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Part five, and the end.
This chapter is in some ways more depressing and in some ways more positive than all the others before it. This is my favorite chapter, the one most personal to me, and it just means a lot to me. Asapin's come a long way, hasn't he? Once again, I apologize for any discrepancies in characterization.
Oh, and anyone who's seen Vision of Escaflowne will know La Torre is the tarot card The Tower, the card of "distant separation." I just finished watching Escaflowne, which probably reflects on this chapter. I finally found out the true meanings of distant separation, and of courage.
Model Student
Chapter 5-
La Torre
A few minutes after I get home, Arima calls. The phone rings a few times before I pick up. I've been listening to the radio at full volume, so it takes me a while to register that the ringing isn't part of the song playing. I pick up the receiver and hold it to my ear. "Yeah?" I ask, keeping my voice careless and trouble-free. Ah, I'm not even having the time of my life, just existing, you know?
"Hideaki," the other end says. Only my dad and Arima call me that. It's Arima's voice. Even though he and Dad's voices sound the same, they're different, too.
I want to slam the phone down. I bet it would be the first time anyone ever hung up on Arima. But so stupidly, there's still the hope in me that what he'll say will be good. What if he's calling to say he's sorry he pushed me away, he was just confused, that he really wants to be with me? But he'll probably say that he is sorry, but we can't be friends anymore. I put the fan on when I got home, but now the living room's gotten too cold. I don't move to turn it off, but I make my teeth chatter. The music is a new song, a much harder, harsher one. The static-like guitar riffs that characterize it are so not my thing, but I don't feel like moving to change the station. When I'm anxious, I think faster.
"Hideaki," Arima says, "Are you there?"
"Yeah," I reply. Maybe I can just say that one word for the entire conversation.
Arima sounds worried, which actually doesn't make me happy, it makes me feel sick, and if I fake having the flu I don't have to make myself go to school tomorrow. Arima's worried. "Hideaki, are you okay?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"Hideaki," Arima says, sounding upset, "I'm sorry."
Arima's more predictable than you'd think. Smart people are all like that. I mean, like, you know how smart people are supposed to be dangerous because of their intelligence? It's the other way around.
"Will you stop saying my name so much?" I snap, breaking my resolution.
Arima sighs. I hate it when we get into situations like this. I know what he's gonna say, so I don't wanna hear it, I just want him to shut up.
"Will you turn down the music?" Arima asks.
"No."
"Don't be an asshole," Arima says. "You're the one who-"
"Who what?" I ask, cutting him off. I'm angry, a feeling that, like, partners up with sadness, and buys it flowers, and sweet-talks it majorly, and just maybe gets lucky.
"Hideaki," Arima says, and I think he's still the same way he was at his house. I grip the phone tighter in my hand. An advertisement for some huge car is blaring on the radio. "I'm not gay," says Arima.
"What?" I say, blink. "H-how do you know?"
Arima sounds like a car engine that's having problems starting, puffing in and out. He doesn't have a good reason why, though. He's the one in control.
"I don't know, really," Arima says. "I mean, I'm not sure. I've never liked anyone either way. But- Hideaki, it wouldn't be you anyway."
"Why- why not?" I hiss, I actually think I hiss. I really think I'm going to throw up. I can taste the sour, salty bile at the back of my throat. This is the part where I'm supposed to wake up.
"Dammit, Hideaki," Arima growls, "What do you want me to say?"
"Whatever," I snap. I really am gonna hang up in just a second. I really will.
Arima goes Sigh. Yeah, I know, I'm such a pain to him. "You really meant it, didn't you," he says.
"What do you care," I retort. I imagine the satisfaction of the crash of the wireless into its holder and one of the lights on the fan flickers and burns out.
"Hideaki," Arima says, and it's an echo of before, deja blue, "I wouldn't be able to stand it without you. You know I wouldn't."
"But-"
"Hideaki," Arima says, voice becoming almost frantic, almost desperate, and I know I'm the only one to ever hear him like this. "You're still my friend, right? I can't be with you, not that way, but we're still friends, right? I mean, I'm not really that special. I'm just a model student. You'll get over your crush soon enough, and things can go back to normal." He's talking so fast he's practically babbling. "I mean, everybody likes you, everybody. Lots of people, guys and girls, whichever you want, anyone would go out with you. You can find someone else, I know you will, and we'll be friends, and it'll be all for the best-"
Friends? He wants to stay friends? Of course he does. I hadn't considered it, but I am his friend, his best friend. I'm important to him.
"Fuck you," I say.
"Excuse me?" Arima says.
"If I'm your friend, if I'm so special to you-" I cut myself off. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't ever understand. I try to take deep breaths to keep my heaving stomach under control.
"If it can't be me, why were you jealous?"
Arima's getting tired of me, I can tell. He's used to the world bending whichever way he wants it to, so I'm disgusting. "Hideaki," he says. "When someone always focuses on you, you don't have to like them at all to be jealous when they focus on someone else. It offended my ego, that's all."
"Arima," I whisper, so sick. "This isn't you. This can't be."
"I guess you don't know me as well as I thought you did," he says. "Friends?"
"Yeah," I say, "Friends," and hang up. I turn the radio off and go into the bathroom. I stand over the toilet, stick my finger down my throat, and make myself throw up. Only acid comes out.
---
I walk into the classroom where Sakura-tachi are having lunch, and promptly fall over. They're... singing?
"Do you really want to hurt me?" Rika croons into her hairbrush mike. "Do you really want to make me cry?"
"Number one!" Tsubasa shrieks. "Tsubasa, Tsubasa, number one!"
Aya's rapping. "Beer is a wonderful thing, it sprouts from the ground in springs, it makes the world happy, it makes your life fun, colon cancer for everyone!"
"Purple!" Sakura wails in English, posing on a desk and launching in an energetic Irish jig. "Purple!"
"Guys," I say, "I'm not in the mood."
They stop, glare at me as if I'm burning them in effigy. "Aya wrote a play!" Rika cries. "And we're all gonna star in it!"
Normally, I'd be totally psyched, either that or rejecting it totally vehemently. I'm normally so involved, but I don't feel anything, no reaction whatsoever. I'm not excited, but I have to act like I am. I don't have a choice.
