* * * Heh. Something like that. I wondered if he was still awake. He said he’s a night owl. I pictured him reading a novel or listening to music. Oh, yeah. He started listening to old J-pop because of me, but I started listening to the radio because of him. What if I did suddenly call him? If he was still awake, I bet he’d answer. I’d tell him I’ve been studying all day, since morning until now. He’d say, “Wow, you’re really working hard.” Even though he was feeling sleepy, he’d stay up chatting with me until I felt reassured. But the reality isn’t like that. Even if I try to seek comfort from him, even if he indulges me, I still can’t really share this present moment with him. These are lonely, midnight hours of my third year of high school, the end of my last summer vacation, while I stare down the barrel of entrance exams and inevitable graduation. It’s so…sad, I thought. Even if he called me during his own exam study hell period next year, I’d be long past that point. I could look back and empathize with him based on my own experience, but…it wouldn’t be the same connection. Then, as I absently listened along to the radio… Knock, knock. There was a quiet, muted knocking at the door. “Come in.” The door swung open with some hesitation. “Still at it?” Dad peeked through the gap in the door and said the same thing he’s been saying every night lately. I mean, he knows full well I’m still at it. “Yeah. I’m gonna study for a little while longer.” Dad furrowed his eyebrows—he seemed a bit worried, but also somewhat pleased. “Don’t overdo it. That can end up backfiring on you.” “It’s all right. I won’t go getting sick and worrying you or anything.” “Well, all right, but—” “Yes, yes, ‘Make sure you don’t forget to eat.’ I know.” Dad entered the room bashfully, like a kid who’s been caught red-handed. Immediately, an appetizing aroma spread through the air in the room. “Make sure to eat.” He held out a tray holding two rice balls, two slices of pickled daikon, a bowl of instant miso soup, and a glass of barley tea. “Dad, I can’t eat two whole rice balls at this time of night.” “The one with the pickled plum filling is yours, and the one with the mentaiko filling is mine.” “You’re gonna get gout if you keep eating this way, you know.” “What’s going on? Is my teen daughter finally rebelling?” “Nope.” Dad’s been like this lately. Usually, he’d be in bed at this time. But recently, around midnight, he makes rice balls for a snack and delivers them to me. He usually only makes instant ramen and fried noodles, so at first, I was taken aback. Then I almost cried, realizing how hard he was trying to support me. “So,” I said with a little smile, “I don’t need you to make me food every night. I’m a high school girl, you know. If this continues, I’m gonna start worrying about my figure.” “…So that boy cares more about your figure than your health, does he?” “Nobody said that.” Incidentally, this sort of back-and-forth has also become a common occurrence. Dad always seems to want to talk about Saku. In fact, I think he really kinda likes him. Of course I’m glad to have the approval of my father, but it’s awkward having him be like, “So how’s the boyfriend?” all the time. I took the umeboshi rice ball from dad. It’s an awkward shape, neither triangular nor tubular, and when I squeezed it a little, it started to collapse. Still, I took a bite anyway. “…That’s good.” Weird shape aside, this is the taste of something Dad made just for me. I took a bite of the pickled daikon and sipped the miso soup. I’ve started to look forward to these little moments. “This was always my dream.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Dad spoke around a mouthful of rice ball. “Making a midnight snack for my daughter while she’s studying for entrance exams.” Ever since I was little, I’ve thought of my dad as kind of stiff. Up until recently, he’d never share any personal thoughts like that. But everything changed that day. Recently, I feel like I’ve had a whole lifetime of talks with Dad in a short period of time. I’m not the only one who’s changed. Thanks to you, friend. Dad continued, looking awkward. “Your mother gets angry. Says I bother you too much.” “If you’re going to eat with me every night, why not put something healthier in yours, like kombu seaweed or dried fish flakes? And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but you could go a little easier on the salt.” “Already heard all that from her, too.” I chuckled. I never imagined that the day would come when I’d find Dad’s actions cute. “Ah, the radio,” Dad mumbled. “You actually listen to it?” “Yeah, usually after I eat the rice ball.” “I could buy you a new one. If it helps your studying.” “I like this one.” “I always thought your diligence was just one of your strengths, but you go about it a little differently from most people.” “It’s just a radio. Don’t make it sound like a whole thing. And you’re totally sounding like a doting dad now.” Apparently, Dad bought this radio back when he was younger simply because it was cheap. With its classic wood grain design, it was like something you’d see in an American black-and-white movie. He said he got attached to it for some reason and couldn’t throw it away. Then when I found it gathering dust in a corner, I begged him to give it to me. “By the way, Asuka…” Dad finished his rice ball and then cleared his throat in an attempt to appear casual. “Are you interested in meeting an editor?” “Huh…?” Dad continued as I tried to process what he was talking about now. “You know URALA, right?” “Um, of course.” URALA is a monthly local news magazine. Basically everyone who lives in Fukui has heard of it. It covers a wide range of topics: noteworthy individuals, good restaurants, culture, education, companies, all local to Fukui. I’ve never really looked it up or anything, but I’m guessing the name “URALA” comes from the Fukui dialect word “urara,” which means “us.” The cover models are mainly girls who were born, raised, or currently live in Fukui, and it’s not uncommon to hear people mention a friend who ended up on the cover. For some reason, Dad was looking awkward. “I got in touch with the editor-in-chief through a work colleague. If you want, you can tour the publishing company and talk with editorial.” “What?!” I got up all of a sudden, sending my chair clattering back. Dad waved his hand in front of his face, flustered. “Now, don’t go getting me wrong here! I haven’t changed my mind about college or working in Fukui. And it’s not a fiction novel publishing house, but I thought that speaking to an actual editor might give you some extra motivation for exam studying. Maybe that was too much, but…” As Dad spoke, his voice got quieter and more mumbly. I burst out laughing. “Dad, you’re so flustered right now. Don’t worry, I get it.” I looked down at the rice ball plate. Now I knew Dad truly respected my decision. He must have given it a lot of thought before he stuck his neck out to do this for me. Suddenly, I remembered that exchange I saw between those editors in Tokyo. I didn’t even need to take a second to think about it. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go,” I said immediately. Dad stood up, the corners of his mouth curving like he was quietly pleased. “Well, it’d be better to do it during summer vacation. There’s only a few days left, of course, but give me some options for dates and times you’re free. By tomorrow, if possible. Also…” Dad paused and then cleared his throat deliberately. “They said it’d be fine if you brought a friend as well. If you’d like, you could invite that boy.” “…Ah-ha-ha.” I knew Dad was trying to be considerate, but this was really funny. “What are you laughing for? Would that young man really want you to go somewhere unfamiliar all by yourself?” “I mean, he doesn’t even know about it. You’re the one who set it up, Dad…” “If necessary, I could speak to him myself…” “I think it’s about time to step back, Dad. Unless you want to be on the receiving end of a daughterly glare.” “…Then we’re done here.” And with that, Dad quickly exited the room. Oh yikes, I thought, touching my left ear without thinking. I’d fully intended to go alone, but since Dad brought it up… Now I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I could ask him and see if he was interested at all. But then… If I go and bring it up, he might have a hard time refusing. Like, he’ll feel obligated. I don’t want to inconvenience him when he’s just trying to enjoy the last few days of summer vacation… I squirmed around, trying to get my feelings and thoughts in order. All the while, I was listening to the voice of the deep night. Two days later, around three thirty PM, I was seated in the passenger seat of Dad’s car, on the way to URALA Communications, the company that publishes the magazine. I couldn’t sleep well the night before. I had read the latest issue of URALA from cover to cover, and the more I read and thought about meeting the people who made it, the more excited I became. What questions should I ask? What if people think I’m just some naive kid? What if the person answering my questions is extremely strict and scary? If this is enough to make me nervous… Wow, I still have a long way to go before I can become an editor, I thought wryly. Fiction novels and magazines are different, of course, but with both, you need to meet with writers and handle people with all kinds of different personalities. This was a great opportunity. I didn’t need to overthink it. I just needed to ask all my questions and find out what I could. Dad stopped at a traffic light and glanced over at me. “Sure you don’t want to pick up that boy?” “Yeah. I don’t want to push it.” “There’s still time. Why don’t we swing by right now?” “Like I said, it’s fine.” “…All right.” As we talked, I still had my nose in the magazine for one final review. Before I knew it, we’d arrived at our destination. When I got out of the car, even though it was already the end of August, the clouds overhead really seemed to herald the end of summer. The chirping of the cicadas sounded impatient and fractious, like they were protesting the coming change of seasons. I fanned my neck. I’d chosen a thin jacket and skirt set to try to look sort of serious, but it was kind of stuffy. I should probably have worn my summer school uniform. I smoothed down my outfit and stood up straight. The URALA building had its name on the side, and it was a dull sort of color. It wasn’t long and narrow like an airplane control tower, but somehow it had that vibe. In the parking lot across the street, there were rows of cars with the URALA name on the side. I realized then how many people must work in the building. Dad got out of the car and turned to me, anxiety in his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just go in with you?” I shook my head. “No. I’ll do it myself. It’s an experience, right?” If I was meeting a direct acquaintance of Dad’s, it’d be better if he went in with me. But I wasn’t, so I had to meet the people involved myself. I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes before the specified meeting time. I should wait a little longer. It’s rude to be too early. While I was thinking about that… “Asuka.” …I heard a voice calling me from nearby. I looked over and saw a boy there, waving awkwardly at me. “Hello. I see you got here first.” After much debating, I’d decided to leave the decision up to Saku. In other words, I’d decided to operate on the assumption that I’d be going to URALA alone, but I let Saku know that I’d be touring URALA and meeting with the editor. My thinking was that if his reaction was indifferent, I’d just proceed to go alone. But if he said something like, “Wow, I’m envious,” or “Wish I could come, too,” then I’d invite him. And now here we were. “Do you need to, like, book a slot, or can anyone go?” “No slot needed. Actually, I was told I could invite a friend. But I didn’t want to bring it up and make you feel like I was pressuring you to go, so I left that part out.” “…Well, can I go? Personally, I’m kinda interested.” Saku’s always loved books, my career path and dreams aside. But I was surprised by how enthusiastic he was about coming. I should have just asked him straight out, instead of beating around the bush. While I was thinking about that, Dad quickly stepped between me and Saku, who was walking over with his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Hello, young man. How have you been?” Even as he spoke, Dad’s eyes weren’t smiling at all. The three of us haven’t spoken since that meeting at school. Saku frowned. “Hello, Sir. Thank you for allowing me to participate today.” “I’m not the one who gave permission. It’s at the company’s discretion.” Dad was being frosty, even though he was the one who’d suggested inviting Saku in the first place. I’d asked Saku if he wanted to ride with us, but he’d stammered, “I-it’s okay, I’ll, um, take my bike.” “Just for your information…” Dad scowled. “This doesn’t mean I’m condoning a relationship with my daughter.” “It’s fine, Dad,” I anxiously interjected. “He knows what you think.” Dad was so embarrassing! Saku grinned a lopsided grin. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve changed.” Dad’s scowl deepened, and his voice grew even more gruff. “I expect you to bring her home promptly after dinner.” “Oh, I can take her to dinner?” “I’ve given Asuka enough money for a decent meal for two. Make sure you eat something that isn’t junk.” “Th-thanks…?” “Also…” “Da-aaad!” I had the feeling he would go on indefinitely if I didn’t stop him, so I cut in. “It’s almost time. We have to go.” “But I need to make sure he’s aware of our house rules—” “Just leave it, Dad, unless you want your daughter to really tell you off!” “…All right. Make sure you learn something,” Dad said, finally getting back into the car. With one last anxious look at me, he drove off. “I’m so sorry about him…” Saku let out a huge sigh, his shoulders lowering. “Wow, that guy really is a doting dad, huh?” “Ah-ha-ha… He’s been like that all the time lately.” “I’m just glad he doesn’t have a pitchfork. Or a gun.” “Dad actually gave me quite a bit of money. He was all red and saying like, ‘That boy lives alone, right? Make sure he eats something nutritious.’” “I appreciate the consideration. But I can see the future. He’s going to be all, ‘I’m not handing over my daughter to a rogue like you!’ But then when the wedding day comes, he’ll cry all over my suit and sob, ‘Please, take care of my daughter!’ He’s definitely that type of guy.” “Huh…?” A certain unexpected word stuck out to me. Saku looked at me, brows rising. “No… It’s just…” Ah crap, I thought, pressing my lips together. