too – for all those nasty things I said." She winced. "I was the one who goaded you into the project in the first place. I had no idea you were under so much pressure."

Hanamura relaxed, encouraged by Tashima's willingness to be open.

"Yeah, but I still agreed to it," she said ruefully, "I could've handled things better – told you the truth. But…maybe it's not too late." She caught Tashima's gaze as she leaned across the table again. "If we ask Coach Washijo, he might reconsider letting us do it again. Nationals is coming up, and with all the attention the volleyball club is getting recently, he might go for it. Right? It's worth a shot, don't you think?"

Tashima pursed her lips.

"Hanamura, it wasn't the poster that caused me to be so upset. Not really," she confessed, slouching in her seat and hugging her portfolio close. It covered her mouth, muting her words as she said, "The truth is I'm jealous."

Hanamura tilted her head in confusion. "Of what?"

Tashima peered at her incredulously.

"Really? You have to ask?"

Seeing that she had caught Hanamura off guard, Tashima shifted sideways in her chair, leaning an arm on the backrest with a scornful look on her face.

"Oh, don't act all surprised," she said sneeringly. "I haven't been the warmest studio mate toward you all year, and if it weren't for Noriko's and Sui's insufferable self-help crap, I would have made my feelings known from the beginning – starting the day you were given the utility closet as your workspace."

Hanamura gazed at her, shocked.

"I don't understand," she uttered, still confused. "Why me?"

Tashima studied her closely.

"Do you want to know why I asked you all those questions? Why I wanted to know what was behind all of your experiments?" She asked instead, her eyes flickering.

Hanamura found herself nodding absently.

"It's because you annoy me."

Hanamura blinked. She should have anticipated that.

Tashima smiled, cold.

"My whole life, I've been taught that painting is a discipline that requires a careful observance of the rules," she went on to explain. "Color, Composition, Perspective – these are the hallmarks of fine art. For years, I've had to work extremely hard to get to where I am now. But then you," she shook her head, regarding Hanamura exasperatedly, "you show up out of nowhere with this 'no-brush nonsense,' have a total disregard for the rules, and still manage to produce amazing work! You just…you just do it! And you make it look easy!" She tossed her hands, furious. "You're the only person I've ever met that can turn total garbage into art!"

Hanamura leaned back in her seat, reeling from all that Tashima was telling her. Her hands were forgotten in her lap, her heart beating erratically in her chest. Tashima looked just as upset. Her brow was creased into something between guilt and anguish, for once, her elegant features rough. She crossed her arms, cupping her forehead in defeat.

"If that isn't bad enough, you have an allure that draws people to you – Asano, Izakaya, the volleyball team, Ms. Oshiro, and Nurse Hino – they're all interested in what you're doing. People respond to it, Hanamura. They can engage in your work in a way they can't in mine. Unless you have a love for dreary landscapes," she said with a bitter laugh, "I'm dull in comparison."

Her words were punctuated by silence. Other conversations filled the air as more girls gathered in the kitchen, speaking excitedly to one another as they caught up on their summer adventures. The sunlight intensified at the windows, bathing their table in a warm glow. Little rainbows refracted from the water droplets coating Hanamura's glass.

She ran a hand over the table, watching the colors shimmer over her skin.

"Tashima," she began, searching for words of comfort, but the second year wouldn't have it.

"Spare me. I know what you're going to say," She said, looking disgruntled. "I'm not angry with you, Hanamura. I just wish I could be more like you."

Hanamura frowned. It was surreal to have her own insecurities echoed by the very person who seemed so accomplished in her own right. To learn that Tashima, the darling of the art club, harbored resentment of any kind towards her was baffling. For a moment, she could do nothing but stew in her shock, confused by all she had learned. But then a thought occurred to her. It struck her with such immediacy, she felt embarrassed for not having realized it sooner.

The wave, the overwhelming feeling of helplessness, the ship sinking into the surf...was that not all a reflection of Tashima's inner turmoil? She had rendered it in perfect detail, clear as day. So perfect, in fact, it had dragged Hanamura under the surface in her moment of despair. It was the first time she ever stopped to consider that maybe Tashima was lost too.

For being so different, they were distressingly similar.

Hanamura considered her a bit more kindly.

If you think about it, jealousy is not such a bad thing. Feeling jealous of another person can often alert us of the things we lack and therefore desire in ourselves.

So what am I supposed to do with it then?

