Ball of Yarn - 1

Sayuri arrives at Hakuin just as the coaches pull up to the gate, two brand new double-deckers that glisten in the morning sun. Though they’re inching closer and closer towards the rainy season, the weather is pleasantly mild, and the sky a cloudless blue. Save for yawning teachers drowning themselves with coffee, there’s no one gathered in the front yard, but Sayuri doesn’t mind that. Come rain, snow or hail, she would’ve still been the first to show up on such a special occasion. Any later than an hour early, and she would’ve started worrying that she’d never make it in time.

Besides, she’s always enjoyed the tranquil air of dawn, the quiet view of a world coming out of slumber. Sat on a bench, book on her lap – she swore she’ll finish it before they return – she watches students filtering in, some climbing out of cars, some shuffling in on foot. Before long, there is a dull buzz in the atmosphere, the chit-chat low and drowsy, but merry all the same. Where being on her lonesome would’ve stung before, especially with laughter blooming all around her, now she finds a balmy comfort in her solitude. Because it’s no longer a question of if she’ll ever have some company, but rather a matter of when.

The grass shifts behind her. Peeking to the side, hands closing in. Sayuri ducks before they cover her eyes, and they come together with a clap that quickly turns into soft applause.

“Tch,” Mitsuki says. “You’ve learnt your lesson. That’s no fun.”

“Morikawa-san.” Sayuri straightens back up, scooting to make room. “What brings you here?”

“Well, the school trip, for one.”

“I meant –”

“I know what you meant, silly.” Mitsuki tilts her head, chuckles. “No wonder Kitora-chan took a liking to you. You’re easy to mess with.” With a small huff, she effortlessly leaps over the backrest, all but floating herself to a seat next to Sayuri. “As for the real reason, I just saw you sitting all by yourself and thought I’d check up on you.”

It might be how little distance there is between them, or how nice that is of Mitsuki, or it might be a bit of both. Whichever the case, Sayuri can’t help but bite a smile off her lips. “T-thanks. I’m fine, really. I was just waiting for Asami-chan to show up.”

“Asami-chan, eh?” Mitsuki leans closer still, a teasing grin plastered across her face. The sweet scent of her shampoo floods Sayuri’s nostrils. Strawberry with a hint of citrus. Intoxicating. “Cute. Where is she anyway? We’re about to get on the –”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Asami’s voice cuts like a dagger. While Mitsuki playfully rolls her eyes, Sayuri shoots upright, embarrassment petrified on her face. Why is she feeling like she’s just been caught in the act, like just allowing Mitsuki to invade her personal space is something wrong, shameful, illicit? But before she has a chance to figure any of that out, Asami crosses her arms, her blue eyes now ice cold.

“Speak of the devil,” Mitsuki says.

Asami taps a finger against her sleeve, claw drawn. “I asked you a question.”

“Don’t worry, we were just talking.”

“I didn’t know you two were on speaking terms.”

Mitsuki grins. “My, my, a little possessive today aren’t we?”

Even just watching their interaction, Sayuri can feel the tension starting to mount, stretching ever thinner. Nervous, she twiddles her thumbs. While she’s not too happy with the ever-fraying mood, she’s not sure whether to intervene or not. Mitsuki has never been anything but friendly to her, and even to Asami, albeit indirectly. But given Asami’s chequered track record – there’s no harm in thinking of a plan to defuse the situation, just in case.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to go too far down that rabbit hole. Asami takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. Though displeasure still laces her tone, a milder note underpins her words. “Why aren’t you with your buddies?”

Mitsuki slumps forward, nodding ahead. Sayuri and Asami followed her gaze to see Ichika and Kumiko all a giggle as two boys from their class chat them up. Though she doesn’t know their name, they’re not perfect strangers to Sayuri. She could swear she’d seen Takuya hanging out with them a while back. Not anymore, it seems.

“I don’t wanna get in their way,” Mitsuki mutters. “You’d never guess the kinds of things they’ll be getting up to over the next couple of days. Privacy allowing, mind.”

Just trying to think about it is enough to send Sayuri down a dangerous thought spiral. Thankfully, she stops herself right before getting too flustered. “…Shouldn’t you tell someone about it?”

“Well, I’m telling you, aren’t I?”

“I meant – never mind.”