"Oh, cool!" I yell, run over to the girls and grab Aya's hands. "Asaba Hideaki's gonna be a star!"
---
"Realism!"
"Impressionism!"
"Realism!"
"Impressionism!"
Arisu is such an idiot. Can't she tell something as artistic as ancient ruins demands impressionism? The others should be setting her straight, but instead, they're just shaking their heads at us. Wakato-sensei seems to like how we're having such impassioned, lively discussions.
After the class, we've finally reached a temporary truce. Kyo says he thinks we're both idiots, that it's too early to spend time debating things like that anyway. Chihiro's sketching as she walks, ignoring Risa, peering over her shoulder.
Kyo invites me to come over to his house this weekend. He says there's this painting he wants to show me. The girls get indignant they're not invited, and Kyo says a guy would appreciate it better. Arisu says it's probably porno. Kyo yells that it's not and gets indignant. We all laugh at him.
When I mention I'm doing a play with Sakura-tachi, Risa gets all pissed. It takes me a while to figure out that Risa and Sakura are both in the volleyball club. Arisugawa and Tsubaki, Arisu tells me, have a rather infamous rivalry. That makes us all laugh again. Us weird artists take turns being the butts of jokes.
Since it's an even day, I walk Chihiro to her class, being a gentleman to a dyke, and she asks if I'm doing okay. She says everyone, and she means everyone, she's even talked to Shibahime Tsubasa, everyone thinks I've been acting weird, that I've been trying too hard. She wants to know if something happened, because she and all my friends are getting worried.
It's just like Chihiro to be their emissary. Or liaison, whatever. I mean, she's such a good person.
I say everything's fine, and I really am happy. I'm not faking it at all. Chihiro asks if Arima and I had a fight, because we're treating each other like we're just polite acquaintances. I say Arima and I are best friends. We always will be.
---
Tsubasa and I are making plans for a trip us and our friends are taking. I don't remember what genius assigned the two of us and no one else to something so important, but I bet they'll regret it when they find out what kind of job we've done.
Tsubasa's been, like, no help at all. She started out paying attention, but then she slept for a while, then woke up and started sharpening her teeth. No, I am not kidding. And I fell asleep a few times in the middle of deliberations, too. Yeah, we are so an intrepid team. It was up to us to pick out a good transportation and a beach to go to. Well, we picked them, but I wouldn't say good. Yeah, let's not go there. Thanks.
Finally done! At least we're finished. Tsubasa's watching me, though, and its kinda creepy, with her nails sharpened to veritable claws as well as her fangs. Her huge eyes are kind of watery-looking, though not the way you'd think. She's not sad. I walk over to her, show her the brochures of the ones I picked. She eats them. I goggle at her. Goggle is a funny word, like gobble, the word Americans say that turkeys make. I find lots of stuff funny.
Tsubasa mutters, "I don't feel sorry for you."
I think I know what she's talking about, but I'd rather not. Still, I think she deserves at least verisimilitude from me. Who else loves that word? It's one of my vocab words in grammar class. Writing is like picking a series of musical notes.
"Well," I say, "I'm not sorry for you either."
We're gonna spend a weekend at the beach, but before that, my email has an invitation for me, another place to go the weekend before that. My father's invited me to come down and meet his colleagues. Maybe I'll tell Arima about it, maybe I won't.
Tsubasa really is gorgeous. It's the kind that actually takes you a while to notice. I mean, the first time you see her, you can tell she's cute and she's pretty, with the looks of a porcelain doll. But Tsubasa and I start talking about our fathers, and I realize she's beautiful. I can't believe someone could love their parents as much as she does. I can't believe how fucking upset she is that her father's getting remarried.
I furtively start to sketch her under the table as she stammers out these words. She whispers that she hasn't talked to Arima about it, because the way he's been treating me has scared her. She says she thinks I confronted him about my feelings, and now he' put this indescribable, unbreakable distance between us. It's the distance between her and her father, the father who fell in love with another woman while his daughter was hurt. It's the distance that's always been between her and Arima, because the person she is was just never good enough.
I ask Tsubasa to go out with me, and she says no.
She doesn't usually like to talk much, but the little one's babbling now. I go to the cafeteria and bring us both back cans of juice, grape for her, orange for me. I just love girls. I just love people.
We formulate battle plans, not plans for the trip we're gonna take, plans to break up her father's engagement. That probably isn't the best idea, but it makes us both feel a whole lot better.
I tell Tsubasa the things Aya told me about the play, that it's gonna be set in the future, a dystopia, like that book we read in third-year junior high, and Tsubasa and I are to be robots. That's probably because our looks are both so perfect. I buy us each a second juice, and Tsubasa tells me about a new boy in Class F, Tonami Takefumi, a smart, popular, intellectual boy who knows Arima and seems friendly with him. I think I'm more jealous about it than she is.
She tells me how Tonami seems to have adopted Sakura as his personal rival. She tells me about how she met Sakura in kindergarten. I tell her about meeting Sakura in high school. She tells me about how good Rika's strawberry shortcake is, and I resolve to pester her for some. When the subject of visiting my father comes up, I invite Tsubasa to come along, and she agrees.
---
I take Namie to a movie on Wednesday night. It's an import from China, a martial arts movie which employs way too much symbolism and way too few laws of physics. It's the most bloodthirsty thing I've seen in my entire life. Namie thinks it's brilliant.
My date wants to stop by the bookstore before getting dinner, even though it's already pretty late. She probably has some manga she wants to pick up, I didn't really listen to what she said. She disappears into the miscellaneous shelves of books, and I wait at the front, checking out the scantily clad women on the magazine covers. I poke a hole in the hem of my T-shirt. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Arima walks up to the counter and buys a book. It's some intellectual-type thing I don't recognize. He sees me and walks over. I nod to him. My hands are sweaty. My hair is getting in my face, so I push it out of the way.
Arima laughs, and his greeting is, "What in the world are you doing in a bookstore?"
I breathe in, breathe out. "Namie-chan wanted to stop to pick up a manga," I say.
"Oh," Arima says blandly. "That's nice."
My throat feels parched, dry in a way that makes me want to start coughing incessantly. I look at my watch, and the seconds are ticking by more or less the way they do normally. I reach into my pocket and pull out info on the trip we're taking. I give it to him. I want to fall asleep standing.
