“Hold still,” Yuki said, threading the thick obi ribbon through the back of the bow. She pulled the loops tight. “Okay, now breathe in.”
I stared down at my keitai, flipping through the call history.
“Katie?”
“Hmm?”
“Breathe in.”
I took a deep breath and she shifted the bow to the center of my back. “How’s that?”
“Looks great,” I mumbled, flipping through my messages.
Empty.
“You didn’t even look up,” Yuki said.
“Mmm-hmm. Hey!” Yuki snatched the phone out of my hands.
“Ano ne,” she said. “Listen. Yuu will call you—I’m sure of it. You don’t want to be the panicky girlfriend, right?”
I didn’t say anything. How could I? Yuki didn’t know that not being able to get ahold of Tomohiro could mean the Yakuza had him, or the Kami had kidnapped him, or that he’d drowned in an ocean of his own sketching.
Yuki grinned and sidestepped, tugging the creases out of the sleeves of my yukata, the summer kimono she was lending me. “Now look,” she commanded, pointing at the mirror.
I looked.
The yukata made me look elegant, the soft yellow fabric draped and folded around me like an origami dress. Pink sakura blossoms floated down the woven material, which Yuki had complemented by lending me her pink obi to tie around my waist.
“Dou? How is it?”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you.”
She grinned, smoothing her own soft blue yukata with her hands.
“Yuu is a jerk for not calling,” she said. “But let’s forget about it for now. It’s Shizuoka Matsuri, and you’re still here with us. So let’s go celebrate!”
Was he being a jerk? I hadn’t been able to get ahold of him since deciding to stay in Japan. It didn’t make sense, unless he was in trouble. Or avoiding me, in which case he’d clearly learned nothing from the first attempt and I would pound the lesson into him tomorrow when school started again.
It didn’t matter if he was avoiding me. Sooner or later, I’d have to get in touch with him. Because as much as I’d wanted to stay in Japan to be with him, I’d also had no choice. If Jun was right, Tomohiro was a ticking time bomb, and I was the only one who could defuse him.
Diane entered my room carrying a tray of glasses filled with cold black-bean tea. The ice clinked against the sides of the cups as she set them down. A pink spray of flowers unfurled in a corner of the tray.
“Don’t you girls look beautiful,” she said. “Katie, I picked this up for you on my way home.” She lifted the spray of pink flowers off the tray, the little plastic buds swaying back and forth on pink strings. She tucked it into the twist Yuki had pulled my hair into.
“Kawaii.” Yuki grinned. “You look so cute!” I turned a little red as Yuki stood next to Diane, both of them with their hands on their h*ps as they looked me up and down. They were starting to fuss a little too much.
“Thanks,” I said. “Um. We should get going.”
“Yes, I think Tanaka’s starting to sweat a little out there,”
Diane said.
Yuki took a gulp of tea and slid the door to my room open, where Tanaka was waiting in jeans and a T-shirt.
“You guys are taking forever,” he said. “Can we go now?”
“Let’s go,” I said, the long yellow yukata sleeves tangling around my wrists as I slipped on my flip-flops and shoved my keitai into a pink drawstring bag I’d bought at the depato store.
“You look cute,” Tanaka said to us with a smile.
“So do you,” Yuki said. She stuck her tongue out at him as he turned red. She grabbed my hand and we headed out the door.
“Itterasshai!” Diane called after us.
Go and come back safely.
The only word Tomohiro had written on his letter, the word that had sent me running from the airport, that had me tripping over my own feet to catch Diane at the Narita Express platform on the way back to Shizuoka.
Tanaka pushed the button for the elevator.
We’ll find out together, Tomohiro had said to Jun. Tomohiro and I would find out what the ink wanted and how to control it together, without the help of his society of Kami who wanted to overthrow the government and kill off anyone who stood in their way.
It didn’t make sense. Why would Tomohiro push me away again now, when I was so determined to help?
The light was fading outside as we stepped into the heat. It was the last week of summer holidays, before school started for the second semester, and the hot weather wasn’t going to give up easily. We clattered down the street in our zori, or in my case flip-flops, hopping onto the local train for Abekawa Station.
