First Brush - 2

Sayuri tries stifling a yawn with her hand, but it still spills into the crowded train car. If she were the slightest bit more tired, she’d probably collapse at the next curve. If her father chewing her out for an hour wasn’t enough to exhaust her, she had to follow that up with a long, sleepless night and a short, busy morning. Woke on her last alarm, rushed through breakfast, had to brush her uniform clean of cat hair – twice! – then hastily sew back a button Mashiro had clawed off. By the time she was out of the house, she had a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t make it to school on time.

Reaching her stop, Sayuri loses the little hope she had left. With five minutes to spare, the station exit spits her out at the base of an infinite staircase her map app didn’t warn her about. Just thinking of the uphill trek has her stomach twisting itself in knows. Actually starting the journey, bring her closer to hurling her buttered toast and wishing she didn’t quit running. Getting to the top, however, brings about a whole new cocktail of emotions: awe and dread with a stringent dash of unease.

Though she’d seen it in pictures, the sight of Hakuin High is even more intimidating in person. Far from a typical Japanese high school, it reminds more of an European castle. Slender towers crown a tall and supple building that sweats elegance out of every brick, window and arch. Passing through the ornate gate, a tiled alley feeds Sayuri into an open square, the air characteristically abuzz for the occasion.

But she finds it hard to feel the same enthusiasm as her peers. They all might be wearing the same uniforms, but wherever she turns, Sayuri sees expensive watches, fancy jewellery and designer bags. The fragments of conversations she overhears only help deepen her disconnect. It’s not just the topics – travel plans and holiday homes – it’s the attitude: the easygoing confidence that only wealth and affluence can provide.

If she was worried about being punctual before, Sayuri wishes she were late now. She’s been flirting with loneliness all of her school life, but for the next three years she’s certain she’ll be married to it. There’s no way her classmates will ever even try to talk to someone so far below their ilk.

The chimes ring for half eight, the cue for everyone to march indoors: the opening ceremony is about to begin. Sayuri, however, remains rooted to the spot. Attendance isn’t mandatory, and she would much rather spend that time preparing herself mentally than listen to some speech about prestige and pedigree. A quick peek at the noticeboard tells her which class she’s in and where to find the room. Once she’s inside, there’s only two floors and a hallway separating Sayuri from a chair and a desk to lie on.

After an hour’s commute, her feet are killing her, though that’s only part of the reason she’s trudging so slowly up the stairs. Her shuffling footsteps are the only sound breaking the total silence. She is all alone once again, and once again, her thoughts fly back to last night. Back to the girl that’s been on her mind ever since she dashed out of her sight.

Sayuri really messed that one up. But instead of going down the same spiral of despair that kept her up from dusk till dawn, she moves into a different direction: wondering what could’ve been. What if she didn’t mess up? What if they became friends? What if she had someone to help her through this whole new experience? What if she’d finally stop being a weird little loner?

Her lips spread in a bittersweet smile. Wouldn’t that be nice? But really, all of those possibilities hinge on Sayuri meeting that girl again. And with how her luck has always been, that’s never going to happen.

With a deep sigh, she slides the classroom door open. To her surprise, another student had the same idea as her, a girl sitting in the back row, listening to music while sketching on a notepad. When she feels the draught of Sayuri’s arrival, she turns in her direction.

They both blink in disbelief, the same look of startled recognition in their eyes.

* * *

“My name is Kitora Asami and, as you can see, I suffer from NekoFlu. My symptoms didn’t start when I was a child, however. I was born like this, which makes me quite unique. Or so I’ve been told. In my spare time, I like to draw. Not sure yet if I wanna become an animator or a character designer. I guess time will tell. I’ll be in your care.”

One minute and Sayuri has learnt everything she didn’t get a chance to ask. But safe to say that, apart from her, no one else has paid attention to Asami’s introduction.

Though they’re all looking at her, everyone’s far more interested with studying her feline features than hearing what she has to say. Judging by their faces, the impressions are unevenly split: a lot of them find them strange, but a select few stare with vivid interest. Sayuri’s probably the only one who’s impartial to her condition.

Introductions out of the way, logistics are next – textbooks, timetable, code of conduct, all fly by in a blur. School starts in earnest right after with Maths as the first period. Though Sayuri tries her hardest to pay attention, the teacher’s explanations are the same as gibberish to her. That it’s her least favourite subject isn’t helping, but it’s Asami sitting next to her that makes it impossible to focus.

She’s right there. Much as she struggles to believe it, she’s been given the chance to carry on from where they left off. But at the same time, that means addressing the elephant in the room: why did she run away?

