here to fix things, so don’t worry, okay? I can take care of myself.”
“Call me if the Kami or the Yakuza try to contact you. And I need to tell you something else.”
“What?”
He looked away, his face pained. “I’m going to stop drawing.”
“I thought you couldn’t.”
“I’m going to try,” he said. “No more sketching. It’ll eat me alive, but if you’re going to be here, I can’t risk it. Just notes at school.”
His fingers felt so warm laced with mine. “But your drawings mean so much to you.”
“Yeah, so much they bite and claw at me. Don’t forget the gun that shot at me.”
I shuddered. “Let’s try to get the ink under control, okay?”
“Katie,” he said, his mouth a grim line. “Do you think I set off the fireworks tonight?”
Yes.
“I don’t know. But I do know that if I don’t get in that door soon, Diane will sit me through a whole other set of fireworks and she may never let me come out again.”
Tomohiro laughed. “Wakatta. I get it. Good night.” He leaned over to kiss me, and the warmth of it threatened to knock me over. Suddenly meeting Diane’s curfew didn’t seem to matter at all.
Tomohiro’s hands slid down my arms to my hips, pulling me closer. He made a gentle noise deep in his throat and every nerve in my body tingled with the sound of it. I clung to him as I kissed him, and his fingers threaded into my hair. This was the welcome home I’d waited for.
Something papery and sharp smacked into the back of my hand, and then again. Like sharp bugbites they pierced every patch of bare skin—my feet, my wrists, my ears. I pulled back from Tomo and stared. Cherry petals made of ink lifted off my yukata, leaving behind areas of pristine and unstained fabric. The shadowy cloud of flowers swarmed around us like black flies, whipping against us over and over like we were at the center of a dark hurricane.
“Ow!” One of them nicked my finger and a drop of blood oozed from the cut.
Tomohiro swatted the petals like bugs and they fell, shriveling on the ground around us until we were surrounded by a wreath of crumpled blackness. Slowly they melted into an oily sheen, clouds of golden dust catching the light like dim fireflies. The ink, lashing out at us like it always did.
“Sorry,” he panted. “I... Maybe I should go home and clear my head. Damn hormones.”
“Fine, but next time you want to make out, leave your swarming sakura petals at home.”
He grinned and cupped my chin with his hand. “I can’t think straight when I’m with you,” he said.
He rocked back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, waiting until he was sure I was safely inside the lobby before turning to leave.
Like he wasn’t one of the more dangerous things lurking in the darkness.
The elevator hummed as it pulled me upward. After the closeness of him, I felt acutely aware of how alone I was. I walked toward the pale green door of our mansion and pushed it open.
“Tadaima,” I called out, kicking my flip-flops off in the genkan.
“Okaeri,” Diane answered from somewhere in the living room. I checked that Yuki’s yukata wasn’t dripping before I stepped onto the raised hardwood floors. The cherry blossoms on it were spotless, but the rest of the fabric still had sprays of ink soaked into it.
Diane appeared in the foyer, still holding the TV remote, and stared. “What happened to you?”
“It’s on the news,” I said quickly. “Some sort of prank or something.” She flipped the channel from the hallway, the voice of the newscaster blaring.
“Awful!” she said as she squinted at the screen. “Why would someone want to do that?”
“No idea,” I said, studying the damage in the mirror. The spray of flowers in my hair was still mostly pink, and so was my face, wiped clean by Tomo’s elephant towel. “Do you think the ink will come out?”
“I hope so. Poor Yuki. Her beautiful yukata.”
I was a mess of blurred yellow and pink. Diane helped me unloop the obi bow and untie the koshi-himo straps wrapped underneath.
“Just terrible,” Diane muttered. “I hope they catch the punks responsible.”
When had my life become such a tangle of lies?
* * *
“Greene-san, could I see you for a minute?”
I stopped in my tracks. Suzuki-sensei waited with his arms folded across his chest, and I wondered if I’d done something wrong. It was only the first day back at school. I couldn’t have messed up already, could I?
“I’ll wait in the hallway,” Yuki said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I have to hurry to kendo after anyway.” Yuki nodded and slipped out the door. Lucky, I thought. I walked toward my impending doom at the front of the class.
“Suzuki-sensei?”
He smiled, but it was a bureaucratic kind of smile, the kind that had the same warmth to it as a February morning. “Sit down, please.” I sat in the nearest desk, while he sat on top of his. “We’re glad to have you back,” he said. “I’d heard from Headmaster Yoshinoma that you were heading to live with your grandparents in Canada for September.”
“I changed my mind,” I said.
“I see that. And I’m glad you can stay here with your friends.”
I was sure there was a but... in there somewhere.
“Shikashi...”
There it is.
“If you’re going to stay in Japan permanently, you’re going to have to give a lot of thought to your future. I know you have two more years before college, but you’ll have to work harder than the others. This isn’t an international school, Katie. You’ll have to catch up your kanji and vocabulary quickly. I can’t go easy on you.”
Somehow I hadn’t seen this coming. I’d thought things would stay the same. “I can keep up. I’m going to cram school, too.”
“So are most of your classmates,” he said. “Will you be able to take the entrance exams in two years? Can you even read a newspaper yet?”
I felt itchy. “Um, not yet.”
“How many kanji are you comfortable with?”
“Er. Not enough?”
“I want you to think seriously about this, all right? I don’t want to discourage you. You’re bright, but you’re taking on a lot. I won’t be doing you a favor if I go easy on you, you understand?”
“I get it,” I said. “I’ll work hard.”
He nodded. “I know. But think about it, because you still have time to transfer to an international school if the pressure’s too much.”
An international school, filled with English speakers like me. No Yuki, no Tanaka, no Tomohiro. Segregated somehow, separated from the reality of life in Japan. Another reminder that I could never really fit into the life I wanted to live here.
I’d just have to work harder.
“I don’t want to transfer,” I said. “I can do