"We can talk then," I tell him. A dull, capricious pain passes across my ankle. My fingernails are a little dirty, and my watch left a pink line imprinted on my wrist.
Arima leaves and Namie comes back. I tell her I don't feel well, so she should just walk herself home. She does, though she looks kinda sad, peers at me curiously before skedaddling.
I go into the one-man bathroom in the back room of the bookstore and stick my index finger up my throat again. This time, I have popcorn and carbonation to throw up. In and out. In and out. I'm just really exhausted.
---
I first meet Tonami when I'm with my art friends. We've just been dismissed, it's the end of the day, and we're psyched from all the painting exercises we've been doing, plus Chihiro just made something really cool. Arisu and Risa are pretending to be mad at each other and dissing the other one, trying to slap one another. Chihiro and I are infinitely invigorated by the prospect of a chick fight. Kyo, being gay, can't quite appreciate it the way we do, but he still finds it vastly amusing.
Chihiro tells them to stop when someone walks up to us. It's a guy, sorta cute, dark skin. Kyo tells me it's the guy who hangs out with Arima now, it's Tonami.
"Asaba Hideaki?" he asks. I find myself incredibly annoyed by this guy.
"Yeah," I say, feeling my precarious good mood vanish, "That's me."
"You're friends with Tsubaki, right?" she asks, and Chihiro snorts. Risa looks interested with the mention of Sakura, but Kyo and Arisu, though they stay, open their backpacks and start flipping through each other's sketch books.
"What's it to you?" I ask, not nicely. I don't have much patience for guys.
"Will you give her a message for me?" he asks.
"Sure," I agree, groaning inwardly. God, this is like a bad movie.
Tonami opens his mouth, then closes it. "Nevermind," he says, and walks away. Risa giggles for no apparent reason. Arisu and Kyo don't even look up as he leaves. Chihiro already split sometime before and I didn't notice.
Tonami, huh? None of my business.
---
I go over to Kyo's house on Sunday evening. That's a very sad time, since it's right before Monday, the beginning of the school week, but I know I can make it fun.
Kyo lives in a pretty nice house, red brick with a white roof and all this ivy creeping up it. There's a weeping willow dominating the front yard, and one of its branches whacks me in the face as I fight my way to the entrance. It's as if they put that tree there to, like, take out the door-to-door salesman or something.
The whole place inside is high art. Shit. Alright... Is that an original? Looks like it. He must have one hell of a rich mom and dad.
Kyo comes running down the stairs half-dressed. "Oh, hey, Asapin!" he calls. "I just got up two seconds ago!"
Just when did he go to bed last night? Nut job. "You didn't forget I was coming, did you?" I ask playfully.
Kyo laughs. "How could I forget you?" I follow him up to his room, since I'm guessing that's where he's keeping the painting he wanted to show me. I hope it's really good.
Kyo pulls on a shirt while I survey his room. It's being invaded by his painting supplies. He's not the kinda guy to take something halfway. Predictably, the place is messy as hell. Arima's room is like this, only more expensive, and clean.
Kyo shows me the painting after shamefacedly trying to tidy up at little. I tell him that I don't care, because my own room at home is messier. He relaxes after that, and I get to see what I came to see. The painting is... the picture on the canvas is...
It's a wolf, gray, brown, black, staring at the viewer lustfully. This one's a flesh-eater, a flesh-eater in perfect proportion. His eyes are narrowed but still luminescent. He's licking his chops, a canine jaw already marred with blood. His fur is sleek, careful brush strokes turning the beast alive. His background is pure black. His gaze is so intense, he's looking right at me, wishing he could jump out and consume me.
"See?" Kyo says. "A girl wouldn't understand."
"Does it have a name?" I breathe, spellbound.
"No," says Kyo. "And it won't, I don't think. But the painting will. What do you think of it?"
I usually hate praising others, but, "It's incredible," I admit. "I could never paint anything that great. It really seems alive."
"Asapin, you're a wonderful painter," Kyo feels obliged to say, then ventures, "You really think so?"
"Yeah," I say, trying not to feel jealous. "I'd like to have that for myself."
"Eh, sorry," Kyo laughs, "But no."
"What technique did you use for that part of the ear?" I ask, and the art talk starts, and continues for a while. "It looks really..."
By 7:00, we've exhausted all we have to say about the wolf. Kyo looks really serious about then, which kinda alerts me, makes me wary. "Asapin," he begins, "Yesterday, I talked to Shibahime Tsubasa."
Oh. Shit. "What about it?"
"She said you confessed to Arima."
That stupid little bitch. "So what?" I snap, defensive. Kyo, stretched out across his bed, sighs.
"Asapin, we're friends, aren't we?" he says.
"Yeah," I say in a small voice. "Of course we are." I wish he hadn't said that. He couldn't have known, but-
"I'm sorry," Kyo says.
I'm sorry.
"Asapin-" he says, and I cut him off. There's a strange idea forming in my mind. I stare into the golden eyes of the wolf, and the wolf growls back, and if my life had a soundtrack, the cellos would be rising in speed, crescendo-ing, becoming unlike themselves, frantic and sour.
"Don't call me Asaba," I say. "Call me Hideaki."
-cut-
"Asapin," Kyo says. "I'm in love with Tsuyoshi."
---
Tsubasa and I ride a train to Tokyo. We've both been there before, but the hustle and bustle of the city is still striking. I'm glad to be off the train, though. Tsubasa brought a book, but I didn't, and there wasn't any other girls in our compartment. All I did was beat a few old geezers with lolicons off Tsubasa.
It's almost dinnertime when we arrive. I have the address of Father's apartment on a piece of paper, and we find after wandering a little. I press the call button on the side of the building and dial his number. His familiar voice tells me to come on up. Tsubasa squeaks. It's weird, but I think she might be scared. She doesn't like new people. There's been something bothering her, too.
"Tsubasa?" I say, watching the numbers on the elevator panel rise, "What is it that I'm missing? What is it constraining me?"
It's a line from Aya's play, so Tsubasa looks up at me, eyes red, and delivers her own line back. "What's missing in you? Start with a heartbeat."
