KOKORO HAD NEVER IMAGINED HERSELF celebrating Christmas with a party of her own peers again. She was overjoyed. Last year, she and her friends had met up at her classmate Satsuki’s house.
She wondered how Satsuki was. A bolt of pain shot through her.
They had been in different classes at Yukishina No. 5 Junior High. Kokoro remembered how Satsuki said she’d joined the softball team. It was tough going, the practice gruelling, but she was doing her best. And Kokoro could picture her giving it her all.
They’d been friends for such a long time, living parallel lives, but now Satsuki must view Kokoro as one of the special students who didn’t go to school. Kokoro was used to it now, but it still hurt to have these thoughts.
The second semester was almost over.
Winter break was around the corner.
The year was nearly over.
✦ ✦ ✦
IN THE MIDST OF ALL this, as Christmas drew near, Kokoro’s mother came up to her bedroom one evening and asked, ‘Can I talk to you?’
Her voice was tense, and Kokoro was filled with dread. Something was waiting to bring an ache to her chest and a heaviness to the pit of her stomach.
A part of her wanted to know what was coming, another part not so much.
Her mother said, ‘Mr Ida mentioned he wanted to drop by tomorrow during the day. Is that OK?’
Her mother had probably stayed in touch with him. Just like she’d done with Ms Kitajima.
But there was a fundamental difference between Ms Kitajima and Mr Ida.
Whenever Mr Ida dropped by, Kokoro became incredibly anxious. She would begin to sweat, feeling as if she were about to suffocate.
He’s coming by now because the second semester’s finished, she suddenly thought.
At this point, he had to take note of anyone not attending – that was his job, after all.
Her mother’s voice was still strained, or at least it seemed that way.
‘He said he has something he wants to tell you about another girl from your class.’
Kokoro wasn’t at all sure that she could maintain her composure. The words pierced straight to her heart.
‘A girl – in my class?’
‘A girl called Sanada, who’s the class president.’
A siren began to wail somewhere deep inside her ears. Then it faded. Her mother looked at her, suddenly stern, and Kokoro found it hard to breathe.
‘So something did happen? What was it?’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said he thinks you and that girl had an argument.’
A chill shot up her spine.
An argument.
She made it sound so innocuous. Anger started to boil up inside her, so intense that she thought she was going to pass out.
In an argument, two people can communicate their point to each other. They are on an equal footing.
What had happened to Kokoro was by no means an argument.
Kokoro stood, lips pursed and silent. Her mother sensed something.
‘Let’s meet him,’ she said. ‘Let’s meet him, you and I. Did something happen?’ her mother asked again.
Kokoro bit her lip, and after a pause said, ‘They came to our house.’
She’d finally come out with it. Her mother’s eyes widened. Kokoro raised her head slowly. ‘I—’
You should never say you hate anyone.
Her mother had always said this. That no matter how disgusted you might be with a friend, you should never speak ill of them. Kokoro thought she’d annoy her mother if she said anything.
‘Mum, I … I hate Sanada-san.’
Her mother’s eyes narrowed.
‘And we never argued.’
✦ ✦ ✦
MR IDA DROPPED BY THE next morning.
It was a Tuesday and school was still in progress, but he apparently arrived between lessons. Kokoro’s mother had taken the day off work.
His hair was a little longer than the last time she’d seen him. He took off his well-worn sneakers at the door and turned to Kokoro. ‘Good morning, Kokoro. How are you?’
From the beginning, Mr Ida had called her simply Kokoro – with none of the usual suffixes. She’d only spent a month in his class, yet he used the same casual form of address as he did with anyone he liked. And it certainly had made her happy to be spoken to this way, since it made her ordinary, just like the others. But after this initial happy feeling, she got the sense that Mr Ida had intentionally used that form of address in order to make her feel relaxed.
It was his job. Showing concern was part of it. She knew it was immature and stupid to worry about something so petty, but she couldn’t help it.
He was, anyway, at the beck and call of Miori Sanada and her little gang. Even if she tried, Kokoro couldn’t forget a scene in the classroom back in April.
Mr Ida, do you have a girlfriend? one of the girls had asked him.
Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you! he said.
But I want to know! What a liar you are, Ida-sen! she said, contracting the word sensei.
Wait, that’s not the way to speak to me, you know. He was laughing. You guys … he said. He wasn’t really angry with them.
He was completely Ida-sen to Miori and her little gang.
And these were Kokoro’s thoughts whenever he’d said to her, Don’t push yourself too hard.
Don’t push yourself too hard. But everyone will be glad if you come back to school.
He may have said it with kind intentions, but it seemed to her he didn’t really care one way or the other.
Why don’t you like going to school?
Did something happen?
When he’d first asked her, and she hadn’t responded, she got the sense he’d labelled her a slacker, and his impression hadn’t changed.
But she didn’t mind. What do you expect?
Teachers were invariably on the side of students like Miori Sanada, who stood out. The ones who spoke confidently in class, who played with their friends at break, the lively straightforward ones.
She desperately wanted to tell him what they’d done, and see him look dumbstruck, but she was pretty sure even after he heard the whole story, he’d still take their side. In fact, she knew it.
She knew he would go straight to Miori to ask if it was all true. And she’d never admit it.
She would only mention whatever made her look good.
When Miori and her friends had surrounded Kokoro’s house, and Kokoro had lain on the floor, trembling, Miori had started to cry. And her friends had tried to comfort her, saying, Don’t cry, Miori.
In that world, Kokoro was the villain. Unbelievable, but true.