Chapter 3

“I’m home,” I say as I take my shoes off in the entryway.

“Welcome back,” Sorana says from the kitchen. She always gets something to eat after school.

Our mom gets home from school about an hour or so after we get home, working at the junior high school the next town over. She teaches literature, which is probably where I got my appreciation for storytelling from.

Dad, on the other hand, is always away. He works during the week at town hall, then he goes on business trips on the weekends. Sometimes he comes home really late during the week, or shows up on Sundays where he and Mom would argue. For the last few years it felt like he was always busy. Mom never liked to talk about it — as far as she was concerned, she was a single parent. I just figure she doesn’t file for divorce because she’s afraid of how it’ll affect us.

I started for my room when Sorano asked, “We’re out of green tea. Could you run to the konbini?”

“Sure,” I say, setting my backpack down.

The nearest convenience store was a ten minute walk from our house, a 7-Eleven. Usually, I’d send a message to our mom, but I figure I could use the time to clear my mind a bit. My walk home was buzzing with thoughts of Yuina.

I put my shoes back on and head down the road, the opposite direction from the school. The evening is full of cicadas and frogs and crickets, a choir coming from the surrounding rice paddies. It makes me think of the story Gauche the Cellist by Kenji Miyazawa, but instead of a cellist gaining inspiration for a variety of animals, it’s a singer learning to sing from the critters of the countryside. It could be something connected to the shrine-school. I wish I had a notebook with me.

Sweat beads my head by the time I get to the convenience store, and the sky is turning evening orange. I wipe my forehead with the back of my wrist as I enter, the store jingle plays over the door and the employees greet me with their standard “Welcome.”

I went to the drinks in the back of the store and take out a large bottle of green tea, carrying it under my arm. As I make my way to the cashiers in the front, I pass by the magazine stand, full of fashion magazines and adult manga, along the plate windows. I stop at the week’s JUMP books, fighting the urge to stop and read. My eyes wander up, and I see her, walking down the sidewalk, coming directly for the store.

The jingle and the “Welcome,” and Yuina walks in, following a guy. He’s dressed in a white button-down shirt that is tucked into black slacks.

I grab the JUMP and open it on a random page, keeping my head down as I pass by the cash register, towards the pre-made bentos at the far end, their backs facing my direction. I shove the book back into the stand and rush to the cash register to pay, then dart out of the store.

I stand outside for a moment, my heart pumping in my chest, blood pulsing in my ears. I hug the large bottle of green tea tight to my chest.

Who is that guy she’s with? Why is he dressed like that? A boyfriend? Is she dating an older man? Does she prefer that — grown-up, mature men?

My heart sinks into my stomach. Without another thought, I take off at a jog.

I’m out of breath by the time I get home. The sun is setting, a plethora of tiny bugs flock towards the streetlights. Mom’s car isn’t parked in the small garage.

I try to compose myself, taking several swallows of air, and I go inside. “I’m back,” I say.

Sorana sits on the floor, knees to her chest, watching TV. “Welcome back,” she says without looking away.

I take the bottle of tea to the kitchen and stick it inside the fridge. I get my backpack off the floor and take it upstairs, feeling physically and emotionally exhausted and dejected.

I drop my bag on the floor and take out my phone, sending a message to Kaito and Momoka.

SOTA: I saw her at the konbini…

KAITO: Who? Koizumi-senpai?

SOTA: Yep.

MOMOKA: Did you talk to her?

SOTA: Nope.

SOTA: Actually, I ran away…

MOMOKA: Sota!

SOTA: She was with a guy. He looked like an older guy.

MOMOKA: That doesn’t mean anything! That could be a friend or her brother.

KAITO: But it could also be a boyfriend. Don’t discount that.

MOMOKA: You’re not helping, Kaito!

MOMOKA: Don’t overthink this.

MOMOKA: Just stay calm.

KAITO: Maybe that’s why she skips kyudo club. To go and make out with him.

MOMOKA: KAITO!!!

My heart feels so heavy now. Kaito could be right, and the images of Yuina clinging to this new guy fills me with an overwhelming feeling of dread, sadness, and jealousy.

But I don’t even know her? Why am I feeling this way if I know next to nothing about her?

Momoka is right, I need to talk to her, try to learn more about her. But that fear of rejection creeps up again like bile in my throat.

The front door opens. “I’m home,” Mom says. She sounds tired. “I brought bentos from the supermarket for dinner.”

“Oh,” Sorana says. “I sent Sota to get green tea earlier. I guess I didn’t need to.”

I press my face into my pillow and let out a groan. It was all for nothing. I could’ve been saved from this feeling of jealousy.

But this is also a good thing, I guess? At least I know that she’s with a guy, and would save me from learning about it in the future.

Right?

I don’t know.

Mom calls me. “Sota, I’ve brought dinner. Come on down.”

I went down and sat at the table in front of the TV. The bentos have cheese hamburg steak with pickled veggies and rice.

“So, Sota,” Mom says, “did you hear back from that writing contest yet?” She’s been asking that almost every week for the past month, but now that I have heard back, I was hesitant to answer.

But Sorana was watching, and she knew the results. I can’t lie in front of her. What kind of brother would I be?

“Yeah. I didn’t get to the next round.”

“Oh, Sota,” Mom said, putting her chopsticks down. She looked at me dead in the eyes with a face of sympathy. “I’m so sorry.” She waits for a beat. “What are you going to do next?”

That throws me off. “Next?” I ask.

“Well, are you going to try another contest? There’s probably going to be one in the fall, and I know there are some for essays. I’ve also heard that there are many writers your age putting stuff on the internet nowadays. Are you going to try that?”

It never crossed my mind after sending my story to the contest.

“I tell my students,” Mom goes on, “that we need to use our brains like it’s a muscle. You don’t see athletes give up just because they lost one game. They keep trying to improve and do better the next game. Don’t give up.”

What’s with it with everyone being right? “I won’t,” I say, and I go back to eating.