Ball of Yarn - Prelude

Sayuri’s sitting on a bench by the athletics field, trying and failing to focus on her book. It’s been almost an hour, and she’s barely managed to glimpse the first chapter’s end, so she finally decides to stop kidding herself and shut it closed. If she had wanted to read, she would’ve gone to the library, where the coach’s barks and cheers would’ve been nothing but blips in the shatterproof quiet. But three weeks of holing up in that stifling oven to study for midterms have left her craving for fresh air and a change of pace. And searching for that, she’s found herself a new favourite pastime: watching the track club practice.

For the twelfth time now, the nearing crunch of footfalls lifts her gaze off the ground. The runners pass by in packs, the harriers in front and the sprinters bringing up the rear. Sayuri doesn’t pay them more than a glance. A little further back, Asami’s only a metre off the captain’s lead.

But as they round the final bend, the distance between them doubles, then triples. With every weighted stride, she sinks deeper and deeper into the waiting rubber. Her drooping tail coils around her legs, threatening to trip her up. Limp hands dangle at the end of loosely swinging arms. If it weren’t for his rejuvenating slipstream, she would’ve fallen off his tail ages ago.

They cross the line only a couple seconds apart, then both sputter to a halt. Where the captain stands tall, the faintest sheen to his face, beside him Asami looks one step away from kicking the bucket. She hunches over, breath struggling to stick in her chest; at the captain’s approach, her ears perk up.

Though Sayuri can’t hear what they’re saying, nor read their lips, it’s not too hard to guess how the conversation plays out. It’s become leitmotif at this point: he praises her, she brushes it off; he tells her she shouldn’t try to match his pace, she feigns ignorance; then which a chuckle and a knowing smirk, he gives her a pat on the shoulder, then starts for the bleachers. Left alone, Asami ambles towards Sayuri at the speed of a wounded slug, who welcomes her with a scolding chirp.

“Overdone it again?”

Asami nods.

“Did you get told off?”

She shakes her head.

“Huh. I didn’t think the captain would give up on that so easily.”

A subtle shrug.

“Well, if he’s not gonna say it, then I will.” Sayuri leans forward, reaching for Asami’s bangs. But instead of tidying up the sweat-tangled clumps, she gives the forehead behind them a quick, sharp flick. “Take it easy.”

Asami recoils, the pain taking its sweet time to register. “Ow… You’re lucky I’ve just run a 5k, or else I would’ve bitten you right there.”

“Wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“It would’ve made me laugh.”

“And I still wouldn’t be wrong.”

Something between a growl and a groan escapes out of Asami’s throat, but she doesn’t have the energy to follow it up with a proper comeback. Slowly, she spills onto the bench, her body melting into the pleasant cool offered by the maple tree’s shade. If there was some life left in her before, it all oozes out the moment she leans against the backrest. And of course, seeing her slumped like a stringless marionette is enough to reignite Sayuri’s already smouldering concern.

“I don’t get it,” she mutters. “You were amazing in the qualifiers. If it weren’t for you dashing from sixth to second, the relay team wouldn’t have even glimpsed, let alone made nationals. If everyone else is taking a break, why are you still pushing yourself?”

Asami balls her fists. The look she wanted to throw at Sayuri, she lets fall onto the pavement instead. “To prove it wasn’t a fluke.”

“Oh, c’mon… If this was a fluke, the next one will be dumb luck, the one after that an accident… when will it be enough?”

Asami doesn’t reply, her silence an answer in itself. Her eyes fly over the field, Sayuri following them all the way across the other side of the track. The coach is talking to a couple boys, two runners and a long-jumper judging by the sand stains on his white jersey. Though they nod along to his words, Sayuri can tell they aren’t really listening, disinterest swimming behind their blank stares. But then, the conversation shifts. Their polite smiles vanish into embittered scowls, and each of them shoots a spiteful glare Asami’s way, before they make for the lockers.

Sayuri twirls a lock of hair around her fingers, her lips pursing into a frown. Though she’s never been on the receiving end of it, there’s no way she could mistake that look for anything else: envy. But it’s not the feeling itself that bothers Sayuri, so much as the impossible position it puts Asami in. Underperform and she’ll be called indolent and lazy, a misfit; overachieve, and she’ll only be met with resentment, the freak who outshone everyone else. Whatever she does, no one will be pleased.