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry for reacting so strangely.” “I mean, that was more of a hypothetical. Like a lighthearted scenario to make a point.” “Please, don’t try to explain it. I want to crawl into a hole in the ground right now.” “…Er, sorry, Asuka.” “No apologizing, either!” I had to cover my face with my hands. That was totally my fault just now. Dad’s always saying weird things, and I guess my mind immediately went in that direction. I mean, take today, for example. Saku was only here because he was genuinely interested in visiting URALA’s HQ. Why was I letting my mind run away with me and getting ideas? What a mortifying thing to think! But then the whole thing started to seem ridiculous, and I chuckled. Say we did get married someday… Dad and Saku would get along surprisingly well, wouldn’t they? They’d be stiff and awkward at first, but they’d open up to each other over some booze. I could easily imagine a scene at New Year’s: My dad drunk and fawning over Saku, Saku bewildered and just trying to survive it… I slapped my cheeks lightly to bring myself back to Earth. All right, that’s enough fantasizing for one day. This was a golden opportunity that had come my way. I needed to learn all I could, for the sake of my future. “Shall we go in?” Saku nodded and grinned, saying, “Yep.” I decided to leave this town because of you. But you’re also the reason I’m so reluctant to go. …I have seven months left. I took another of my remaining tickets—tickets I wasn’t sure I’d be able to use up completely—and tore it into confetti in the air. We gave our names through the intercom beside the entrance, and they said that the editor-in-chief would come straight to us. I stood up straight, really nervous now. I sneaked a glance at Saku. He looked so calm. I envied his courage. After we waited a few minutes, the clear automatic doors whizzed open. “Welcome. Asuka, is it?” The man addressing me was, um— Oh, how should I say it? Simply put, he had a very severe sort of face. “Ah. Yes… Yes, that’s right,” I answered uncertainly and made eye contact with Saku. “Asuka, you didn’t bring us to the office of a mob boss by mistake, did you?” I shook my head hard, looking at the man again. He had short, shaved hair and a goatee. His glasses had a faint purple tint to them, and a gold necklace peeked out from his shirt, which was left open to about the third button. At best, he was one of those dapper middle-aged guys, but at worst… “Ah-ha-ha!” Seeing us freeze, the man laughed heartily. “It’s okay. I’m not that scary. I’m Terahata, the editor-in-chief of URALA Monthly, and you can feel free to ask me anything today.” He patted me on the shoulder as he spoke. His big toothy smile made everything much less scary in an instant, and I felt myself relax. “Thank you very much for this opportunity. I’m Asuka Nishino, a third-year student at Fuji High School.” I bowed my head. “Thank you for allowing me to tag along, too. I’m Saku Chitose, a second-year student at Fuji High.” Saku followed my self-introduction with his own. “Ah! Good to meet you both!” said the editor-in-chief, and he started walking. “It’s rare for people your age to be interested in this line of work. And it’s a good opportunity for me to talk to current high school students and get some perspective on the youth of today.” As we followed him, I looked all around. I’d had the impression that a publishing company would be a chaotic place, with posters everywhere, but this place was tidier than I’d imagined. It looked like any other ordinary, well-organized office building. “For starters, let’s take a look at the editorial department.” He guided us through a large, open-plan office. There were desks and computers lined up in rows, a bit like a school staff room. Of course, this place was a little more trendy and modern than that. In order to allow employees to concentrate on their work, perhaps, the individual desks were surrounded by partitions that were only just high enough to allow people to see one another’s faces. Some of the desks had piles of documents, there were lap blankets draped over the backs of the chairs, and I could see slippers under the desks. Those little details brought this place closer to the editorial department I’d been imagining. Saku whispered to me under his breath. “They’re all working dressed in casual clothes.” “Yeah. I kinda envy them that.” “Still more formal than the editor-in-chief, though.” “Shh! Don’t say that!” While we were whispering, the editor-in-chief pointed to a large table near the entrance. “Right now, the editorial department is having a meeting. Today’s meeting is a simple one, but at our monthly planning meeting, each editorial staff member presents various ideas, and we brainstorm together to decide on the special features and what to cover in that month’s issue.” “So even a new member could propose an idea and have it be included?” I asked. “Of course,” he replied. “As long as it’s interesting. Before you know the ins and outs of editing, you’ll learn by observing your seniors at work. Still, compared to other companies, you’ll be able to jump right in and get your feet wet from an early stage. Learning on the job, as it were.” The editor-in-chief grinned with pride. “It’s a lot of responsibility, but it’s rewarding for sure. After all, the magazine won’t be published unless everyone gets their pages done. Also, you’ll be responsible for the people you interview, liaising with different establishments, et cetera. Whether or not we can present something to our readers in a way that brings out its charm and appeal—well, that’s all up to our contributors.” My heart skipped a beat in my chest. Right, I thought. Magazines may be the same as novels in the sense of digging up stories. “Ha-ha,” laughed the editor-in-chief. “Hey! Hirayama!” One of the women sitting at the table stood up. She quickly gathered up the documents that were spread out in front of her and came over. “Oh, are these the high school students? Nice to meet you. My name is Hirayama. I’m the lead editor.” She looked to be in her late twenties. She had a gentle smile and a sophisticated air about her. Though she was dressed in a smart business casual–type outfit, there was something relatable about her. Like she was a college student, or someone’s older sister. After Saku and I both introduced ourselves, the editor-in-chief spoke again. “I thought it would be easier for Asuka here to talk to a fellow woman, someone as close to her own age as possible.” Hirayama smiled warmly—maybe she was remembering her own time as a teenager or something. “You know, I also graduated from Fuji High. It’s been about ten years since I graduated, but I wonder if they still do things like the ‘Welcome Back, Alumni’ event?” “Seriously?! Yes! We did it again this year!” I yelped a little, surprised by this moment of connection. The event Hirayama was talking about is kind of a special class held every year where dozens of Fuji High graduates from all over the prefecture return to talk to current students about their various vocations and careers. Other high schools probably have similar events, but at Fuji, there’s a strong alumni organization called “Shinmeikai,” so the event tends to be really worthwhile and illuminating. Hirayama smiled. “I see. Well then, please feel free to ask me anything you like, and let’s pretend this is our own event.” “I will! Thank you very much.” Saku and I both bowed politely together. Hirayama and the editor-in-chief led us into a room that felt relatively somber, more like a reception room than a conference room. Most of it was taken up by a large rectangular table that could easily seat more than ten people. Maybe it’s weird to compare it to school, but it felt more like I’d been summoned to the principal’s office than anything else. Perhaps noticing my hesitation… “Please, have a