Misao - dried meat juice

…oh God.

The charade went too far minutes ago. Why am I still here? What’s stopping me from walking away? I don’t even know this girl yet. She’s weird and kind of sad, and I’m supposed to be studying. I should leave. I should.

“I’ll buy you more juice,” was the girl’s proposal.

“Absolutely not,” I reply. “This thing is a crime against humanity.”

“No, I mean like… a normal one. You haven’t even tried it anyway, so how would you know? If anyone here is committing crimes, it’s you, unless you’re not actually a cannibal and you met your boyfriend at a mixer and just don’t want to help me because you don’t believe in karma.”

I don’t—nor do I believe in anything, really—but that’s beside the point. I’d forgotten about my non-existing boyfriend…

Without asking for permission, she takes my “drink”. She uses the same straw as I, without switching sides or anything. Incredible. Not only that, but she drains half the glass in one gulp. “How much do you want?” She asks once she’s done.

After witnessing such a primal display, it takes a moment to regain the capacity for speech. “...uh… I guess… listen, it’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

Good question.

“By the way, um… what’s your name?”

Also a good question. How had we not exchanged names yet? It’s been so long since I’ve last gone out with anyone that this might as well be a dream. The girl’s nonsense doesn’t help.

It’s nostalgic.

It hurts, kind of.

I see things I don’t want to see anymore. I don’t want to miss. I don’t want to think. I should leave. I should. “Misao,” I say. “You can just call me that.”

“That’s fine. I’m Tsukishima Riona. You can call me whatever you want.”

She didn’t think twice, huh? Even though I’m her senior? “Tsukishima it is. About your earlier question, ‘it’ isn’t about anything. I don’t know. Why not just have a high school debut?”

“I-I’m trying! See?” Tsukishima points at her face, which makes me wonder if this is a bit. “I’m growing out my hair.”

“Ah.”

“I’ll also do my makeup and stuff. But that’s neither here nor there. I can’t wait until then, or else…”

“You can,” I say. “Thankfully, most things stop mattering with time.”

“That’s not true.” It came out as a mumble. “Not to me.”

I didn’t want to invalidate her, but—

Kidding.

I wanted to. I wanted to take those fragile little dreams and crush them before life could.

“It’s fine if you can’t help me find a boyfriend, I guess,” Tsukishima says. “I’ll keep looking.”

“And I can’t stop you, I suppose, but it’s a terrible idea.”

She shrugs. She really likes doing that, huh? “I still think it would’ve been nice of you to help me.”

It’s getting late. The world outside is pitch-black, so cold it could turn white. Which reminds me—I should take out a notebook to pretend like we’re studying. Mom will show up sooner than later. She’ll be happy to see me tutoring someone. I think.

I take out my math notebook, mostly to annoy Tsukishima. Upon flipping to a random page, I place it between us. Tsukishima glances at it. Little by little, I can see hope leaving her eyes. “...huh… what…”

“Disregard,” I say. “It’s just to pretend like we’re studying once mom shows up. I’m in the advanced class at my school, so—”

“...you ship AkiMeno.”

“...pardon me?”

She slams her finger against one of my doodles. “Dis. Gus. Ting.”

“H-huh?” I just found the drawing online and thought it was cute, so I sketched it during study sessions. Something tells me that admitting this could be an attack to my self-integrity.

Not only does she leave a smudge on my page, but she rips it off, curls it into a ball, and stuffs it into her backpack. I’m too stunned to react. “I’ll set it on fire,” she says. “And I’ll send you the video.”

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?”

“Says the AkiMeno shipper. And you call beef jerky disgusting. The sheer audacity. I have to save you from yourself. How about this? You help me get a boyfriend and I help you have some taste.”

“SAYS THE ONE THAT BUYS DRIED MEAT JUICE!”

Tsukishima leans an arm over her seat. With her ankle on her knee and her head tilted backward, she almost looks like a certain mafia boss in a certain movie. This won’t do. I’m raising my voice while confronting a child. “Let’s meet again during the weekend,” she says. “Bring your boyfriend.”

“I don’t—I don’t have a boyfriend. I’ve been teasing you this entire time because you’re insane.”

She smirks. “Knew it!”

“Then why—why…” …keep up the charade? “What’s the point of this?”

“This?”

“This? Talking to… me, I guess.”

She shrugs. Of course. “Since we’re already here, we might as well. Actually, since we’re both single—”

“No, no, no. Just because you want a boyfriend doesn’t mean I do.”

“A girlfriend?”

“Neither. I hate people.”

“Me too,” Tsukishima says, which pisses me off, since it’s demonstrably untrue. “But maybe having your first love could change that.”

“As if.” I find myself twirling a braid again. I should stop, but I don’t—all of this, I should stop. I should leave. “How about this? I’ll help you if you solve one of the problems on the latest page I’ve filled. Go on. Try.”

Tsukishima rummages through her backpack, takes out a mechanical pencil with more teeth marks than a chewtoy, then flips to the end of the notebook.

I don’t get it.

I don’t get any of this.

I don’t get why I want her to solve it.

Why I want to help.

Why it feels so hard to breathe.