“We’re gonna be late,” whined Tanaka.
“It’s fine,” Yuki said. “We’ll still be in good time for the fireworks.”
The train lurched around the corner and I tried not to press into Tanaka’s side.
“If the takoyaki’ s all gone by the time we get there, I’ll blame you.”
“How would that even happen?” I said. “They won’t run out.”
“Right?” Yuki agreed. “Tan-kun, you and your stomach.”
By the time the train pulled into Abekawa the sun had blinked below the horizon. We stumbled through the musty train air toward the music and sounds of crowds.
It felt like all of Shizuoka was here, the sidewalks packed with festivalgoers while dancers in happi coats paraded down the street. Lanterns swung from floats and street signs glowed, and above everything, we could hear about three different songs competing for attention above the crowded roads. It was a little claustrophobic, sure, but filled with life.
“What should we do first?” Yuki shouted, but I could barely hear her. She grabbed my hand and we pressed through the thick crowd toward a takoyaki stand. Tanaka rubbed his hands together as the vendor squeezed mayonnaise over the bite-size batter stuffed with octopus.
“Anything’s fine with me,” I said. Translation: no idea.
“I’m good, too, now that I have my takoyaki, ” Tanaka said.
“Want one?” The bonito fish flakes on the hot batter shriveled as if they were alive.
“Um, maybe later.”
“We should try to get a good spot for fireworks soon, though,” Yuki said. “Near the Abe River bridge would be best.”
“What’s the big deal about the fireworks?” I said. “You keep bringing it up.” I mean, I loved fireworks as much as anyone, but she seemed a little fixated on it.
Yuki pulled me over, whispering in my ear. Her voice was hot and smelled of the fishy batter.
“Because,” she hissed, “if you watch the fireworks with someone special, you’re destined to be with them forever.”
“Oh.” Jeez, I could be so stupid. So this was some big scheme for her and Tanaka. “Do you want space or something?”
“No, no!” She waved her hand frantically. “Not like that.
Let’s stick together, okay?”
“Sure,” I said. As if she’d tell me if that was the plan anyway.
We rounded the corner to two rows of brightly lit tents.
All the thick, fatty smells of festival foods filled the air. Fried chicken, fried squid, steaming sweet-potato fries, roasted corn, strawberry and melon kakigori ice. My stomach rumbled and I moved forward, heading for the baked sweet potatoes. I handed over the yen and pocketed the change. Then I pulled back the aluminum foil to take a bite, the steam flooding my mouth. Beside me, kids dipped red plastic ladles into a water table while an old motor whirred little plastic toys round and round. The toys bobbed in and out of the ladles while the kids shrieked with excitement.
A flash of color caught my eye, and I turned. I strained to hear the sound above the music and chatter of the crowd, but it was there—faintly. The tinkle of the colorful furin, the delicate glass wind chimes like the ones Tomohiro had sketched into the tree in Toro Iseki.
Across from me, the furin booth glowed with electric light, catching on the gleaming chimes as they twirled in the night breeze.
“Hello!” The vendor greeted me in English, but his welcome barely registered as I stepped into the tent. Almost a hundred of the chimes hung suspended around me in a rainbow of glittering colors, spinning above my head in neat rows.
Tomo’s furin had been black-and-white, like all his sketches, but they’d held the same magic, the same chorus together that my ears could never forget.
“You like the furin? ” The vendor smiled. He had a kind, worn face and the early startings of a gray beard.
“They’re beautiful.”
“The sound of summer, ne? The sound of possibility.”
I reached out, cradling a glass furin in my hand. Possibility.
“Yuki-chan, look—” I turned.
I’d lost her to the crowd.
Panic started to rise in my throat. She wasn’t one to abandon me on purpose. Even if she did want alone time with Tanaka, I knew she wouldn’t leave me stranded.
Anyway, it wasn’t like I couldn’t get home safely. Taking trains around Shizuoka wasn’t a big deal anymore. Festivals just weren’t as fun by yourself, and the loneliness stung a little.