seat.” Hirayama pulled out chairs for us near the door. ““Thank you.”” Saku and I sat side by side on the short end of the rectangle. Hirayama sat one chair away on the long side, at a 90-degree angle to us. Maybe she thought it would be better to sit close. The table was awfully big. But being side-on felt less like an interrogation. It was more comfortable, like chatting with friends. I guess it depends on the situation, but this could be a certain kind of interview technique, I think. The editor-in-chief, on the other hand, sat at the far end of the room, on the short side opposite us. Maybe he was planning to leave most of it to Hirayama and just observe. It felt like he was an exam proctor, evaluating. It made me feel a bit uneasy. I took out my notebook, pen, and phone, and put them on the table. Then I looked at Hirayama and realized something. “Um, is it okay if I record this on my phone?” I was aware that I was flustered. It was taking all I had just to sound intelligent with my questions. But if I wasn’t absorbing anything Hirayama was saying, there’d be no point to this meeting at all. Hirayama smiled, eyes crinkling. “Yes, of course.” “Oh, thank you.” I tapped my phone screen. A question came to mind immediately. “Do editors and writers also record interviews?” “Hmm,” Hirayama said, thinking it over for a second. “Everyone has their own method. Some record everything and then transcribe from the recordings before drafting their articles. Some just take notes and then write from those. Some record interviews just in case, but then tend to rely more on their notes. Some even write from memory without taking any notes or recording anything at all.” “Really? But sometimes interviews can take an hour or more, right?” “Yes,” Hirayama said tentatively. “Well, it depends. Sometimes being recorded can make the interviewee nervous or on their guard too much. Also, if you know you can just listen to the recording later, you might fall into the trap of not being an active listener. Some believe that relying on their memory alone makes it so only the most salient points of the interview stick with them, cutting through the fluff.” “I see…” That explanation made sense. I glanced down at my phone, worried now about my request to record. Hirayama seemed to notice. “However, in my experience, I think it’s better to record when you can, or at least take notes. When you listen to the recording later, you can often find little nuggets of treasure that passed you by during the actual interview itself. It all comes down to what works for you,” she said reassuringly. “Ultimately, it depends on the person, but personally, recording allows me to concentrate on the conversation without worrying about things like, Oh, I’d better make sure I jot that down. Also, there’s a risk that we might focus on only our own biased observations if we don’t have an impartial recording. If you’ve got a preconceived idea of what angle you’re going to take on the article going in, you can end up letting that color your impressions way too much.” Even this brief explanation was enough to show me how seriously Hirayama took the words of her interviewees. I was glad I’d come today. This was the kind of thing you could only learn from someone who actually worked in the field. “This is just a basic question, but…” Suddenly, Saku raised his hand beside me. “Does the editor write the text themselves?” Oh, yeah. If you’re an editor of a novel, naturally the author is the one who writes the actual text. I wondered if it was different when it came to magazine articles. Hirayama nodded. “Sometimes we take work from freelance writers, but in the case of our magazine, we usually do the research and write the articles ourselves.” “Sorry to interrupt, but what is the difference between a writer and an editor?” Wow, Saku was fearless with his questions. It sounds like the kind of thing that’s basic knowledge, but come to think of it, if you asked me to define the difference, I’m not sure I could. I could learn a lot from Saku’s straight-on approach. “Let’s see,” Hirayama said, nodding again. “Feature writers are basically professional writers who conduct interviews and then write articles. Whereas we editors submit a plan, make appointments with the interviewees, hire writers and photographers, and plan out the look of the pages. Then we draw up something like a rough blueprint, have a designer create a layout, check the manuscript and photos that come in… There are a lot of other detailed tasks, but it’s really about overseeing the total quality of pages. Think of an editor’s job as supervising the entire process of an article from start to finish.” “…Isn’t that a lot of work?” Saku sounded daunted, rather than surprised. “You really have to be a jack-of-all-trades as well as a supervisor, yes. If we have to go on location to conduct interviews, we need to arrange Shinkansen tickets, sometimes plane tickets, accommodation, and sometimes order certain documents and supplementary materials. Sometimes we have to pester writers about deadlines, sometimes we have to put in a lot of overtime… From a certain perspective, this industry is kind of a meat grinder…” “Hey! Mind what you say to the idealistic high schoolers, here!” The editor-in-chief interjected, even as Hirayama seemed to be joking. “But, boss, I really need to explain the reality of the job.” “Then tell ’em the reality, not this crazy stuff! Look at me; with your dire warnings, these kids are going to leave thinking this is some sort of dodgy company!” I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I was supposed to laugh. But then both Hirayama and the editor-in-chief started chuckling. Okay, so it was a joke… Sort of trying to lighten up the mood? “Sorry, sorry,” Hirayama said. “I got off topic, but in reality, writers sometimes come up with plans and draw up rough drafts, and in some cases, they’re entrusted with tasks similar to editing. What I’ve just explained is more of a basic division of roles. It’s not a particularly grueling or unfair industry, but it is quite a difficult job in any editorial department. You should probably be aware of that.” “Thank you,” Saku said, bowing his head slightly. Saku seemed satisfied with his answer, so I took my chance and cleared my throat. “Sorry, I wanted to start off by asking this, but would you mind telling us about how you got started in this industry?” Hirayama scratched her cheek, looking a little embarrassed. “Yes, certainly. Goodness, it feels odd being the interviewee for once.” I opened my mouth to start with my questions, but then… “Actually, I like that.” The editor-in-chief snapped his fingers. Saku and Hirayama blinked. “Let’s make it a real interview.” The editor-in-chief crossed his arms as he continued, grinning somewhat mischievously. “It’s not really an internship, but let’s make this like a work experience thing. Asuka, Chitose, why don’t you interview Hirayama as if you were real writers? What’s the pitch? Let’s see… Life as a Fukui editor. You can ask all the questions you originally wanted to ask.” I glanced at Saku. “I guess I’d like to give it a shot,” he said, and I immediately nodded. “Me too! It’s a rare opportunity.” “All righty, then,” said the editor-in-chief. “Let’s give you fifteen minutes to prep. A bit short for a real interview, but never mind. Make a list of all your questions.” ““All right!”” I grabbed my pen and pulled my notebook close. Saku leaned back and stared at the ceiling, the desk in front of him still empty. …Fifteen minutes