I won’t talk to her again, I think.

“...uhh… oh, dear,” is her commentary on advanced trigonometry.

I copied the doodle that brought forth her violent wrath because it was cute. I like to see people hugging. It’s comfortable by proxy. Anyone who tried to do that to me would get punched, but if it’s filtered through fiction…

“Done.”

She violently scratched over another one of my doodles. The actual solution to the problem is still wrong, but the procedure is near. She just messed up a couple of identities. “Oh, wow,” I say. “Did you learn this in your school or what?”

“No, but I’ve seen videos.”

“What for?”

“It’s fun?”

So people who interact with m*th for fun do exist…

The worst part is that she doesn’t seem to be bluffing.

Still, the solution is wrong.

“So?” She asks.

Then again, I said solve, not solve correctly.

This is pathetic. “Fine, I guess. I’m not sure if mixers exist for middle schoolers, though.”

“I pretend to be older,” Tsukishima said.

“That’s… don’t do that?”

“It’s just a year anyway. I’ll be a high schooler soon. Very soon.”

I’d kind of assumed as much. “I don’t mind going with you,” I say, “So long as you don’t pressure me into talking to anyone. Because I won’t.”

“That’s fine. I’ll tell Niwa then. He’s good at finding those things.”

That name again…

How surreal for her to find dating centers through the boy that just rejected her, but I digress. “Will you give up on him?” I ask. “If you shrug, I’ll punt you.”

She shrugs. I punt her. I’m pretty sure that hurt me more than her. While I check for any fractures, Tsukishima replies, “Out of everyone who has rejected me, he seemed like the nicest. Which I know is weird because he’s the meanest, but maybe he’s not? Lots of people who seem mean are just like that on the surface.”

My leg… my leg…

I look up.

It’s so late that most other students have begun to depart. They might close soon. I don’t know. I don’t want them to. “Elaborate?”

“Huh?”

“I-I mean, about—” I clear my throat. “—being mean on the… surface.”

“Eh. If you’re mean on the surface, you’re hiding your good side, right? If you’re nice on the surface, it’s the opposite. I’d rather talk to someone who pretends to be evil. Not many people do that because they want to, anyway.”

“Then why would they?”

“Because it’s easy?”

“Easy?”

“Yeah? Isn’t it easier to be mean than nice?”

I’m inclined to agree at first, but… well, actions have consequences. People will always gravitate to the safer choices. Whether a smile is fake or not is usually irrelevant. After all, most gatherings, most friendships, most relationships are superficial, pretty much by definition. There’s no need to find a person behind the facade.

“Sorry,” she says.

I blink. “Oh, no, I was just…”

“Your mom’s here.”

I’d ask ‘how do you know’, but I am a mini version of my mom, in every sense of the word. She’s still waiting for me to get a growth spurt, the poor thing.

Mom walks into the store. Mom looks around judgmentally. Mom sees us, waves, then approaches us. “Hi, sweetie,” she greets. “Do you need more time to study?”

Tsukishima and I exchange glances. She dropped the power pose once my mom showed up, thankfully. From a distance, she looks almost… normal. Another blur amidst a sea of people. I wouldn’t think twice if I crossed her on the street. We’d walk past each other, and then never interact again. “We’re good,” Tsukishima says. “Thank you for the lesson, uhh… Misao.”

“Anytime!”

She’s a bit taken aback by my change in tone, but—yeah? Does she think that I’ll act like a bitch in front of my mom? Is she stupid? “May I?” Mom asks, taking Tsukishima’s chewtoy pencil once prompted to. Predictably, she corrects Tsukishima’s mistake, who smiles. It would’ve bothered me less if she’d frowned or grimaced. But no. She smiles.

And then she says, “Thank you so much!” and she sounds as though she actually meant it.

Had I not jumped and we wouldn’t have talked.

It’s scary. How many people have I crossed by who could’ve been friends, never to be seen again, drowning in their solitude?

‘You deserve it’.

Then again, I’m not like them.

‘Stay lonely.’

I don’t need…

‘She thinks she’s hot shit.’

I don’t.

‘She just wants attention.’

Doesn’t everyone?

‘She could die and nobody would care.’

Nobody would care.

Nobody cares.

Mom and dad are right there. These thoughts are, objectively, not true. I know it. Then why can’t I believe them?

“See you,” I tell Tsukishima, who waves at me. She doesn’t ask for a ride. Doesn’t mention how she’ll go back home when it’s so cold and dark outside.

As if on cue, mom asks, “Where do you live?”

“Close by. Hmm… maybe a couple blocks away.”

“Is that so? I wouldn’t mind driving you h…” but as Tsukishima grimaces, mom trails off. She and I exchange glances. “...home. Hmm… are you sure you’ll be fine on your own? It’s very cold outside.”

“I like the cold,” Tsukishima replies. She talks to mom, but her eyes are elsewhere. “Thank you. Bye bye.”

Had it been dad and he would’ve insisted, but mom just says, “Bye bye.”

So do I, through a wave.

Bye bye.

As usual, this will probably matter to me far more than it does to her. She has friends, after all. What is one more person to talk to?