The elevator doors open at the tenth floor. I count down the places until we reach my father's. He's left the door open for us. The place is just as flawless and faceless as I remember it. There's so much white. Tsubasa whimpers as she comes in, treading on my heels. My father comes out to meet us. He's surprised to see Tsubasa, since I, of course, forgot to tell him I was bringing her. Shit, I already know this is gonna be one hell of a visit.
"Welcome," Dad says.
"Hey, Dad," I say. "I brought my friend Tsubasa with me."
Dad groans, gaze on Tsubasa full of disgust, and I remember we always fought about me carrying on with girls. He seems to dismiss her, angry at me, deeming her unimportant. Then Tsubasa runs forward and bites his leg.
"AAAAAAAH!"
The scream echoes deep into the Tokyo night. Some manga once called this city Babylon. Tsubasa and I both add languages all our own.
You know, I think I forgive my father.
---
Tsubasa stays at the apartment the next day, but since Father has work off, he takes me to a lunch he's set up to introduce me. I wear nice clothes, making me presentable. I make no promises of the behavior to expect from me, however.
The restaurant turns out to be the first floor of a hotel. Everyone there is incredibly well-dressed. There are some really cute girls here with their families. I wink at each one as I pass them, and they giggle. I pose and preen for them and let them be struck dumb by my beauty. Ego satisfied, I continue on my pilgrimage to Dad's esteemed colleagues.
There are a lot of men, my father's age or older, and a few women, too. They're not cute, but I still smile at them charmingly, and to great effect. The guys get impatient waiting for me to sit down, so Dad pulls out a chair for me pointedly. I sit, and a waiter comes to take our drink orders. When he leaves, Dad and I get up.
"Hello, everyone," Dad says. "This is my son, Asaba Hideaki."
---
The phone at my dad's place rings. Tsubasa's watching TV, and my dad's out, so I answer it. It's Saturday night, 8 PM. My dad's wireless isn't metal, but it still looks rusted. "Hello," I say, plopping down onto Dad's big white couch. It's soft, sinking under my weight so wonderfully.
"Can I speak to Asaba Hideaki?" Arima asks. I practically drop the phone, catch with my other hand before it can crash onto the carpet. Why would Arima want to talk to me?
"Yeah, this is Hideaki," I say.
I always thought if I fell in love with someone, they'd be special. I was willing to wait for it, to wait for that person, but once I found them, I was going to give them everything I have.
"Oh," Arima says. Even though he's trying not to sound like it, I can tell how uncomfortable he is. I was so close to him before, I can hear that. "Hi."
"What's up?" I ask. Tsubasa isn't paying any attention. She's not interested in my phone conversations.
Arima's winding the phone cord around his wrist, the softest, most infinitesimal sound, the brush of plastic, synthesis. His breathing is sharp. "When I asked Tsubaki," Arima says, "She said you were staying here. I-"
"Just because you don't have parents," I say, "Doesn't mean I can't."
I'm glad Arima's not right here when I say that to him. His face must be really scary. I feel a nasty satisfaction at the knowledge I've hurt him, but mostly I feel kind of guilty. But Arima doesn't know how to talk about his feelings, his wishes, can't really talk about anything real. He can't retort. He doesn't know what to say.
"What's up?" I ask again.
Arima's voice is tight. I've upset him, and I can feel he hates me. He's also worried about something else. "Tsubasa's missing," he says, and I bite my tongue. "Apparently she's fighting with her family, and on Friday, she didn't come home. No one knows anything about where she could be or if she's alright."
"Oh, really," I say.
"Do you know anything?" Arima asks.
I don't hesitate. "No, I have no idea where she could have gone."
"Alright," Arima says. "Well, thanks anyway."
"Arima," I say, and try to find my voice.
"Yeah?" Arima asks. The sky outside the window is dark and smoggy. There's a picture of my mother on my father's desk. I pick it up and look at my mother for the first time in years. I've found my voice.
"Arima," I say, "I hate you. You're a fake and you're cruel. You're unstable and afraid, and you'd do anything not to have to admit it to yourself. You're really just a frightened, abused little boy who never grew up."
Arima is quiet. I look at Tsubasa, wolfing down my dad's honey mustard pretzels and strawberry pocky, completely oblivious. I don't stop.
"You always get your way, and everyone always loves you! Everyone thinks you're so wonderful! And- and you are." My voice breaks, and I pinch my eyes shut tight. Arima's breathing sounds strange.
"I- I just wanted to be with you," I admit. Tsubasa chomps down way too loudly on her pocky and turns the big-screen's volume up. I listen to the other end, motionless, and Arima starts to cry.
I hang up and turn to Tsubasa, remembering her wails about if she could just get her father to see how Not fine she was about his engagement, she was sure he'd listen to her then-
I walk over to her and press the TV's mute button. "Oi, chibi," I say. She looks up.
"What is it, Asapin?" she asks. I watch her for a second, then sigh. I-
"You're a great girl, Tsubasa," I say. "You're really a great girl."
"Are you hitting on me?" she asks bluntly, and I laugh and sit down to watch the rest of the movie with her. I don't say anything about what Arima told me.
---
Tsubasa and I get home really late Sunday night. We get off the train and pick up our luggage. I carry Tsubasa's out of the station, then we're standing alone together on the empty city streets of our own town. In this city, we can see the stars.
"Tsubasa," I say. "Tsubasa, are you going home?"
"Yeah," she whispers, looking down. "I'm gonna go home."
"Good luck," I tell her. She nods and leaves. I go to Arima's house after watching her go, but I don't knock on the door. I go home, too.
---
For the art display, I paint all my female friends, sitting in a circle laughing and smiling. The play is a really big success. I get lots more fangirls. Arima is consistently the top scorer in all of the school's testing, and still the perfect model student.
I haven't given up. I always thought, after all, that if I ever loved someone, I'd give them all of myself. So that's my plan. After all, he won't be able to turn me down forever. I am, as always, irresistible.
I'm a real boy now.
Oh, and the lyrics for the text cuts were all from "I Want to be Your Number One", a Nadesico song by Minami Omi.
Translations-
If I had met you before anyone else
You would have loved me as in my dreams as I wish, right?
If once more, if once more, we were reborn and met again...
Next time, I want to be your number one.
Nevertheless, as always, I still think you're number one.