later, the editor-in-chief and Hirayama walked back into the room. They’d brought bottled water for us. I said a quick thanks and then took a big swig. The editor-in-chief sat at the back of the room, like before. “Okay, are you ready?” he said. Saku and I both nodded. “Okay, then who wants to start?” Without hesitation, I raised my hand. “It may not be that big of a difference, but I decided to visit URALA first, so I think I’ve had more time to prepare my questions. So can I go first?” That’s so like you, Saku seemed to be saying with his wry smile. “Set the standard to beat,” he said. “I will. You just watch.” This way, I could give Saku a little more time. Yes, that was part of it. But I was also feeling pretty confident. Unlike Saku, who came here as more of a field trip out of an interest in books, I’d given this a lot of careful thought and research. I buy URALA sometimes—not every month, but often—and I read it from cover to cover. My notebook was filled with questions I wanted to ask. I’m sure there are differences between novels and magazines, and this formal-seeming interview setup definitely made me jittery. But I was confident I’d do pretty well. When the two adults nodded the go-ahead, I set my phone to record. “Well, thank you very much for agreeing to speak with me today.” As I spoke, I looked at my notes, at the underlined parts and the crossed-out parts. I decided to start with a standard question first. “Ms. Hirayama, what made you decide to become an editor?” Hirayama began talking, like she’d just been waiting for my cue. “After graduating from Fuji High, I entered the science department at a university in Nagoya. I went on to become an engineer at a machinery manufacturer there, but to be honest, I didn’t really enjoy it. I wanted to do something more exciting.” “I see. It sounds like being an editor was something totally different. Have you enjoyed magazines from a young age, or…?” “Oh yes, exactly. While I was wondering what to do, I suddenly remembered my love for magazines.” Good. I was getting to the heart of Hirayama’s drive. “I see. So why did you choose to work for URALA here in Fukui? When it comes to publishing jobs, I have the impression that they’re mostly concentrated in Tokyo?” This was one of my most burning questions. I’d decided on a career in publishing with Tokyo in mind. So I wanted to know what it would be like to work for a regional news and culture magazine right here in Fukui. “Hmm, let’s see…” But Hirayama fell silent. Maybe that wasn’t the right question to ask. I cleared my throat to try to fix it. “For example, maybe you were attached to your hometown, maybe you were a little tired of living in the city, or maybe you happened to find the right job offer…?” “Ah,” Hirayama said, her tone warm with nostalgia. “Maybe it’s all of those things. I was tired of working in Nagoya and wanted to go back to Fukui. And URALA was hiring mid-career workers. Not to mention the fact that they welcomed people with no experience.” I picked up on what she was saying and tried to expand on it. “You say you started with no experience, but have you had any difficulties since becoming an editor? Maybe trouble coming up with article plans, difficulties with writer’s block, or not seeing eye to eye with freelancers or photographers? I guess—growing pains, for lack of a better term? Or maybe all of those things at one time or another?” “All of it, just like you said. At first, I floundered a bit trying to figure everything out. It really was quite difficult.” Hirayama smiled wryly, and I felt my spirits lift. We were really communicating! Perhaps it was because I was able to imagine, in my own way, the mentality of the URALA staff and what kind of feelings they put into creating the magazine. I wanted to keep the momentum going as I went to my next question. “Then is there a kind of specific moment when you feel glad you’re working for URALA, or is there anything in particular that makes you feel especially good about working for a regional news and culture magazine?” “Regional, yes… Well…” Hirayama trailed off again. Even editors who interview people for their jobs might struggle, I guess. When it comes to interviewing regular people, sometimes the interviewer may need to give a little push. I cast about for something to say that would help her express her feelings. “My personal impression is that the appeal of local magazines comes from the way they cover local information that big publishers in Tokyo don’t, stuff that’s not known about on the national level. Companies that are actively working in the local community, small confectionery shops in the neighborhood, and so on. When I was researching, I kept discovering all kinds of interesting places in Fukui.” “Yes, that’s right.” Hirayama sounded more animated now. “Even though I’ve been doing this job for many years, there’s still so much I don’t know about our local area…” “So, like, Fukui has charms that rival Tokyo’s, right?” “Yes. I really believe it does.” “Specifically, what do you think is the true appeal of Fukui? Is it the warmth of the people?” “Well, everyone I’ve interviewed has certainly been kind.” After that, the conversation continued smoothly, and the mood was relaxed throughout. I’d ask a question, then Hirayama would respond. “…?” “…!” “…, …?” “…” “…, …, …?” “…” We got right into the rhythm, and I ended up talking a lot more than I usually do. I’m really enjoying this! I thought, almost laughing at myself. I felt like I was really an editor. I’d caught the editing bug! Around an hour passed, but it felt like minutes. “Thank you so much for speaking with me today.” I bowed to Hirayama. Even though it was my first reporting experience, I think it’d be safe to say it was a great success. There are differences between being a novel editor and being a magazine editor, of course, but I felt a bit more confident in my ability to talk productively with writers. Hirayama smiled. “Thank you, I enjoyed talking with you.” Saku, listening beside me, clapped his hands mischievously. “Good job, Asuka. Amazing. You expressed yourself so well.” “Thanks! I guess I did pretty well, too.” The editor-in-chief finally spoke up then. “Okay, Chitose, you next.” No commentary on my interview. A little disappointing, but maybe he was saving it for the end. At any rate, I felt a lot lighter now. It must be a tough job, dealing with this kind of tension every day. I sneaked a glance at the editor-in-chief. Seeing that sharp and serious look on his face, I sat up straighter. “All right,” Saku said, and I made sure to refocus. “I’d like to ask you a few questions as well.” “Certainly. I think Nishino and I already spoke about quite a lot. You might have trouble following that up.” Yes, you could see it that way… I’d thought my thorough interview was a good thing, but it might have a negative effect on Saku’s turn… I’d asked so many questions, maybe I hadn’t left enough for him. “No, I think it’s okay.” Saku shrugged, continuing. “Well, then why do you stick with working as a magazine editor? From what you were saying earlier, it sounds like a very demanding job.” I was surprised that he asked such a bold question. It almost sounded like he was asking her why she hadn’t just quit. “Hmm, why do I stick with it? That’s a difficult question to answer.” Hirayama mulled over that one for a bit. I’d been able to prompt her at times like this, but… But Saku just observed quietly, looking relaxed. After about ten or twenty seconds, I started finding the silence painful. What should I do? Should I jump in and help? As I was fidgeting and debating… “…It’s about promoting things I believe in…,” Hirayama said quietly, sounding surprised by what she was saying. Then her head came up, her eyes alight. “You know, I think that’s it! This job is the best for pointing people towards the things that matter to me!” She slammed her hands down on the table and leaned forward. “You know how people get really excited about their interests, and basically post about them online constantly? Well, that’s basically what we do! And when you work as an editor for a magazine like URALA, you’re always discovering cool new things and falling in love with stuff that most people don’t know about. I can spread the word about things that excite me!” Saku started laughing. “Sounds like you’re mixing work and pleasure.” “Yes! Exactly!!!” Hirayama continued, her voice filled with excitement. She was a changed person. “And isn’t it amazing that it’s actually a real job?! I get paid to go eat something incredible at a restaurant and then tell everyone: ‘Hey! The food here is to die for!’ And it’s like all the EIC’s griping never even happened!” “I’ll take you off the restaurant articles for slander,” said the editor-in-chief, but he sounded amused. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, I won’t bring you back any more gifts when I travel.” “The company’s already paying for those!” “Well, then,” Saku said, holding back a laugh. “Do you have any interesting anecdotes about visiting restaurants?” “Hmm… I’m sure I do, but it’s hard to think of any when I’m put on the spot.” Hirayama’s tone had grown completely casual now. During my interview, she spoke to me stiffly, in her role as an URALA editorial department staff member. But to Saku, she was chatting away like he was a younger student at the same high school. And Saku continued to calmly observe Hirayama as she tried to find the right words. For some reason, I felt odd. Like I’d been pushing the wrong buttons. Before I could put my thoughts into order, Hirayama spoke again. “I don’t have any specific anecdotes, but… When I report on restaurants here in Fukui, I often get treated to the meals for free. I mean, I try to pay, but they’re always like, ‘It’s fine, it’s fine.’ So I don’t have to pay at all sometimes.” “Is that something rare in this industry?” “Well, in Tokyo I’ve heard that once the photos are taken and the interview is over, the editors just push their plates away and pay the bill. I mean, restaurants take time out of their day to speak to editors. They deserve to be paid. But in Fukui, they’ll offer me stuff that isn’t on the schedule for the interview at all. They just serve whatever they think I’d like. And if the food gets cold during the interview, they go back and whip up more!” “So do you ever ask for extra food or these kinds of services?” “No, never! I mean, maybe they’ve caught me drooling over the menu once or twice. But I never, ever ask!” Everyone started laughing together. The atmosphere was so lighthearted, chatty, and fun… Totally different from my interview. Saku, still laughing, spoke again. “Can I ask some serious stuff now?” “We haven’t even gotten to the serious stuff yet?!” Hirayama was actually quite an expressive person. Saku nonchalantly asked his next question. “What do you value, Ms. Hirayama, when it comes to writing articles for magazines? Or I guess, what do you think makes a good feature writer?” “Hmm…that’s a pretty shrewd question. It really does vary from person to person, as I said earlier… I don’t think I can make any general statements.” “Just your opinion is fine.” “Well, I’m going to need a minute to think.” I felt a sharp prickle in my chest. Hirayama fell into contemplation again, while Saku waited silently. I thought my interview had flowed so well, but this was really different… With this interview, there were gaps of silence, and sometimes the conversation seemed to hitch, but when things got exciting… Hey, someone please tell me. Why is my throat burning? Why does my chest feel tight? “Let’s see,” Hirayama said, seeming to have gathered her thoughts. “To answer that question, I think it would be best to first talk about what kind of magazine URALA is currently aiming to be. Boss, is that okay?” “Fine by me.” The editor-in-chief sounded like he was expecting this. “Chitose,” said Ms. Hirayama, “when you want to look up a restaurant or some specific item of clothing or a book or something, what do you do?” “…Well, I guess I’d go online. Maybe just on my phone.” “And what about you, Asuka?” “I guess I’d do the same.” I don’t just believe everything I read online, but if you want to get some quick information, it’s the fastest way to do it. “Right,” said the editor-in-chief. “It may be hard for you young people to visualize, but once upon a time, we didn’t all have computers at home. We didn’t have tablets, and not everyone had a phone in their pocket. Magazines were the best and fastest way to get information.” Saku chimed in. “You couldn’t just run a quick search, either.” “Right. So magazines were the go-to for information. Fashion magazines for those who want to be stylish, cooking magazines for those who like to cook, mountain climbing for outdoorsy types. And for those who want to know what’s going on in Fukui, there’s URALA. If you wanted to get info about something that interested you, magazines were the easiest way to do it.” Yeah… It was hard to imagine a world without internet… There was TV and radio. But you had to wait for the thing you were interested in to be covered. And unless it was a special feature, the information you could get would probably be pretty bare-bones. “But these days, even young high schoolers like you who specifically come to learn about what editors do… You still run internet searches first, right? That’s the era we live in. We have a website, Daily URALA, and we’re also on social media. We’re on YouTube, we’re featured on review sites and blogs… There’s an overload of information now. It’s so easy to share, too. Print is often left in the dust due to how fast the media cycle works these days. Of course, as professionals, we continue to do our best to provide reliable, high-quality content, but a lot of people out there are now of the opinion that the internet is all we need.” There was a sadness to his voice, and in my mind’s eye I saw an escaped floating balloon on the wind. “But back to the original point. In these modern-day times, URALA’s goal is to be evergreen. Information on the internet is updated quickly, so if we just focus on updating people, our info will be out of date before long, right? “So when it come to print magazines…,” the editor-in-chief continued. “…We aim to be not just a collection of useful information but a collection of interesting reading material.” Unlike before, his eyes now sparkled with some kind of emotion as he spoke. It wasn’t nostalgic sentiment for a bygone era but a glimmering determination to contribute to the present. “Like novels, like manga, like picture books, like poetry collections. If you like it, you’ll put it on your bookshelf and keep it safe. Then maybe a decade or two later, you might get a random urge to look something up and open it again. We want to be that sort of magazine.” He paused. When he spoke again, he sounded almost like he was declaring some sort of personal oath. “I think it would be great if we could preserve a snapshot of urara…of us. Of our history, our culture, our towns and people here in Fukui, and