Que Sera, Sera

10. Que Sera, Sera

Octobre is here. For some it meant paradise had neared, for others, like me, it was nothing but dread.

I hadn’t even fully grasped just what had happened during last month. Katsumata had been acting weird for a while now, becoming much more talkative, sometimes even talking to me in class. Though oftentimes she’d look sort of disappointed or sad after our interactions.

As I was processing that train of thought—seated in the classroom, staring at her next to me—I realised just how aware I’ve gotten of her.

“Shima,” Ozawa called in a serious tone, “take a look at this.” He put a sheet of paper in front of me. It had a line drawn through the middle with a big circle and eleven dots spread across the page. After looking for a bit, I noticed it was a football formation sheet.

“We’re tactically preparing for football warfare,” he said. “What’s your best position?”

I couldn’t care less about breaking a sweat in the main event. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll keep the bench warm.”

Another classmate jumped in, “No shot. You’re too athletic for that.”

Someone else said, “He’s not bulky enough to be a centre back, but he could play fullback?”

Eventually, a discussion about my best possible position occurred.

“No, no, no. He lacks the deadly pace for that, but he’s got a knack for sticking it out until he wins, so what about attacking midfielder? Or striker even?”

“You’re all overlooking how good he is with his arms, we don’t have a goalkeeper yet, do we?”

As I averted my eyes towards Katsumata once more, I realised my distant stance in class had started fading away. Maybe she isn’t the only one who has been changing.

“Whatd’ya think, Shima?” Ozawa asked. “Goalkeeper?”

I didn’t want to play to begin with, but if I have to play, a goalkeeper has to run the least… so I’d mind that the least I suppose. And Keito would love to hear about it…

“Alright.”

On a separate piece of paper, he wrote “Shima - goalkeeper”

The bell rang a little later, and everyone surrounding me returned to their seats. We had changed seats at the start of the trimester, but Katsumata and I ended up sitting next to each other once more, albeit on opposite sides and all the way in the back of the classroom.

When I glanced at her once more, it looked like something sad had happened again. Her downcast face turned into a surprised look the moment she turned around, meeting my eyes.

Only then, I noticed that I hadn’t stopped staring at her.

“…What were you guys talking about earlier?”

It’s been about a month, but it still surprises me every time she speaks to me in class. “Uh, sports festival. They were deciding on each player’s best position on the field.”

“Oh,” she stared at me for a bit, “what’s your best position?”

“Probably goalkeeper… though I’d say I thrive on the bench.”

She giggled in a quiet classroom, drawing the attention of many. Her face turned red… and she didn’t say anything else for the rest of the day.

At the end of the day, on my way to the gates with Keito, I told him the news I was sure he’d like to hear.

“Eh?! No way! So we’ll be goalkeeper rivals after all, huh!” He couldn’t control the excitement in his voice. “Man, I’m looking forward to the event even more!”

Right out the gates stood someone else I hadn’t quite gotten used to.

“Walk me to the station,” Ayano commanded.

“Sure thing!” Keito said as usual. He turned to me before leaving, “See you tomorrow, Ryotarou!”

Are you her servant or something…

I trailed behind them for a bit, since I partly take the same way home, though they quickly disappeared from my vision as they walked at a much faster pace than I do.

When I finally arrived home, I looked around for a round object, something that could be thrown without breaking it. Eventually, all I found was a tennis ball—though I’ve got no clue why we have one.

I went downstairs where mom sat down in the living room.

“Mom, would you like to tag along with me to the park?”

* * *

On the second Monday of Octobre, sports festival day, all the boys were gathered in the classroom, to first put on our clothes, and then strategize about the events.

“Who’s running in the relay race?”

“Weren’t you gonna do that?”

“Me? No, I’m in the tug of war event right after.”

“I’m in the hundred meter sprint, I ain’t getting me all tired before my moment to shine.”

My classmates were discussing who would participate in which event. We were supposed to know that a while back, but we’ve been hyper fixated on the final event that we didn’t pay this much mind.

