Rukana could have taken the shouting. What hurt were the words. She lost track of where she was, of the ground beneath her feet. She felt numb. She couldn’t even feel the weight of her own body.
“I can’t. I’m not like you, Rukana. We’re nothing alike at all. We never could be!”
What was Itoha saying? Rukana couldn’t understand. Was she even speaking Japanese? Maybe it was some strange, foreign tongue that Rukana had never heard before.
“I can’t do any of the things that you can. I can’t do anything right. I wanted friends, but I was always alone at school. I was so lonely, and sad, and jealous of how much fun everyone else was having. Whenever they all got together and laughed at me, I was jealous of you. You had all sorts of things that I could never get. Your mom and dad are nice, and they love you, and you have plenty of friends. You’re smart, and you get to take all sorts of lessons. You can do anything you want to, and I can’t do anything at all. Not a thing. Even my drawings are worthless. No matter how much I love blue admirals, I can never become a butterfly. I’ll never make a chrysalis and grow wings. I’ll never fly anywhere. I’m not like you. I’m nothing like you at all. I always loved you, but at the same time, I was so jealous of you I couldn’t stand it. Whenever I compared myself to you, I felt so embarrassed and miserable. That’s why I could never tell you.”
Rukana wanted to plug her ears. She didn’t want to hear any of this, but she couldn’t block it out. Itoha wasn’t speaking a foreign language. She was speaking plain, ordinary Japanese. Rukana understood every word that came out of her mouth—but she didn’t understand a thing she was saying.
“…Did— Did you really feel that way?” she asked. “But…why? Why are you so hard on yourself? Why should you have to compare yourself with other people? You’re a genius. You know that, right? I’ve always said so. I know it better than anyone! You know that you’re the only person I can open up to, without holding anything back, right?”
“But I embarrass you, too, don’t I?”
“What are you saying…?”
“Isn’t that why you never talk to me at school? You never want to be near me if anyone’s around to see. Could you get up in front of the class and tell everyone that you come over to my house all the time?”
“Y-yeah, I could. Of course I could. I just never did because I never had a reason to—”
“Did you think I was just fine with how you always ignored me at school?”
“But…that was just how things…”
“You don’t get it at all. I was always holding back. I thought that if I asked you to be nice to me at school, it’d cause problems for you. Everyone always treated me like a weird, gross outcast. I wasn’t anything like you—”
“Well, what was I supposed to do?!” Rukana shouted as she reached forward and shoved Itoha with one hand.
“Ah…” Itoha tottered backward, then fell to the ground. Rukana hadn’t meant to push her that hard. She hadn’t meant to push her at all. Itoha had forced her to. It was her fault.
It wasn’t fair. How could she bring their school lives into this? Itoha was being a mean-spirited coward. What was the point of saying this, after all this time? Didn’t they have an understanding? Wasn’t this best for the both of them? Rukana had always thought so anyway.
Yes, everyone saw Itoha as a weirdo. Yes, she was an outcast at school. Even after all those years, some of the other kids still bad-mouthed her—but what did that matter? Why did she care about a bunch of stupid brats who knew nothing and were completely caught up in their own dumb biases? What did their opinions matter? Itoha had incredible talent—talent that far outstripped the rest of them in every way. Rukana had always known that. She was the only one who appreciated Itoha. Wasn’t that enough? What else could she have wanted?
“I’m sorry,” Itoha said, her voice muffled. She was still sitting on the grassy ground, her head hung low. Her butterfly net was lying on the ground nearby—she’d dropped it. “You’re probably right about everything, Rukana. I might really have liked Kogarezawa a little. I think I was jealous of you, and I said things I shouldn’t have. I said all the things I’ve always thought but could never open up about. Please forgive me.”
Itoha spoke on and on, but her words were hollow. There was nothing to them—no meaning at all. It was like Rukana wasn’t really talking with Itoha. The girl on the ground looked just like Itoha, but it was as if the person inside of her had been swapped out with someone completely different. For a moment, Rukana genuinely wondered if that was possible. This girl was Itoha, but she wasn’t. At the very least, she wasn’t the Itoha Rukana knew. She was someone else.
Give her back. Give back my Itoha, Rukana thought. She wanted to say it out loud—to demand it. But who or what could she ask?
“…No. Of course, you won’t,” Itoha muttered. She stood up, then stooped down to pick up her net, her movements strangely stiff and mechanical. Then she left. Her gait was strong and steady. To Rukana, it looked like she was walking away without a care in the world.
How strange. How bizarre. Itoha was leaving her behind. How could that happen? Rukana wanted to ask her so many questions. What’s going on? Why? But even if she didn’t say anything, Itoha would surely stop eventually. She’d turn around and say something. She wouldn’t just leave Rukana without a word.
Why wasn’t she turning around? Why wasn’t she slowing down or stopping?
Itoha grew smaller and smaller as she walked off into the distance. It wasn’t too late. If Rukana ran as fast as she could, she could still catch up. But her legs wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t move them. They buckled under her weight. Rukana crouched down, and by the time she’d sat fully on the ground, Itoha had vanished. She’d only be gone for a moment, though. She’d come back.
Rukana was sure Itoha would come back for her.