The Girl Behind the School Rumors

"Wait, what do you mean by second? You mean this is a common enough scenario to happen twice," I asked, squinting my eyes and sharply exhaling.

"Well, there was only one other guy that really questioned my actions. Coincidentally, he was also the first person that was blunt enough to say how weird of a person I was," Fumiko said.

She spoke so flatly that I couldn't decipher whether or not she took the comment lightly or not.

"I guess it's good to have a friend that's honest," I said, scratching the small of my back.

"Yeah. It probably wasn't a coincidence I made more friends after dating him," she said.

"Okay, so why do you want to learn more about love, anyway," I asked.

She took out one of the notebooks she kept in her open book bag, a red moleskin with a single black leather strap that kept it bound together when it wasn't in use. Written in bold black marker on a white piece of adhesive tape was the title, Love Experience Journal--Kenta Edition.

"Love Experience Journal? What is this?"

"Aside from a couple of friends, I haven't told anyone about this. The Love Experience Journals are something I started writing when I first entered junior high. Of course, in order to make use of them and learn what I needed to learn about love, I had to enter a few romances with a willing partner," Fumiko said, matter-of-factly pointing to a couple other notebooks in her backpack for emphasis.

"Okay. A bit odd, but I get it. But that doesn't really answer why you want to learn more about love," I said.

"I believe by using the experiences I've gained from these journals, I can put it to use as a reference point for the romance story I'm writing right now. So what do you say, Kenta? Will you go on a date with me?"

She outstretched her hand to me, and attempted to flash a vulnerable smile with a red shade of blush behind it. It was at odds with her previous heroic smile. It only took a few seconds of deeper observation to see that the corners of her lips were awkwardly quivering. Was this earnest girl in front of me really the infamous Terminator of Romance that the other students spoke of?

"Hey, Kotonoha, if I have to be honest, your invitation doesn't sound that appealing, but after actually talking to you for a moment, I'll admit I was wrong about you. If we talk for a bit more after school tomorrow, maybe you can change my mind."

This inspired a different reaction from Kotonoha. Her self-conscious smile gave way to a more curious gaze from her, her quivering lips parting to gasp, her mouth left agape. This curiosity in turn shifted to a more subtle, easier smile. Somehow this smile felt more natural than the doughy, widespread one she showed me moments earlier.

She shot up from her seat to hold one of my hands snugly in her palms. It's unnerving how easy she can disarm me.

"That's actually the best thing you could've said. There's so much about you I want to learn, Kenta," she said, a new glimmer in her eyes.

***

By the end of my last class, the mixed emotions that manifested when I interacted with Fumiko had reached a fervent peak that was beyond my lazy body's ability to cope with. I felt a rush of energy that felt like it needed an outlet to be burnt, and then its natural counter, a jittery anxiety that made me physically break out into an unbearable itch. In the middle of my body's Jekyll and Hyde response, my longtime buddy Hayato prodded at me with his index finger.

"Are you alright, bro? You've been scratching at that spot near your wrist for a few minutes now," Hayato said, sitting across from me in the opposing desk.

"It's Fumiko Kotonoha again," I said, rubbing the spot near my wrist with my knuckles so I wouldn't scratch it bloody.

"So you finally talked to her. Dare I ask how it went?"

"I'm apparently her boyfriend now," I said.

"That's great, bro. It's about time you got back on that dusty horse," Hayato said, slapping the top of my shoulder.

"But now my lifestyle as a simple single person is being disrupted," I said, sighed.

Instead of another quip, Hayato simply gave me a piercing stare. I felt a different type of anxiety build with the uncomfortable silence percolating between us.

"Is there anything wrong with that," he asked.

"Well, no but--".

"Kenta. You've changed. I've watched my friend turn from this passionate teammate that'd do anything to improve the people around him, to a bummer of a guy that watches other people with envy as they live their lives. I know breaking up with Eri hurt, but you have to eventually move on from that moment."

"That's not--that's not it at all," I said with a raspy voice.

"It's fine to want to be single, bro, but you need to tell Kotonoha that, or else what's the point of your relationship?"

"So what do I do, then," I asked.

"Huh?"

"How do I show her that I'm willing to make a serious effort?"

"I say just show an interest in her and her hobbies. I imagined she's scared a lot of people with her intensity towards writing, but this could be your chance to show her that you're not one of those people that scare easily," He said.

"You're right," I said, slapping my cheeks to regain my senses.

"Once you've thought up your plan of attack, drive in and go for the kill," Hayato said as he pumped both his fists.

I got caught up in his infectious energy and pumped my fist as well, ending with a fist bump.

"Yeah!"

I heard the classroom door creak open. I turned to see Kotonoha assessing the situation with her sharp blue eyes. After briefly switching her glances between Hayato and I, she smiled, her analysis complete.

"I'm sorry, was I interrupting a hot-blooded moment," Fumiko asked.