“Shima!” Someone called out, “You got nothing before lunch, right? You do the relay race, okay?”

No one wanted to be in the relay race, but even if you were to combine everyone’s unwillingness to participate, I’d still be the one who wanted to be there the least.

“Perfect, Shima runner one, me runner two,” Ozawa said. “Who’s three and four? We need a pacey anchorman.”

It took a while before we had all the events sorted out. I didn’t manage to escape the relay race, but I was excused from every other event up to the final one if I ran as number one in the race.

Nearly the entirety of our class sat down together watching the dance—the small group of dancers was the aftermath of my negotiating with PE-Yamada. Though, as I had said, it did look more appealing compared to a large group of dancers that don’t want to be there.

Through the speakers was announced that the relay race was about to start. Four boys from our class stood up.

“You got this, dudes!”

“Come back with all points, will ya!”

I turned to the person who sat next to me one final time. She clenched her fists together and softly said, “Good luck.”

The four of us walked along the others towards the relay race ground. All eyes were looking at us, the first sports event of the day.

Before we went into position, Ozawa said, “Whatever happens, happens. But I won’t forgive anyone that doesn’t go all out!”

I took a deep breath in, held it, then blew the air out of my mouth.

With my left foot planted on the start line, my right foot a bit behind it. In my right hand, firmly grasped, a baton. Going by my posture, my physical state; I was ready. Going by my mental state; I was already done with running before I had taken the first stride.

“Ready…”

I felt all fingers of my empty left hand twitching.

“Set…”

My muscles readied themselves for launch, as if my body parts clicked into perfect position.

“Go!”

I took off. For a moment, my legs felt as light as feathers, as if I was running on clouds. I wasn’t using the entirety of my foot, but merely the front to spike myself forward. Every single step increasing my pace. Despite my hatred for running, I was doing good. I was doing great.

When we got close to the second runners, I had to know how I was doing.

Am I winning?

Those were the exact thoughts phrased aloud in my head the moment I looked behind me. I had created a bit of a gap between the others in such little… I lost my balance, turned my eyes back on the track—


—but still tripped and fell down.


My left knee scraping over the sandy terrain. Blood. The sand surrounding the wound instantly made it sting.

Before I could properly feel the physical pain, I had already bled out mentally.

Laughter.

I raised my head, I saw the other’s shoes slowly stomp into my vision.

They’re still laughing.

It’s all they know. It’s all they do.

“Shimaaaa!!!!!!!”

The clock ticked to its usual speed again. Ozawa yelled out at me. “Get up! Run! Run!”

My body pushed itself up and pushed itself forward. I’m running again. My knee hurts. One glance at the people watching—still pointing and laughing. But I’m running without a single ounce of pain.

The others passed the baton.

I wasn’t there just yet, but despite the setback, it wasn’t impossible. It wasn’t impossible at all.

Ozawa started running with his arm stretched behind him.

I can reach him.

With an aggressive swing of my arm, I passed him the baton. The moment it landed in his hand, he accelerated and yelled out. “Class 1-D! We’re gonna win!”

The deceleration of my own run ended in the midst of the other runners.

“All good, buddy?”

In the distance, those who’d fear an embarrassment like this in front of a smaller audience, haven’t stopped laughing. But the people next to me, all out of breath together, all out for a win in this race, the ones with most right to laugh, are reaching out a helping hand.

“Always look where you’re running, okay? That was a nasty landing on your knee.”

Another one patted me on the back, “But what was that speed man? You took off like a cheetah or something.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Better get that looked at,” another runner said.

“I will.” I looked at the bunch. “…Thank you.”

We all turned around to see the final stretch of the race. All teams seemed to be going neck and neck, with Keito as his class’s anchorman leading the pack. Right before reaching the finish line, my class or him seemed to be the ones that’d cross the line first.

The entire field grew quiet…

…and Keito crossed the line first.


As his friend, I was happy for him, but as his opponent, I wished my setback hadn’t cost my team the race. We came in second.