I clutched my fingers more tightly around the furin.
“You looking for someone?” the man asked.
“I’m okay,” I said, stepping back into the darkness between the bright tents. I pulled out my keitai, ready to call Yuki, and then stopped with my finger on the button. She’d wanted time with Tanaka anyway. I should just grow up and do something for her for a change, even something little like this.
I slipped my phone back into my bag and pulled the drawstring tight. I watched the water table a little longer and then strolled down the row of tents.
I stared at the different festival games interspersed with the food. Eel scooping, pet bugs, yoyo tsuri balloons on strings floating in the water. I finished my sweet potato, balling up the aluminum with a satisfying scrunch. In the next tent a pool of goldfish darted around, slipping out of the way of the paper paddles dipped into the water to catch them. I watched for a minute as the fish snaked out of the way, their scales shining under the hot, buzzing lamps of the tent. The paper paddles broke and kids shouted in dismay, while the vendor gave a good-natured laugh.
I shuffled closer to the tent as the group of kids left, now just a teen couple left trying to catch a fish. The girl followed a goldfish slowly with the paddle, her movements deliberate and cautious, her giggle sounding when the fish caught on and sped away. She crouched on the ground beside the pool, paddle in one hand and bowl in the other, her red-and-gold yukata crinkling around her zori sandals.
And then I realized I knew this girl.
The pregnant bump of her stomach under the light cotton of the yukata.
And the boy beside her. Tomohiro.
Not kidnapped. Not falling apart. Not dead.
Scooping goldfish with Shiori.
I stepped back. He hadn’t noticed me yet, the two of them laughing as Shiori tried to maneuver a different fish into her bowl.
I knew right away he wasn’t cheating. It had only been two weeks since I’d returned, and he wasn’t like that. Maybe that was the attitude he portrayed at school, but I knew better. I knew he was with Shiori as a friend, supporting her.
But it still bothered me. I felt stupid then, tall and ugly and awkward in my borrowed yukata. Flip-flops on my feet because I couldn’t find zori sandals large enough to fit me.
Maybe Tomohiro wasn’t as dangerous as Jun had led me to believe. He seemed normal enough squatting beside Shiori, eyes following the goldfish, a smile on his face. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt, the usual thick wristband around his right wrist. I could still see faint ink stains streaking up his arms, the scars hidden on the other side, but it was the only trace of what had happened. He looked so…normal.
Maybe staying in Japan had been the wrong choice. Maybe I wasn’t useful to the Kami after all. Maybe they didn’t need me—maybe he didn’t need me.
“Yatta!” Shiori shouted. The fish had slipped from her paddle into the bowl. The vendor smiled and filled a plastic bag with water, ready for the new pet.
“Yatta ne.” Tomohiro grinned, reaching his fingers into the bowl to chase the fish. It swam between his fingertips, the ones that had trailed along my skin, the ones that had tucked my hair behind my ear.
I stepped back and my flip-flop scraped against the street.
Tomohiro and Shiori looked up.
I stared into Tomohiro’s dark eyes. I couldn’t look away, like prey. I felt ridiculous.
Shiori stood up, a hand on her belly. “Oh! It couldn’t be…
Katie-chan? Is that right?” Tomohiro stayed crouched on the ground, unable to move.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“I thought you returned to America,” Shiori said.
“Canada,” I said. My throat felt sticky and dry.
“Hai,” the vendor said, thrusting the newly bagged goldfish at Shiori.
“Thank you.” She smiled, reaching for the bag. And all this time, Tomohiro and I couldn’t move.
“Katie,” Tomohiro said finally, his voice deep and beautiful and just how I’d waited to hear it. My mind broke.
“Sorry,” I whispered and turned to walk away. I pressed my way through the thick crowd, desperate to get away. I knew I was being stupid. I knew it was nothing between him and Shiori. But it stung, and I had to get away from it.
Behind me, even in the midst of all the festival noise, I was sure I heard Tomohiro call my name, but I kept walking.
I wanted to see him, but not like this. I thought he’d been losing his mind, that he’d been in danger of the ink taking over—what had happened that now he seemed just fine, as though I’d never even existed in his life?