That’s probably why Asami’s working herself to the bone, Sayuri realises. If she can’t prove herself to anyone, it must be some consolation to know that she’s tried her best and more. Sayuri chews the inside of her cheek. If she were in Asami’s place, she would’ve likely done the same.

The wind blows, bringing forth the pleasant scents of sweet pea, jasmine and freshly-clipped grass. Birds chirp overhead, Asami’s ears flicking at every note of their song, every leaf they rustle as they dart from branch to branch. Whatever they were talking about, as well as the sour mood it brought, feels like ancient history now. Even if she still has questions, Sayuri knows better than to disturb the cosy peace floating in the air, tenuous and brittle as it may be.

Realistically, whatever issues Asami will face, she may never be able to help, let alone begin to solve them. But that doesn’t mean she can’t still enjoy the time they spend together, hoping Asami will cherish it all the same. Especially with a new opportunity right around the corner.

Sayuri turns her head to the sky. Far beyond the city’s edge, the endless sprawl of its suburbs, and the golden crop fields spilling out further than the eye can see, a lonely black stone peeks its head over the edge of the horizon. In less than two days’ time, all of Hakuin’s first years will be gathered at the foot of Mount Kurokawa, basking in all five thousand feet of its majesty.

“At least we’ll all get to relax during the school trip,” Sayuri says softly.

Asami stands up straight, a chill running down her spine. “Doubt it. Hot spring towns are aswarm with tourists this time of year. I’ll be getting so many weird looks… Ugh, why don’t we do this after Golden Week like every other school?”

“Well, we don’t get Golden Week off, for one –”

“Of course we don’t.”

“– and for two, think of it as a reward for all the hard work we put into studying for midterms.”

“More like a way to forget about that for a while. I am not looking forward to getting my results back.”

“Yeah, me neither… I’m always so stressed out when I see the teacher walking up to my desk. I start counting all the red marks on my paper, and it’s all aah, I knew this, why was I so stupid, aah!”

“Oh, give me a break, Sayuri!” Asami shouts, a playful aggression in her tone. “If you don’t get the highest grade in our class, I’ll eat my shoes. There’s no way someone as smart and studious as you is worried – and if you are, then you need a break more than I do.”

After such an earnest chain of compliments, there’s no way Sayuri can hold back her blush. And seeing her friend shrinking into herself, her face a solid shade of pink, the same flush spreads across Asami’s cheeks.

“S-sounds like we could both use a bit of a time out,” Sayuri says.

“A-Agree,” Asami replies, the yawn she breaks into only further proving her point. Languidly, she stretches her arms above her head and her legs in front of her, both twitching as her sore muscles cry in relief.

“Are you done for the day?” Sayuri asks.

“Not yet. We still got strength training to do. Shouldn’t take too long, though. I think we’re only doing plyometrics today.”

“I see.”

“You have no clue what that means.”

“Nope. I’m not that smart, you know? But that just means you’ll have to explain it to me, sensei.”

Asami chuckles. “I’m not sure if I’d do that good of a job.”

“You can always try. I’ll get you a cold drink if you do,” Sayuri singsongs.

“Is that a bribe?”

“More of a recompense. Besides, it’s my turn to treat you.”

“No way… have you been keeping track? That’s so corny!”

“Tell me right now, hand on heart, you don’t like it!”

Asami’s mouth opens without a sound, then closes with a giggle, which soon becomes another yawn, this time stifled behind her palm. Without a sound, she shuffles towards Sayuri, stopping just short of their thighs brushing against each other. Then, with a lighter-than-air sigh, Asami lays her head on Sayuri’s shoulder.

“Of course I like it, dummy,” she says breathlessly. “I’m just not used to someone being this nice to me.”

But before Sayuri can even process a reply, Asami’s ears snap to attention. She leaps to the other side of the bench, the trill warbling through her lips startling her even more. “Sorry,” she says, getting to her feet. “Sorry sorry sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sayuri says, but by the time her mind’s been jolted back to the present moment, Asami’s already made it halfway back towards the track. “It’s okay,” she repeats, as if asserting her feelings to herself will make any difference whatsoever. “I liked it too.”