My last year in secondary school was destined to be a dumpster fire, but today takes it to a whole new level.
I frown at the pamphlet and handout my school guidance counselor, Mrs. Hanako, slides across her desk. The pamphlet is for some retirement home; the glossy trifold shows an elderly woman sitting alone, staring forlornly out of a window. I shift the pamphlet aside and pick up the handout.
"You really think that community service"—I don't bother hiding the derision in my voice—"will help my application stand out?" I stare at the handout so intently, I'm amazed it doesn't burst into flames.
"For the scholarship? Yes, I do." Since it's the first week after summer break, Mrs. Hanako looks frazzled. Her ponytail is sliding down the side of her head, and no fewer than seven Styrofoam coffee cups clutter her desk. And this is the person in charge of my academic future. "Your grades and exam scores are fantastic. You have a great shot. But a lot of other people apply for colleges could have equally good scores. A college rep I spoke with over the summer emphasized community involvement, especially for scholarship applicants."
My dentist keeps warning me about bruxism, but I ground my molars anyway. For the last three years, I've had one goal: getting into the University of Tokyo. Until last month, I was intent on laser-focusing on my grades and playing video games in my spare time, just biding my time until graduation.
Then Dad lost his job...
Now it's either loan city or scoring a scholarship if I have any chance at affording college.
"And there aren't any scholarships based on just academic achievement?" I scan the handout Mrs. Hanako put together for a second time; as if there's some secret code, a solution to my problems, to unlock.
But the handout is just a summary of what I've done so far for my college apps, and what needs to be done before now and the end of the school year. The sheet shows my exam scores, my grade point average, my class rank, and my extracurriculars. But the blackhole on the paper is the space beside Community Service.
"Academic achievement doesn't cut it anymore, Kaori. You know that. If you want the full-ride scholarship, you're going to have to round out your application—with something non-academic.
I lift my eyes from the handout, my stomach already twisting and turning into little anxiety knots. "How many hours?"
Like most guidance counselors, Mrs. Hanako is preppy and cheerful, and most of her office displays her usually-happy mood. I wouldn't be surprised if she talks about me and my attitude problem in therapy.
"There's no magic number. Most schools ask for anywhere from fifty to two hundred hours. They're looking for investment and involvement. A true passion for helping your community."
I frown. Because I might be the least student involved at Seigaku. I've never volunteered a day in my life, I don't talk to anyone—my fellow peers, bus drivers, baristas, our mail person—if I can help it, and I don't give a shit about the neighborhood. "So, like seventy-five hours, or...?"
"If numbers are that important to you Kaori, sure, aim for seventy-five hours to start. I'm not telling you this to be a pain. I'm telling you this because you're smart and any college would be lucky to have you." She gives me an imploring look, like the bigger her eyes, the easier it'll be to get through to me. "But, sometimes, you have to jump through some hoops, especially if you're looking to land a full ride."
The literal definition of secondary school is jumping through arbitrary hoops. Grades and tests and placement exams. Numbers that will mean absolutely nothing in a year. But going to the University of Tokyo has been my dream since I was twelve, when I built my first computer. Since I fell in love with computers and coding and video games; like my favorite MMPORG, Realm of the Ravager. UT has one of the—if not the—best computer science programs in the world for video games. They even offer a BS in Computer Science Games.
My parents have stressed, ad nauseam, that they don't want me taking out loans for college. But UT is my dream, and I'll gladly go into debt until my forties for my dream.
"I really think you'll love LifeCare," Mrs. Hanako says once she realizes I'm not going to reply, and nudges the pamphlet closer. "It's a great program—"
"No need for the hard sell, Mrs. Hanako." I shove the paperwork into my messenger bag. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"Ever the pragmatist, Kaori." She sighs again and types, her glittery fingernails punching at the keyboard. "But yes, LifeCare is your best bet. They're the only program paired with Seigaku that can provide the number of hours you will need. The coordinator's name is Mayuko, and she will e-mail you about coming in this weekend. Sound okay?"
"Yeah," I sigh, picking up the strap of my messenger bag and slinging it over my shoulder. "Can I go?"
"One sec." Mrs. Hanako rests her elbows on the desk and props her chin with her hands. "Are you... How're you doing? Is your last year treating you better than the one prior?"
"Considering it's been five days, it's kind of too soon to tell." I try to keep the snark out of my voice—I know better than to openly antagonize my teachers and administrative staff—and force a smile onto my face.
