Next year. That seemed dauntingly far away.
I sent Itsumi emails almost every day, and she responded to me as much as she could. I started studying Japanese to fill the void she had left behind. Ema bought me Japanese textbooks that had learning CDs which I would listen to as I studied. I accompanied Ema when she guided Japanese tourists, and I practiced speaking to them by lining up the words that I had learned. Every day, I spent two hours copying the works of Ryunosuke Akutagawa and Yukio Mishima to boost my vocabulary skills and to try and conquer the difficulties of kanji. I did all of this so I could surprise Itsumi when I saw her. These trivial efforts were nothing compared to the pain of not being able to see her.
I marked the days with X’s on the calendar. Then, it was finally time to reunite. Ema and I went to the airport to meet her. I was overcome with emotion when I saw my dear Itsumi in the lobby.
“I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve been looking forward to this moment all year,” I greeted Itsumi in Japanese. You should’ve seen how surprised she looked!
“Diana, did you really just speak Japanese?” Itsumi asked.
“Yes, I studied it to get closer to you.”
“Oh, I’m so happy!” She enveloped me in her soft arms the same way she had a year ago. I looked over Itsumi’s shoulder and saw Mr. Hojo standing there, smiling.
“It’s been a while, Mr. Hojo.”
“I’m amazed. Your pronunciation is impeccable.”
“You teach Japanese, right, Mr. Hojo? Could you teach me the polite forms of Japanese while you’re here?”
“Oyasui goyo.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, that means, ‘okay.’ ”
Only after I’d spoken with Mr. Hojo did I realize that there was another girl standing behind him. She hadn’t introduced herself or joined in our conversation; she simply stood there looking bored.
“Shiyo. This is Ema and her sister, Diana. They took care of us last year,” Mr. Hojo explained to her.
The girl glanced at us and slightly moved her chin. This was apparently supposed to be some sort of greeting.
“This is Shiyo Takaoka. She’s going to be in her second year of high school this spring,” Mr. Hojo said, introducing the unfriendly girl.
“Shiyo is a popular author and she’s a member of our Literature Club,” Itsumi told us. She said that Shiyo had recently won an award for her teen novel, Kimikageso. She was so enthusiastic about it, it was as if it had been her own achievement.
But I was disappointed. Having another student around meant that we would have to do everything together. I figured that I wasn’t going to be able to talk one-on-one with Itsumi and would have to “play nice” with this other girl who had already rubbed me the wrong way.
“Welcome to Bulgaria,” Ema beamed, sticking her right hand out in front of her. Even an impolite student like Shiyo was an important client for Ema.
“Hello,” replied Shiyo, shaking Ema’s right hand, still not smiling.
But she wasn’t looking at me or Ema. She was staring right past us, at Itsumi.
That piercing, cold stare—now that I look back on it, that was probably when Shiyo first wanted to kill her.