pass all of it on to future generations.” My heart was going thud, thud, thud. These editors… Were all of them this passionate about words and stories? Would I be able to join them and match their level of dedication? “…Hah, don’t I sound cool?” The editor-in-chief smiled a little awkwardly. His teasing manner reminded me of a certain someone. I couldn’t help smiling a little. Hirayama grinned, too, teasingly. “Editor-in-chief, are you drunk?” “Hey, what do you mean?” “Giving a whole speech because you’re in the presence of a cute high school girl.” “Oh, pipe down. It’s an old man’s duty to lecture the youth.” From the conversations between the two, I felt like I’d caught a glimpse of the trust they’d built between them. Hirayama might joke, but she seemed to find it fulfilling, working under this guy. To be honest, I was also a little envious. Ms. Hirayama resumed the conversation by returning to the discussion on writing. “As the editor-in-chief said, the present-day URALA focuses on its value as reading material. That said, it’s still intended to be informative. Magazines, as a medium, must convey as much information as possible, with writing that’s concise, accurate, and easy to understand. Lyrical phrasing and metaphors, the kind used in novels, aren’t appreciated. Of course, some writers do develop a personal style that gets sought after. Some editors might say, ‘We really need a piece by so-and-so on this page.’ But generally speaking.” “Huh,” Saku said. “But that sounds at odds with what might make something interesting to read. Aren’t you worried about the articles ending up bland?” “Good question.” Hirayama nodded. “We need to look at the articles as a whole. Many writers are able to write compelling pieces by keeping their prose punchy and to the point, focusing on getting that info across, while also creating vivid imagery in readers’ heads. But it’s a fairly advanced skill set and not easily emulated. Anyway, let’s leave that aside for now.” After taking a sip of water, she continued speaking. “In that case, then, what kind of writing does turn informative articles into interesting reading material? I could give you my opinion, and if you asked someone else, they might give you a different one… Incidentally, Chitose, what do you think?” Finding his question reflected back on him, Chitose thought for a moment. “What about depth of the information? Stuff you can’t find through internet searches. For example, if you’re covering a ramen restaurant, you could write about the menu, but you could also cover their prep and cooking methodology.” “Well, that’s one right answer. However, these days, even YouTubers go into quite a lot of detail with what they cover. And that’s more information-seeking, rather than reading for the entertainment value. What do you think, Nishino?” I tried to express some of the thoughts I’d had while I’d been listening to the conversation. “I think it’s a symbiotic effort along with photography and design… A professional designer puts the page together around the pictures taken by a professional photographer, and then the writer’s text can be made visually appealing based on the font and positioning. That’s the magazine’s— Oh.” While talking, I realized my mistake. “It’s okay,” Hirayama reassured me, smiling softly. “Yes, those things are definitely vital when it comes to making our magazine an exciting read. Even we editors love to see an aesthetically pleasing page with great photos. But as you seem to have realized yourself, Nishino, the actual content of the written article is a somewhat different matter.” Embarrassed, I stared down at the table. I was so caught up in the idea of an interesting reading experience that I forgot the crux of the original question. “As for my opinion,” Hirayama continued. “…I guess it’s the writer’s vision that sets it apart.” I repeated it in my mind. The writer’s vision. The words vaguely made sense, but I wasn’t sure I had a good grasp on what they meant. Saku remained silent, waiting for the rest. “Like, their individual take on the subject, their interpretation. For example, even if both of you went to the same place to cover it for an article, hearing the exact same things from the same people… You’d probably come away with different impressions, right? You’d have different angles. Some say reporting should seek to erase personal bias and aim for total objectivity. However…” Hirayama’s gaze was unwavering. “Take this one time when I visited a local small leather craft workshop. I had to decide whether to include descriptions of the craftsmen at work sewing leather, whether to express their dedication to their craft and painstaking handiwork—or whether to dismiss those things as details and focus on something else for the article itself. “And here’s another example. Say I’m covering a ramen restaurant that always closes earlier than its official business hours. How do I present that? Do I say, ‘Here’s a restaurant owner who only believes in serving as many bowls as he can serve with perfect quality’? Do I say, ‘First come, first served, so make sure you get in line early!’? “Or maybe I’m presenting a travel destination that’s only accessible by a bus that comes once every three hours. Do I write something about how access to the location is extremely limited and inconvenient? Or do I emphasize how it keeps the place hidden, how you can forget your busy life and relax without worrying about getting somewhere quickly? “It’s common practice to end an article with ‘Please try it out for yourself’ or ‘Highly recommended.’ But what if you ended with your own perspective instead?” The way she spoke, it was like this was her raison d’être. “It’s the writer’s perspective, I think, that enriches magazines and makes them vital reading material for people.” Her words left a deep impression on me. I wished I could just sit with those words and vibe with them a bit. “Thank you, that was very enlightening.” Saku smiled. “I hope that was a useful response?” Hirayama’s shoulders shook a little, as if she was amused. And finally, I understood that tight feeling in my chest. After that, the two of them discussed various things. Saku would pose a question, and Hirayama would answer. “…?” “…!” “…, …?” “…” “…, …, …?” “…” Like a staccato rhythm. I doubt I’m ever going to forget this summer. “Well, good work today, both of you.” After Saku’s interview, we took a short breath, and the editor-in-chief smiled. “You did quite well for high schoolers giving your first interview. I give you both full marks.” His words stung like needles. Flustered, I looked down at my hands. Seeming not to notice, the editor-in-chief continued. “But this is your work experience. I have to tell you that no matter how satisfied you might be with your pages as an editor, it’s not getting in print until the EIC gives it the okay. I know this is early stages for you both, but I do want you to bear that in mind.” That…kinda sucks, I thought, gritting my teeth. But the results speak for themselves. This was the world that Hirayama and the other editors lived in. No matter how much pride they took in their work, there was no guarantee their words would make it to readers’ eyes. The editor-in-chief looked straight at me, his gaze shrewd. His expression was no longer as calm or mischievous as before. “Now let me ask you, Asuka.” “…Yes?” “Which do you think was better, your interview or Chitose’s here?” “…” Though I’d been expecting him to ask, it still stung. My breathing grew shallow, and I felt a sour pit of