In junior high, the boys’ uniform had a tie and the girls’ had a ribbon. The ribbon was on an adjustable strap, so the girls could style their ribbons casually. That wasn’t possible with the ties, though; they were simple clip-ons that attached to our collars. I often left mine at home on purpose.
When choosing which high school entrance exams to take, my first choice was a school without a uniform, but I was called to the teacher’s office and was convinced to shoot for a better school. The elite schools offered either a traditional gakuran or a blazer-and-trousers combination as the boys’ uniform, but all the girls’ uniforms had a blazer-style top.
I was going to Ichika’s room every day at that point. I’d moved my painstakingly-acquired cosmetics collection over there, and I spent my time using the products to make Ichika over with makeup looks I’d learned by watching others. It was so much fun fishing through her closet and dressing her up like my personal doll.
At first, I usually did that dressed as a boy. I was content just being surrounded by cute, girly items. Ichika and I lived in the same apartment complex, in units with the same layout—we basically even had the same room. Most of the things in her room were mine, but the fact that she was holding on to them made their elegance and sophistication skyrocket.
“Is it true you decided not to attend high school, Riku?” she’d asked. “Will you tell me why?”
The reason was that I’d felt so pressured to pick a school that I’d exploded, declaring that I wasn’t going at all. I offered Ichika no response, however, squeezing a teddy bear and stubbornly refusing to talk. I’d already dressed Ichika up, but in contrast, I still wore my school uniform.
“I’d love it if we could attend the same high school,” she continued. The tension building inside me dissipated a little when I learned we were on the same page about that.
“I don’t want to wear a tie,” I admitted.
Boys wouldn’t be allowed to wear ribbons. After how hard it had been to deal with that discrepancy in junior high, I wasn’t confident I could put up with it in high school.
“You don’t want to wear a tie?” she repeated.
“I want to wear the same uniform you will, Ichika.” It took a lot of courage to admit how I felt to her.
Ichika, however, responded with a completely nonchalant suggestion. “Well, what if I wear a tie too? We can’t wear the same ribbon, but boys and girls wear ties at plenty of schools. I’ve actually always thought it would be cool to wear a uniform that had one.”
She excitedly flipped through a magazine about high school entrance examinations. It just so happened to have a special feature on uniforms at high schools in our city; Ichika kept gushing over how cute and stylish they were, as if browsing a teen fashion collection.
I watched her in silence. There were a number of schools where all the uniforms included ties, but attending one would stick me with the same uniform style I’d worn in junior high for the next three years. There were bound to be plenty of days when I’d get in trouble for “forgetting” my tie at home.
I glared at the magazine so intensely, I thought I might burn a hole through it. I didn’t even notice Ichika slip something around my neck. Before I could ask what she was doing, I heard a soft click as she clipped her ribbon on me.
“Wow! That looks great on you, Riku!” she squealed. “When we graduate, I’ll give it to you. You can put it on in my room whenever you feel like it. You can wear anything you want here.”
“Ichika…”
She was doing her best to cheer me up, but I could tell she was nervous. Seeing her slightly awkward smile helped make up my mind—I would attend whichever school Ichika went to.
And now, here we were, second-years at the same high school.
“Actually, Rintaro gave me a lot of good advice,” Ichika told me.
She’d come over after finishing her parent-teacher-student conference. Her mother walked us home, but all Ichika had to say was, “I’m heading to Riku’s room for a bit,” and permission was granted. That was one of the perks of being a family friend.
I held Ichika from behind as she sat on my bed, fishing through her bag for something. As I stroked her thighs under her skirt, she pinched me sharply.
“Come on,” she whined. “Listen to me.”
She pulled a bunch of pamphlets out of her bag. She hadn’t made plans for after graduation, so Rintaro had supplied tons of options—information and brochures on vocational schools, colleges, and even opportunities for studying abroad. The documents demonstrated his desire to see his students reach their highest potential. I flipped through them, then suddenly paused.
“That place is holding an info session next week. Want to go together?” Ichika asked.
We were peering at a pamphlet for a beauty school. It seemed to teach a comprehensive selection of subjects including hairstyling, nail artistry, fashion, and even modeling. It also had a sister school focused on fashion design; apparently, some beauty school graduates enrolled there afterward to further their studies. I’d been aware of the school, but I hadn’t mentioned it on the form outlining my post-graduation plans.
“You really want to go somewhere like this, don’t you?” asked Ichika.
I was very interested in working as a hairstylist or makeup artist. I should’ve known that Ichika—the person closest to me all these years—would have a read on my true feelings.
I normally portrayed myself as a high school boy with no particular interest in beauty. Only Ichika knew I often wore women’s clothing after school, studied makeup tutorial videos daily, and even memorized every product of various companies’ makeup lines. That was why I couldn’t bring up a career in the beauty industry at my parent-teacher-student conference.
“How about we check out a few beauty schools together?” Ichika suggested. “If you come with me, it shouldn’t be a problem. No one will blink if you say you tagged along with your girlfriend.”
“Everyone will think you want to attend beauty school if we do that.”
“That’s okay. I still haven’t decided what I want to do. Besides, watching you has inspired me to wear more stylish clothes and get better at my hair and makeup.”
My arms squeezed Ichika involuntarily. I felt like a glimmer of hope was suddenly shining down on my murky future plans. If she and I attended beauty school together, I could openly develop my hair and makeup expertise. Male beauticians weren’t uncommon, and studying esthetics would probably be way more practical than attending four years of university just because it felt like the thing to do.
I planted a kiss on Ichika’s lips, and she earnestly reciprocated. When we finally pulled back from each other, she was smiling bashfully. It was so adorable that I couldn’t help hugging her even tighter. Ichika always had so much respect for me—I was sure we’d be inseparable from now on.