Learn from it...Learn from them...That's how you get better at being you.

"Tashima," she began again, addressing her in a tone that implied a truce, "you asked me an important question last term. I've thought long and hard about what you said, and...I realize that I can't give you an answer...but I can show you," she offered.

Tashima glanced up, cautious.

"What do you mean?"

Hanamura cast her gaze around the room, lowering her voice into a whisper.

"My experiments have been leading up to something – something big – but I need your help."

Tashima remained skeptical.

"What about Asano and Izakaya? Don't they normally help you?"

"I haven't told them yet. I wanted to talk to you first."

"Why?"

"Because I need you," said Hanamura. "I need your time management skills, your fancy to-do lists, your meticulous attention to detail. You have an incredible talent for planning things so far in advance, you never waste a single brushstroke! I've watched you work in the studio too. You know exactly what you're doing. I've never met anyone who wields paint like you do. It's amazing!" She said, making Tashima flush. "I know we don't see eye-to-eye on things, but it's precisely because of this that I need you. This idea I have…I could never carry out on my own. But with your help, everything is suddenly possible!"

Hanamura reached out across the table, offering a hand.

"What do you say? Wanna give collaborating another shot?" She asked imploringly. "I promise not to run away this time."

Tashima studied her in disbelief.

"I don't get it. I give you my honest opinion, insult you to your face, and you still want to work with me?" she said, shaking her head. A smirk began to tug at her lips. "I like you better already."

Hanamura swelled at her words, taking it as a compliment.

"Alright, I'm in," said Tashima, taking her hand. "I'll try to be nicer this time around, but I can't make any promises. Kindness is not my forte."

"That's okay. We can work around that," said Hanamura. "You won't have to do any more journaling."

"Thank god," said Tashima, relieved.

They shook hands, the act feeling oddly binding as if they were signing a peace treaty. The tension around them seemed to lift and break apart like storm clouds. The anguish finally evaporated from Tashima's face, leaving her rife with intrigue.

"So," she said, leaning closer across the table, "what exactly did you have in mind?"

Hanamura returned her smile, lifting her chin.

"A duel."

. . . . . . . . .

Summer continued to rage in the rippling heat as classes resumed on Monday. There was a general disenchantment among the students as they found themselves back in the classroom. But as the day wore on, excited murmurings began to grow in the halls, turning into heated discussions in the cafeteria at lunch, and, judging by the colorful flyers plastered all over campus, finally evolved into formal announcements during club.

"Welcome back everyone! I trust you all had a nice holiday," said President Fukuhara as she stood, resting hands on the worktable in the studio. Her demeanor was uncharacteristically poised as she surveyed the room. Everyone had gathered, anxious to hear her big announcement.

"As you know, the culture festival is nearly upon us, and it serves as the crown jewel for the art club," she began. "Visitors from all over Miyagi Prefecture will be flocking to campus to evaluate the academic achievements of Shiratorizawa's student organizations, and as such, we should–" she paused, sniffing the air with a wrinkled nose "–Phew! What's that smell?" She pinched her nose, waving her hand in the air as if to dispel the overpowering aroma. "It's like a sweat lodge in here."

"Sorry," said Asano sheepishly, drawing out the word with a cringe. "The sage is supposed to keep everyone safe. Akiko and I accidentally brought home evil spirits from our trip." She hunched her shoulders in an it-couldn't-be-helped kind of way. "But don't worry, we have the family exorcist coming this weekend to perform a ritual. Everything will go back to normal on Monday, I promise." She sounded somber by that last part.

Fukuhara studied her with a frown.

"Is that why you're all…?"

She waved her hand in a circular motion, gesturing at Asano's massive bedhead.

"Oh, yeah. It likes to tie knots in my hair," she explained proudly, fluffing her tangled locks. "I got lucky. Akiko's tries pushing her down the stairs."

The club regarded her with deep concern, Izakaya inching closer to the incense burner Asano had placed on the table. He waved the plume of smoke over himself anxiously.

When he caught Hanamura staring at him, he huffed.

"What? Don't look at me like that," he snapped. "I already have enough on my plate as it is!"

"You missed a spot," Hanamura pointed out facetiously.

For a moment, Izakaya looked panicked. When he realized she was joking, he grabbed the whole burner, scowling at her through his glasses.

"Right," said Fukuhara distractedly. "Where were we?"

"The culture festival," said Yamada.

