She ignored my remark. “If you haven’t read it, you should. I’ll let you borrow my copy. Come over to my house today and get it.”
“Can’t you just bring it to school?”
“You wouldn’t want to make a frail young girl have to carry something so heavy, would you?”
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s a paperback. Isn’t it?”
She offered, “I could bring it over to your house instead.”
“What happened to the book being heavy?” I asked. “Ah, forget it. Arguing with you is as exhausting as it is pointless. Besides, if you’d go so far as to bring it to my house, I may as well spare you the trip and go to yours.”
I’d file this one under righteous duty.
If I was to tell the truth, I was sure the school library would have a famous book like The Little Prince, but I didn’t want to sour her good mood, so I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know why I hadn’t yet read such a well-known story; it was probably just a matter of timing.
She said, “Well, well, when did you get to be so reasonable?”
“It’s a little something I learned from you—a boat of reeds can’t oppose a large ship.”
“You know, every once in a while you say something that goes right over my head.”
While I was eagerly explaining to her my use of metaphorical expression, the librarian returned. As had become our habit, the girl and I chatted with the teacher over tea and sweets. We told the librarian the unfortunate news that we had to come to school for the next two weeks for summer school, and then we left for the day.
Outside, thick clouds filled the sky and offered no hint of any sunlight to come. I didn’t hate rainy days. Rain always seemed to close off the rest of the world, and on most days, that suited my mood rather than spoiling it.
“I hate rain,” the girl groaned.
“Our outlooks really don’t match, do they?”
“Does anybody seriously like rain?”
They do, actually. But I chose not to argue the matter and instead began walking ahead of her. I didn’t know where exactly she lived, but her house was the opposite direction from mine, so I just turned the other way down the street in front of the school.
Catching up to walk beside me, she asked, “Have you ever been in a girl’s room before?”
“I haven’t,” I replied, “but we’re both high school students. I don’t imagine it’ll be all that shocking.”
“I guess not. My room is pretty plain. Kyōko has all these band posters and things—her room is more like a guy’s room than most guys’ rooms are. That Hina girl you like, her room is all stuffed animals and cute things. Maybe the three of us should hang out together next time.”
“No thanks,” I said. “I can’t talk in front of pretty girls—they make me too nervous.”
“I know you’re trying to suggest I’m not cute and I’m supposed to react to that and all, but it won’t work. I haven’t forgotten that you told me I was the third prettiest in class.”
“Yeah, but what you don’t know is I could only remember three girls’ faces.”
That was an exaggeration, although I really didn’t remember the face of every girl in our class. The ability to remember faces wasn’t all that useful to someone who didn’t socialize much; maybe those mental muscles had atrophied through disuse. In any case, a competition shouldn’t count when not all the contestants were present.
Her house ended up being almost exactly the same distance from the school as mine was. Tucked away in a neighborhood of single-family homes, her house had cream-colored siding and a red roof.
Since I was with her, I didn’t need to hesitate before walking onto the property. A small fenced-in yard occupied the space between the street and her front door, so I didn’t close my umbrella right away.
She ushered me in the front entrance and I fled inside like a cat from a wet place.
Raising her voice, she announced her arrival with a cheerful, “Tadaima!”
I hadn’t met a classmate’s parents since open house day in junior high, and I felt vaguely nervous. I said softly, “Um, hello. Sorry for intruding.”
The girl said, “Nobody’s home.”
“If there’s nobody here, then who were you greeting like that? There must be something wrong with your head.”
“I was greeting the house. This is where I’ve grown up. The place is important to me.”
Every now and then she could say something worthy of respect. I had no response. I told the house hello again and removed my shoes.
She went around turning on the lights, and life seemed to return to the house. She showed me to the washroom, where I washed my hands and rinsed out my mouth at the sink. Then we went to her bedroom on the second floor.
My first impression upon entering a girl’s bedroom for the first time was: It was large. And by “it,” I mean everything; the room itself, her television, her bed, her bookcase, her computer. For a moment, I became jealous, but then I realized the proportions were a manifestation of her parents’ grief, and my envy dissipated.
“Sit wherever,” she said. “If you need a rest, I’ll even let you into my bed—but I will tell Kyōko.”
She claimed the red task chair at her desk and began spinning around. I stood indecisively for a moment before sitting on her bed. The mattress was springy.
From my new vantage point, I surveyed her room again. Like she’d said, the style was typical. The room was much like my own, only differing in its size, the cuteness of the knickknacks, and the contents of our bookcases. Hers was filled only with manga, ranging from popular boys’ comics to many I’d never heard of before.
She stopped spinning her chair and let out a nauseating belch. I was watching her with bored eyes when she suddenly looked up and said, “What should we play? Truth or dare?”
“I thought you were lending me a book. That’s why I’m here, remember?”
“Relax,” she said. “If you stay wound up like that you’ll die before I will.”
I gave her a dirty look, and she scowled back at me. I thought this might be a game where we would see which of us would get disgusted by the other first. If so, I was about to lose.
Casually, she stood and walked to her bookcase. I thought she might be getting The Little Prince for me, but instead she opened the lowest drawer and retrieved a folding shogi set.
“Let’s play this,” she said. “A friend left it here and hasn’t come to get it back.”