III. feeling guilty about existing

Thunder boomed. The monster emerged from the corner of the building, silently, slowly, with the expression of someone whose indecorous manga had fallen off their backpack in the middle of the hallway. As per school regulations, one of her stockings went up to her knee, yet the other one hung near her ankle.

"Hello, stalker-chan," I greeted. "So you finally want to talk? Also, please fix your socks."

She looked at her feet, then replied, "I'm not stalking you."

“No? Then what have you been doing all day?"

“Umbrella.”

“What."

“Your umbrella. I, uh. I lost it. Yeah. I'm very sorry."

"...oh, that. It’s fine."

Hanamura shook her head. As she spoke, she toyed with the hem of her skirt. Her socks remained unfixed. "I saw the poem inside."

...so it'd been that umbrella. On my way out yesterday, I'd just grabbed the first one I found. "It's really not that important," I told her, then elaborated for no real reason: "It's not mine. I don't think the owner will care, either."

"Hm. Well. That's not the point."

I shrugged. Worse than you'll ever imagine, Izumi's girlfriend had warned. Talking to her is asking to get used.

"Point is, I'll get it back no matter what."

"I mean... sure... but you really don't have to."

"Maybe," said Hanamura. "But I will. So. That'sallIwantedtosaybye."

It would've been funny if she slipped on her way back to the shadows, but a drop slapped my cheek, so I didn't stay to check. Instead, as she fled, I took out my new umbrella, opened it, then chose the road more taken.

Why was it so hard for people to use their uniforms correctly?

***

After failing to follow my younger sister’s newest diet guidelines, I shopped for, cooked, and served dinner. Dad added flowers to the table so he could say he’d done something. Said sister, Kaguya, ate instant ramen instead. “Dad,” I said, once he finally shut up about the latest co-worker drama at his office, “Do you remember the umbrella with the poem?”

He pretended not to hear me. It ran in the family.

“Dad, do you—”

“Yes. Don’t remind me.”

“Did something happen to it?” Asked Kaguya.

“Let’s change topics,” said my dad.

“Well, so... I lost it.”

Kaguya glared at me. It was her favorite umbrella. Her fault for leaving it unguarded at the entrance. Dad’s glasses glinted. Sadly, no lightning flashed ominously this time. “…are you serious?”

“Sadly?"

He slammed the bowl of soup against the table. How it didn’t break was beyond me. The bowl or the table. Or reality. “Son,” he mumbled. “Nesaku, my boy. You’ve made your father incredibly happy.”

Hearing my uncensored n*me never made me happy, incredibly or not. Kaguya seemed to share my ire, for she stood up, proclaiming, “That’s it. Goodbye.”

“Let’s have a barbecue to celebrate!”

She sat down. “Never mind.”

***

Whether she’d lost or ‘lost’ my dad’s umbrella with a love poem written two decades ago was irrelevant; either way, I’d tell her to stop looking for it. If I could find her, that is. If she resumed the stalking.

The next day refused to stay monochrome. The sun shone, flowers bloomed, and skin mites mated on everyone’s faces. As usual, I met Kenji on the way to school, and as usual, I talked until he stopped feeling guilty about existing. He stopped slouching as much. Like a flower, he blossomed. Like kudzu, he took over. He’d shut off like a mimosa once we neared school grounds, but for now, it’d do.

“…so I’ve been thinking that Lyon’s arc isn’t narratively satisfying enough. I mean, he’ll have to let go of his revenge in order to protect his new friends, but… so? What about his old friends?”

“Moving on doesn’t mean he’s forgetting them,” I told him. “Besides, didn’t you have a scene where he tells the new guys to visit the old guys’ tombs with him? Something like that.”

“Izumi told me it was too corny, so I scrapped it.”

“Izumi’s opinions are factually wrong unless stated otherwise. Just keep it.”

That made him smile and shake his head at the same time. Bizarre reaction, but valid. “Right, but sometimes you have to…” and then Kenji trailed off. And shut off. A group passed by—three guys and a girl—which saw us before they broke out whispering. If this had been Izumi instead of Kenji, I would’ve said something like ‘darling, are they staring at your ass?’ just for him to reply, ‘no, baby, they’re staring at yours. let’s stare back.’ just so he’d get them to fuck off. We lay low instead.

Twenty meters away from the building: same old, same noise, same blur.

Two meters away from the building: silence, stares.

Oh dear.

“Kenji,” I mumbled. “What did you do?”

“H-huh? Do what? Huh?”

“It was a joke.”

“Oh. Um. Sorry.”

With Izumi around, Kenji could cope with getting stared at, but I wasn’t strong enough a shield. “…it’s fine. Anyway, I forgot my contacts today. Are they staring at you or me? Or both of us? Or somebody—”

“You.”

“—else? Ugh. Is there piDgeon shit on my head or something?”

He shook his head.

“Kick me sign?”

More shaking.

I had, of course, been stared at by large crowds before, but this wasn’t a performance. I had no mask or costume to hide behind. Or an excuse. “You can go ahead,” I told Kenji. “Izumi shouldn’t take long to arrive.”

“I’m. I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. I feel like this’ll get annoying soon. Just go.”

“No.”

“Fine. Then don’t.” I shrugged as if to say, I warned you, for even if I didn’t know exactly what went on, I wasn’t enough of a dullard to fail to pick up on context clues. Foreshadowing. Whatever it was. Kenji was the writer, not me.

Like a soldier amidst canyon fire, a figure emerged from the crowd: Izumi’s girlfriend. I sighed through the nose. She didn’t stop until she came face to… shoulder… with me. “Good morning,” she greeted. “…well, I guess that’s why you asked about her.”

I mean, sure. “So what did I supposedly do?”

“Did you say yes or no?”

“To…” Izumi’s girlfriend raised her eyebrows at me. Would this be a bad time to ask for her name? Very much so. “What was your name again?”

“Oh, please don’t.”

“I—”

“Hoshino Yuki.” (Damn, Izumi must’ve talked to her about me if she knew I’d use this to divert her attention.) “Did you accept her confession or not? Everyone saw it.”

…right, so I could see how whoever ‘everyone’ truly was could’ve come to this conclusion. After all, Hanamura had run after me to a secluded spot yesterday, squirmed like a worm, then dispatched herself whilst sprinkling sparkly tears. I mean, not really, but it’d started to rain, so she might as well have. I replied, “I said ‘oh shit’ and that it was no big deal, and then she ran away.”

I wasn't lying, so.

Hoshino Yuki was too taken aback to respond in time, so I told her, “Bye,” and to Kenji, “Let’s go.”

We went.

Halfway during our first class, a note hit the back of my head. I supposed texting wasn’t dramatic enough. It read: did you say yes or no to Hanamura?

I looked up how to write none of your business, die in Serbian, poorly copied it, then sent back the note. I didn’t get anything else after that. It would’ve been wise to clear up the confusion as soon as possible, but why would I? Should I?

Izumi’s text sent halfway during literature class read as follows: If you don’t fucking clear this up, I’ll kill you and then myself. I’ll rip off a nail for every asshole asking me about it. I’m not kidding.

He wasn’t.

“Saku,” Kenji whispered, minutes later, “Please. Just lie if you’re embarrassed or something. Please.”

I figured they’d been asking him, too, so I replied, “Fine, fine.”

To Izumi: Kenji-sama told me to stop so I will

Izumi: GOOD. And tell Hoshi about it, too.

To Izumi: who

I got blocked.