In Which We Are High Schoolers

In Which We Are High Schoolers
The Distance Between Friends
Broken Wings

My high school isn’t quite walking distance. but it’s too close to take a train. This is why, in the 1870s, they invented the bicycle.

I ring the bell of mine as I turn a blind corner, making sure that people know I’m coming around. The basket clatters and clicks as I round the corner, like it’s trying to join the chorus of cicadas that welcomes the summer each year. Of all the places I’ve grown up in, this town is probably the most boring. But I like it. It’s soothing, out of the way. I give a smile to an old lady sipping tea on her porch, who scowls at me in that way old people do when their small peace is disturbed by youth for the briefest of moments.

I speed along the streets, braking where needed, and make my way to the largest building in town. Stark white walls and firm concrete stand in defiance of time, a complete contrast to the rustic, unaging, aesthetic of the surrounding town. The large glass windows are almost in argument with the paper-windows that have graced the houses here since the village was founded, probably some time in the edo period.

I get off my bike as I approach the gates, the gym teacher on duty giving me a stern look. Since the accident in my first year, no students can ride bikes near the front gate, we have to walk them into the racks and mount them outside. Protests from the cycle club about that being even more dangerous have been met with the disinterested stares all teachers give high schoolers who are overstepping their limitations, so they resort to grumbling about it in the club room while planning events.

I get off my bike obediently, unclipping my helmet to tie it in the rattley old basket, and wheel it inside. The others are all neatly attached, so I file mine in, carefully clipping it on and heading to class.

❀ ✿ ❀ ✿ ❀

“Iko-chan!” A voice calls out to me. I look over and see my friend approaching, probably the last one I’ve got left. Since the dreams started, I’ve been more and more distant. I went from top ten in grades to bottom six.

A girl my age walks towards me. Straight black hair in a style that looks like it’s fresh out of a Harajuku catalogue, earrings she’s going to slip off before a teacher sees her, and makeup that’s gotten a lot more mature lately, as she moves into a young woman getting ready for college. Chiyo. My best friend since forever, and my only friend now. It’s not like I’m completely alienated, or I’ve always been a recluse. I was never bullied in middle school, and it wasn’t until last year that I started noticing genuine nasty comments within passing conversations. Chiyo stuck with me through it all, even as the other friends slowly removed me first, then her. It’s a funny feeling when a lunch group that had always been open to you suddenly has one less seat. Only the one, though. There’s always a single open seat for Chiyo, a meaningful absence of looks in my direction as they greet her and ask her to join them.

“That nickname makes me sound like I’m three.” I point out, and she gives me a wry smirk.
“It’s how you introduced yourself, it’s how we’re all gonna remember you.” Chiyo replies, catching up to me. I’d sorta mumbled through my introduction in elementary school, and the nickname had stuck. I’d been Iko-chan for most of my life by this point. But a girl’s gotta have some pride.

“Ugh, your hair’s a mess again. I’m serious, you gotta take some pride in your appearance.” Chiyo says, brushing her own hair behind her ear. She takes a cursory examination of me, and I can see her face wincing at my dishevelled appearance.

“Seriously? You’ve still got your bike shorts? You’re gonna stand out again. You know what class is like.” She warns. I stretch out my arms in a gesture of surrender, and Chiyo sighs, grabbing my hand and marching me to the girl’s room like a misbehaving kid.

She lines me up in front of her, and holds out her hand for my bike shorts, which I slip off and give to her.
“...Thanks.” I say, looking down. I don’t want to burden her any more than I have, but she constantly takes the initiative. When the visions got bad, and I was in danger of becoming a shut-in, she was always stopping by before school to ask me to join her. Little by little, I re-emerged from that cocoon, but I still feel like I’m in stasis. My life is a holding pattern.

Chiyo’s been talking about her own fashion woes as we walk. Her foundation’s running low and she doesn’t have any allowance to replace it, her mom shrank her favourite sweater in the wash, and she broke the clasp on her brand new shoes. Now she’s on about her uniform. It’s all stuff that I’d probably have empathised more with if I wasn’t so stuck in my own head lately.