I stared down at my keitai, flipping through the call history.
“Katie?”
“Hmm?”
“Breathe in.”
I took a deep breath and she shifted the bow to the center of my back. “How’s that?”
“Looks great,” I mumbled, flipping through my messages.
Empty.
“You didn’t even look up,” Yuki said.
“Mmm-hmm. Hey!” Yuki snatched the phone out of my hands.
“Ano ne,” she said. “Listen. Yuu will call you—I’m sure of it. You don’t want to be the panicky girlfriend, right?”
I didn’t say anything. How could I? Yuki didn’t know that not being able to get ahold of Tomohiro could mean the Yakuza had him, or the Kami had kidnapped him, or that he’d drowned in an ocean of his own sketching.
Yuki grinned and sidestepped, tugging the creases out of the sleeves of my yukata, the summer kimono she was lending me. “Now look,” she commanded, pointing at the mirror.
I looked.
The yukata made me look elegant, the soft yellow fabric draped and folded around me like an origami dress. Pink sakura blossoms floated down the woven material, which Yuki had complemented by lending me her pink obi to tie around my waist.
“Dou? How is it?”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you.”
She grinned, smoothing her own soft blue yukata with her hands.
“Yuu is a jerk for not calling,” she said. “But let’s forget about it for now. It’s Shizuoka Matsuri, and you’re still here with us. So let’s go celebrate!”
Was he being a jerk? I hadn’t been able to get ahold of him since deciding to stay in Japan. It didn’t make sense, unless he was in trouble. Or avoiding me, in which case he’d clearly learned nothing from the first attempt and I would pound the lesson into him tomorrow when school started again.
It didn’t matter if he was avoiding me. Sooner or later, I’d have to get in touch with him. Because as much as I’d wanted to stay in Japan to be with him, I’d also had no choice. If Jun was right, Tomohiro was a ticking time bomb, and I was the only one who could defuse him.
Diane entered my room carrying a tray of glasses filled with cold black-bean tea. The ice clinked against the sides of the cups as she set them down. A pink spray of flowers unfurled in a corner of the tray.
“Don’t you girls look beautiful,” she said. “Katie, I picked this up for you on my way home.” She lifted the spray of pink flowers off the tray, the little plastic buds swaying back and forth on pink strings. She tucked it into the twist Yuki had pulled my hair into.
“Kawaii.” Yuki grinned. “You look so cute!” I turned a little red as Yuki stood next to Diane, both of them with their hands on their h*ps as they looked me up and down. They were starting to fuss a little too much.
“Thanks,” I said. “Um. We should get going.”
“Yes, I think Tanaka’s starting to sweat a little out there,”
Diane said.
Yuki took a gulp of tea and slid the door to my room open, where Tanaka was waiting in jeans and a T-shirt.
“You guys are taking forever,” he said. “Can we go now?”
“Let’s go,” I said, the long yellow yukata sleeves tangling around my wrists as I slipped on my flip-flops and shoved my keitai into a pink drawstring bag I’d bought at the depato store.
“You look cute,” Tanaka said to us with a smile.
“So do you,” Yuki said. She stuck her tongue out at him as he turned red. She grabbed my hand and we headed out the door.
“Itterasshai!” Diane called after us.
Go and come back safely.
The only word Tomohiro had written on his letter, the word that had sent me running from the airport, that had me tripping over my own feet to catch Diane at the Narita Express platform on the way back to Shizuoka.
Tanaka pushed the button for the elevator.
We’ll find out together, Tomohiro had said to Jun. Tomohiro and I would find out what the ink wanted and how to control it together, without the help of his society of Kami who wanted to overthrow the government and kill off anyone who stood in their way.
It didn’t make sense. Why would Tomohiro push me away again now, when I was so determined to help?
The light was fading outside as we stepped into the heat. It was the last week of summer holidays, before school started for the second semester, and the hot weather wasn’t going to give up easily. We clattered down the street in our zori, or in my case flip-flops, hopping onto the local train for Abekawa Station.
