“Remember when you complimented Miyazato-chan’s shampoo? Why did you get all distant after that?”
She took a step forward, so I took a step back.
“I’m gonna need a detailed explanation, mister! Ha ha!”
And with my back against the wall, Miki-san’s high-pitched laugh was suddenly a lot more intimidating.
Back in April, when Miyazato-san still sat next to me in class…
We were in the same class last year, too, so we were on pretty good terms. She was really, really quiet—one time, I dropped my eraser, and she struggled to get my attention for ten solid minutes. But she always responded when I spoke to her, and since we had to scoot in real close to each other to look at the monitor in the language lab, I figured it might be less awkward if I got to know her a bit more. Thus, I struck up all sorts of idle conversations with her.
One time, I noticed her shoes were spotless—so clean and white, they looked practically brand new—so naturally, I complimented them. In response, she told me that she had carefully cleaned those same shoes for years. That was the day I learned that she was so reserved, her sole hobby was cleaning her possessions. But in response to my praise, an exclamation point rose over her head, and she thanked me in a tiny voice.
This was the sort of decently close friendship we shared. And because I felt I could relate to her…I inadvertently crossed a line.
We were in the language lab, sitting side by side like always, looking at our English coursework on screen. I was still embarrassed to be in such close proximity with her, but I had gotten used to it somewhat. Then the teacher went into her office, and the students all started chatting with each other. That was the moment I smelled a fragrance I recognized. And without thinking, I asked:
“Oh, do you wash your hair with Bilien?”
A giant exclamation point shot up over her head. But I misinterpreted it as a sign of excitement.
“I remember it was really popular back in junior high. I always liked the smell.”
At the time, I was simply making conversation. But the reaction she had was much different from the one I was expecting.
All manner of punctuation flashed over her head, representing hesitation, displeasure, confusion, panic. Naturally, I reacted with confusion myself. Then tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned away from me in flat-out rejection.
From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely regretted crossing that line with her. So from then on, I made sure not to make any more personal comments. I exercised restraint on par with hers, carefully choosing my every word. Over time, the conversations slowly petered out between us until eventually we barely spoke at all. Then Golden Week rolled around, and Miyazato-san didn’t come back.
You see, that shampoo carried sentimental value for me, too, not just Zuka. That was how I noticed Miki-san using it. But after the day I offended Miyazato-san, I had vowed never to comment on a girl’s shampoo ever again.
“Ha ha! It alllll makes sense.”
We didn’t want to cause a scene in the store, so we had moved outside to the corner of the parking lot. There, Miki-san stared directly into my eyes as I explained my side of the story—barring the punctuation stuff, obviously.
“You’re both such total sweethearts,” she mused, though I didn’t understand why. “Both of you are too busy worrying about how the other feels! I’m telling you, sometimes there’s really no need to overthink these things. Try to be more like me and Looney! Oh, but if everyone acted like us, the world wouldn’t be so complicated anymore… It would probably stop functioning, huh? Ha ha!”
“…Okay, but…how is it that you needed me to smell your shampoo in order for Miyazato-san to come back to school…?”
At my question, Miki-san’s face lit up. Both her expression and her punctuation seemed to say: hooray, my turn!
“Well, you see, I was never good friends with her.”
Maybe she expected this to come as a huge revelation, but I wasn’t surprised in the least. When you spent forty hours a week stuck in the same room, these things became obvious whether you liked it or not. That being said, they didn’t actively dislike each other or anything like that. Human beings simply had the tendency to gravitate toward others like them and didn’t generally feel the need to speak to anyone outside that circle. I would normally never speak to Miki-san, so this conversation we were having was merely an exception to that rule, as was my friendship with Zuka. So yeah, I wasn’t surprised that she and Miyazato-san weren’t close.
“But lately, I’ve gotten to know her.”
This wasn’t a surprise to me, either. How else would Miki-san have learned all that stuff about me? She must have heard it all from Miyazato-san.
“I think it was about a month ago now—I was on my way home from Looney’s place when it started pouring down rain. But I hadn’t brought an umbrella, so I was running down the street in a panic when I spotted Miyazato-chan pulling laundry off the clothesline in her front yard. She was having a heck of a time, so obviously I ran over and helped her. But by then my uniform was soaked through, and one thing led to another, and I ended up spending the night at her house.”
I could only imagine the conflict and strife Miki-san’s version of events conveniently omitted. Bless your soul, Miyazato-san.
“It was super awkward at first, but I see a tough nut and I crack it, y’know? So I just kept being nice to her until she finally opened up to me. And do you know what she said when I asked her why she wasn’t coming to school?”
“Wh-what did she say?”
“She said you didn’t like her anymore, so she wasn’t going to come back until we got a new seating arrangement! God, I was so tempted to track down your house and clothesline you!”
I pictured Miyazato-san saying this and then pictured Miki-san running at me with her arm outstretched, and my brain started to scream.
“Look, it wasn’t my fault! I thought she hated me!”
“Yeah, and like I said, both of you need to stop worrying so much about other people! Miyazato-chan said you gave her a weird look when the topic of her shampoo came up. She thought you were making fun of her.”
“Wh-what? No, of course not!”
“Yeah, I know. But for some reason, the thought popped into her head.”
…Right. For ordinary people who couldn’t see any punctuation, it was impossible to know what other people were thinking. Why didn’t I ever stop to think about it from her point of view? Man, I’m such an ass.
“Hey now, don’t get all sad on me! Keep a smile on that face! Anyway, do you happen to know why Miyazato-chan thought you were making fun of her?”
Truth be told, there was one potential reason I could think of, but only someone like me or Miyazato-san would understand. No offense to Miki-san or Zuka, but they just wouldn’t get it. Hence, I shook my head.
“Darn.”
Like me, Miyazato-san was probably embarrassed to be caught copying the cool kids. That was probably why she thought I was mocking her. Her shyness wasn’t just a natural inclination toward being taciturn; there was an element of insecurity to it as well. And when I started policing myself, she interpreted it as me pulling away entirely.
“So anyway, I figured the solution would be to confirm that you didn’t actually hate her at all. But when I offered to ask you, for some reason Miyazato-chan was convinced that you’d never admit to me that you hated her.”
My face was so hot, it felt like it was going to explode. I thought back to the haiku we learned in Miki-san’s beloved classical studies class:
I vowed to myself
None would discover my love
But then they noticed.
“So I was like, Well, how am I supposed to ask him, then?! Because obviously I knew you didn’t hate her, right? You were just innocently commenting on her shampoo. So I decided to use it as a hint!” She reached up and patted her hair.