An Unpolished Approach

On her second day, Kasumi arrived at her desk just as the starting bell rang, precisely as planned. She kept her eyes down throughout class, managing to avoid anyone’s notice, or so she thought. Always in the back of her mind was the image of that wrist laden with knotted beads. They had seen her yesterday when the bushes hid her; no doubt they’d be able to see her now that she was bare and exposed. She had to get some advantage over them, and that began with identifying them. She began discreetly scanning the room, searching out of the corner of her eye for any clue. When that proved fruitless, she started a more thorough search. She watched as people stood up and moved during breaks and lunch. As the day rolled on, her search had still turned up nothing, and her eyes began darting of their own accord. Her glances became stares, and she felt more and more eyes upon her. She considered listening for their whimpering voice, but the thumping of her heart drowned out all other sounds, along with any hope that would work. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth so hard, and the seed of anxiety had sprouted roots that strangled her lungs. The last bell rang, and she dashed from the classroom. She couldn’t catch her breath even as Mona appeared in the cinematic. Her eyes were darting around, searching for anything that could be a person, or any way someone could see her. Despite Mona's reassuring words, Kasumi felt no calm. She couldn’t stomach staying longer than it took to fulfill the hourly quests, and she shot off for home.

The next day, Kasumi arrived early, despite her better judgment and a sleepless night. She’d racked her brain all night for a way to find the student with the knotted beads, but she’d come up with nothing. There were already a few girls sitting in a circle, painting nails. Kasumi didn’t look any of them in the face, but it wasn’t hard to pick out the Queen Bee. Her hair was perfectly straight, and her uniform fit her figure well. Kasumi was sure she had glossy lips and long, fluffy eyelashes, too. She was painting another girl’s nails, elegantly stroking deep red polish that popped from across the room. Two other girls were painting their own nails beside her; their light-pink polish exuded a discreet elegance. Kasumi would’ve had a hard time noticing from a distance if she hadn’t seen it happening.

“I’m telling you this is the fashion these days. Bold colors draw attention and let you strut your stuff.”

“I don’t really think it suits me,” the girl peeped, staring down at her hand. “Besides, isn’t this color against school rules?”

“It’s fine. Stop being a stick in the mud,” the Queen Bee insisted, grabbing the meek girl’s right hand and pulling it down to paint it. Kasumi watched as the Queen Bee carefully covered each nail in sequence. She brushed on a nice, even coat until the girl’s ring finger, where she slathered on far too much. The polish bled off the nail and covered her entire fingertip, leaving a mark that would surely stain. Despite their voices sounding similar to what Kasumi had heard behind the bushes, she didn’t see any knotted beads on anyone’s wrists. She concluded that, while this Queen Bee was likely the one who had been bullying the girl with the knotted beads, this was a separate victim. Likely, the Queen Bee had a type; whether consciously or not, she’d seek out meek girls who had a hard time saying no. She and her friends would make them feel like fringe members of their group. Making sure to feed them just enough gifts and compliments to keep them around, only to take advantage of them. Sure enough, as the Queen Bee finished painting, she went on and on about how well the red suited the meek girl and how she should take the red polish as a gift. She shoved the bottle into the girl’s pencil case before the girl could say no, then veered the conversation elsewhere to make her forget.

As more students arrived, Kasumi took note of their wrists, watching to see whether any wore the knotted beads. When none did, Kasumi began to wonder if maybe they were in another class. Just as she was considering the idea, the bell rang, and the teacher walked in. Before the bell finished ringing, the teacher’s eyes fixed and narrowed on the meek girl’s red nails.

“What’s this?” she demanded, towering over the girl.

“Uh…” the girl squeaked, burying her nails in her fists.

“No sense in trying to hide it,” the teacher scolded, eyes narrowing. “I’d have to be blind not to notice that color, and your botched nail makes it impossible to hide. Honestly, we just talked about proper dress code, and now this?”

“B—but,” the girl stammered. “I’m not the one who did them.” Her voice was so quiet that Kasumi wouldn’t have heard even if she’d been paying attention. The combination of tone and words seemed to irritate the teacher to no end.

“Then who did?” she demanded. “Are you saying there are others with painted nails in here? Well, let me check. Class, nails where I can see them!”

The whole class raised their hands, nails up to face the teacher. Of course, the teacher couldn’t notice the Queen Bee and her lackeys’ nails from their seats in the middle of the classroom; even if she had, their discreet color would’ve gotten them off with a slap on the wrist at worst.

“Well, I don’t see anyone else with painted nails. And if someone else really did paint them for you,” she said, eyeing the polish bottle peeking out of the girl’s open pencil case, “then why did you bring the polish for them to do it?”

The teacher snatched the polish from the girl’s bag, holding it in front of her face. The meek girl stuttered for a minute, completely unable to form a complete sentence, before the teacher sent her to the guidance counselor’s office. The Queen Bee and her lackeys giggled and sneered, their hands over their mouths, their painted nails facing the teacher to cement their dominance.

By lunch, Kasumi had convinced herself that whoever had given her the milk tea on her first day was in another class. Because of this, she reasoned that the only time they came to her class was during lunch. From their absence the previous day, she’d guessed they only offered the Queen Bee’s group drinks every other day or maybe once a week. Because of that, she’d simply have to remain on guard until she found them. All she needed to do was position her arms so she could see the Queen Bee’s group even with her head down. That would allow her to work out who they were and, from there, decide how to deal with them should they ever become an issue. The only flaw in this plan lay with Kasumi herself. The sleepless night and the comfort she found lying on her arms were ever-persistent enemies that sabotaged her recon at every step. Regardless of her resistance, they captured her and carried her off to the sleep gulag. Once there, she fought viciously to respawn, only jolting when she felt something tap on her desk. Her eye blinked open, half covered by her hair; she could see a hand placing milk tea on her desk. The arm was thin and delicate; she could tell it was a girl’s hand, but couldn’t see her face.

“What do I do?” Kasumi thought, her mind still half asleep, as she raced for a solution, the girl already drawing her hand away. Desperate for more time, Kasumi did the first thing that came to mind.

*SKREE—CLACK!*

Her chair toppled over, crashing to the floor behind her as she sprang to her feet. Her arm launched out, grasping the girl’s bare wrist like a serpent.

“Ah!” the girl squeaked, but Kasumi didn’t dare look her in the face. Her eyes were fixed on the hand she’d grasped. The fingers were long and slender, but the callus hinted at repeated intense use. What struck her most was the red hue that stained her right ring finger. Kasumi’s breath stopped as she realized it was the same girl the Queen Bee had set up earlier.

“Um,” the girl stammered, just as shocked as Kasumi was at having her wrist suddenly grabbed. Kasumi was at a loss. She’d only intended to discover the milk tea giver’s identity, but she wasn’t ready to confront her like this.

*BAM!*

In a panic, Kasumi let go of the girl’s wrist, grabbed the milk tea, and spiked it at the trash can. She missed the top; instead, the hand-sized carton hit the side, rattling the can. In an instant, Kasumi felt everyone’s eyes on her. Her brain melted in her skull, draining from her ears and leaving a puddle like the brown, cloudy liquid that leaked from the split carton. Devoid of options, Kasumi fled, racing from the classroom at top speed to a destination even she didn't know.