Chapter 158

The idea was that couples would go to the corners of the field to flirt, but Himeji was new to the school—did she not know? Or had she chosen her location despite that? She’d picked the middle of the field—the most conspicuous spot. It was very like her, somehow. I could picture her saying, “I get paid to sing and dance. Obviously, I ought to have the best spot.” Being with Himeji was always fun. I never felt bored when I was with her. I thought back to the time when we borrowed the camera over summer break and hung out, and then to yesterday, when we walked around the school festival together. We always had fun. That had been true ever since we were children. Even back then, she was always full of self-confidence. She did what she wanted and said what she thought, always pulling me forward. “Let’s go there,” “Let’s do this,” “That will be fun.” There was never a dull moment. I’d liked her back then. I was too young for romantic love, and thinking back on it now, maybe my feelings had always been a little different. But I had liked her. She transferred schools and became an idol, then quit and came back stronger than ever. In some ways she hadn’t changed, and in others, we both had. We’d grown up a lot since we’d last seen each other. I didn’t want to give her a bigger head than she already had, but I really respected her work ethic. She was always straightforward and confident in herself. Sometimes she could be overbearing, but I still found her really impressive. I folded the paper and put it back in my pocket. I looked around for Torigoe, but she was still nowhere to be found. The seats were filling up, and a first-year girl had already taken the one I’d intended to save for Torigoe. I decided to tell her where I was via text. I was about ten rows from the front, close to the middle. I thought it was a good spot, but it seemed Himeji and Mr. Matsuda had chosen seats elsewhere. The lights gradually dimmed. “The drama club’s play, ‘ Diary,’ will begin shortly. Please silence or turn off your cell phones and be respectful of the viewers around you.” The spotlights from the catwalk shone on the closed curtains. According to the synopsis in the festival guide, the protagonist was a girl who had died and was visiting her beloved as a ghost. Fushimi was playing the boy’s current girlfriend—one step below a starring role. The buzzer rang, and the curtains slowly rose as everyone in the audience lowered their voices. Hina Fushimi The uniform the drama club had ordered online smelled brand-new. It was a sailor uniform, but different from the one I usually wore. The ribbon at the chest was white. Apparently, the club president—who was serving as the play’s producer—was the one to pick it out. But once it arrived and we opened it up, everyone seemed to think it was really cute, so I didn’t object. To be honest, I didn’t quite get it; I thought our real uniform was plenty cute, so I didn’t understand why we needed something different. But the president said it was better to use something the audience wasn’t already familiar with. At the sound of the buzzer, the curtains lifted. The scene began with Yumi, a third-year girl, starting to date Keigo. “Please go out with me!” Keigo said. “You really like me?” Yumi asked. “I do!” I watched from the wings. There was still some time before I was supposed to go on. I was playing Riina, the girl who stole the ghost girl’s boyfriend. I didn’t like her when I first read the screenplay, but then I came to realize she wasn’t a bad girl, and I started empathizing with her. The club president, who was also playing a background role, turned to me and whispered, “How many times have you been in a play before?” “Umm, three,” I said, inflating the count. This was only my second time. “Then I guess you’re not that nervous.” I shook my head and chuckled. “I am.” It was true I’d done this once before. But unlike with movies, you didn’t get to shoot any retakes if you messed up. The first time around, I’d been full of reckless enthusiasm, but this time, my anxieties were different. I’d been brought in as a helper for this production. The club itself was small—one person on sound, two people on lights, and six actors. I couldn’t mess this up for them. I had to put on an act I could be proud of on the first try. I’d only get one shot at this. And though Ryou hadn’t given me any updates, my mom could be here watching. I couldn’t embarrass myself. The story moved on as the protagonist died in an accident and turned into a ghost. The lights switched from general illumination to a single beam. As the spotlight focused on Yumi alone, the last line of the prologue echoed through the gym: “Can no one see me?!” The opening scene I’d watched so many times seemed to end in a flash. The stage went dark, and the desks and chairs for the next scene were hurriedly set in place. I slapped my