“We’re gonna be late,” whined Tanaka.
“It’s fine,” Yuki said. “We’ll still be in good time for the fireworks.”
The train lurched around the corner and I tried not to press into Tanaka’s side.
“If the takoyaki’ s all gone by the time we get there, I’ll blame you.”
“How would that even happen?” I said. “They won’t run out.”
“Right?” Yuki agreed. “Tan-kun, you and your stomach.”
By the time the train pulled into Abekawa the sun had blinked below the horizon. We stumbled through the musty train air toward the music and sounds of crowds.
It felt like all of Shizuoka was here, the sidewalks packed with festivalgoers while dancers in happi coats paraded down the street. Lanterns swung from floats and street signs glowed, and above everything, we could hear about three different songs competing for attention above the crowded roads. It was a little claustrophobic, sure, but filled with life.
“What should we do first?” Yuki shouted, but I could barely hear her. She grabbed my hand and we pressed through the thick crowd toward a takoyaki stand. Tanaka rubbed his hands together as the vendor squeezed mayonnaise over the bite-size batter stuffed with octopus.
“Anything’s fine with me,” I said. Translation: no idea.
“I’m good, too, now that I have my takoyaki, ” Tanaka said.
“Want one?” The bonito fish flakes on the hot batter shriveled as if they were alive.
“Um, maybe later.”
“We should try to get a good spot for fireworks soon, though,” Yuki said. “Near the Abe River bridge would be best.”
“What’s the big deal about the fireworks?” I said. “You keep bringing it up.” I mean, I loved fireworks as much as anyone, but she seemed a little fixated on it.
Yuki pulled me over, whispering in my ear. Her voice was hot and smelled of the fishy batter.
“Because,” she hissed, “if you watch the fireworks with someone special, you’re destined to be with them forever.”
“Oh.” Jeez, I could be so stupid. So this was some big scheme for her and Tanaka. “Do you want space or something?”
“No, no!” She waved her hand frantically. “Not like that.
Let’s stick together, okay?”
“Sure,” I said. As if she’d tell me if that was the plan anyway.
We rounded the corner to two rows of brightly lit tents.
All the thick, fatty smells of festival foods filled the air. Fried chicken, fried squid, steaming sweet-potato fries, roasted corn, strawberry and melon kakigori ice. My stomach rumbled and I moved forward, heading for the baked sweet potatoes. I handed over the yen and pocketed the change. Then I pulled back the aluminum foil to take a bite, the steam flooding my mouth. Beside me, kids dipped red plastic ladles into a water table while an old motor whirred little plastic toys round and round. The toys bobbed in and out of the ladles while the kids shrieked with excitement.
A flash of color caught my eye, and I turned. I strained to hear the sound above the music and chatter of the crowd, but it was there—faintly. The tinkle of the colorful furin, the delicate glass wind chimes like the ones Tomohiro had sketched into the tree in Toro Iseki.
Across from me, the furin booth glowed with electric light, catching on the gleaming chimes as they twirled in the night breeze.
“Hello!” The vendor greeted me in English, but his welcome barely registered as I stepped into the tent. Almost a hundred of the chimes hung suspended around me in a rainbow of glittering colors, spinning above my head in neat rows.
Tomo’s furin had been black-and-white, like all his sketches, but they’d held the same magic, the same chorus together that my ears could never forget.
“You like the furin? ” The vendor smiled. He had a kind, worn face and the early startings of a gray beard.
“They’re beautiful.”
“The sound of summer, ne? The sound of possibility.”
I reached out, cradling a glass furin in my hand. Possibility.
“Yuki-chan, look—” I turned.
I’d lost her to the crowd.
Panic started to rise in my throat. She wasn’t one to abandon me on purpose. Even if she did want alone time with Tanaka, I knew she wouldn’t leave me stranded.
Anyway, it wasn’t like I couldn’t get home safely. Taking trains around Shizuoka wasn’t a big deal anymore. Festivals just weren’t as fun by yourself, and the loneliness stung a little.
I clutched my fingers more tightly around the furin.
“You looking for someone?” the man asked.
