The art club’s Hokkaido Prefectural Competition took place shortly after fall break. Before it started, the school held a send-off event in the gym for Chiaki and the other club members. The entire student body came and listened to the principal give the art club an encouraging speech. Easels displaying various members’ oil paintings were arranged onstage. They held work created in class, since the competition submissions were already en route to the venue.
The paintings varied from still lifes depicting empty bottles and apples to a portrait of a calico cat, but the one that stood out was a landscape featuring a midsummer forest. The midday trees were tinged with unfathomable color. Just looking at the piece, you felt as if cicadas might start chirping at any moment. When I first saw the painting in the art room, I’d worried about the roughness of the brushwork, but everything came into focus perfectly viewed from a distance. It was impressive just how profound an oil painting could be.
“Make sure to win us a ticket to the national championships!” the principal instructed. Chiaki just smiled at the high-pressure demand. Rintaro stood beside the stage, silently watching over his club members; beside him, the head teacher gazed at the paintings in fascination.
The send-off event was honoring other clubs as well, so once the art club’s slot ended, the paintings needed to be cleared offstage. Rintaro and the art club members took the reins, but Chiaki had to hang back as he was a guest of honor. It looked like carrying some of the larger pieces would be a challenge, and so I instinctively left the row where I was sitting to lend the art club a hand.
“Thanks, Iguchi,” Rintaro called as I carried off an easel. The send-off was being held first thing in the morning, so he’d been asked to come early and set up. He and the head teacher had planned to carry the paintings to the gym, which explained why he’d left his apartment in such a rush.
Once we’d put everything back, Rintaro and the art club returned to the gym. I pretended to tag along, but along the way, I turned and retraced our steps.
Having been closed overnight, the art room was stuffy with paint fumes. I opened the window to let in some fresh air and noticed Chiaki’s apron lying on the floor. Someone must’ve bumped the easel it hung on while we tidied up.
Chiaki was already working on his next painting. The canvas side faced the window, but I casually stole a peek anyway. It was a portrait. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the image of someone gazing at the moon. The picture was still just a rough sketch, but I could immediately tell who the subject was.
What was going through his head when he sketched this? Just wondering made my chest tight. Hot tears welled in the corners of my eyes, and I tried to stave them off by burying my head in Chiaki’s apron, which reeked of oil paint. That aroma wasn’t enticing by any stretch of the imagination; still, it reminded me of Chiaki standing behind one of his canvases. Recalling that image overwhelmed me so much that I didn’t notice someone else enter the room until they tapped my shoulder.
“Chiaki?” I said tentatively.
Rintaro peered back at me instead. “I noticed you didn’t come back to the gym with us. Is everything okay? Are you crying?”
The back of the hand I’d used to wipe my eyes was covered in paint. There was probably some on my face too. Knowing I’d give myself away if I answered Rintaro, I just stared at the ground.
“The send-off’s done now,” Rintaro added. “You should head to class. I need to lock up this room.”
I heard the footsteps of students walking through the hallways, but none seemed headed this way since we’d already tidied the art room. Rintaro took the apron from me, and when he went to hang it back on its rightful owner’s easel, he also noticed the whitewashed canvas. “He started another one already? Sakura’s sure passionate about his art.”
Just as he was able to take a closer look at the rough sketch, I ran up behind him and threw my arms around him from behind. The impact threw Rintaro off balance, and we both fell over, bumping the easel and knocking it to the ground with a loud clatter that echoed through the room.
“What’re you doing?!”
He tried to push me off, but I avoided his arms, loosening his tie to expose his neck. I’d felt his warm skin so many times before. Rintaro’s familiar scent reached my nostrils; something about it was a bit like the smell of oil paint.
“Get off me, Iguchi.”
I tore off my blouse, but his expression didn’t change, even when I started to unhook my bra.
“Hurry up and put your clothes back on,” he insisted.
“Why? Am I that unattractive?”
“Just do it. You’ll catch cold like that.”
“Are you gay or something, Rintaro?” I’d gone and said something rude again. Oops. I remembered how sharply Chiaki had barked my name when I’d said something similar not long ago.
Rintaro made the most of my temporary pause by asking, “What is it you want, Iguchi?”
“I like you, Rintaro,” I replied.
“Oh, yeah?” he responded.
My perspective suddenly flipped upside down. I didn’t understand what was happening at first—then I realized he’d pushed me onto the paint-smeared floor and was lying on top of me. It was the first time he’d done something like this.
“Stop it!” I screamed as he kissed me violently, his hands running over my exposed skin. I shoved him away with all my strength and managed to get out from beneath him. I clutched one of the art room’s drawing sheets around myself and struggled to catch my breath as I trembled in fear.