Interlude: The Transfer Student and Me
I was considered kind of a big deal at my middle school. So a request to act as student ambassador for an incoming transfer student should have come as no surprise.
Frankly, supervising a new student was pretty darn low on the list of things I wanted to do, but I understood what our homeroom teacher was thinking. By seating them next to me—Mao Kagami, a student-athlete with a decent reputation—he hoped the kid would settle in more easily and avoid any potential issues.
But really? Avoid possible trouble by causing me actual trouble? I was annoyed. The responsibility felt like a giant, looming rain cloud headed straight for my parade. I’d been thrilled to finally share a homeroom with my best friend Honomi, and suddenly I had to contend with a stranger?
“Oh, cheer up, Mao!” said Honomi.
“But this sucks!” I groaned.
“Aren’t you at least a little curious?” she countered, a spark of excitement in her voice. “I wonder what she’s like!”
I was unconvinced, though she had a point. We lived in a typical commuter town that had enjoyed its heyday decades previous when my parents were still young. Sure, Tokyo was close, yet not near enough to make our burb a convenient place to live; express trains didn’t stop in the area, and ride transfers were a pain. What lacked in convenience, however, was compensated for in affordability, which attracted a higher proportion of homeowners. Or so my father claimed.
In an established, boring neighborhood like ours, changes in residents were rare, and transfer students even more so. I’d grown up with the same kids from kindergarten to junior high. And all three elementary schools in our district funneled into one middle school, so we all knew each other like family. But a new student was stepping into the mix, right in the middle of middle school. That was big news, and for better or worse, she was about to become the center of attention.
“If she doesn’t play nice, I am dropping her so fast after the week is up,” I declared, my tone more serious than I intended.
“Don’t say that!” Honomi chided. Then her voice softened. “But yeah. I guess.”
We made our way to the teachers’ office, my legs dragging as though it were late afternoon rather than early morning. Meeting her, figuring her out, finding the right clique for her, laying the groundwork to get her assimilated… Ugh, what a drag, yet it had to be done. Better to help her find her place than to leave her to her own devices, risking more drama down the road. I’d learned that lesson quickly in elementary school and was all too eager not to repeat it.
I was fully aware of the frown on my face as I slid open the door to the office. “Excuse me,” I announced. My gaze immediately landed on a girl in a black sailor uniform standing beside our homeroom teacher’s desk. Her posture was upright and impeccable, yet it screamed an uneasy tension.
“H-Hi. I’m Haruka Kitazawa.” Her voice was soft, her short hair styled in a bob that curled inward at the tips. Her eyes were large and innocent, and her petite frame further emphasized her youth.