The worry on Mrs. Hanako's face eases. "Excellent," she says with a tentative smile. "Well, don't let me keep you! I'm here if you need any—"
But I'm already out the door. No offense to Mrs. Hanako or anything—she's nice enough—but I'm low-key panicking. If I want to shoot for seventy-five hours, that's about six hours a week, already on top of my AP classes, homework, babysitting my monster of a little sister, and living my life. And by "living my life" I mean, playing Realm of the Ravager with my guild every moment of my free time.
The guidance counselors' offices are in Seigaku's creepy sublevel basement, and I begin my ascent up the linoleum-tiled staircase. Panic sweat gathers beneath my armpits and against my lower back, causing the fabric of my school uniform to cling to my skin. Gross.
Since Mrs. Hanako sent me a note to meet her right after my sixth and final period, the school corridors are nearly empty. Seigaku is four stories with brick and ivy and stained-glass windows. I used to love it here, but lately, its halls just fill me with an unshakeable sense of dread.
Most things do, honestly.
I cross the hallway and push open the heavy double doors leading outside. I hear all the bustle of a typical weekday afternoon at Seigaku—the marching band running drills in the parking lot; the tennis team practicing on the courts; the cheerleaders working on their latest gravity-defying pyramid.
The crisp breeze feels good on my perspired skin as I hop down the stairs, and I try to calm myself with each step. Seventy-five hours isn't unrealistic. Totally doable. And working in a retirement home probably will consist of handing out Jell-O cups and calling bingo. I ignore Mrs. Hanako's note about passion and investment. If I have the hours, the scholarship committees won't know the difference.
The street that runs in front of Seigaku has bumper-to-bumper traffic since the middle school is just down the road, and I hit the crosswalk button with my elbow. Drivers around here are notoriously passive-aggressive. Meaning they'll go out of their way to break traffic laws in the name of being nice, which inevitable causes traffic jams, which then causes people to lay on their hours or run red lights. It's chaos.
As I wait, I dig out my headphones from the side pocket of my messenger bag. They pair to my phone, and I pop them in, but not before noticing the car to my left, stuck in the long line of traffic. It's a navy Camry, but I'd recognize that dented bumper anywhere.
I can only see the back of their heads. But the sight of Rika's sleek black bob and Chiyo's sporty blonde ponytail is enough to make my stomach sour. When the crossing light turns, I dash to the other side of the street, taking short, quick steps—even though I want to break out into an asthma-attack-inducing run—until I'm out view. I shouldn't care if they see me, walking home all by myself on the first Friday of our last year in secondary. And I don't care. But that doesn't mean I want to make an accidental eye contact or anything.
I hit play on one of my newest playlists, full of loud, angry perfection, as I head home. The walk there takes all of twenty minutes and the more distance I get from school, the calmer I become. The vague nausea in my stomach fades, although it's not completely gone. My psychiatrist said this is because of my anxiety disorder—you have a ton of neurons in your gut, releasing all sorts of neurotransmitters. While my depression has become my most debilitating disorder, the anxiety is the most constant. A low-level hum in the background of my everyday life.
When I reach my house, I'm relieved to find an empty driveway. No car in the drive or bike locked to the porch railing means no one's home to ask if I sat with anyone at lunch today or what my weekend plans are.
I dig my keys out of my bag and let myself inside.
"Hello?" I call out, just to be sure, and no one answers.
I kick off my loafers before I drift into the kitchen, grab a juice from the fridge, a protein bar, and then head downstairs. In my room, I place my snacks beside my computer and dump my messenger bag onto the floor.
My bedroom isn't large, by any means. My double-sized bed is tucked into the corner beneath the egress window, and the dark-blue walls are covered in one-of-a-kind prints for my favorite videos games and movies. And the love of my life sits before me: my computer.
I boot up the tower, turn on my display, and then sink into the cushion of my gaming chair. Log in to Monsoon—the gaming client for Realm of the Ravager—and wait as it updates. RotR is my go-to whenever life become too much—and let's face it, my last year in secondary is off to shitty start. Plus it's Friday, and I've earned endless hours of gaming.
When I'm focused on leveling my rogue, I don't have to think about going to LifeCare this weekend. I don't have to think about Rika and Chiyo, best friends forever. I don't have to think about anything. Because that's the beauty of video games: you can slip into a different world. You can become someone else entirely. You can be a hero or a villain.
I even have some friends on RotR. No one I know in real life, but people in Unarmed Rage, my guild, who I play with several times a week. Online, I'm less awkward. Online, I have control over who I interact with, and I always have an escape route. Unlike in real life.
Needless to say, I prefer my virtual life over my current reality.
That will change next year, though.
Soon, I'll be packing my bags for college and never looking back.
A/N: Stay tuned! Eiji is in the next chapter! :)