I often still think about the first time I met her.
I was getting better at pretending I fit in, but unable to genuinely enjoy my new life at the academy. In between periods, I often went to the terrace on the roof of the third floor of the school to peer down at the campus from over the fence.
No one was ever there. It was a quiet place. Apparently, the terrace was really popular with students until the sunroom was built in Building 1 and became the new hang-out spot. It’s only natural that the sunroom, with a glass ceiling that blocks UV rays and harsh weather, would be more popular.
On the terrace, I would always gaze at the small church on the side of the schoolyard. It’s an old wooden church with a cross on top of its triangular roof. We call the big cathedral, the one that fits the entire student body, the “new church,” and the one I would always look at the “old church.” Before class and before homeroom was dismissed in the afternoon, we would always say “The Lord’s Prayer,” and then we’d go to the old church for our religion classes, where we recited hymns and listened to the Sisters’ stories. The only things in the old church are some rough-looking wooden benches, an out-of-tune organ, and a crucifix with peeling paint hanging on the altar.
Every time I went to the old church, I felt oddly at peace. This academy was originally founded by English nuns who came to Japan after the war, on a mission to provide girls with an education based on Christian ideas and principles. Our school is integrated from elementary school to junior college, and, although it was built long ago, the architecture of the buildings and annex are so distinctive that you would never think you were in Japan. The new church, only built ten years ago, has a stunning statue of the Virgin Mary and large stained-glass windows crafted by Christian artists behind the altar. It really casts an air of splendor and gravity over the entire campus. So the old church is the only building that doesn’t have any flashy decorations, and its plain appearance reminded me of myself in a way.
I would sit on the terrace floor and occasionally look over at the old church while reading a collection of poems by Ezra Pound. This was my favorite way to pass the time between periods.
One day, a voice suddenly said, “You’re always here.”
I lifted my head to find Itsumi Shiraishi staring at me.
“You like books? You sure read a lot.”
“Yes, well…” I trailed off. I couldn’t believe Itsumi Shiraishi was talking to me!
I had heard all about her when I first entered the academy. This is a tiny all-girls school, with only three classes per grade, where underclassmen idolize stunning and exceptional upperclassmen like Itsumi. Plus, her father is also the chairman of our academy, which made her far wealthier than any of the other girls in school. Her father was the one who created the Shiraishi Memorial Scholarship, which, in other words, meant that it is all thanks to him that I can even attend this academy.
But whether or not you were a scholarship student, there wasn’t one person at school who didn’t know Itsumi Shiraishi. All of the girls in elementary, junior high, and high school admired her remarkable beauty and intelligence and looked up to her as a role model, watching every move she made.
For the first time, I looked at her up close, fascinated and hypnotized.
“I’m the president of the Literature Club. You should come check out our salon if you like books so much,” she suggested.
I already knew about the Literature Club, of course. Everyone wanted to be a member. It had a special salon tucked away in its own separate building. The more rumors students heard about it, the more they were fascinated. It was every schoolgirl’s dream to drink black tea in that salon, even if just once.
Just because it’s called the Literature Club doesn’t mean that just anyone who likes books could join. You couldn’t become a member without an invitation from Itsumi. On the other hand, even if you weren’t interested in literature or couldn’t read, write, or critique particularly well, you could still become a member with Itsumi’s invitation. This meant that the five current members of the club had been specifically chosen by Itsumi, and consequently they were revered by everyone in school. It’s one of those clubs that gives you a special social status just by being in it.
“Are you sure it’s all right for me to visit?” I asked nervously.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Itsumi replied.
“It’s just…” I hesitated for a moment, but answered honestly. “Well, I heard that only special people can visit the salon.”
Itsumi let loose a huge laugh. She was different from what I had imagined: She was unguarded, in a good way, and brimming with friendliness.
“No, really anyone is welcome. Rumors go around the school and no one knocks on our door. That’s all it is. Come on, let’s go to the salon.”
“No, I…”
“You don’t have to be so shy. You’re Mirei Nitani, right?”
Astonished, I looked at Itsumi. Even if I knew who she was, I never thought she would know about an underclassman, and what’s more, an utterly ordinary one like me. She smiled brightly, as if sensing my disbelief.
“You are this year’s scholarship student, right? Everyone’s got their eye on you,” she remarked.
Was that true?
I was mortified at the thought that everyone knew I was the scholarship student. I felt like my family’s financial situation had been exposed; I was embarrassed. I had never confided in my classmates about it or heard the professors talk about me with the other students. But I guess it would only make sense for rumors to spread in a small, all-girls school like this. I suddenly felt ashamed for trying to act like I fit in when all along everyone actually knew I didn’t.
“All right, why don’t we just stop by for a visit? You can decide if you want to join our club later. We have a collection of books I’m very proud of, you know.”
“What kind books do you have?” I inquired. My interest was piqued.
“Well…Hmm, our books by T.S. Eliot and William Yeats might interest you. We also have Ezra Pound, of course.”
She had books I wanted to read. I knew they were the expensive, hardcover editions I’d never be able to afford.
With that, I accepted her invitation and we went to visit the salon.