Rain. Amanda Sun

he was just serious about me. I flushed a little at that one.

      So if it wasn’t that—then what?

      “Am I a Kami?” I whispered. I twirled my hair between my fingers—no, that had been pretty much ruled out. There’s no way my absentee dad could be Japanese, not with blond hair like this.

      What other options were there?

      My phone chimed again.

      Meet you at Shizuoka Eki tomorrow, it said. And don’t skip kendo—you need all the practice you can get.

      Baka, I wrote back. Stupid.

      “Katie!” Diane called, and I tossed the phone onto my bed.

      I had no clue how I could have ink in me. There was no choice—I had to depend on Jun.

      I headed for the table and pulled out a chair as Diane scooped the nikujaga into my bowl.

      “So?” she said. “Things back to normal again?”

      “Yeah,” I said, spearing a potato with my fork. I had to think of school-related things to talk about so I’d stay away from the Kami problems. “Suzuki-sensei threatened me with international school. I’m not using enough kanji in my schoolwork.”

      “You’ll be fine,” Diane said. “I wouldn’t have enrolled you at Suntaba if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

      “I know.”

      “Have you talked to that boy yet?”

      I cringed. “What boy?”

      “If you don’t know who I mean, why did you wince just now?”

      My fork clanked against the side of the bowl. “There are just so many boys after me. It’s hard to keep track.”

      “Katie,” she warned, but her face looked a shade paler under her plum lipstick. “You know who I mean. The punk I thought was Tanaka before when he showed up here with those ripped jeans and that smirk. What was his name? Yoshida? Yu-something... Oh, what was it?”

      “Yuu Tomohiro.”

      “Right, Yuu. He in your class?”

      “Not exactly,” I said. She looked worried enough—no need to stress that he was a senior. “He’s in kendo, remember?”

      “Oh yeah. I thought he looked violent.”

      I moaned. “Diane.”

      “Kidding, kidding. Well, bring him around sometime so I can get to know him.”

      “You mean scrutinize him and pick him apart.”

      “Exactly.”

      I rolled my eyes.

      “There’s something a little off about him,” she added.

      “You mean his fully tattooed torso that links him to every gang-related crime in Shizuoka Prefecture?”

      “Funny,” Diane said, pointing her fork at me, “but no. I meant his eyes. Is he nearsighted?”

      “Um. That’s weird. Do I look like an optometrist?”

      Diane sipped her cold oolong tea. “Well, never mind, Miss Snarky. I just thought his pupils went pretty large for a minute there.”

      I nearly dropped my fork.

      “Just wondered if everything was okay with his eyes, that’s all,” she mumbled. “Your bowl’s empty. Want more?”

      “Please,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

      I swear my hand was shaking when I passed her the bowl.

      I waited outside the station, leaning against the wall beside a buzzing vending machine. The summer heat was lingering into September, but I’d pulled on a light sweater just in case. Tomohiro had rescheduled our mystery date, and I couldn’t be sure where we were going. Just trust me, he’d said, to which I’d reminded him about the last “date,” which had been an elaborate plan to push me away before the Yakuza had hunted him down. He’d laughed, which hadn’t left me feeling reassured.

      A moment later he sailed around the corner on his bike, heading way too fast toward the racks. At the last minute he leaped off his bike and the wheel crashed against the bar with a loud echo.

      I grinned. “Is that display of manliness necessary?”

      “Very,” he said, stooping to lock the wheel to the rack. “Life is boring if you only do necessary things.” He stepped toward me, brushing his hands off on his jeans, a dark satchel hanging from his shoulder to his hip. “Sorry I made you wait.”

      “It’s okay, I only got here a minute ago.”

      “Then let’s go.” He took my hand in his for a minute, letting my fingers slip through his before heading toward the station doors.

      “Where are we going exactly?” I said, following him up the steps and toward the train platforms. “You kind of left that detail out.”

      “Ah, so remember when we were trying to find a new place that was just ours?”

      “Yeah?” When Toro Iseki had been under renovations, Tomohiro could draw in peace, but not so much now.

      “It turns out Antarctica is a hell of a commute,” he said. “So I’ve found the next best thing.”

      “Wait,” I said. “I thought you said you were going to stop drawing.”

      “I am,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “I have.” He pulled out his train pass and scanned it on the platform barrier. The gateway buzzed and the little metal doors flung open.

      “So then why do you need a new place?” I said, scanning my own train pass and following him through. He turned to the east platform, and we sat on a bench to wait.

      “Because,” he said, speaking quietly in the busy station, “first, I don’t know how long I can go without drawing. Remember how I said I’d have the nightmares and wake up with ink on the floor? Or the ink during the kendo match and maybe even those fireworks? Trying not to draw might be a way to contain the ink, but if it falls through, my only other choice is trying to control the drawings. And for that, I need a safe place to sketch. And second, I need a place to be alone with my girlfriend where others can’t snoop.”

      “And Antarctica is just too far,” I smirked.

      “I hear the penguins are cute, though.”

      “So in non-penguin news, I’ve decided I’m going to learn how to control whatever it is inside me,” I said, watching Tomo’s eyes carefully. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone, that we’d figure it out together.

      He looked surprised, and worried. “Katie, we don’t even know if that’s true. Just because Yuki’s brother said that to you...you’re not a Kami okay?”

      “I know that, but there’s something going on, right? Even Jun thought that—” I stopped. When Jun had told me I manipulated the ink, that there was ink inside me, Tomohiro had been writhing on the ground haunted by shadows. He hadn’t heard a word of it.

      “Jun?” Tomohiro echoed. He looked at me with concern. “Takahashi is dangerous, Katie. He’s not bothering you again, is he?”

      “No,” I said, looking away. I felt like the truth was written all over my face. “I just feel like—don’t you think he might at least know some things we don’t?