"Oh! Right, right. Thank you, Sui." Fukuhara straightened her woodworking apron, addressing the group once more. "As I was saying, this is an important opportunity for the art club, and as such, we should start planning now."

"Are we going to host an open studio like we did last year?" A third-year asked.

Yamada paused in taking meeting notes. A strange expression crossed her face. "The cheese board was nice," she said, sounding jaded. "I think we had a handful of people show up after the literary club's live poetry reading. Sold a piece or two." She hunched her shoulders. "Overall, it wasn't bad."

Her recap of last year was hardly inspiring.

There were subdued murmurings across the table.

"That concept has always done well," Fukuhara agreed, nodding, "but today I'm excited to share with you that I've recently received a proposal you all might find interesting." Glancing up, she gave the floor to the two people sitting eagerly at the opposite end. "Suzume, Tsubomi, perhaps you can share your vision with the club?"

All eyes were on Hanamura and Tashima as they got up to pitch their big idea. A perceptible uneasiness took hold of the group. The altercation from last term had convinced everyone that the two painters were sworn enemies. As a result, no one believed it more ardently, nor with more vitriol, than Asano and Izakaya. Both still blamed Tashima for what had come to be known as The Trashbin Incident.

It had taken Hanamura the better part of the evening to convince them otherwise.

But Suzume, she's a bully! Asano argued heatedly. She told us it was her fault you threw your paintings in the trash!

That's not true, Hanamura tried to explain. I mean, not really.

Well, which is it then? Izakaya snapped. Because if I have to put your closet back together again, I'm charging a fee. You're worse than a hoarder!

They both peered at her critically as if she were their teenage daughter caught out past curfew.

Hanamura suppressed a grin.

Look, she and I...we were both under a lot of pressure. The poster project sort of brought out the worst in us, Hanamura said, speaking truthfully. But we talked things out and agreed that we were both in the wrong. We want to give collaborating another shot.

Asano and Izakaya shared a glance.

Alright, we trust you, said Asano begrudgingly, but just so you know, Tashima's not out of the woods just yet. Fukuhara gave her 50 Good Deeds to complete as part of her penance. If she exhibits model behavior, her sentence could be reduced, but I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.

Hanamura was secure in the knowledge that Tashima had, in fact, completed her first major deed, having acknowledged and apologized for her behavior.

It was never late to begin anew.

The second-year was now standing beside her, sharing a bracing look as they prepared to share their plans with the club.

Hanamura reached below the table, and, with minor difficulty, produced a stack of heavy books she checked out from the library. They could all read the titles on the spines easily: Art for the Everyday Performer, Theater in Painting, Aerial Concepts in Gravity, and The Immersive Painting Experience to name a few.

The group visibly sharpened their attention, curious.

"Hey, wait a minute. Those were the books you brought to our first critique," Asano pointed out, grinning. "Does this mean you've been planning this since the very first day of school?"

Hanamura shook her head. "No, it started out as just research, but after discussing it more with Tashima, we feel that this could be the perfect way to showcase our work at the festival."

"It would be something the art club has never done before," said Tashima.

"Is there any precedence for this?" Fukuhara asked.

"Yes, actually," said Hanamura brightly, having already anticipated this question. "Six years ago, a student by the name of Shuichi Otake welded a sculpture he installed in the courtyard. For the duration of the school year, he slept in it as part of his institutional critique on dorm life."

"He was a bit unorthodox," said Tashima dryly.

Hanamura shook her head, smiling. "No, he was a visionary."

The others broke out into intrigued murmurings.

"So, in reverence to Otake's work, we thought it would be fun to resurrect his approach by taking the studio outside," said Tashima.

Hanamura flipped open the largest picture book and laid it out on the table for everyone to see.

"We want to do this."

The art club condensed into a tight circle with their heads gazing down at the colorful spread. Gasps rippled in the air as they all saw what they had in mind.

"Whoa," said Asano and Izakaya.

"I've never seen anything like this before," said Fukuhara in awe. "Can it be done?"

Hanamura looked to Tashima who pulled out her portfolio and laid it down next to the book.

"Yes. I've broken down the project into a two-month timeline. It accounts for all the materials, setup, and practice that something of this scale requires," she said, pointing to her list, "It's perfectly feasible, but our biggest hurdle is going to be getting faculty approval. Hanamura's been blacklisted by Osakabe from acquiring the rest of her supplies."