This chapter is in some ways more depressing and in some ways more positive than all the others before it. This is my favorite chapter, the one most personal to me, and it just means a lot to me. Asapin's come a long way, hasn't he? Once again, I apologize for any discrepancies in characterization.
Oh, and anyone who's seen Vision of Escaflowne will know La Torre is the tarot card The Tower, the card of "distant separation." I just finished watching Escaflowne, which probably reflects on this chapter. I finally found out the true meanings of distant separation, and of courage.
Model Student
Chapter 5-
La Torre
A few minutes after I get home, Arima calls. The phone rings a few times before I pick up. I've been listening to the radio at full volume, so it takes me a while to register that the ringing isn't part of the song playing. I pick up the receiver and hold it to my ear. "Yeah?" I ask, keeping my voice careless and trouble-free. Ah, I'm not even having the time of my life, just existing, you know?
"Hideaki," the other end says. Only my dad and Arima call me that. It's Arima's voice. Even though he and Dad's voices sound the same, they're different, too.
I want to slam the phone down. I bet it would be the first time anyone ever hung up on Arima. But so stupidly, there's still the hope in me that what he'll say will be good. What if he's calling to say he's sorry he pushed me away, he was just confused, that he really wants to be with me? But he'll probably say that he is sorry, but we can't be friends anymore. I put the fan on when I got home, but now the living room's gotten too cold. I don't move to turn it off, but I make my teeth chatter. The music is a new song, a much harder, harsher one. The static-like guitar riffs that characterize it are so not my thing, but I don't feel like moving to change the station. When I'm anxious, I think faster.
"Hideaki," Arima says, "Are you there?"
"Yeah," I reply. Maybe I can just say that one word for the entire conversation.
Arima sounds worried, which actually doesn't make me happy, it makes me feel sick, and if I fake having the flu I don't have to make myself go to school tomorrow. Arima's worried. "Hideaki, are you okay?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"Hideaki," Arima says, sounding upset, "I'm sorry."
Arima's more predictable than you'd think. Smart people are all like that. I mean, like, you know how smart people are supposed to be dangerous because of their intelligence? It's the other way around.
"Will you stop saying my name so much?" I snap, breaking my resolution.
Arima sighs. I hate it when we get into situations like this. I know what he's gonna say, so I don't wanna hear it, I just want him to shut up.
"Will you turn down the music?" Arima asks.
"No."
"Don't be an asshole," Arima says. "You're the one who-"
"Who what?" I ask, cutting him off. I'm angry, a feeling that, like, partners up with sadness, and buys it flowers, and sweet-talks it majorly, and just maybe gets lucky.
"Hideaki," Arima says, and I think he's still the same way he was at his house. I grip the phone tighter in my hand. An advertisement for some huge car is blaring on the radio. "I'm not gay," says Arima.
"What?" I say, blink. "H-how do you know?"
Arima sounds like a car engine that's having problems starting, puffing in and out. He doesn't have a good reason why, though. He's the one in control.
"I don't know, really," Arima says. "I mean, I'm not sure. I've never liked anyone either way. But- Hideaki, it wouldn't be you anyway."
"Why- why not?" I hiss, I actually think I hiss. I really think I'm going to throw up. I can taste the sour, salty bile at the back of my throat. This is the part where I'm supposed to wake up.
"Dammit, Hideaki," Arima growls, "What do you want me to say?"
"Whatever," I snap. I really am gonna hang up in just a second. I really will.
Arima goes Sigh. Yeah, I know, I'm such a pain to him. "You really meant it, didn't you," he says.
"What do you care," I retort. I imagine the satisfaction of the crash of the wireless into its holder and one of the lights on the fan flickers and burns out.
"Hideaki," Arima says, and it's an echo of before, deja blue, "I wouldn't be able to stand it without you. You know I wouldn't."
"But-"
"Hideaki," Arima says, voice becoming almost frantic, almost desperate, and I know I'm the only one to ever hear him like this. "You're still my friend, right? I can't be with you, not that way, but we're still friends, right? I mean, I'm not really that special. I'm just a model student. You'll get over your crush soon enough, and things can go back to normal." He's talking so fast he's practically babbling. "I mean, everybody likes you, everybody. Lots of people, guys and girls, whichever you want, anyone would go out with you. You can find someone else, I know you will, and we'll be friends, and it'll be all for the best-"
Friends? He wants to stay friends? Of course he does. I hadn't considered it, but I am his friend, his best friend. I'm important to him.
"Fuck you," I say.
"Excuse me?" Arima says.
"If I'm your friend, if I'm so special to you-" I cut myself off. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't ever understand. I try to take deep breaths to keep my heaving stomach under control.
"If it can't be me, why were you jealous?"
Arima's getting tired of me, I can tell. He's used to the world bending whichever way he wants it to, so I'm disgusting. "Hideaki," he says. "When someone always focuses on you, you don't have to like them at all to be jealous when they focus on someone else. It offended my ego, that's all."
"Arima," I whisper, so sick. "This isn't you. This can't be."
"I guess you don't know me as well as I thought you did," he says. "Friends?"
"Yeah," I say, "Friends," and hang up. I turn the radio off and go into the bathroom. I stand over the toilet, stick my finger down my throat, and make myself throw up. Only acid comes out.
---
I walk into the classroom where Sakura-tachi are having lunch, and promptly fall over. They're... singing?
"Do you really want to hurt me?" Rika croons into her hairbrush mike. "Do you really want to make me cry?"
"Number one!" Tsubasa shrieks. "Tsubasa, Tsubasa, number one!"
Aya's rapping. "Beer is a wonderful thing, it sprouts from the ground in springs, it makes the world happy, it makes your life fun, colon cancer for everyone!"
"Purple!" Sakura wails in English, posing on a desk and launching in an energetic Irish jig. "Purple!"
"Guys," I say, "I'm not in the mood."
They stop, glare at me as if I'm burning them in effigy. "Aya wrote a play!" Rika cries. "And we're all gonna star in it!"
Normally, I'd be totally psyched, either that or rejecting it totally vehemently. I'm normally so involved, but I don't feel anything, no reaction whatsoever. I'm not excited, but I have to act like I am. I don't have a choice.
