Ink. Amanda Sun

I couldn’t stop shaking. His eyes burned as he stared me down. He was only two feet from me, and now only a foot. I’m sorry, was I the only one at the school who worried he was psycho?

      His eyes flicked to the ground suddenly, his bangs slipping forward and fanning over his face as he walked straight past me, so close that his shoulder grazed mine. So close that I could smell spices and hair gel, that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. The heat sent a shudder through me and I stopped walking, listening to the click, click of him walking farther away.

      He’s screwing with me, I thought. Trying to intimidate me or something. Shame flooded through me as I realized I’d let him get away with it. He’d reeled me in, and despite everything I knew, despite drawings staring at me and pregnant girlfriends and humiliating language barriers, I’d still let my heart twist at his gorgeous eyes.

      When did I become so shallow? I scrunched my hands deeper into the leather of my book bag, until the zipper dug into my knuckles.

      “Ano!” I said to get his attention, squeezing my eyes shut as I said it. The clicking of his shoes stopped. Around us the noisy chatter of other students buzzed in my brain, fading into background noise like ringing in my ears. All I could focus on was the silence that had replaced his footsteps, the sound I imagined of his breathing.

      Now what? I wanted to ask why he’d been staring at me, why everything felt off when he was there. And about the drawing, the memory sitting unsettled in my gut. But how could I ask him that? He’d think I was nuts. The limits of my Japanese shoved against me, which only proved his point and pissed me off more. What was I thinking to confront him? And what exactly could I say that wouldn’t make me look like an idiot?

      A moment passed, and I heard a single laugh under his breath. Then the click, click, click of him walking away toward the eastern wall. The clicking suddenly sped up, and I turned to look. He ran at the wall, leaping up the stone face and grabbing the branches of the momiji tree above, slipping over the wall and out of sight.

      I’d let him do it again, let him tip me off balance for the second time in five minutes. I shuddered with anger as I stared at the branch, still swaying, dusting the wall with maple leaves.

      The branch.

      I didn’t spend my summers hiking in the woods for nothing.

      My shoes pounded against the cement as I raced toward the wall. Students backed out of my way just in time, breaking apart their little groups out of curiosity about what I was about to do next. Slippers were about to take a back seat.

      I threw my hands around the tree trunk and pressed my feet against the slippery bark. My book bag clattered to the ground as I reached for the branches, hoisting myself up. Leaves and twigs tangled in my hair, but I climbed higher and higher, until I cleared the wall and the street on the other side came into view.

      I scanned the sidewalks for the Suntaba uniform—there, behind the line of salary men. He was combing a hand through his copper hair, his blazer draped over his arm.

      “Yuu Tomohiro!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. He jerked to a stop, but didn’t turn around. I stared at the curve of his shoulder blades under the white dress shirt as he breathed in and out slowly.

      Then he turned, looking up in slow motion when he didn’t see me on the street.

      “That’s right, Tarzan, look up!” I screamed in English. “You’re not the only one around here who can make an exit!” My lungs burned with adrenaline as I watched him stare at me.

      I couldn’t help it. The grin spread across my face, knowing I’d beaten him at his own game.

      He waited a minute, completely still, and I wondered if he hadn’t understood a word I’d said. Not that it mattered. He’d still get the point. I was the winner.

      “What do you have to say now?” I shouted.

      Still nothing.

      And then he slowly raised his arm, his finger pointed.

      “I can see up your skirt,” he said.

      Oh god.

      I’d totally forgotten I was wearing my short uniform skirt.

       Crap, crap, crap!

      I twisted to look down at the ring of students gathered around the tree trunk. They were starting to giggle, and if they hadn’t been looking up my skirt before, they definitely were now.

      A couple of squealing girls reached into their bags. They better not be bringing out cell phones to immortalize my humiliation.

      I let go of the branches with one hand to press my skirt tight against my legs. I turned back to look at Yuu. He was smiling, beaming even, like this was some sort of amusing moment we were sharing. Like it was just the two of us. And worse, the smile made my stomach twist. Then he beat his fists against his chest a couple times Tarzan-style and turned, walking out of sight.

      My fingers tightened around the branch. Why did he act like two different people? A giggle from below and my anger surged up again.

       All right, Mr. Creepy Sketch Guy. You want war?

      You’re on.

      The maze of Sunpu Park calmed me down a little. It always did, with the twisting hedges and the murky moats in deep channels. An old castle towered over the eastern side of the park, but I didn’t see much of it on my way home. I headed south over a long concrete bridge above the water teeming with koi, and then twisted past the underground walkways to Shin-shizuoka Station.

      I scanned my pass, and the little metal doors slammed into the sides of the barriers to let me through. I walked slowly to the platforms, my eyes squinting at the signs of scrolling kanji. The train was coming in three minutes, so I sat on one of the light blue benches and rested my bag on my lap.

      I noticed a twig caught in the wool of my skirt, and I pulled it from the fabric.

      “Why did I do that?” I groaned, slumping my chin on my bag. As if fitting in wasn’t hard enough, I had to go and climb a tree to yell at a boy and flash my underwear to half the school population.

      Maybe I should be sick tomorrow.

      A group of girls suddenly rushed in front of me, laughing as they punched out texts on their cell phones. One of them tripped over my foot, and her friends caught her by the shoulders as she stumbled.

      “Sorry!” I burst out, tucking my feet as far as I could under the bench.

      The girl looked at me for a minute, and then the three of them shuffled away, mumbling loudly to each other. Their green-and-blue-tartan skirts showed me they were from a different high school, so why should I care if they were being snobby? I wanted to stick my tongue out but stopped short. It was too much—I didn’t fit in at school, and I couldn’t even blend in at the train station. How the heck was I supposed to survive here anyway? Without Mom, without anything familiar. The tears started to blur in my eyes.

      I heard a muffled greeting as a boy called to the girls. They didn’t answer him. Typical. Rude bunch of—

      He said hello to them again. They still didn’t answer. What was their problem?

      “Domo,” he tried again, and this time I looked up.

      His dark eyes caught mine immediately. He had black hair that flopped around his ears, with two thick blond highlights tucked behind them. His bangs trailed diagonally across his forehead, so they almost covered his left eye. A silver earring glinted in his left ear as he nodded at me.

      Wait. He’s talking to me.

      “Hi?” I managed. It came out like a question.

      He smiled. He wore the same uniform colors as the girls—a white dress shirt and navy blazer, a green-and-blue tie and navy pants—and he leaned against the pillar near the bench. His body was turned away from the clique, and they seemed a little pissed