I didn’t see any reason to say no, so I agreed. I won the match, but only after a drawn-out, ugly mess of a battle. I’d thought winning would be easy, but a competitive game against a real opponent was different than the shogi puzzles I played by myself, and I couldn’t find my rhythm. When I finally had her king in check, she flipped over the board in frustration. Come on, now.
As I picked up the scattered shogi pieces from her bedspread, I looked out the window. The rain was still pouring.
Seeming to read my thoughts, she said, “You can go home when the rain lets up. Let’s keep playing games until then.”
She put away the shogi set, got out a video game console, and hooked it up to the front of her TV. I hadn’t played any video games in a long time.
We started with a fighting game, one of those barbaric games where the players derive enjoyment from pressing buttons on the controller to make people on the TV hurt each other.
Since I didn’t play video games that much, she gave me a little time to practice. I kept my eyes on the screen as I tried inputting some commands, and she gave me some helpful advice. But if I thought she was taking it easy on me, I’d misjudged her. When the time came for our match, she wiped the floor with my character, as if in revenge for our shogi game. She used special moves that changed the colors on the screen and made strange fireballs appear from her character’s hands.
But I refused to go down without a fight. I gradually got the hang of the game, and soon I was able to dodge some of her attacks and throw her while she was guarding. When her character came charging across the screen in a reckless attack, I handily countered her. Just as I closed the gap between our win counts and was about to pull into the lead, she turned off the console. Come on.
I gave her a critical look, which she ignored. She was already inserting the next game, and she turned on the power switch.
She owned all sorts of games, and we played several against each other. The one that offered the best matchup was a racing game. The game had an element of competition, to be sure, but ultimately the battle was against time. From a certain perspective, my true opponent was myself. That aspect of racing seemed to fit my personality better than the other games.
We raced on her large-screen TV, and I would pass her go-kart, and she would pass mine. I wasn’t talkative under normal circumstances; now that I focused on the race, I spoke even less. Meanwhile, she reacted loudly to almost everything. The total volume of sound in the world remained constant.
Sometimes she’d say something to try and break my focus, but as we entered the final lap of a race, she asked me a question that seemed only conversational.
“So, [Boy I’m Getting along With]-kun, do you ever think about getting a girlfriend?”
I evaded a banana peel on the race track and replied, “No, and I don’t think I could anyway. I don’t even have any friends.”
“Then forget a girlfriend for now and start with making friends.”
“I might if I feel like it.”
“If you feel like it, huh?” she repeated. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“You definitely wouldn’t want me as your girlfriend, right? Like, no matter what?”
The question was so outlandish—and so blunt, as her remarks often were—I reflexively looked away from the screen to her, and my go-kart veered and caused a spectacular wreck.
She laughed and said, “You crashed!”
I asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you mean about being your girlfriend? I was just checking. You don’t have a thing for me, right? You don’t want to date me, like, no way… Right?”
I was quiet for a moment, then said, “I don’t.”
“Good,” she said. “That’s a relief.”
A relief? I didn’t understand why she should feel relieved. I tried to think it through.
Did she really suspect that I had romantic intentions?
Was she fearful that I’d gotten the wrong idea after sharing a hotel room with her and coming up to her room?
I hadn’t done anything to deserve such suspicion.
I was uncomfortable. It wasn’t a feeling I was accustomed to. An unpleasant knot began forming in the pit of my stomach.
I finished the race and let go of the controller.
The feeling took hold deep inside and lingered there. I wanted to escape before she noticed something was wrong.
“All right, I’ll take that book now,” I said. “I’m going home.”
I stood and walked to her bookcase. The rain was every bit as strong as before.
“Aw, you can stay longer,” she said. “But fine. Hold on.”
She came over to her bookcase and stood behind me. I could hear her breathing; it sounded heavier than normal.
Whatever her deal was, I looked for the book on her shelves, starting from the top and moving down. Maybe she was looking for it, too. That made me a little annoyed—if she was planning on lending me the book, she should have just left it where she could find it.
I heard her let out a deep breath, and I saw an arm reaching past me into my field of view. I figured she had spotted the book first, but then her other arm had also appeared on my other side.
Suddenly, I lost balance.
I’d had so little experience with people making physical contact with me, and at first, I couldn’t comprehend what was happening.
The next thing I knew, my back was pressed against the wall beside the bookcase. My left hand was free, but my right hand was pinned to the wall just above shoulder height. Her breathing was closer, and I could feel her heartbeat; her warmth, a sweet fragrance. Her right arm pressed against the top of my chest. I couldn’t see her face, and her mouth was at my ear. Our cheeks were close enough to touch, and every now and then, they did.
What are you doing? I moved my lips to ask, but I couldn’t make my voice come out.
She whispered, “Do you remember I told you I made a list of things I wanted to do before I die?”
I could feel her breath on my ears. She didn’t wait for me to reply.
“The reason I needed to ask you if you wanted me for your girlfriend was so I can do something on that list.”
Her black hair swayed before my eyes.
“It’s also why I invited you over.”
I thought I heard a tiny laugh.
“Thank you for telling me you didn’t. It was a relief. If you said you did, I wouldn’t be able to cross this off.”
I couldn’t understand what she was saying, or what was happening.
“What I want to do is…”
She smelled sweet.
“…something I’m not supposed to do with someone who isn’t my boyfriend.”
Something she’s not supposed to do? Something she’s not supposed to do?