regret in my stomach. Beside me, Saku looked taken aback all of a sudden. “Asuka… I mean, Nishino’s interview was…” “Hold on. I’m asking Asuka.” The editor-in-chief immediately cut him off. I gritted my teeth together. “It’s okay, I can answer.” All of a sudden, my throat felt dry. My hand shook around the plastic water bottle, and I clenched my hand, trying to stop it. At the very least, I wanted to show integrity and admit to my faults. “Chitose’s interview was better.” I said it plainly. The editor-in-chief looked somewhat relieved. “And how did you come to that conclusion?” “I…I think Ms. Hirayama seemed more engaged during Chitose’s interview. I think he got more out of her.” It was something I’d vaguely sensed before he was done. My interview was full of polite answers, but the conversation with Saku yielded much more personality. The editor-in-chief frowned but continued. “And do you know why?” I shook my head, afraid of what might come out if I spoke. I’d watched the back-and-forth between Hirayama and Saku from the sidelines. I’d noticed something was different. Halfway through, I became convinced that I’d failed. But I couldn’t put my finger on how. I’d prepared my questions with care. Maybe my research was lacking, but I knew I’d spent more time with it than Saku had. I felt that my interview was smoother, tidier somehow. I’d gotten full of myself… I’m supposed to be the cool older girl, right? Maybe it didn’t go well because I’m a girl? Maybe Hirayama took a shine to Saku, as a member of the opposite sex, and that’s why she opened up more? I wanted to deflect from my own inadequacies. I wanted a convenient excuse. So horrible thoughts like those started to cross my mind. “What do you think, Chitose?” Great. The last person I wanted the editor-in-chief to ask. “Asuka…” Saku looked at me, his face twisted painfully. You’re so kind and wonderful; how could I put that expression on your face? The cool older sister had no choice but to say: “Yes, I’d love to get your opinion?” Saku looked back and forth between me and the editor-in-chief, then slowly spoke. “It felt like you were doing the talking, Nishino. Not Ms. Hirayama.” “Oh…” And that’s when it hit me. “…” It all suddenly made sense. Right… Yes, of course. Yeah, but… I bit my lip. Hearing that from him… It hurt. “Exactly.” The editor-in-chief spoke calmly. “This may sound a bit harsh, but I’d like you to listen. If you were one of our editors, Asuka, that interview you just did would have been rejected. I’d ask you to do it again. And if you pushed back, I’d just replace you with someone else.” “…R-right.” I nodded, desperately holding back the emotions welling up inside me. “I’d like you to think back over your choices. If you were to write an article based off that interview, what would you write? Would Ms. Hirayama even be featured?” I didn’t have an answer to give, so I just waited for the rest. “Each time Ms. Hirayama stopped to think, you jumped in to assist, Asuka. ‘What about this?’ ‘This is what I think.’ ‘Isn’t this what you were trying to say?’ Ms. Hirayama was just going where you led her. But you know… “…Those weren’t Ms. Hirayama’s words.” I suddenly recalled what Ms. Hirayama had said. “There’s a risk that we might focus on only our own biased observations.” That was in the context of trying to write from memory without recording the interview, but the result was the same as what I was doing. I was able to predict Ms. Hirayama’s feelings and guide her in a direction that would make the interview go smoothly, basically feeding her the dialogue I wanted to fit my image of the interview. “Thanks! I guess I did pretty well, too.” I was so embarrassed, I wanted to disappear on the spot. I’d gotten way, way ahead of myself. Under the table, I clutched my skirt so tightly, I made creases. “I’m not blaming you for anything,” the editor-in-chief said in a softer voice. “It’s a mistake that new editors tend to make, especially those who are serious and passionate. It’s clear you’ve read URALA from cover to cover and prepared your questions carefully. I could definitely sense your dedication.” I nodded. The editor-in-chief continued quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that young Chitose’s questions and interview style were especially better than yours, Asuka.” Oh no. I might have felt better if he’d just given me a simple lecture. But the way he was trying to soothe the ego of the poor little high schooler coming to watch them work—that made me feel ten times worse. “So ultimately,” the editor-in-chief said, breaking me out of my fog. “…Don’t be afraid of silence.” “Huh…?” “It’s the same whether you’re interviewing someone or meeting with a writer. Those moments of silence are when the other party is searching for the right words within themselves. Chitose waited. That’s the only difference, but it’s a very big difference.” Hirayama trailed off again. Even editors who interview people for their jobs might struggle, I guess. When it comes to interviewing the general public, sometimes the interviewer may need to give a little push. I cast about for something to say that would help her express her feelings. Right. That’s exactly what I did. Instead of helping her find the right words, I got in the way. The editor-in-chief looked me in the eye again. “No matter how much we prepare in advance, the best thing we can do is hold back and wait sometimes. It might be hard to do, but try to treasure those moments of silent reflection. Think about the kind of stories that will emerge, the kind of article you’ll submit, the feedback you’ll get from readers.” He was speaking to me like a friend. Like this was just some neighborly advice. “That’s how we have to do it. Our job is to transmit people’s true words and stories.” The sentiments that were being directed toward me were frank, warm, and kind. “Thank you. Excuse me, I’m just going to go to the bathroom.” And I practically fled from the room. Quietly, carefully, I closed the door to that room. Then I… …I ran. I ran and ran and ran. Hold on. Don’t let the tears fall. Just a little more, just a little more, hold on, grit your teeth, not yet, not yet… I ran into the privacy of the stall and locked the door. “…” I covered my mouth with both hands and sobbed. “Guh… Gah…” How naive I was. “The books I’ve read so far, the words all things someone desperately dug out of their psyche in an attempt to share their vision with others. If there are worlds out there that only I can find and bring out, then I feel I have to do it.” I recalled the words I said to Dad once. I was talking such a big game, when I didn’t know the first thing about it. I went on about digging up words. Digging up stories. Sharing someone’s vision. I had no idea how far I still had to go. I stumbled right on the threshold. But I was too prideful to even realize that I’d stumbled. This was my dream. Had I really taken it so lightly? Had I learned anything from all the precious books that saved my soul? I’ve been piling up a bunch of fancy phrases, surface-level stuff, but the pages inside were all blank. I…I was useless at this. Though I tried to suppress my sobs, my voice still leaked out hoarsely. I sucked back my snot, tears dripping between my fingers. Gack. Ack. I coughed like I was being choked, my chest burning. I’d believed I was capable of better. I’d thought I’d done well, but I was wrong. “You did very well, considering you’re still in high school.” Those were the kind of words I was dreamily expecting.
Chapter 103
54 min read