"Oh, cool!" I yell, run over to the girls and grab Aya's hands. "Asaba Hideaki's gonna be a star!"
---
"Realism!"
"Impressionism!"
"Realism!"
"Impressionism!"
Arisu is such an idiot. Can't she tell something as artistic as ancient ruins demands impressionism? The others should be setting her straight, but instead, they're just shaking their heads at us. Wakato-sensei seems to like how we're having such impassioned, lively discussions.
After the class, we've finally reached a temporary truce. Kyo says he thinks we're both idiots, that it's too early to spend time debating things like that anyway. Chihiro's sketching as she walks, ignoring Risa, peering over her shoulder.
Kyo invites me to come over to his house this weekend. He says there's this painting he wants to show me. The girls get indignant they're not invited, and Kyo says a guy would appreciate it better. Arisu says it's probably porno. Kyo yells that it's not and gets indignant. We all laugh at him.
When I mention I'm doing a play with Sakura-tachi, Risa gets all pissed. It takes me a while to figure out that Risa and Sakura are both in the volleyball club. Arisugawa and Tsubaki, Arisu tells me, have a rather infamous rivalry. That makes us all laugh again. Us weird artists take turns being the butts of jokes.
Since it's an even day, I walk Chihiro to her class, being a gentleman to a dyke, and she asks if I'm doing okay. She says everyone, and she means everyone, she's even talked to Shibahime Tsubasa, everyone thinks I've been acting weird, that I've been trying too hard. She wants to know if something happened, because she and all my friends are getting worried.
It's just like Chihiro to be their emissary. Or liaison, whatever. I mean, she's such a good person.
I say everything's fine, and I really am happy. I'm not faking it at all. Chihiro asks if Arima and I had a fight, because we're treating each other like we're just polite acquaintances. I say Arima and I are best friends. We always will be.
---
Tsubasa and I are making plans for a trip us and our friends are taking. I don't remember what genius assigned the two of us and no one else to something so important, but I bet they'll regret it when they find out what kind of job we've done.
Tsubasa's been, like, no help at all. She started out paying attention, but then she slept for a while, then woke up and started sharpening her teeth. No, I am not kidding. And I fell asleep a few times in the middle of deliberations, too. Yeah, we are so an intrepid team. It was up to us to pick out a good transportation and a beach to go to. Well, we picked them, but I wouldn't say good. Yeah, let's not go there. Thanks.
Finally done! At least we're finished. Tsubasa's watching me, though, and its kinda creepy, with her nails sharpened to veritable claws as well as her fangs. Her huge eyes are kind of watery-looking, though not the way you'd think. She's not sad. I walk over to her, show her the brochures of the ones I picked. She eats them. I goggle at her. Goggle is a funny word, like gobble, the word Americans say that turkeys make. I find lots of stuff funny.
Tsubasa mutters, "I don't feel sorry for you."
I think I know what she's talking about, but I'd rather not. Still, I think she deserves at least verisimilitude from me. Who else loves that word? It's one of my vocab words in grammar class. Writing is like picking a series of musical notes.
"Well," I say, "I'm not sorry for you either."
We're gonna spend a weekend at the beach, but before that, my email has an invitation for me, another place to go the weekend before that. My father's invited me to come down and meet his colleagues. Maybe I'll tell Arima about it, maybe I won't.
Tsubasa really is gorgeous. It's the kind that actually takes you a while to notice. I mean, the first time you see her, you can tell she's cute and she's pretty, with the looks of a porcelain doll. But Tsubasa and I start talking about our fathers, and I realize she's beautiful. I can't believe someone could love their parents as much as she does. I can't believe how fucking upset she is that her father's getting remarried.
I furtively start to sketch her under the table as she stammers out these words. She whispers that she hasn't talked to Arima about it, because the way he's been treating me has scared her. She says she thinks I confronted him about my feelings, and now he' put this indescribable, unbreakable distance between us. It's the distance between her and her father, the father who fell in love with another woman while his daughter was hurt. It's the distance that's always been between her and Arima, because the person she is was just never good enough.
I ask Tsubasa to go out with me, and she says no.
She doesn't usually like to talk much, but the little one's babbling now. I go to the cafeteria and bring us both back cans of juice, grape for her, orange for me. I just love girls. I just love people.
We formulate battle plans, not plans for the trip we're gonna take, plans to break up her father's engagement. That probably isn't the best idea, but it makes us both feel a whole lot better.
I tell Tsubasa the things Aya told me about the play, that it's gonna be set in the future, a dystopia, like that book we read in third-year junior high, and Tsubasa and I are to be robots. That's probably because our looks are both so perfect. I buy us each a second juice, and Tsubasa tells me about a new boy in Class F, Tonami Takefumi, a smart, popular, intellectual boy who knows Arima and seems friendly with him. I think I'm more jealous about it than she is.
She tells me how Tonami seems to have adopted Sakura as his personal rival. She tells me about how she met Sakura in kindergarten. I tell her about meeting Sakura in high school. She tells me about how good Rika's strawberry shortcake is, and I resolve to pester her for some. When the subject of visiting my father comes up, I invite Tsubasa to come along, and she agrees.
---
I take Namie to a movie on Wednesday night. It's an import from China, a martial arts movie which employs way too much symbolism and way too few laws of physics. It's the most bloodthirsty thing I've seen in my entire life. Namie thinks it's brilliant.
My date wants to stop by the bookstore before getting dinner, even though it's already pretty late. She probably has some manga she wants to pick up, I didn't really listen to what she said. She disappears into the miscellaneous shelves of books, and I wait at the front, checking out the scantily clad women on the magazine covers. I poke a hole in the hem of my T-shirt. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Arima walks up to the counter and buys a book. It's some intellectual-type thing I don't recognize. He sees me and walks over. I nod to him. My hands are sweaty. My hair is getting in my face, so I push it out of the way.
Arima laughs, and his greeting is, "What in the world are you doing in a bookstore?"
I breathe in, breathe out. "Namie-chan wanted to stop to pick up a manga," I say.
"Oh," Arima says blandly. "That's nice."
My throat feels parched, dry in a way that makes me want to start coughing incessantly. I look at my watch, and the seconds are ticking by more or less the way they do normally. I reach into my pocket and pull out info on the trip we're taking. I give it to him. I want to fall asleep standing.
