Catnip(v.2) - 3

Though the breeze blows a pleasant chill through the open window, the atmosphere inside the classroom is still unbearably stuffy. It feels like there’s a heavy veil hanging over everyone’s heads, thick enough to cloud their gazes, but too thin to conceal the emotion swimming behind. The corners of their eyes twitch with fear whenever they peek back at Asami, only to whip around to the blackboard the moment she notices. Sayuri can’t help squirming in her seat. Even if she’s not the target of any of the negative attention, it bothers her all the same.

She still can’t get over what happened with Takuya. Should she have intervened? Obviously. Though the more she ponders it, the more doubts begin to sprout and creep in. What if she escalated the situation, took things past the point of reason, and hit him again? What if hitting him that one time was why he provoked Asami now? What if, no matter what she did, everything would’ve gone down the same? What if it all went down even worse? All this what if what if what if makes her head spin spin spin; finally, the roulette wheel of her thoughts stop on an unlucky question: is she scared of Asami as well?

She was there after all. She saw the feral flash of fury flitting across Asami’s face, heard her nails rending through Takuya’s skin. He had to skip the following period to pay the school nurse a visit. Naturally, he took it all in stride, not unlike he always does. But with four long scars in his forearm, he’s not going to forget any of it anytime soon. Sayuri’s front row seats made sure she wouldn’t forget it either. She’s not sure anyone will.

The weekend hasn’t helped things settle down either; lacking a way to check facts, gossip and hearsay have festered. Though she’s not paid them any mind, Sayuri’s not been deaf to all the Monday morning whispers. Takuya has been painted into a saint; Asami into a wild beast. Her single scratch? A savage attack. His berating barrage? Harmless teasing. On her way back from the gym, she’s even heard some people say they knew she’d lash out one day. That it was only a matter of time.

While she’s never been too keen on this kind of talk, there’s something about it now that tighten’s Sayuri’s chest. The presumptuous tone, the exaggerations, the prevailing apprehension. It’s like everyone’s made up their minds long before any of this went down; that it actually happened, only confirmed what they were sure of already. Asami is not like them, and they are right to be afraid of her.

Sayuri floats an errant glance her way. If she’s usually neat as a pin, today Asami looks like she’s just fallen out of a hurricane: hair uncombed, shirt all wrinkles, ribbon tied like a loose noose. The back of her hand struggles to catch the full width of her yawn. Two more of those and she’ll probably pass out. With how dull her stare is, she’s definitely lost more than one good night’s sleep.

Ever since Asami darted ahead without her on Friday, Sayuri’s been texting every evening to check up on her. She never answered; she hasn’t even opened the app. Now, three days later, she shows up to school in such a sorry state that turns Sayuri’s biggest concerns into absolute certainties. And yet, four periods have passed and not once has she tried to reach out to her.

Part of her wants to believe that she’s just respecting Asami’s boundaries. If she wants to be left alone, pestering her will do more harm than good in the end. But Sayuri’s been herself long enough to learn that she’s the type of girl that would cling to someone until they peel her off and throw her away.

She just doesn’t want to admit the truth. Because even if she knows it’s wrong, she’s also a little scared of Asami.

Lunch break arrives, another tick of the metronome. With a light groan, Sayuri stretches over her desk. She’s not feeling like eating anything; her stomach’s twisted itself into enough knots to wring out all the hunger, leaving only an empty queasiness behind. A drop of sweat dribbles down her temple. The room is insufferably loud. Nobody’s left for the great outdoors yet, and a couple new faces are mingling with her classmates – students in the same grade, going by their ties. They’re not doing anything special, just idly chatting while shuffling in place, as if they’re stuck in a theatre lobby waiting for the play to start.

A murmur from the hallway quiets down the crowd. There is, for a long moment, a breathless silence punctuated with three clacks: footsteps nearing in perfect rhythm. A couple more students gather about the door, leaving a corridor open for the actresses to pass through.

Three girls arrive, their hair and makeup all a variant of the same no-nonsense look. Two of them only set one foot inside before stopping to stand guard by the blackboard. The last one makes a beeline straight for Asami’s desk. She slaps her hand down the wood, her ponytail swinging over her shoulder. Her red armband steals Sayuri’s attention: Fujiwara Anna - Discipline Committee.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t suspend you right now.”

Asami shakes her head. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Anna takes a deep breath, straightening up and crossing her arms. From her imposing height, her glare beats down on Asami with an equal mix of anger and disdain. “You’re not the first girl that has a bone to pick with Kageyama-san. I’m certain you won’t be the last either,” she adds with half a mouth. “But that doesn’t mean you’re free to take matters into your own hands.”