“I’m okay,” I said, stepping back into the darkness between the bright tents. I pulled out my keitai, ready to call Yuki, and then stopped with my finger on the button. She’d wanted time with Tanaka anyway. I should just grow up and do something for her for a change, even something little like this.
I slipped my phone back into my bag and pulled the drawstring tight. I watched the water table a little longer and then strolled down the row of tents.
I stared at the different festival games interspersed with the food. Eel scooping, pet bugs, yoyo tsuri balloons on strings floating in the water. I finished my sweet potato, balling up the aluminum with a satisfying scrunch. In the next tent a pool of goldfish darted around, slipping out of the way of the paper paddles dipped into the water to catch them. I watched for a minute as the fish snaked out of the way, their scales shining under the hot, buzzing lamps of the tent. The paper paddles broke and kids shouted in dismay, while the vendor gave a good-natured laugh.
I shuffled closer to the tent as the group of kids left, now just a teen couple left trying to catch a fish. The girl followed a goldfish slowly with the paddle, her movements deliberate and cautious, her giggle sounding when the fish caught on and sped away. She crouched on the ground beside the pool, paddle in one hand and bowl in the other, her red-and-gold yukata crinkling around her zori sandals.
And then I realized I knew this girl.
The pregnant bump of her stomach under the light cotton of the yukata.
And the boy beside her. Tomohiro.
Not kidnapped. Not falling apart. Not dead.
Scooping goldfish with Shiori.
I stepped back. He hadn’t noticed me yet, the two of them laughing as Shiori tried to maneuver a different fish into her bowl.
I knew right away he wasn’t cheating. It had only been two weeks since I’d returned, and he wasn’t like that. Maybe that was the attitude he portrayed at school, but I knew better. I knew he was with Shiori as a friend, supporting her.
But it still bothered me. I felt stupid then, tall and ugly and awkward in my borrowed yukata. Flip-flops on my feet because I couldn’t find zori sandals large enough to fit me.
Maybe Tomohiro wasn’t as dangerous as Jun had led me to believe. He seemed normal enough squatting beside Shiori, eyes following the goldfish, a smile on his face. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt, the usual thick wristband around his right wrist. I could still see faint ink stains streaking up his arms, the scars hidden on the other side, but it was the only trace of what had happened. He looked so…normal.
Maybe staying in Japan had been the wrong choice. Maybe I wasn’t useful to the Kami after all. Maybe they didn’t need me—maybe he didn’t need me.
“Yatta!” Shiori shouted. The fish had slipped from her paddle into the bowl. The vendor smiled and filled a plastic bag with water, ready for the new pet.
“Yatta ne.” Tomohiro grinned, reaching his fingers into the bowl to chase the fish. It swam between his fingertips, the ones that had trailed along my skin, the ones that had tucked my hair behind my ear.
I stepped back and my flip-flop scraped against the street.
Tomohiro and Shiori looked up.
I stared into Tomohiro’s dark eyes. I couldn’t look away, like prey. I felt ridiculous.
Shiori stood up, a hand on her belly. “Oh! It couldn’t be…
Katie-chan? Is that right?” Tomohiro stayed crouched on the ground, unable to move.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“I thought you returned to America,” Shiori said.
“Canada,” I said. My throat felt sticky and dry.
“Hai,” the vendor said, thrusting the newly bagged goldfish at Shiori.
“Thank you.” She smiled, reaching for the bag. And all this time, Tomohiro and I couldn’t move.
“Katie,” Tomohiro said finally, his voice deep and beautiful and just how I’d waited to hear it. My mind broke.
“Sorry,” I whispered and turned to walk away. I pressed my way through the thick crowd, desperate to get away. I knew I was being stupid. I knew it was nothing between him and Shiori. But it stung, and I had to get away from it.
Behind me, even in the midst of all the festival noise, I was sure I heard Tomohiro call my name, but I kept walking.
I wanted to see him, but not like this. I thought he’d been losing his mind, that he’d been in danger of the ink taking over—what had happened that now he seemed just fine, as though I’d never even existed in his life?