"Oh, no. I was just greeting my friend Hayato like I normally do. Nothing else!"

"You guys can keep going if you want. I can come back later," she said bashfully, retracting her head from the crack in the door.

"Is this the Fumiko Kotonoha I've heard about," Hayato asked, lowering his fist.

"Yes, I am," Fumiko said.

Fumiko was drawn out of her hiding place behind the parted doorway and entered the classroom.

Hayato took a few steps toward her, extending his hand after taking a sweeping glance of her of his own.

"I'm Hayato. Best friend, best teammate, and keeper of all of Kenta's most cringe-inducing secrets."

"Ha, that's a nice bluff, bro," I said.

"Oh, I wasn't," Hayato said.

She accepted his hand and shook it.

"Nice to meet you Hayato. It's a nice gesture, but I don't think I'm at that phase yet," she said.

"Did Kenta tell you that? I think you might be closer than you think."

"Okay, Hayato, I think she has enough info for now," I said, pinching his arm with my thumb and index finger.

Hayato gritted his teeth as I held a thin layer of skin between my fingers. Once I let go of his arm, I noticed that Kotonoha was looking at me with stunned silence. She began darting her eyes once I glanced in her direction.

I couldn't believe a simple confirmation of interest was all it took to fluster her. My agreement to be in the relationship should've been enough evidence of my interest in her.

I sped towards her in a half-running burst and grabbed her hand.

"Kotonoha, isn't it about time we left to go see your writing," I asked.

"Mmm, you're right. Let's go," Fumiko said, clasping our joint hands with her remaining free hand.

"See you guys later," Hayato said, waving us off.

***

I normally would wait a bit longer on the subway to get home, but because Kotonoha was leading the way, our route stopped at a station a few minutes away from the school.

I was greeted by art museums, fancy restaurants headlined by five-star Michelin chefs, and several humbling hotels and apartments that stood just shy of the clouds. After walking several blocks, one of the aforementioned Michelin chefs approached us.

He was a slender man of average height, with black hair that shined from an almost unhealthy amount of hair product in his hair. He wore the typical chef's whites, a toque blanche hat, a double-breasted white coat, and stark black slacks.

"Hello, little Fumiko, how has your family been," the chef with glossy black hair asked.

He offered both of us a sample of his work, a simple street taco normally sold in food trucks. The taco was composed of a corn tortilla, cilantro, grilled onions, and what I assumed was barbacoa. An online friend of mine from America would indulge in posting mouthwatering photos of food he was eating on social media, one of which was tacos. In other words, he was a sadist that weaponized food porn.

"It's nice to meet you again mister Morio," Fumiko said before promptly biting into her offered taco.

I decided to take a bite from my food offering after hearing the moans of contentment from Kotonoha next to me.

It was some of the best food I ever tasted. The simple vegetable garnish added a subtle amount of flavor to the fatty meat that seemed to melt in my mouth. The only apparent downside was that my stomach was already half full from one taco. Food this heavy would definitely need to be adjusted to.

"Why is a chef in the Roppongi district offering tacos on the street anyway," I asked.

"It's good marketing, plus I'm honoring the roots behind the food," Morio said, stroking the subtle wisps of facial hair on his lips.

"Mister Morio is from the southern half of America. His mother is full blooded Japanese, and his father is Mexican," Fumiko said.

"I see. The food was delicious. I'm surprised there isn't more Mexican food in Japan."

"You're too kind Chico. I suppose that's why I decided to open a restaurant here. There's a certain pride within me that compels me to prove the value of my culture's food. Sometimes there needs to be a powerful push before a work can stand on the same level as the works that precede it," Morio said.

"So you consider food a type of art, then?"

"Absolutely, hermano," he retorted, beating his chest with his fist.

I noticed that Fumiko observed Morio with a sense of reverence, remaining silent the whole time he spoke.

"Fumiko would tell you the same about her current projects," Morio said.

"That's right. Ever since I was little, I always struggled with the idea of love ever since I was a kid, and I never felt satisfied with the type of romance stories offered in light novels. That's why I personally want to write a good romance series myself," Fumiko said, clenching both of her fists in front of her chest.

As much of a grandiose show she made with her hands, I appreciated the sentiment.

Pride, huh. For a split second I could visualize the last time I dunked over someone, the gust of wind that I created when I split two defenders and had them on skates. I remembered the uproar of the crowd in the bleachers, and the infectious energy that made me roar with them. It made me wonder why I walked away from it.

"It was nice meeting you, sir. Anyone that could inspire pride in someone like Kotonoha is alright with me," I said, extending my hand to the chef with glossy black hair and pencil-thin mustache.

"You too chico! Your name was Kenta, was it," he said, vigorously shaking my extended hand.

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"Little Fumiko told me. It was refreshing to hear her talk about something that wasn't writing, hahaha."

Kotonoha avoided my gaze when I turned to look at her, whistling as she conveniently had something else take her attention.

"Well, I guess we should be on our way."