After that, Touko didn’t try to push the student council play on the president any further. She didn’t mention it in the student council room and did her work just like always… Well, not quite the same as always, I suppose. Touko was putting more passion into her student council work than ever. She was probably trying to make a name for herself in anticipation of running for president in the next election.
On top of that, she went around to the various non-athletic clubs, talking to them and gaining support for the student council play. She seemed to have accepted that we didn’t have enough time to prepare this year and that the current officers weren’t interested in doing it, so instead she was trying to line things up so that it would be successful in the following year.
But just because we had time didn’t mean everything would work itself out. While we would most likely get new student council members in the coming year, we would have even fewer people than before if there were only one or two, as was the case with Touko and I this year. It was important to secure as many members as we could.
The other unexpected blow came from the literature club: the current members specialized only in reading and didn’t write at all. This meant another snag in our search for a script, and this time we didn’t have any other ideas.
During our break that day, we leaned against the wall in the hallway, chatting absentmindedly. The sunlight from the hall windows warmed our necks, and the hustle and bustle of crisscrossing voices burst at us from the left and right. As we stood still, even the steady flow of footsteps seemed hectic by comparison.
Touko voiced her hopes. “If we can, I’d like to do an original script.”
But if we reproduced an existing play, we wouldn’t have to find someone to write a script at all. Though I didn’t want to oppose her, I thought it would be best to work under the assumption that we might not be able to find someone to write a script for us. It would be excellent if we did in the end, but I would prefer to have a contingency plan, even if it might be a wasted effort.
“Why don’t you try writing a script, Touko?”
“What? No way.” Touko declined on the spot.
“It’s not like you to say no to something without even trying.”
If I started to question what did seem like Touko, I might just be caught up thinking about it for the rest of the day.
“Well, actually…the truth is, I tried my hand at writing a bit just to see what would happen, but it was impossible. I can’t even think of a beginning. People who can write those things are definitely special.”
At first, there was bashfulness mixed into her declaration, but the latter half of what she said held disappointment.
“Special, eh?” Personally, I doubted that anyone was as special as Touko.
“Yeah. So I suppose it was the natural course for writers to disappear from literature clubs. But still, I don’t know what to do…”
She covered her face in despair and then glanced at me through her fingers. She was trying to request my help, although I doubted her expectations were high.
“Did you have any lessons about anything like that?”
“I learned how to write prettily, not how to actually put words together.”
When I thought about it, writing was really just stringing one word to the next. The simple sentences I wrote day to day, the things that the teachers wrote on the blackboard, and the works of famous novelists were all fundamentally the same. By changing how those words combined, they invoked beauty, drew up metaphors, and cultivated them into something greater.
In that case, writing really would be difficult for me. I wasn’t cut out for forging new paths and making discoveries.
“I wonder if there’s anyone here who wants to become a novelist…” Touko looked around the hallway. Did she think they would be easy to identify somehow? Novelists these days likely wouldn’t even have writing calluses on their fingers.
“You think there would just be one hanging around here?”
“I was just being optimistic…” Touko half-smiled as she looked away but then immediately turned back to me. “How about we try keeping a lookout at a bookstore and ask someone who buys writerly books?”
Touko’s sudden ideas were often so childlike, I couldn’t decide whether to be charmed or exasperated. “Are you just going to hang around bookstores every day?”
“Well, I like looking at books, so I wouldn’t get bored.”
“You should be doing your student council work.”
“You don’t say.” Evidently, Touko really was joking this time.
“Even if someone were trying to become a novelist, I don’t think they’d admit it to most people,” I advised her.
“Why not?”
Perhaps Touko, always self-confident, wasn’t familiar with this feeling. “When you always have your sights set on something that high, other people might think you’re strange… At least, that’s the fear, I think.”
And if people laughed at you, even a little, your dreams would wither away. Maybe that was why it felt so blissful to find someone you can safely bare your heart to.
Touko seized me with a sideways glance. “Does that mean I’m weird, too?”
“You just seem passionate to me.” I wasn’t just saying it, either—I really did see her that way.
“Do you have any dreams, Sayaka?”
“Me…?” I paused.
The dream I had now was Touko…to be by Touko’s side. To become something special to her. Immediately, I understood how talking about one’s dream could be embarrassing. And naturally, it would be especially so in front of Touko herself.
“I haven’t really thought about it much.”
“Really?” Touko leaned over a little as she peered at me.
“I feel like I’d neglect the things I need to do right now, so I don’t think too much about the distant future,” I said, trying to come up with a plausible excuse.
“Are you really okay with being so realistic, Sayaka?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that.”
I smiled slightly. Dreams were just as much a part of reality as anything else, so I couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of the word “realistic” here. No matter what we try to do or see, only reality spreads out before us. The question is what you do about it.
Touko was betting everything on the success of the play. But why?
Was it alright for me to know the answer, when she wouldn’t tell me herself?