AFTER school, Mao changed into her gym clothes and sauntered off to track, while Honomi beelined to concert band practice, the pep in her step no doubt due to the prospect of seeing her crush. Shinjo, a third year, should’ve already retired from the club to focus on his high school entrance exams, but admirably, he’d decided to stick around to help until after our school’s annual cultural festival.
“That’s why I can’t afford to slack off now!” Honomi had declared before we parted at the staircase, she heading to the band room and I toward the school gates. Incidentally, I was in the home economics club, which was just a front for those of us who went straight home after school.
Just before I stepped outside the entrance, Ayako’s request crossed my mind.
“Maybe I’ll go take a look,” I mumbled, spinning on my heel toward the athletic fields. I wasn’t personally interested or anything; I simply felt obligated since she’d asked. The plan was laid out perfectly in my head: I’d sneak a peek at the tennis club and report back with a casual “Hey, I saw him at his club!” and that would be the end of it. I wouldn’t need to get close, just stand by the nearby planters, take a quick look, and skedaddle. Five minutes, yep. Five minutes was all I needed.
I was slinking toward the flower boxes near the courts when a male voice suddenly sounded from behind me. “Kitazawa, perfect, just who I wanted to see.”
Startled, I whirled to see Mr. Ikeda, my homeroom teacher, holding a watering can.
“Mind lending me a hand with these flowers?” He gestured toward the planters. “I’ve got a staff meeting soon, so I’d appreciate it.”
“Oh, sure, of course.”
“Kind of ya,” he said. “By the way, you seem to be getting on well with Kagami and the others. Are you settling in all right?”
“Yes, I’m doing well, thank you.”
Mr. Ikeda was a seasoned educator in his fifties. He ran a tight ship but could be quite compassionate from time to time. After handing me the watering can, he retreated into the building. Honestly, not a bad deal. I could observe while watering.
As I went about my task, I stole glances at the athletic complex. The tennis club didn’t appear to have kicked off practice yet as I couldn’t spot them. Instead, I spied Mao and the rest of the track-and-field club warming up. She stretched her tall, sun-kissed limbs with an eager impatience as though ready to take off at any moment. Mao loved to run. She’d been late that morning, but usually she would’ve been out on the running track by herself, even on days when she didn’t have morning practice. Honomi often teased, “Mao’s always in motion. She’s like a tuna fish or a horse!”
Honomi wasn’t one to talk, though. Even if she weren’t crushing on Shinjo, I suspected she’d be equally serious about concert band. Looking at her, one would expect her to play a delicate instrument like the flute, but—surprise!—she was a percussionist. That had been fun to find out, and when I heard her play for the first time, I was completely blown away. She was extremely good, especially on the drums. The way she could roll on a snare so carefully and continuously was impressive. The band had not advanced past the preliminaries for nationals that year, unfortunately, yet with the cultural festival on the horizon, they were busy practicing at every opportunity, even during lunch.
Both Mao and Honomi were driven, wholly absorbed in their respective passions, while I, on the other hand, did nothing. Ballet, the one activity I’d sort of kept up for years, I dropped when I moved. They were forging ahead and leaving me floundering in their wake as the distance between us grew painfully apparent. Sure, I felt a little left out, but I couldn’t be angry about it—not when it was essentially a mess of my own making.
I thought I knew what I needed to do to fix the issue. I just needed to find my “thing,” a pursuit of my own that I could dive into headfirst. If I had one, then maybe the future wouldn’t look so bleak. But that was easier said than done. And as for what my “thing” was or could be, I hadn’t the faintest clue, which was starting to really bug me, honestly.
Relatedly, that morning in homeroom, Mr. Ikeda had announced that parent-teacher conferences would occur at the end of the trimester and that career counseling would be included in the meetings. Career counseling, huh… It felt like an impossible ask. How could I know what I wanted to be in the future when I didn’t know what I wanted to be in the present?
Before my thoughts could wander too far, the watering can ran dry, pulling me back to reality. It was time for a refill. Watering the flower boxes had taken longer than expected; when I next glanced around the grounds, Mao and her team had migrated to the far side. The tennis club had replaced them, starting their practice quite close to me and my planter. I instantly located Towada, the tallest of the bunch. He was sorting tennis balls and relaying instructions to a few first years. Our school had only two tennis courts, so they must use them in turns while those waiting practiced close to where I was.
“Okay, time to go,” I told myself, draining the last drops from the can. Having accomplished my main mission and even a bonus side objective, I resolved to make my exit. After all, no one appreciated lollygagging.
Just as I turned to leave, an unidentified blur slashed past my cheek, followed immediately by a blast of wind. Before I could begin to process the event, something crashed into the planter behind me with a thud. Startled, I dropped the watering can and instinctively ducked.
“Hey, who hit that ball?!” I heard a voice yell.
“I-I’m so sorry!” piped another voice.
The scene erupted into commotion.
“Somebody get the teacher!”
“Jeez, that was close.”
The voices came at me from all directions. I didn’t know what to do. I remained low, making myself as small as possible, when a familiar voice asked, “Are you okay?”
Looking up, I saw Towada. The sun beamed down from behind him, obscuring his face.
“It doesn’t look like it hit you directly, but you’re red here—did it graze you?”
I was too flustered to respond. Instead, I touched my cheek, which had started to sting.
Another club member joined the fray. “You’re the, um, transfer student—Kitazawa, right?” he said. “Towada, if you know her, then take her to the nurse’s office. I’ll go get the teacher.”