All runners made their way to the finish line, but as I felt all eyes fixated on me, I wish I could just disappear from this field altogether. I wanted to go the opposite way to the nurse’s office.

“Shima!” Ozawa yelled out, coming my way instead of heading to the others. “It sucks that you fell, but we managed to get second place!” He slapped me on my back. “Cheer up already, we’re gonna need you at your best in the football games.”

“Yeah. I’ll be heading to the nurse.”

The walk of shame through the crowd in front of the door leading to the hallway wasn’t as tough as I thought. There were still whispers and laughter, but amidst those looking down on me where the few concerned whispers like “Is he okay?” that meant more than any laughter did.

I knocked on the door and entered as soon as Nurse Yamada said, “Come in.”

“First victim of the day,” he laughed. “What brings you here?” He walked closer to me.

I pointed at my knee, “I scraped it during the relay race.”

“Ouch… That must’ve caught the attention of many,” his sentence trailed off as he stared at the wall.

“…Mister Yamada?”

My voice snapped him out of his trance. “Sorry, I was thinking about my brother.” He grabbed the first aid box out of the cabin hanging on the wall. “He’d always catch injuries trying to show off in events like this.” He cleaned the wound. “So, why did you fall down? Merely tripped or did you overdo it trying to show off?”

Whilst he opened the first aid kit, I said, “I didn’t want to show off… I just didn’t want to lose.”

It stung even more than before when he applied antibiotic ointment on a cotton ball and dapped it against my knee. “Interesting phrasing.” Lastly, he wrapped a bandage over my knee. “There, all done.”

I stood up and bended my knee back and forth, to check how badly it hurt.

“Thank you for your help.”

As I opened the door to leave, he said, “If you’re thinking about continuing, don’t.”

With the doorknob still in hand, I turned around.

“If it’s merely not to lose, don’t. You can’t lose if you don’t participate.” His serious expression faded into a smile, “But if you want to win, and not even your injured knee can stop you from wanting to, then go. As a nurse, I’d tell you not to overuse your knee, but as someone with a brother who’s been in this scenario more often than I can count—


—go break a leg. I’ll be here to heal it if you do.”


“Thank you,” I bowed my head.

Outside the nurse’s office stood Keito. “All patched up?”

I nodded. “It doesn’t hurt that bad, plus I’ve got some time to recover before the final event.”

He smiled in a teasing way, “Someone seems raring to go.”

I don’t want to lose. But for the first time, maybe ever, more than that, I want to win.

“Getting all smug over your win?”

“Yeah, exactly. I’m waiting on you to congratulate me.”

“Well, congrats on this event, but you won’t best us in the final event.”

We walked out of the hallway, back to the main event, where the whispers continued. “Isn’t that the boy who fell?”

Keito said, “Don’t mind them.”

Muffled laughter, people pointing at me. This is exactly why I feared losing. Right next to me walked the boy who won the race, yet everyone’s talking about me, the boy who fell. What does celebrating a winner mean when you can make fun of a loser instead.

Though this is exactly what I feared, I didn’t care as much as I thought I would—if I cared at all. I recalled something I had said a long while back. “They’ll laugh if I lose.”

So what if they laugh? Who even are “they” to begin with.

* * *

After the tug of war, the sprint, all the other events and lunch somewhere in between, the last event was upon us. The football games.

Our class’s first opponent was 2-A, upperclassmen. All of us were gathered in a circle on the sandy pitch, getting a brief pep talk from our team’s captain and striker, Ozawa.

“We’ve gone over the tactic in class; make the field tight when defending, go wide when in attack. Don’t make it too complicated. Don’t dribble where passing is the better option. Don’t panic no matter what. And most of all, let’s have some fun while we show these upperclassmen who’s boss!”

“Yeah!!”

Eleven boys, all pumped up, ready for football warfare.

“Whatever happens, happens. Don’t fret over anything. As long as we give it our all, nothing else matters.”