"We can talk then," I tell him. A dull, capricious pain passes across my ankle. My fingernails are a little dirty, and my watch left a pink line imprinted on my wrist.
Arima leaves and Namie comes back. I tell her I don't feel well, so she should just walk herself home. She does, though she looks kinda sad, peers at me curiously before skedaddling.
I go into the one-man bathroom in the back room of the bookstore and stick my index finger up my throat again. This time, I have popcorn and carbonation to throw up. In and out. In and out. I'm just really exhausted.
---
I first meet Tonami when I'm with my art friends. We've just been dismissed, it's the end of the day, and we're psyched from all the painting exercises we've been doing, plus Chihiro just made something really cool. Arisu and Risa are pretending to be mad at each other and dissing the other one, trying to slap one another. Chihiro and I are infinitely invigorated by the prospect of a chick fight. Kyo, being gay, can't quite appreciate it the way we do, but he still finds it vastly amusing.
Chihiro tells them to stop when someone walks up to us. It's a guy, sorta cute, dark skin. Kyo tells me it's the guy who hangs out with Arima now, it's Tonami.
"Asaba Hideaki?" he asks. I find myself incredibly annoyed by this guy.
"Yeah," I say, feeling my precarious good mood vanish, "That's me."
"You're friends with Tsubaki, right?" she asks, and Chihiro snorts. Risa looks interested with the mention of Sakura, but Kyo and Arisu, though they stay, open their backpacks and start flipping through each other's sketch books.
"What's it to you?" I ask, not nicely. I don't have much patience for guys.
"Will you give her a message for me?" he asks.
"Sure," I agree, groaning inwardly. God, this is like a bad movie.
Tonami opens his mouth, then closes it. "Nevermind," he says, and walks away. Risa giggles for no apparent reason. Arisu and Kyo don't even look up as he leaves. Chihiro already split sometime before and I didn't notice.
Tonami, huh? None of my business.
---
I go over to Kyo's house on Sunday evening. That's a very sad time, since it's right before Monday, the beginning of the school week, but I know I can make it fun.
Kyo lives in a pretty nice house, red brick with a white roof and all this ivy creeping up it. There's a weeping willow dominating the front yard, and one of its branches whacks me in the face as I fight my way to the entrance. It's as if they put that tree there to, like, take out the door-to-door salesman or something.
The whole place inside is high art. Shit. Alright... Is that an original? Looks like it. He must have one hell of a rich mom and dad.
Kyo comes running down the stairs half-dressed. "Oh, hey, Asapin!" he calls. "I just got up two seconds ago!"
Just when did he go to bed last night? Nut job. "You didn't forget I was coming, did you?" I ask playfully.
Kyo laughs. "How could I forget you?" I follow him up to his room, since I'm guessing that's where he's keeping the painting he wanted to show me. I hope it's really good.
Kyo pulls on a shirt while I survey his room. It's being invaded by his painting supplies. He's not the kinda guy to take something halfway. Predictably, the place is messy as hell. Arima's room is like this, only more expensive, and clean.
Kyo shows me the painting after shamefacedly trying to tidy up at little. I tell him that I don't care, because my own room at home is messier. He relaxes after that, and I get to see what I came to see. The painting is... the picture on the canvas is...
It's a wolf, gray, brown, black, staring at the viewer lustfully. This one's a flesh-eater, a flesh-eater in perfect proportion. His eyes are narrowed but still luminescent. He's licking his chops, a canine jaw already marred with blood. His fur is sleek, careful brush strokes turning the beast alive. His background is pure black. His gaze is so intense, he's looking right at me, wishing he could jump out and consume me.
"See?" Kyo says. "A girl wouldn't understand."
"Does it have a name?" I breathe, spellbound.
"No," says Kyo. "And it won't, I don't think. But the painting will. What do you think of it?"
I usually hate praising others, but, "It's incredible," I admit. "I could never paint anything that great. It really seems alive."
"Asapin, you're a wonderful painter," Kyo feels obliged to say, then ventures, "You really think so?"
"Yeah," I say, trying not to feel jealous. "I'd like to have that for myself."
"Eh, sorry," Kyo laughs, "But no."
"What technique did you use for that part of the ear?" I ask, and the art talk starts, and continues for a while. "It looks really..."
By 7:00, we've exhausted all we have to say about the wolf. Kyo looks really serious about then, which kinda alerts me, makes me wary. "Asapin," he begins, "Yesterday, I talked to Shibahime Tsubasa."
Oh. Shit. "What about it?"
"She said you confessed to Arima."
That stupid little bitch. "So what?" I snap, defensive. Kyo, stretched out across his bed, sighs.
"Asapin, we're friends, aren't we?" he says.
"Yeah," I say in a small voice. "Of course we are." I wish he hadn't said that. He couldn't have known, but-
"I'm sorry," Kyo says.
I'm sorry.
"Asapin-" he says, and I cut him off. There's a strange idea forming in my mind. I stare into the golden eyes of the wolf, and the wolf growls back, and if my life had a soundtrack, the cellos would be rising in speed, crescendo-ing, becoming unlike themselves, frantic and sour.
"Don't call me Asaba," I say. "Call me Hideaki."
-cut-
"Asapin," Kyo says. "I'm in love with Tsuyoshi."
---
Tsubasa and I ride a train to Tokyo. We've both been there before, but the hustle and bustle of the city is still striking. I'm glad to be off the train, though. Tsubasa brought a book, but I didn't, and there wasn't any other girls in our compartment. All I did was beat a few old geezers with lolicons off Tsubasa.
It's almost dinnertime when we arrive. I have the address of Father's apartment on a piece of paper, and we find after wandering a little. I press the call button on the side of the building and dial his number. His familiar voice tells me to come on up. Tsubasa squeaks. It's weird, but I think she might be scared. She doesn't like new people. There's been something bothering her, too.
"Tsubasa?" I say, watching the numbers on the elevator panel rise, "What is it that I'm missing? What is it constraining me?"
It's a line from Aya's play, so Tsubasa looks up at me, eyes red, and delivers her own line back. "What's missing in you? Start with a heartbeat."