"What?" Fukuhara frowned. "Osakabe forbade you from scavenging?"

Hanamura nodded. "She said it's a bad reflection on the school."

To her immense shock, the entire club simmered. The room broke out in gasps of outrage. They were stunned by the news, yet not entirely surprised by the culprit.

"Osakabe. That suit-wearing, tight-lipped tyrant has never stepped a single foot in the studio!" Fukuhara fumed, reaching for her chisel. "If she took one look at your paintings, she would never have stopped you from scavenging. I'm so sorry that happened, Suzume."

"Rumor has it she was never given a scholarship to study at Shiratorizawa, so she takes her resentment out on the students," said Yamada, equally grim.

"I heard it was her daughter who couldn't get into the school. She wasn't good enough to pass the entrance exam or land a scholarship," said Asano. "So she disowned the kid and shipped her off to an orphanage."

"That's not true," said Tashima mordantly. "She doesn't have kids. She and my mother studied together in college. My mom says in business school, the professors are way harder on the ones they believe have true potential. Osakabe would never waste her time on someone otherwise."

"That doesn't excuse her from barring Suzume from her work," cut in Asano harshly.

Tashima raised her hands. "Oh, I agree! Osakabe is the devil-incarnate." She scoffed. "Even I know that."

Fukuhara moved to stand by the windows, surveying the courtyard below.

"I should've known this might come up," she said in a cold, sharp tone. She stood with a hand against her hip, shaking her head. "She's the faculty sponsor for the school's disciplinary committee. Any whiff of rule-breaking and she immediately sends her dogs running. Her spies are everywhere."

"It's true," said a third-year boy, the one who worked with metal wire, "our class once tried to have a zombie apocalypse lock-in, but she dismantled the whole thing on the grounds of impropriety. The disciplinary committee turned the school administration against us in less than 72 hours. They had a petition and everything."

Hanamura grew bleak by the news. She had no idea she was up against such a formidable foe. If Osakabe had such leverage over the school, then how was she ever going to carry out her experiment? A teacher had way more power than a student, and she was a scholarship student to boot. Her attendance at Shiratorizawa was purely contingent on her ability to follow the rules.

Her father may have said a little rebellion was good, but…how much was too much?

Hanamura wilted, feeling the familiar pang of doubt wash over her again, and for a moment, her courage threatened to vanish.

But then, surprisingly, it was Yamada, sweet and softly spoken Yamada, who stood up and approached her, placing hands on her shoulders. The second-year – known for her generally loving nature and infinite patience – peered at Hanamura with an expression so saccharine sweet it was as if she were a porcelain doll. One with a smile that was a little too sharp, a face that was a little too happy. The beginnings of a nightmare.

"Tell us everything you need," she said in a soft voice. "We'll help you scavenge in secret."

Hanamura was taken aback, surprised by her unflinching support.

"Really?" She asked. "You'd do that? What about Osakabe?"

"Suzume, this is the culture festival we're talking about," said Yamada, standing so close, their noses nearly touched. "I'd feed my own goddamn boyfriend to the wolves if it meant sparing us another year of over-priced cheese and pretentious small talk. The art club needs this. I need this."

By now, Yamada was gripping Hanamura's shoulders so tightly, she would leave permanent indentations.

"She's right, you know," said Yamada's boyfriend who had been munching on apple wedges in the corner. They had all forgotten about him, sitting so quietly in the background. "Try wearing a turtleneck for hours, discussing art with rancid cheese breath coming at you from all directions. It's torture."

Izakaya curled his lip in disgust.

"What do you guys think?" Yamada released Hanamura to address the group. "Wanna give Suzume and Tsubomi's idea a shot? If we do another open studio, I – might – just – snap."

Yamada was terrifying. So terrifying, in fact, it was enough to elicit the staunch support of everyone in the room, including Fukuhara. They all nodded their heads vigorously.

"I can handle the groundwork," Tashima assured them, leaning over the plans. "I know of a few students who would be interested in crossing club lines. We'll need some outside help to really pull this off."

"We've already approached Rumi," said Hanamura, nodding. "She's got connections to the marching band and science club."

"My boyfriend works in the library," Yamada announced on his behalf, "he can get us the school's projector."

He gave them a thumbs up. "Sure. Piece of cake."

"Then I can take over the sewing!" Asano offered, sharing in the growing excitement. "We're going to need a lot of ponchos by the looks of it." She was pointing to the lower half of the book spread, a large grin plastered on her face. "Suzume, you still have all those plastic bags, right?"

