In Pursuit of Something, Though What It Is Eludes Her Mind (Part 1)

The uniform seemed to perfectly fit the contours of my body. It was a tad tight on the crotch, but I suppose that’ll do for now.

Gazing at the bathroom mirror, I appraised my figure as if I were a judge. A judge to what exactly, I'll never know.

It was a boy’s uniform- hand-me-downs from Kizuki. And it seemed to compliment my preternaturally short hair. Though they were meant to be given to someone else.

But waste not, want not, as they say.

I stole a glance at my wristwatch. It showed 6:27.

There’s still time left to “verify” my occupation as a girl. Merely forming that sentence in my head caused it to stir quite violently.

Mom and dad are ostensibly sleeping, and Kizuki is off at his friend’s house. Yesterday’s call seemed to concern the fact that he wasn’t coming home for the night.

I slapped my cheeks to pump myself up, then began to shadowbox in front of the mirror. Alright. I could probably do this. 

No sooner did my fists swish through the air than it was interrupted. The door squeaked open from behind. 

The scream that came out of it halted an uppercut.

I forgot this was the women’s restroom.

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To ascertain is to venture above and beyond. 

I said that first. Though it wasn't exactly clever.

Which is a given.

And to venture is to partake in situations that you dare not dream about.

In my case, it’s engaging in conversation.

Hidden behind a telephone pole where sparrows perched atop the wires, I scanned the school grounds. The sun was creeping upward and the sky a fresh-swept blue. Purging the dried-up leaves beneath the warm sky was Mr. Hanma, our groundskeeper.

He was talking to a boy.

I’ve recalled seeing him in class, though his name eluded me. He wasn’t something that you would recall, no offense to him, but I guess I’m very observant.

Though with names, that’s a different story.

He stood around my height, judging from afar. And his hair short and clean-cut

They seemed to be hitting it off quite well.

And then he smiled. He had the inexplicable smile: the smile not too toothy nor tight enough- you need only to open your mouth to do it.

Mr. Hanma cracked a lousy joke, and the boy ran his fingers through his hair, as if he dropped something there and was now feeling for it.

He formed the smile again. The absent-minded smile. The perfunctory disfigurement of lips.

The smile and the frantic hair search. The things that I grew acquainted with. 

Though we haven't exchanged as little as a nod; it wouldn't be presumptuous of me to think me and him kindred spirits.

And that I knew how; I knew it well enough.

You could say I'm quite proficient at distinguishing the lonesome.

I’ve surmised he was a good quarry to pursue.