A metallic taste coats Sayuri’s tongue. It’s odd hearing someone talk about Takuya with such distant deference. Like a sister forced to be polite with her annoying brother. But Asami doesn’t seem to register, nor care too much for that. Her bandwidth’s too narrow to be wasted on useless nuance.

“I see.”

“Incredible. You slap and scratch the guy and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

A spark of surprise lights up Asami’s eyes, and she shuts them tight to trap it in. A moment’s musing later, and a bittersweet realisation spreads her lips into a brittle smile. How did she get the blame for that? Sayuri wonders, but in the end it doesn’t matter. If everyone got it wrong, it’s up to her to set the record straight.

“She didn’t –”

Anna cuts her off, “This is none of your concern. Stay out of this.”

“But –”

“It’s fine, Hayakawa,” Asami says softly. “Don’t try to defend me. It’s not like there’s anything to defend anyway.”

Sayuri’s face flushes not with embarrassment, for once, but with a deep, scorching frustration. It the discipline committee weren’t watching, she would be squeezing Asami’s cheeks sore by now. But since she doesn’t need to give them anymore ammunition than they already have, she sighs a disappointed, “Dummy…” instead.

“Heh?”

“First of all, you don’t get to tell me what to do or why! If I want to make a complete fool out of myself, you best get it through that thick skull of yours that it will happen whether you like it or not. And you –”

Sayuri turns to Anna, her moxie vanishing on the spot. That’s more of a benefit than a drawback, however. The little pause she takes to regain her composure allows her enough time to mull over her words.

“You know full well that Kitora-san didn’t do half the things you’re accusing her of. Yet here you are, pinning it all on her, when you should be coming after me as well.”

“Where are you going with this tiresome charade?” Anna pinches the bridge of her nose.

“The point is: she’s not a repeat offender. We’re both first-time offenders, and you should treat us both as such.”

Though Sayuri hoped her argument would arouse the spectators, the outcome is anything but emboldening. No murmurs slither through the audience. No one so much as clears their throat or taps their foot. The air is still and quiet, and she feels its suffocating weight pressing in from every side. Through the deathly quiet, Anna’s voice slices like a surgeon’s scalpel: cold and precise.

“I’m not a prosecutor. My duty is not to seek justice, but to ensure discipline. And discipline is not about fairness. It’s about enforcing a certain set of rules, a code of conduct. A moral norm. So I ask you this, Hayakawa-san: do you think hissing, growling, spitting and scratching at your fellow students is normal?”

“It’s not, no,” Asami answers before Sayuri could even begin to stutter through an excuse. But even if she’s talking to Anna, her words seem to have a different direction altogether. “If I get too anxious, too angry, too rattled, I will snap. It’s – it’s just the way I am. But not being to help it is not an excuse, and I’m not trying to use it as one. I can and should do better. And for failing to do that now, I’m truly sorry.”

She bends into a deep bow, though it earns nothing more than a scoff out of Anna. “You realise it’s not me you should be apologising to, right?”

“Right. I’ll make sure to make it clear to Kageyama-san that I crossed a line.”

“That’s a good start. But we can’t stop at that, can we now?” Anna turns on her heels, slowly walking away with her ever-so-steady strides. “Make sure to come by the student council after school. We’ll figure out where to go next then and there.”

Asami acknowledges her with a nod that Anna doesn’t acknowledge herself. With how demure and self-flagellating Asami has been, she doesn’t need to worry about insincerity or mock-approvals. It’s why she hasn’t made any threats or set any consequences either. Discipline is most successful when it is silent.

The show now over, the crowd dissolves. In a matter of moments, the classroom is back to its usual lunchtime capacity, and the atmosphere lightens up as a result. Still stunned, Sayuri falls back onto her chair with a flat thud. Beside her, Asami has already taken out her lunch and popped in her earbuds, the music turned up so loud that Sayuri doesn’t have to struggle to hear it. If she focuses a little, she can even make out some words, something about wanting to disappear so that the world could be brighter without your shadow on it.

She can’t say she’s never thought about that, both from the perspective of being that person and telling them off for being too set in their ways. Today, she feels like a mixture of those two, only she doesn’t have the energy to be any of them. She’d rather not think about it at all and forget. Reaching into her backpack, she pulls out her lunch: stir-fried noodles with sausages for some added protein. She’s still not hungry, but picking at her food is as good a distraction as any. And she really needs one now.