“Are you a squirrel?” I blurted under my breath.
“Mao!” whispered Honomi, smacking me on the back.
The new girl must not have heard me, since she merely tilted her head in a way that made her appear even more squirrel-like. In fact, I wasn’t convinced she was the same age as us. She was so small, so cute, that I couldn’t help imagining her as a tiny mascot, something I could print out on an acrylic strap and attach to my school bag to carry around forever.
Honomi, ever friendly, was the first to speak. “Wow, is that a sailor uniform? That’s so cool.”
“Y-Yeah,” Kitazawa replied, her voice shaky. “Where I used to live, all the middle schools had blazer-style uniforms except for mine.”
Indeed, a sailor uniform was quite the rare sight in our area. Hers was black, paired with a white neckerchief. Our uniform, on the other hand, was fairly standard for a public middle school: blazer over a white blouse with a navy-blue, box pleat skirt.
Kitazawa explained that her new uniform was delayed due to a sizing mix-up. Given her small stature, I could see why the school may not have had the right one available. She’d be wearing her old uniform for a week, she said.
“I see…” said Honomi, her eyes fixed on it. “It’s a cute uniform though. I always wanted to wear something like that.”
“No, I um… I really hope my uniform gets here soon. I’ll stick out so bad wearing this…” Kitazawa’s voice wavered, her eyes shimmering. The words “harmless” and “docile” sprang to mind as I looked at her.
We escorted her to the classroom, and just as predicted, she was instantly dogpiled by the other students. The girls swarmed her with questions, while the boys kept a safe distance, feigning disinterest, their ears clearly attuned to the conversation. Though obviously disconcerted and incapable of coherent answers to much of anything, Kitazawa hung in there, trying her best to keep up, which was kind of admirable in a way.
During lunch, we gave her a tour of the school, and after classes ended, we introduced her to the clubs. To fulfill our duties as student ambassadors, Honomi and I had been excused from club activities for that day and the next. I wasn’t thrilled about missing an opportunity to run on the track, but getting to know Kitazawa wasn’t actually that bad of a trade. She was reserved and quiet, yet genuine, which Honomi was quick to recognize.
After our rounds, the ice had been thoroughly broken and we conversed with ease. “We don’t have many clubs, but they are mandatory, so you’ll have to join one. What did you do at your old school?” I asked.
“Um, the home economics club,” she answered.
“Oh, we have that too. It’s mostly for kids too busy with cram school and lessons and that kind of thing, so it’s more like the going-home club. They don’t usually do much,” I explained as we passed the home ec room, the door firmly locked. “See? Nobody’s here.”
“Oh, yeah. My old school was like that too.”
“Are you busy with cram school?” I asked.
“Not cram school, but I, um…did ballet four days a week,” she confessed, forcing the words out as if they were uncomfortable.
Honomi clapped her hands together. “So that’s why your posture is so good! Wow, four days a week? You must be serious about it!”
“I was one of the more casual ones, actually. Others went every day, so I kinda felt pressured to keep up.”
“Really? Have you already found a ballet class here?” inquired Honomi.
“No, I quit.”
Oh.
She admitted it so readily. In fact, that might have been the most emphatic statement she’d made all day.
Honomi appeared surprised. “What? You quit? But all that time spent! You must’ve been pretty good if you went four days a week!”
“I’d been practicing since kindergarten, but…no, I’m glad to be done with it,” Kitazawa muttered. “All the kids there were aiming to compete or study abroad, so I was way out of my depth.”
“Wow, that sounds intense,” Honomi said.
“I only joined because it was close to my house. If I’d known it was like that, I wouldn’t have joined. It wasn’t like I wanted to go pro or overseas. But I also didn’t have it in me to quit, so I kept going…” Her voice trailed off, then strengthened, a touch brighter: “Also, I kinda wanted to be able to snack whenever I wanted.”
“Wait, they didn’t let eat stuff?” I asked. I couldn’t say I was that surprised; ballerinas always seemed so slim, after all.
Kitazawa smiled slightly and shrugged. “It wasn’t like you couldn’t eat junk food at all, but there were a few girls there who hadn’t had a single piece of chocolate or candy, like, ever. Some girls even ate specially prepared meals.”
“Really? That sounds like what pro athletes do.” I’d never considered that ballet could get that serious. My cousin danced ballet and she loved her junk food. Maybe that was simply the difference between amateurs and professionals?
Kitazawa’s gaze drifted to the ground, and her voice grew distant. “I like ballet, but the difference in passion was getting too much for me. And then, just as I was really reconsidering, we happened to move, so…”
“Really…” Honomi mused. “Wait, then can you do the thing where you raise your leg all the way up? I wanna see!”
“You want me to do it…right here?” Kitazawa’s eyes widened.
“Yeah! Look, there’s a handrail right there,” Honomi insisted. Although I was just as curious, I thought she was being a little too pushy.
Kitazawa looked torn, but our eager faces won her over. “Fine, just once, okay?” she conceded.
She took hold of the handrail. And something magical happened.
She transformed. It was as if the world around her had melted away and she were the last person on earth. Her left hand firmly grasping the handrail, her right foot glided back and forth across the floor as once, twice, three times, she prepared herself. Then, in one clean motion, she bent her right leg, toes exquisitely pointed inward to delicately trace the contour of her other leg up to her knee, before swinging it out and up, sketching a beautiful arc through the air until her foot soared past her face and behind her head.
I gasped in quiet astonishment. Her leg was fully extended, stretched out beautifully, and yet she was in total control, her body as still as a tree trunk. The pose was standard, one I’d seen my cousin do many times at her recitals, but on Kitazawa, it became extraordinary. She looked every bit like my cousin during a performance, yet Kitazawa wasn’t dancing on a shiny stage—she was in her school uniform, gripping the handrail of a random staircase. Even her fingers seemed to have their place, precisely positioned out in front of her face. Her poise spoke volumes of her dedication.
“And that’s it, I guess? I’m a little out of practice, so…” Her face abruptly turned a deep shade of red as she gently lowered her leg. “Also, thank god I’m wearing leggings.”
“I forgot about that!” Honomi exclaimed, her eyes round with realization and delight. “I almost made you flash the entire world, I’m so sorry! But wow, that was amazing! Did you see, Mao? Her leg went whoop! It was so good!”
“Honomi, you’re so excited you’re losing brain cells,” I gently teased, but truthfully, I was just as dumbstruck.
As squirrel-like as ever, Kitazawa giggled, light and airy, as she fixed her bangs. Her cheeks still glowed, the reticent, shy girl from earlier nowhere to be found.