The elevator doors open at the tenth floor. I count down the places until we reach my father's. He's left the door open for us. The place is just as flawless and faceless as I remember it. There's so much white. Tsubasa whimpers as she comes in, treading on my heels. My father comes out to meet us. He's surprised to see Tsubasa, since I, of course, forgot to tell him I was bringing her. Shit, I already know this is gonna be one hell of a visit.
"Welcome," Dad says.
"Hey, Dad," I say. "I brought my friend Tsubasa with me."
Dad groans, gaze on Tsubasa full of disgust, and I remember we always fought about me carrying on with girls. He seems to dismiss her, angry at me, deeming her unimportant. Then Tsubasa runs forward and bites his leg.
"AAAAAAAH!"
The scream echoes deep into the Tokyo night. Some manga once called this city Babylon. Tsubasa and I both add languages all our own.
You know, I think I forgive my father.
---
Tsubasa stays at the apartment the next day, but since Father has work off, he takes me to a lunch he's set up to introduce me. I wear nice clothes, making me presentable. I make no promises of the behavior to expect from me, however.
The restaurant turns out to be the first floor of a hotel. Everyone there is incredibly well-dressed. There are some really cute girls here with their families. I wink at each one as I pass them, and they giggle. I pose and preen for them and let them be struck dumb by my beauty. Ego satisfied, I continue on my pilgrimage to Dad's esteemed colleagues.
There are a lot of men, my father's age or older, and a few women, too. They're not cute, but I still smile at them charmingly, and to great effect. The guys get impatient waiting for me to sit down, so Dad pulls out a chair for me pointedly. I sit, and a waiter comes to take our drink orders. When he leaves, Dad and I get up.
"Hello, everyone," Dad says. "This is my son, Asaba Hideaki."
---
The phone at my dad's place rings. Tsubasa's watching TV, and my dad's out, so I answer it. It's Saturday night, 8 PM. My dad's wireless isn't metal, but it still looks rusted. "Hello," I say, plopping down onto Dad's big white couch. It's soft, sinking under my weight so wonderfully.
"Can I speak to Asaba Hideaki?" Arima asks. I practically drop the phone, catch with my other hand before it can crash onto the carpet. Why would Arima want to talk to me?
"Yeah, this is Hideaki," I say.
I always thought if I fell in love with someone, they'd be special. I was willing to wait for it, to wait for that person, but once I found them, I was going to give them everything I have.
"Oh," Arima says. Even though he's trying not to sound like it, I can tell how uncomfortable he is. I was so close to him before, I can hear that. "Hi."
"What's up?" I ask. Tsubasa isn't paying any attention. She's not interested in my phone conversations.
Arima's winding the phone cord around his wrist, the softest, most infinitesimal sound, the brush of plastic, synthesis. His breathing is sharp. "When I asked Tsubaki," Arima says, "She said you were staying here. I-"
"Just because you don't have parents," I say, "Doesn't mean I can't."
I'm glad Arima's not right here when I say that to him. His face must be really scary. I feel a nasty satisfaction at the knowledge I've hurt him, but mostly I feel kind of guilty. But Arima doesn't know how to talk about his feelings, his wishes, can't really talk about anything real. He can't retort. He doesn't know what to say.
"What's up?" I ask again.
Arima's voice is tight. I've upset him, and I can feel he hates me. He's also worried about something else. "Tsubasa's missing," he says, and I bite my tongue. "Apparently she's fighting with her family, and on Friday, she didn't come home. No one knows anything about where she could be or if she's alright."
"Oh, really," I say.
"Do you know anything?" Arima asks.
I don't hesitate. "No, I have no idea where she could have gone."
"Alright," Arima says. "Well, thanks anyway."
"Arima," I say, and try to find my voice.
"Yeah?" Arima asks. The sky outside the window is dark and smoggy. There's a picture of my mother on my father's desk. I pick it up and look at my mother for the first time in years. I've found my voice.
"Arima," I say, "I hate you. You're a fake and you're cruel. You're unstable and afraid, and you'd do anything not to have to admit it to yourself. You're really just a frightened, abused little boy who never grew up."
Arima is quiet. I look at Tsubasa, wolfing down my dad's honey mustard pretzels and strawberry pocky, completely oblivious. I don't stop.
"You always get your way, and everyone always loves you! Everyone thinks you're so wonderful! And- and you are." My voice breaks, and I pinch my eyes shut tight. Arima's breathing sounds strange.
"I- I just wanted to be with you," I admit. Tsubasa chomps down way too loudly on her pocky and turns the big-screen's volume up. I listen to the other end, motionless, and Arima starts to cry.
I hang up and turn to Tsubasa, remembering her wails about if she could just get her father to see how Not fine she was about his engagement, she was sure he'd listen to her then-
I walk over to her and press the TV's mute button. "Oi, chibi," I say. She looks up.
"What is it, Asapin?" she asks. I watch her for a second, then sigh. I-
"You're a great girl, Tsubasa," I say. "You're really a great girl."
"Are you hitting on me?" she asks bluntly, and I laugh and sit down to watch the rest of the movie with her. I don't say anything about what Arima told me.
---
Tsubasa and I get home really late Sunday night. We get off the train and pick up our luggage. I carry Tsubasa's out of the station, then we're standing alone together on the empty city streets of our own town. In this city, we can see the stars.
"Tsubasa," I say. "Tsubasa, are you going home?"
"Yeah," she whispers, looking down. "I'm gonna go home."
"Good luck," I tell her. She nods and leaves. I go to Arima's house after watching her go, but I don't knock on the door. I go home, too.
---
For the art display, I paint all my female friends, sitting in a circle laughing and smiling. The play is a really big success. I get lots more fangirls. Arima is consistently the top scorer in all of the school's testing, and still the perfect model student.
I haven't given up. I always thought, after all, that if I ever loved someone, I'd give them all of myself. So that's my plan. After all, he won't be able to turn me down forever. I am, as always, irresistible.
I'm a real boy now.
Oh, and the lyrics for the text cuts were all from "I Want to be Your Number One", a Nadesico song by Minami Omi.
Translations-
If I had met you before anyone else
You would have loved me as in my dreams as I wish, right?
If once more, if once more, we were reborn and met again...
Next time, I want to be your number one.
Nevertheless, as always, I still think you're number one.