The next morning, I didn’t see Fushimi on the train. Her house was close to mine, so she should’ve been taking the train from the same station as I did, but I never saw her on my way to or from school. Come to think of it, I didn’t know if that was because she took the bus instead, commuted by bike, or simply took a different train. I got to school without anything notable happening and made my way to Class B’s room, which was on the second floor with all the other second-year classrooms. And there she was, already at her seat, surrounded by a cluster of other boys and girls. There was always someone visiting Fushimi during the breaks. Most of them were the popular kids who got all the attention, so it was awkward squeezing into my own seat right beside them. “Good morning, Ryou,” she called in that clear voice of hers. The greeting interrupted their conversation, and everyone around her turned toward me. Their faces had Who the hell is this? written all over them. No surprises there. Introductions had already been over by the time I’d gotten to school the day before. “…Morning.” Their glares hurt…especially the envy from the guys. I took my seat and started tapping at my phone. Phones were a great way to avoid social interaction naturally. It helped me feel like I had a right to be here in the classroom. While my antisocial measures were in full force, the conversation kept going—talking about club activities, the hot new TV series, and especially romance. “Fushimi, aren’t you going to join a club? You could join us in the girls’ tennis club. We need more members.” “Sorry, I already decided not to do clubs in high school.” “Wanna make a group chat? Tell me your @, Fushimi.” They were all in on the fun, boys and girls. Quite a few of the dudes were going after her, I could tell. It was spring the previous year when I realized that Hina Fushimi was a popular girl. And only because I saw an upperclassman asking her out. To be honest, it shouldn’t have taken me that long. I’d heard rumor after rumor, legends about the long list of guys who had asked her out or had given her their social-media handles or phone numbers. Those rumors dated back to middle school, actually. In fact, I doubted they were just rumors, though back then I thought they were exaggerated. Fushimi’s appearance wasn’t anything special to me since I’d gotten used to seeing her back in preschool. The teacher arrived at the classroom, and the crowd surrounding Fushimi scattered to their respective seats. This happened every break, and I always prayed for the teacher to get there as soon as possible. Very carefully, Fushimi scooted her desk over until it was right beside mine. “Huh? What?” Did she forget her textbook? …No, she’s not usually forgetful. The teacher started explaining whatever the day’s lesson was while Fushimi spread her notebook between us on our combined desks. Do you get what’s going on? she wrote. Oh, is she asking about the lesson? “Yeah,” I muttered, and she smiled. Actually, I wasn’t getting it at all—heck, I wasn’t even listening to the explanation in the first place.
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Math is hard. Weren’t you terrible at math? Why do you know that? I hadn’t shown her my test scores once since we’d entered middle school. W-wait, is that…a known fact in our neighborhood? Is my own stupidity what all the chatty housewives are talking about?! I knew for a fact Fushimi got good grades, but not only because we were in the same class—my mom talked about it all the time. Maybe she got her intel from the same neighborhood network. Fushimi was arguably the prettiest girl in our school, and I was just some dude you put in the corner of the classroom. The simple thought of her caring about me made me nervous. I couldn’t just slide in and say, “Actually, yeah, mind giving me a lesson?” Then she showed me her notebook again. There was a drawing of some little…cat…thing, alongside a speech bubble that said, Love! From what I could gather from our previous conversation, I guessed that meant that she loved math, so she would like to teach me. “Yeah, makes sense. I mean, we’re in the same class.” She was trying to erase the cat’s speech bubble as I said that, and she stopped right in her tracks. That seemed strange, so I turned and saw that her face was red as a tomato. Our eyes met, and she started stuttering and shuddering, then whacked her pencil case off the desk. “Awwwawww…” The heck does that mean? She picked the case back up, then cleared her throat. She pulled herself together quickly, but her ears were still a bit red. Was she always this jittery? You didn’t take the train today? I decided to write out what was on my mind. “G-give me a second,” she said softly, then started writing down her answer. Usually my dad takes me to school since it’s on his way to work. Yesterday, we had different schedules, so I took the train. Oh. Well, that explains it. Man, what bad luck to run into a creep on the one day she had to take the train. Thank you for saving me before it got worse. “S-sure,” I answered awkwardly, and she smiled. Do you remember our promise? Hmm? Our promise? What promise? Fushimi looked at me with eyes full of hope while I tried to remember what that was. Promise…? One thing was for certain: It wasn’t one we’d made in middle school. But we’d made a whole bunch back in grade school. Nope, no idea. I remember making promises, but I can’t recall what any were about. Around three minutes went by while I was thinking. I glanced over and saw her cheeks were puffed all the way out, like a hamster about to explode. Busted—she knew I forgot. Then she whipped her face away, like she never wanted to see me again in her life, and moved her desk back. Huhhh? You were ready to teach me math but won’t tell me what the promise was? This wasn’t the Fushimi I knew. I mean, she was like that back in grade school, but then she grew up and became all calm and collected, never showing emotion on her face. At least as far as I knew. Suddenly, a wave of nostalgia hit me. For a moment, the girl next to me wasn’t the prettiest one at school, but little Hina, my childhood friend.