Storm. Amanda Sun
smiled and revved his bike. “More than that.” He laughed. “And I’m reminded why.”
“Creep,” Ishikawa said. “Get the hell out of here before I call the police.”
“They’d be more interested in you, Ishikawa. All I ever did was sketch.” He turned to look at me for a moment, and then lowered his visor. “Gomen,” he said, almost below hearing. I’m sorry. The same thing he’d said in the dream. And then his bike roared out of the courtyard gate. We listened to the sound of it as the distance grew, as the rumbling faded into the cold wind that swirled around us.
“It’s war, then,” Ishikawa said, and the tears I’d been holding back spilled down my cheeks.
“Well, what now?” Ishikawa said. “What a jackass. Do you want a coffee or something?”
I shook my head, unable to answer.
“Why do you call him by his first name, anyway? You guys close once?”
He didn’t know that Jun had kissed me, that Shiori had used her phone to try and drive a wedge between Tomo and me. Everything Jun did seemed to contradict what I knew about him. Did he care for me, or had he really just used me the whole time? I felt like maybe it was a bit of both. And did he really believe he was helping the world by killing Hanchi? He sounded so convinced, like he’d had no choice. Hanchi had destroyed Jun’s family; he wasn’t a good person, that was for sure. And the criminal system had failed with him. But still...vigilante justice was only a good thing in movies, right?
“Katie?”
Oh god, I’d totally phased out. “Sorry.”
Ishikawa shook his head. “It’s a lot of bullshit to take in,” he said. “No wonder you’re confused. That guy is a psycho.”
I wanted to agree, but I felt like there was more to Jun. Life had given him so many bad turns—some he’d chosen, some he hadn’t. If he wasn’t a Kami, things would be different. But he was, and I couldn’t keep making up excuses for him. Ishikawa was right—I needed to stay away from him. There was nothing good to gain from being near him anymore.
“Well?” Ishikawa said. “Want to check in on Yuuto?”
I thought back to the text he’d sent me in class and smiled to myself. That glimpse of normal life—that could keep me going. “You’re Third Year, too, aren’t you? Don’t you have some kind of cram school for entrance exams?”
Ishikawa let out a laugh and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “There’s no point for me to study for entrance exams,” he said. “I’m going to fail them, anyway.”
I looked at him, unsure what to say. I couldn’t imagine giving up before I’d tried. “It’s only October,” I said. “You have time.”
He kicked at the ground and started walking away from Katakou School. “Yeah, what am I going to accomplish in four months?”
He was heading toward Otamachi, where Tomo lived. I followed, wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck as the evening darkness fell. “Yeah, but you’ve been studying all year, right? Don’t give up now.”
“So inspirational, Greene!” He put his hand to his heart and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he smirked. “College isn’t for me, anyway.”
“What, you’d rather slum it with the Yakuza? That’s not a future, Ishikawa.”
“Why the hell are you so interested in my future? Not everyone can pull off marks like Yuuto, okay? God, drop it already.”
I’d hit a sore spot, I could see that. But Ishikawa didn’t strike me as dumb, at least not school-wise. Weren’t the exams really just about preparedness, anyway?
We were already talking about them in my homeroom, and I was only a First Year at Suntaba. Oh god...would I pass the entrance exams? Maybe I should reconsider international school, after all. But no; I’d probably have to do entrance exams regardless. And Yuki insisted they were way more brutal than the SATs that had loomed at home. I’d kind of escaped those, too. If I’d moved in with Nan and Gramps in Canada, there wouldn’t be any crazy tests to get into university, just a good GPA and all those extracurriculars they asked us to rack up. Kendo and Tea Ceremony Club were good starts, I figured.
What did I want to do, anyway? I’d always thought about journalism like Mom, but in Japan? And Shiori had said a Japanese husband would likely want me to quit my job and stay home. Was that even true? Not all of them felt that way. Or would I make my way back to the States, all alone again, ripping my roots out and starting over? I didn’t feel like I was strong enough to do that. It all felt too far away to be real.
“Earth to Greene,” Ishikawa said, waving a hand in front of me so close I blinked. “Man, you space out more than Yuuto. You coming or what?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”
He shook his head and we continued toward Otamachi, toward Tomo’s house looming in the dark, the silver plate that read The Yuu Family illuminated by a tiny light. I pressed the button underneath the plaque, and a fake-sounding electronic doorbell chimed out of the speaker attached to it. We waited, but nothing.
“Maybe he’s not home,” I said.
“There are lights on, dummy.”
I bristled, wanting to shove him. “Yeah, but his dad works so late. Maybe he stepped out to the conbini to grab some dinner. Should I try his keitai?”
Ishikawa pressed the buzzer again, then stepped backward. He cupped his hands around his mouth and took a deep breath. “Yuuto!” When nothing happened, he yelled again. “Yuuuuuutooooo!” I bit my lip to keep from laughing. I was starting to see why Tomo could be friends with this guy.
A tinny version of Tomo’s voice came across the speaker. “Shut up, Sato! I’m pretty sure they heard you on the other side of Fuji.”
Ishikawa pressed his lips against the speaker. “Open the door, then, jackass.” Tomo yelled out; the sound of Ishikawa’s voice must have been amplified inside. The gate beside us clicked open and we closed it behind us.
Tomo was already at the front door when we reached it. “Gomen ne,” he apologized, looking at me. “I didn’t know it was you at the gate.”
“That’s what the vid cam is for,” Ishikawa said. It sounded like some intense security system, but it was pretty common in Japan to have a doorbell attached to a speaker and camera.
“I laughed at your text,” I said as I lined up my shoes in the genkan and stepped onto the raised wooden hallway.
“You sent her a text? Man, you didn’t send me anything,” Ishikawa said.
Tomo smirked at him. “I forgot it was your first full week back at Suntaba after getting shot. I should’ve sent flowers.”
“I’ll forgive you this time,” he said, wandering into the kitchen. I heard him open and close some cupboards.
Tomo looked at me through his copper bangs, a worried look on his face. “Was school okay?”
I nodded. “Other than Yuki, no one brought up the ink kanji on the chalkboards.”
“We have bigger problems than that, Yuuto.” Ishikawa appeared in the doorway, shaking a can of soup up and down. I’d seen them before in the vending machines; it looked like a soda can, but you pulled a tab on the bottom and it heated up so you could have hot soup without a microwave. Ishikawa opened the top tab and tipped his head back to drink; the smell of the broth made my stomach growl.
“Bigger