“Tch, another one. You pick things up too fast, Sayuri-chan.” Mitsuki opens her mouth on a laugh, but after two sharp inhales, all that comes out is a tiny sneeze. Snuffling, she reaches out into her breast pocket, pulling out an emptying blister pack.

“Have you caught a cold?” Sayuri asks.

“Allergies.” She pops out an enormous pill, downing it all in one go without so much as a sip of water, then sighs. ” Pollen’s crazy this time of year.”

Sayuri furrows her brow. There’s something strange about seeing a girl as preppy as Mitsuki staring at her shoes, something oddly familiar. But for the tears and the red, swollen eyes, it’s the same expression she wore when she asked Sayuri to hang out. All she got back then was an evasive I’ll think about it. Now, Sayuri might not be a mind-reader, but it doesn’t take one to appreciate that, beyond the genuine compassion, Mitsuki might’ve had a selfish reason to approach her earlier. She’s had plenty of time to ponder; now, she’s got the opportunity to act.

“M-Morikawa-san,” she stutters, “would you like to be in our group?”

“Eh?” Mitsuki and Asami ask at the same time. But while Asami’s recoiling stuns her, Mitsuki don’t have any problems voicing her disbelief. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do. We were gonna have to find a third for the hotel anyway. And I believe I speak for the both of us when I say that we’d rather sleep in the same room with someone we get along with than someone we’ve never talked to before. Right, Asami-chan?”

“Yeah,” Asami mutters. “I guess.”

“So, what do you say?”

Not like Mitsuki has to say anything. The way she’s glistening with joy is answer enough.

A whistle blows through the courtyard, the signal for everyone to line up and get ready to board the coaches. From one big, scattered clump, two queues form, one for each bus, both of them progressing at the same sluggish pace. If they were supposed to leave by half seven, it’s rounding up to eight by the time Sayuri climbs on, the yard still teeming behind her.

With the bottom floor full, she goes up the steep stairs to find the top deck nearly empty. A welcome stroke of luck. Not wanting to be among the last to get off after four stiffening hours, Sayuri picks the window seat on the first row: twice the view, and twice the legroom. Mitsuki slides in right behind, awe drooling down her chin. “Woah.”

“First time?” Sayuri asks.

“Yeah, actually. I didn’t expect it to be this, well – big.”

“We are a big school, you know?”

“Yeah, but look!” She points at the windshield. “It’s so wide. All the mountain panoramas… I’m getting shivers just imagining them.”

“They sure are something.”

“How can you be so blase about it?”

“Spend twelve summer holidays hiking up every last trail in Aomori and trust me, you’ll feel the same.”

Though she could swear she heard Mitsuki growl, Sayuri doesn’t carry on the conversation, much as she’d like to. On shaky legs, Asami wobbles onto the aisle, then sinks into the last remaining seat.

“Are you okay, Asami-chan?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look a bit out of sorts.”

“Travel anxiety. “

“Is that a catgirl thing?” Mitsuki says.

“It’s a me thing.”

Sayuri toys with a button on her blazer. “Should we let a teacher know?”

“No!” Asami snaps. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m gonna throw up or wet myself or something. I’ll survive.”

An off-put and deeply awkward silence. Much as Sayuri wishes she could lighten the atmosphere, there’s a bitterness floating around Asami that she can’t get herself to overlook. Sure, she could take the easy way out, chalk it all up to the heebie-jeebies. But if she’s learnt anything in the two months she’s known Asami, it’s that there’s nothing in her behaviour that her condition alone could explain away. Especially, when it’s something weighing on her, rather than lifting her spirits.

“O-okay,” Mitsuki mumbles, eyebrows knitted in a frown, before rising with an idea, “Oh!” Reaching into her skirt, she takes out her phone and unlocks it on the camera. Then, without a care in the world, she links her free arm around Sayuri’s and pulls her into the frame. “Say cheese! You too, Asami-chan!”

The shutter clicks before any of them can react. Looking at herself in the picture, Sayuri can’t tell whether she’s more flushed by the sudden skinship or by the knowledge that she’ll be captured from her most unphotogenic angle. Not that it matters. In the corner of the frame, even if blurred by the rapid twitch of her head, she can see clear as glass the thin line of Asami’s grimace, the tight clench of her jaw.