cheeks. While it was still dark, I sat down in a chair in the middle of the stage. The boy playing Keigo sat beside me, and we both faced the audience. I counted to five after sitting down, just as we had rehearsed. The sharp sound of a switch flipping echoed in my ears, and the stage lit up again. “When are you gonna cheer up, Keigo?” Riina—the kind of girl other women tended to hate—looked at Keigo as she rested her chin on her hand. “It’s been six months. I know you’re sad, but c’mon.” Ryou’s camerawork could pick up all my facial expressions, but I couldn’t rely on that now. My acting onstage had to be big, easy to read. Delivering a line that was primarily expository, I stood up and circled the chairs, glancing at Keigo seductively. What a nasty girl, I thought again while keeping the act up. “Let’s go hang out. Moping around won’t solve anything, right?” Riina dragged Keigo out, unaware that Yumi’s ghost was watching them. Little by little, she helped Keigo cheer up. All the while, the stagehands quickly swapped out props. Yumi described her feelings in between the others’ lines. She was jealous of Riina, relieved to see Keigo feeling better, and sad that she couldn’t speak to him anymore. But slowly, she began to give up. “I…like you, y’know?” My confession had started out as just words, but as I rehearsed, I started putting more feeling into it. It started when I decided to put myself in her shoes. I could see Ryou in the audience. Why do I have to notice you now, of all times…? The timing was weird…and I started to feel awkward. I’m just acting, remember? Just acting. Where was everyone else, though? Keigo hesitated and delayed giving her an answer, then headed home. That was when Yumi noticed he’d dropped his handkerchief. Through the power of love, she gained the ability to hold small objects, and she started writing notes. My character was pushed aside for a moment while Keigo and the ghost interacted. I started worrying again about the story’s resemblance to a certain movie; did the president realize? Ai would’ve said something about it, I’m sure, but I was just a helper and decided not to point it out. Yumi held back her feelings and hid her identity, instead supporting Riina. “Why are you hesitating? Riina’s a good girl. Go out with her.” I couldn’t be like her—even if I knew he couldn’t hear me, I could never be that selfless, faced with the person I loved. I was a bad girl. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was always scheming. I wanted people to think I was cute, and even if the boy I loved was in love with someone else, I would do my best to change his mind. I took a sip of the water one of the helpers had handed me before my turn came, and I returned to the stage. In this scene, I—Riina—was supposed to find out about the ghost and realize it was Yumi. “Is that you, Yumi?” This was my character’s most important scene. “Keigo’s alive, you realize?!” I exclaimed. “But because you keep showing up, he…” Yumi spoke her lines, even though in the story she communicated via writing. I wanted to take another look at Ryou. I glanced his way while maintaining my focus. And that was when it happened—it was like there was a spotlight shining on one corner of the audience. I saw a woman I recognized. I’d seen her on TV, in movies, in my reflection in the mirror. Mom. “I didn’t become a ghost by choice! And I still love him! I can’t just forget about him!” My attention was pulled back to the stage. I could tell the audience was on the edge of their seats, spurred on by the other girl’s impressive performance. The next line was mine. … “………” Huh? What was it? Wh-what was my line? My mind went blank. What did the screenplay say? I couldn’t remember. I could picture the page, but there was a blank space where my line should have been. It was like it’d been erased. It was gone from my mind. I felt like I’d been frozen there for hours. Silence filled the stage and the gym, crushing me. The quiet hurt my ears and made it hard to breathe. Yumi’s actor noticed something was wrong and mouthed the line, but she was too far away. People backstage were panicking. They rushed to make a sign. My eyes wavered and stopped on Ryou. I looked at him pleadingly. He seemed worried, but the moment our eyes met, he smiled and nodded. It was the same expression he’d given me multiple times when shooting the short. Right, the line… I’d imagined myself in Riina’s shoes—poured my feelings into this role. I managed to grab hold of the line before it could sink any farther out of sight. I’d wanted Mom to see my acting, too. But in the end… The one I most wanted to see what I was capable of—was Ryou. Of course. How could I forget such a simple line? The words were clear and crisp in my mind, and I became Riina once again. Her lines—my words. I became myself. As the audience began murmuring, I finally got out the line.