“I didn’t hang it up, and now I’m paying the price.” She moans, as she smooths out a crease, only to watch it rise again—slow, like tectonic plates. I look at it distantly.
“Mine’s the same.” I point out, my own skirt had spent most of its time lately rumpled on the floor, and showed clear signs of neglect.
“Yeah, but like, no offense…” She takes a quick one-over of my appearance, and thinks better of continuing the sentence.
“Anyway, people notice these things about a girl.”
“They shouldn’t. It’s not like it matters.”

“How you’re seen by people always matters, Iko-chan. It’s the first thing people notice, especially going into college.”
“I’m not going to college.”
“Well not all of us were born with a family business to inherit.”
“My brother’s the one who’s going to inherit, not me. And I don’t even want to inherit the damn thing.”
“Well, it’s not like you’re getting into college with your attitude lately.”
“And what does that mean?” I say, hotly. I don’t know why I’m getting so angry. I’d said the same thing a few moments ago… hadn’t I?

“You don’t care for yourself. You don’t study. You never smile anymore.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter. Planning for the future, all of it. It’s pointless anyway. May as well stop caring about it. It’s all so shallow.”

“So you’re saying I’m shallow?” Chiyo growls sharply, her words sting worse than any slap to the cheek.
“I didn’t mean you! It’s just that it’s not gonna matter soon, so there’s no point in getting upset.”
“Ugh, I knew you’d be like this! You’re so, so…!” She looks for words, but bites back on them.
“So cold lately. You know, I try my best to help you, but you can’t keep biting my damn hand every time!”
“Chiyo, you know how important you are to me!”

“Then why don’t you act like it!?”

My mouth hangs open at her words. She fixes me with a glare right in my eyes. I can’t respond, instead, I look away, bowing my head.

“You know you- you’re just-” Chiyo takes in a sharp breath, as if preparing for some speech... instead, she lets it out in a slow nasal exhale.
“Just forget it.” She adds, her tone dropping as she turns on her heel and walks out of the room.
“Chiyo, wait-” I begin, I’m not sure why. My cheeks feel flushed and my eyes are stinging a little.
“I’ll see you in class.” She calls out over her shoulder, but it’s tight and serious, leaving no room for reply. I look at myself in the mirror, when did my eyes get so red?

❀ ✿ ❀ ✿ ❀

I don’t talk to her again for the rest of the day. By the time I get into class, she’s already in her seat and facing away. I sit down in reverential silence a distance away, far enough to give her space, close enough to still see her back. Which causes my eyes to burn more, so I turn away to face out the window. It’s where I gaze most of the way through class anyway.

Lessons drone on in the background as I stare at the shapes birds make in the air, feeling the warm glow on my skin from the sun that gently comforts the chill in my bones. Lunch comes, and I find myself undisturbed by usual prodding. I look over and see Chiyo’s absent from her usual seat. Maybe she just went to the cafeteria… Maybe she’s just avoiding me. That’s fine, too, I guess. I’ll give her time to cool off, it’s not like I can demand more from her than she’s already given. I don’t want to stress what we have to the point it breaks …is what I tell myself. I’m just a coward. And that’s a realization that keeps me from saying anything, from looking for her, from moving from this seat.

I stare at the birds out the window, they circle and play in the sky, dazzling. They cross in front of the sun and I look away in pain from the bright glance, down to the rooftop, where there’s another bird. A little one on its own, nursing a broken wing. It tries to flutter, but after a few seconds, folds back in and the bird goes about preening itself.

My eyes drift lazily from the bird to the mountains, covered in thick green trees that appear a little blue due to the haze of distance, tracing the winding paths between them that are probably used by hikers, and wondering if anyone is planning on walking them. A left, a right, two lefts, and another right. My eyes trace the shapes of the path as I think about how many other people’s lives have followed that same path throughout time. It’s a funny feeling to be adrift in time, both a part of the present and not.

My eyes snap to something. And my jaw falls open.

It was only for a moment, a shadow. Yellow eyes that locked onto me, a twisting gut-pain, like broken ice driving its way up through me and piercing my heart.

He’s Here.