I used to spend a lot of time with Manabe and her friends after school, but lately I’ve traded karaoke microphones for art room pencils.
“I’m not actually in the art club, though.”
“But you’re always here. Just submit your intent-to-join form already.”
The art room might’ve been quiet at lunchtime, but a few club members showed up after school. Most had glasses and wore their uniforms exactly according to the dress code—not the crowd I usually associated with. Some third-years were apparently part of the club, but none were actively participating, so Chiaki was acting as the de facto president.
“The competition’s going to host a practice session on quick sketches, so I thought we’d practice a little today,” he explained. “We’ll set the time limit at thirty minutes.”
The subject for the sketch was a plaster figurine of the iconic Venus de Milo. Everyone moved their chairs to wherever they wanted to work from; I’d secured a spot in the back of the classroom. At the sound of a buzzer, the club members started sketching away. I twirled my pencil between my fingers.
Everyone had their own way of going about the assignment. Some started with details of the figurine’s face while others broadly sketched its entire outline. I noticed that the way some drew certain details betrayed their fetishes—the Venus de Milo’s breasts were diminutive, but a few boys generously emphasized her chest. I also saw a couple girls enthusiastically sketching her six-pack abs.
It was raining outside, and the chilly air signaled the inevitable changing of the seasons. The weather also forced sports clubs to practice indoors. Shouts to encourage students running inside or to count out hallway strength-training exercises echoed as far as the distant corner of the building where the art room was located.
I wonder what Chiaki’s doing? I mused.
Curious, I rose from my seat and glanced over. I saw him flip to a blank page in his sketchbook and start drawing. At first, I couldn’t make sense of his actions; he’d draw something quickly on one page, then flip to a new one instead of adding details. He was the only one in the entire room doing anything like that, but no one else seemed to care. Terrifying intensity radiated from his back. Realizing that I couldn’t bother him, I sat down again.
The buzzer eventually sounded once more, and everyone stopped drawing. No faculty members were around to critique the finished sketches since the art teacher only came on days when classes were scheduled. Instead, the club members usually showed everyone else their artwork and discussed it with each other as they pleased.
“Considering this was just your first time, Yoshino, your sketch turned out really well,” Chiaki noted, peeking at one student’s sketchbook.
Hearing his comment, some others gathered around to take a look. The object of their attention was Somei Yoshino, a first year who’d joined the club right before summer break. I saw her face turn bright red. Even to an amateur eye, it was obvious that her sketch of the figurine was incredibly well-balanced. I figured she must take art as her elective, so I was positively shocked to have learned that she was enrolled in the music class.
“You’re so good at art, though. Why didn’t you choose that as your elective?” I inquired.
“I wanted to be in my friend’s class,” she replied in a barely audible voice.
I wanted to ask why in the world she’d sacrificed something she was great at for such a silly reason, but I somehow held my tongue, realizing it wasn’t any of my business. “If you’re so easy to steamroll, then if you ever get a boyfriend, he’ll dump you pretty quick.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever have one. I don’t really like men.”
“What? Are you a lesbian or something?” Try as I might, I couldn’t keep the snark out of my voice.
Chiaki snapped my name accusingly.
A knock at the door cut the conversation short. We could see someone peering through the door’s window: Chiaki’s little sister. Until recently, she’d sported a chin-length bob, but she’d come back from summer break with her hair cut short. She had Chiaki’s huge eyes, and it was plain as day that they were related. She waved at us.
When Yoshino realized who it was, her face brightened immediately. “Hazuki!”
“The girls’ volleyball team was doing stamina drills in the hall,” Chiaki’s sister told us. “Sorry we were so loud.”
“Let me know when you’re done. We’ll head home together.”
I’d heard from Chiaki that his sister joined the volleyball team when Yoshino joined the art club. They’d enrolled in such different extracurriculars that the girls’ relationship was probably changing slightly already, considering sports and culture club members didn’t interact much.
The volleyball team must’ve been taking a break, because some other players began to peer into the art room as well. “What’s that funky smell?” one asked. “Is it coming from the art club?”
Hazuki gave us a quick bow, and was about to shut the door when someone strutted in. It was Manabe, and she scoffed and glowered at the students with open sketchbooks.
“Must be nice to be in the art club,” she said. “You guys don’t have to practice every day like us. As long as you draw a few pictures, the school foots the bill for you to attend competitions, right?”
Manabe wasn’t a full member of the volleyball team. I’d heard her mention in class that they’d recruited her temporarily to support them at an upcoming tournament.
“I wish I’d joined a culture club too,” she sighed. “The volleyball advisor’s so annoying. I never should’ve agreed to this.”
“Our break’ll be over soon, Senpai.” Hazuki practically pushed Manabe out of the classroom, although she hung back a moment to give a small nod, which the art club members returned. Some sort of quiet communication seemed to be going on between the first-years.