Class is over before she knows it. The teacher gets up, and before he’s even out the door, Asami puts in her earbuds and takes out her notepad. Sayuri bites her lip. Asami might as well have a flashy ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign glued to her forehead, and she’s not the type to ignore such an obvious tell just for her own sake. I’ll talk to her later, she thinks. The first day’s probably stressing out.

Of course, not everyone’s as considerate as her. She notices someone approaching from the front of the room, a boy with shifty eyes and a whitened grin. When he arrives at Asami’s desk, he waves his arm in her face, gesturing for her to take off her earbuds. She doesn’t even dignify him with a tilt of her gaze, so he takes matters into his own hands and plucks one out anyway.

“Hey there, pretty kitty,” he says, voice envenomed with honey. “Sorry for interrupting your very lovely drawing, but I was wondering if you were –“

“Not interested, sorry.”

“I didn’t even get to finish.”

“I know.”

“So then, how do you know you’re not interested?”

Asami flashes a subtle grimace. “Call it instinct.”

“Me-ow. Kitty got claws, ain’t she?”

Sayuri almost scoffs on Asami’s behalf. Pushy, irritating and full of dull jokes, a tax collector could’ve made a better first impression than this guy. Thankfully, Asami seems to know his type well enough to understand what he’s after: he wants to get a rise out of her, and she’s not gonna let him have it.

“Very funny,” she growls. “Are you finished?”

“Not until you hear me out.”

“Fine. Go on, then.”

“Finally. Ahem, I just wanted to know if you’d like to hang out after school, that’s all. Not jut the two of us, mind, I’m not that kinda guy. Me and a couple friends were gonna hit up a pool club. It’s a bit pricey, but I’ll be happy to cover your tab, y’know as a first-time treat. No strings attached, heh.” He props his elbow on her notepad, his chin on his fist. “So, whaddya say?”

Asami’s nose twitches. If Sayuri can smell the cologne from where she’s sitting, Asami must be suffocating from it. And if that weren’t plenty, he leans in even closer, stealing the little clean air she has.

“Sorry, I got plans already.”

“Tsk. That so? What kind of plans?”

“The kind you don’t need to know about.”

“I see.” He glances around, as if to check if anyone’s watching. When he confirms that, his grin widens. Without warning, he grabs her hand, pressing her thumb against her phone’s screen, which once unlocked, he steals. Unlike the other night, however, Asami doesn’t flinch.

Eyes wide open, ears flat against her head, tail curled around her thigh and thumping against the seat – she’s terrified, and Sayuri’s the only one who can see the fear bubbling beneath the unbothered front. Her fists ball, tremble. This kind of brash behaviour would be enough to annoy her on its own; Asami being its target makes her boil with anger.

“Let’s exchange phone numbers, in that case,” he says. “You can let me know if your schedule clears up.”

“Give that back.”

“Hold on, I gotta think of a name for my contact. How does Handsome Takuya, sound? It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Asami stands up. “I said, give – that – back.” She swipes at Takuya, but he dodges back like he was expecting that.

“Almost done. Just gonna give myself a quick ring now.”

“Give it –”

Asami tries to leave her desk, but Sayuri’s in the aisle before her. She walks up to Takuya, who greets her glare with an unfazed rise of his brow. Of course, she wasn’t expecting anything else. Glasses and braided twintails are far from the most menacing look, and that’s exactly what she’s counting on.

Takuya doesn’t even flinch when Sayuri slaps him across the face. Rather, he sits there frozen in shock, allowing Sayuri to steal the phone from his loose grip and hand it back to Asami. It’s only when he starts rubbing at the sore spot on his cheek, the skin red and swollen, that he finally thaws out with a long spell of laughter.

“I see how it is now. Guess I overplayed my hand, eh? My apologies.” He readjusts his blazer, tightens the knot in his tie. “Well then, talk to you later, kitty cat.” His eyes shift to Sayuri, measuring her from head to toes. “And you, little bodyguard. I hope you know who you’re messing with.”

She doesn’t, but she can quite easily guess. The school he’s in, the overbearing personality, the offer to cover a tab that’s expensive by his own elevated standards. He’s someone with power and influence that go beyond Hakuin’s average. Someone she should stay away from at all costs. Someone she should fear.

But Sayuri finds it hard to worry about that right now. As she collapses back in her chair, her shaky legs giving way, she turns to Asami. “Are you okay?”

It’s a stupid question. With a blank gaze and a deep-set frown, she looks anything but. She blinks away the listlessness, then lets out an exasperated scoff. “You shouldn’t have that, dummy,” she mumbles to herself, yet still loud enough for Sayuri to hear.

The chimes ring again, and the teacher arrives only a second after, stealing Sayuri’s chance to reply.