Chiaki’s painting won gold at the district competition. There was still some time before the prefectural competition for Hokkaido, but he’d probably receive gold there too, judging from his district-level evaluation. No one from our art club had ever competed at the national level, so everybody—even the school principal—eagerly awaited the next competition.
Our school used a two-semester system, so first-semester finals fell at the end of September. They put club activities on hold during that period. Right after those exams, school went into fall break, so I didn’t get many opportunities to visit the art room. With my secret hiding spot inaccessible, there was only one other place I could go.
“You need to stop coming here,” Rintaro scolded me hoarsely right after waking up. “I’ve said it a million times already.”
“I’ve been here since last night, and you didn’t wake up once. Your sleeping face was just so cute.”
“Don’t tell me you plan to head straight to school from here! What if someone sees us?!”
“I’ll be careful that we don’t leave at the same time,” I replied. “I made you breakfast, so rise and shine!”
Rintaro squinted as the morning sun shone past the blackout curtains I’d pulled open. He picked up the alarm clock he kept beside his pillow. When he saw the time, he leapt out of bed.
“Crap!” he cried, rapidly getting dressed. There was still plenty of time for him to get ready to teach, but from the way he yanked on the first shirt he spotted, I could tell he was rushing at top speed. “I’m late! The head teacher’s going to have my head!”
He bit into the toast slice I’d put on the table for him, then shoved a tie he spotted on the floor into his pocket and hurried toward the door, carrying his bag and car keys.
I chased after him. “Wait! That’s my tie you’ve got!”
“Sorry…I didn’t realize.” Rintaro should’ve recognized the tie his students wore. He saw us every day, after all. He must really have been in a hurry. He put his shoes on at the same rapid pace and rushed out with a final shout: “Make sure no one’s looking when you open the door!”
I got ready myself and left his apartment. The sky was beautiful and clear, but the chilly air nipped my skin. Even doing up the last button on my blazer didn’t keep the cold breeze from penetrating my blouse collar.
I had a good grasp of Rintaro’s neighborhood, and I was cutting through a local park when I suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Morning, Iguchi-san.” I glanced back to see Hasumi Ichika standing behind me. “I thought I saw someone who looked like you, and I was right!”
“You’re alone? Where’s Tono-kun?” The usual presence by her side was nowhere to be seen.
“He had to go in early for class duties,” she replied, then inquired, “Do you live near here? This isn’t our first time bumping into each other in this park.”
“I just stayed over at my boyfriend’s place last night.”
“Ah, I should’ve guessed.”
Hasumi kept walking next to me as if it were something we’d planned. She was one of the only girls who hadn’t treated me differently after everything went down with Manabe.
The debate over whether or not I needed to dye my hair had eventually been swept under the rug. When we returned from fall break, Manabe ended her weeks of ignoring my existence, trying to chat with me again. We didn’t go back to being friends, though. If anything, it was my turn to distance myself—her fickle attitude had put me off.
On the other hand, Hasumi-san and I had both been group leaders during the festival. We’d interacted frequently, to the point that we were now close enough to chitchat if we ran into each other.
“You’re dating Tono-kun now, right?” I asked. I noticed a blush creep into her cheeks as she nodded. “You denied it so long, but it was clear that something happened.”
The school festival always created a number of couples. Tono-kun and Hasumi-san were childhood friends, and they’d always been close. In fact, watching them grab at each other and play around was enough to make me blush. Still, I’d always gotten the sense that whatever was between them didn’t include sex.
“We only made it official recently. We didn’t tell anyone,” Hasumi-san explained. “You’re pretty sharp, Iguchi. When did you figure it out?”
“During that Japanese lit class when we got our summer homework back, I guess.”
The summer homework Rintaro had assigned us was mostly a review of topics we’d covered in class, and it included a section on Ten Nights’ Dreams. There had been a rather odd task in the mix: “Write your own response to ‘The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?’”
There was no correct answer to that question. We were supposed to come up with something on our own. There were already plenty of responses to choose from if you looked them up online. Rintaro had presented our responses in class, however, and he hadn’t evaluated whether they were good. Instead, he just read them in order, starting with the response the most students had submitted.
“It was a little sad seeing how many of you said, ‘I’m not ready to die,’” he muttered. “I hoped high-school students would take a little more interest in enjoying their youth.” He began reading the more unique replies students had submitted; the first was mine. “‘I can’t see the moon.’ That’s quite blunt, Iguchi. I’d be pretty bummed if that was someone’s response.”
I’d written it like that deliberately. A few students giggled. Although no one else had submitted a point-blank rejection, it didn’t seem like Rintaro had gotten many of the responses he was looking for when he gave us this assignment.
“Okay. Tono Riku. ‘Because I’m looking at it with you.’ You didn’t seem to know much about this in class, but I can tell you put on your thinking cap over the break!” Rintaro had praised the romantic answer effusively.
I caught Tono-kun glance at Hasumi-san, trying to catch her eye, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Rintaro moved to the next response. “Now we have Hasumi Ichika. ‘I’ve always thought the moon was beautiful.’” That was the kind of response I’d expected her to write.
“You figured it out because of my response?” Hasumi-san asked as I finished explaining.
“Pretty much.” It had just been the type of thing someone who’d fallen for a childhood friend would say, and no one else had written anything similar. “I had a feeling you’d always carried a torch for him.”
That Japanese lit class must also have made a strong impression on Hasumi-san because we discussed it until we reached the subway station. “On that topic, whose answer did you like best, Iguchi-san?”
“I…” I started to respond, then paused to consider my answer.
There were plenty to choose from. Some students turned the tables with something like “Will you watch the moon with me forever?” Other submissions, like “The stars are more beautiful,” indicated love for someone else. There were even passionate responses like “If only time could stop right now.”
“I guess my favorite was ‘It’s beautiful because it’s unattainable,’” I said finally.
“Oh, Sakura-kun’s answer? That hit home, huh?”
The melody announcing the next train’s arrival chimed as we headed downstairs into the station. When we spotted our train pulling into the platform, we broke into a dash so we’d make it.
As she pulled out her transit pass and cleared the entry gate, Hasumi-san continued our conversation. “I feel like some people wrote the response they thought they’d get if they confessed their feelings, not what they’d say if someone confessed to them.”
As I set my own transit pass on the card reader, trying to follow her, I couldn’t go through. I’d been so enraptured by our conversation that I forgot my pass didn’t cover Rintaro’s neighborhood station—I would have to buy a separate ticket. Hasumi-san stood waiting for me, but I urged her to go ahead.
“See you at school!” As she waved goodbye with a smile, she looked like the epitome of bliss. Being loved by the object of your affection apparently made you prettier inside and out.
Hasumi-san’s comment about Chiaki’s response had been unexpectedly accurate. Just like me, Chiaki was in love with someone unattainable.