Hanamura hinged over the table in her excitement. "Yes! Also…how do you feel about costumes?"

Asano raised a hand.

"Please. Way ahead of you, sister," she said, waving her off. "If we're doing this, we're going all out."

Hanamura shared a look with Tashima who smoothed her ponytail with a grin.

"My dad taught me how to use power tools over the break," she shared with the group. "He sent me back with his drill. I have it in my dorm room!"

"Excellent! Then leave the Student Government Council to me," volunteered Fukuhara. "Our club association meeting is coming up at the end of the month. That's plenty of time to write a proposal and present our case. I have it good with Kazane Fujiwara. She's a heavyweight when it comes to school politics. We'll need her support if we want to gain council approval."

"Don't forget, Akiko sits on the Culture Festival Board too," said Asano. "She can keep tabs on the disciplinary committee for us, alert us of any developments should Osakabe become suspicious. She's read all our uncle's homicide detective thrillers. She'll know what to look out for."

Their excitement was infectious. The doldrums of yet another boring open studio event was quickly replaced by an elaborate setup. Somehow, it felt even more thrilling now that they were going to operate in secret.

There was only one member who felt the opposite.

"Guys, come on. You're trying to pull off a heist. This is a school function for crying out loud! Not some money-laundering scheme," argued Izakaya, cradling the incense burner. "Besides, we've got to keep our heads down low. Let's not forget, we're at the bottom of the club hierarchy. The chess club has more clout than we do! No one will take us seriously."

"Speak for yourself," Asano retorted.

Tashima stood to her full height, her gaze piercing.

"Izakaya – are you an artist, or aren't you?" She challenged him, placing hands on hips. "You think artists gain traction by playing it safe? No! Art involves risk. It requires putting yourself out there! Why wait when we have an opportunity to do it now?"

Izakaya withdrew, clutching the incense burner, aghast.

"Because I like being invisible, thank you very much!"

"Says the person who's a wizard on the weekends," said Asano dryly.

Izakaya gaped at her, betrayed.

"Trust me, Takashi. This will be fun. It could wind up a huge flop in the end, sure," Hanamura hunched her shoulders, nonchalant, "but better to try and fail than not try at all, right?"

Izakaya adjusted his glasses, the glare from the overhead lights blocking his eyes from view.

"I curse the day you were admitted to this school, Suzume Hanamura," he grumbled. "Fine – a heist it is! But if we find ourselves expelled, I want full immunity."

"That's the spirit, Takashi," beamed Hanamura.

"Alright then, that only leaves one more topic for discussion," said Asano. When the group peered at her curiously, she broke into her best fox grin. "Seeing as we're operating in secret now, we really ought to have a code name."

"Oh, that's easy," said Tashima, looking to Hanamura. "We'll call it 'Operation Magpie.'"

The art club all looked to her excitedly.

Hanamura, for her part, flushed with warmth as she gazed at the shining faces of her friends. Their unanimous support was overwhelming, and she could hardly speak for fear of breaking down into tears. The tightness in her chest dissolved, and a bolt of purest gold, a joy unlike anything she had ever experienced, shocked her all the way down to her toes.

She wasn't alone anymore. She had a team.

Hanamura broke into a grin.

"Right," she said, rubbing her hands together. "Who's up for some scavenging?"

A/N: Alright! Magpie Girl has assembled her squad at last. Lots of juicy reconciliation in this chapter. I love a good redemption story, especially with an enemies-to-friends trope. Does the art club have what it takes to go against Osakabe and the dreaded disciplinary committee? Will the boys' volleyball club survive boot camp? What will Tendou make of this new Magpie Girl? Also, should we be concerned about Yamada's boyfriend, or does he deserve an award?

"What Up" - Emmy the Great

"Cool Kids (Gazzo & Two Friends Remix)" - Echosmith

Happy belated Thanksgiving everyone! I hope this update finds you well-rested and emerging from a food coma. Holiday hours at work have been abundant, but I'm still able to set aside time to write and edit which has been a wonderful way to destress. It appears my update schedule is every other weekend right now. But I'm so happy these chapters make you laugh. I have a lady robot voice that reads my scripts aloud, and if her flat, mechanical voice can crack me up, I know I've landed on something good. It doesn't always happen, but when it does - it's a beautiful thing. :D

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