Because I am a bitter, bitter thing indeed.
*beats the unholy living hell out of the Chinese servers AND FFNet*
Because frankly, at this very moment in time, I can' tell who's at fault here. Either FFNet is wonky tonight - letting me log in, read fics, search etc, but NOT letting me upload - or China's internet service people have been given another order from the grand high dictator to 'stop those commoners from having fun online in my country, damnit'.
So yeah, if anyone's having trouble uploading to FFNet, can you drop me a line and let me know, so I can place appropriate blame and rant accordingly? Thanks. :)
I love Fridays. Oh sure, I have to go in to work early (read: for 10:15 as opposed to beginning at 12:30 the other 4 days of the week) but I also get out early, usually 2:30pm. Today I was finished at 1:15 because grade's A and B classes were crammed together and I taught them all at once after lunch so the teachers could leave school early to go traveling to another city.
Works for me. I played Sharks up the river with the kids - basically I have two teams. Each team is represented on the board by a canoe with a person inside it. I have a red canoe, and a blue canoe. I draw 2 'rivers' across the length of the board and do vertical lines all the way through it to mark off spaces the canoe moves along down the river. Then I place the canoes in the first squares - and my two pictures of Great White Sharks directly behind them.
I ask the teams questions and they have to give me the right answers in proper sentence format. If they are wrong, or grammatically incorrect, or don't know, or need help - they can still roll the dice to move ahead, but each time there's a problem, *I* get to roll to move the shark.
I 'ate' Team 1 today. ^^ Team 2 each got a 3D foam sticker in the form of various sea animals, that they can color and draw details on - a present from my dad, Beth and Peter during my summer 'christmas'.
So anyway, since FFNet's being a bratty child, I'm posting chapter 3 of ze Kamio fic here. It shall only be posted here because I can't access communities either remember. Stupid China. Love it here, really. But when it comes to internet....stupid China.
Title: Life Goes On - 3/?
Author: Stormy1x2 (traveling_storm)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word count for chapter 3(fic portion): 5244 (14 OpOff pages)
Pairings: Non-specific (for now)
Summary: A new year has begun for Fudoumine. Kamio-Buchou tries to run his team, take care of his family, and make something of himself, all without going completely insane. Chapter notes and fic under the cut.
Notes: Again, big thank you's to everyone who reviewed. I'm putting a lot more effort into this fic then some other ones I've done in other fandoms, and it's nice to see people enjoying it. :) Also, Writing Kamio interact with his sister's is a guilty pleasure for me. I believe that Kamio is a very caring person beneath that loud exterior - and I believe he's so high-strung and loud because of excessive stress in his life, as you can see here. ^^ His sister's are the source and also the solution for his stress. ^^
Additional: Yes, there are pairings forthcoming. No, they haven't even been hinted at yet. You'll get a clue in chapter 5, maaaaaaaybe chapter 4 - depends on how long it ends up being. ^^
o0o...o0o...o0o
He had forty minutes for lunch, and Kamio made sure to never waste a single one. The instant the bell rang, he shot out of his seat, bag in hand, and instantly made tracks for the clubhouse. If he had a lunch - which he did today, thanks to An-chan - he usually ate it while going over the rosters and schedules for the team. It only ever took a few minutes - the lineups for games never changed unless there were extenuating circumstances, and practices followed the same format Tachibana had instilled in them two years previous:
Mondays and Wednesdays were singles practices. Tuesdays and Thursdays focused on doubles, everyone playing at least two matches (best two out of three games per) with a different partner each time (in case those pesky extenuating circumstances ever popped up and the schedule had to undergo a rapid rearrangement). Afternoons were spent half on drills and stamina building, and half on weight-training or free-training. Fridays were all drill-work. Saturdays were usually reserved for exhibition games, and if nothing was scheduled, they had practice matches instead.
Having everything run on a familiar routine, meant it only ever took Kamio about ten or so minutes to check his books and make any additional notations from the mornings practice. The rest of his lunch period he usually spent trying to get ahead on his homework. The more he finished in the day was less that he had to do at night. Less homework at night meant possibly getting to sleep before midnight.
Catherine-sensei wasn't in the clubhouse. She usually ate her lunch with the Japanese teachers, but sometimes Kamio would find her in there, listening to music on her laptop while she worked on lesson plans. Even though she was a teacher, Kamio didn't mind the company at all - he had an interest in North American music and Catherine-sensei had a very large and varied collection of MP3's.
Kamio finished the last of the spicy hamburger patties in the lunch An had forced on him and washed it down with the last of his water, sticking the empty bottle in his bag to refill at home. Books updated, he turned to his math text, complete with accompanying worksheets piled a few inches thick, with a determined look. He was finished the portion he'd been assigned for homework - had in fact, finished it the week before - but he still wanted to get as far ahead as he could.
A knock on the door a while later brought him out of the confusing world of word problems, and he looked up to see Shinji glide silently inside. Kamio blinked. “You okay, Shinji?”
Shinji stared solemnly at him as he took the seat opposite Kamio. “I'm fine, but I knew you'd be in here doing math homework again and I know you try to keep ahead but that won't do you any good if the answers are wrong you know.”
Which was Shinji-speech for 'I'll check your work for you', and Kamio nodded gratefully. “Thanks Shinji,” he said, pushing one of the completed worksheets over to him.
Shinji nodded and set to work, muttering the word problems under his breath - what they were, how they should be done, what Kamio had done, and how the ones that were wrong or incomplete could be fixed, scribbling notes over the paper. Shinji might have been considered a little odd or eccentric by most of the student body, but he was a genius eccentric with a knack for both math and writing out tips and strategies in a way that made far more sense to Kamio then their math teacher ever had.
Kamio smiled to himself and turned the page in his math book, setting back to work.
o0o...o0o...o0o
“Let's go, let's go!” An clapped her hands eagerly, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet next to Kamio's desk. The bell had just rung, and even though Kamio was the captain, he still followed the same rules that Tachibana had laid down as law the year before. Practice began promptly at four-fifteen sharp, and that meant Kamio had fifteen minutes to get to the clubhouse, change, and begin.
An dropped the handle of his bag around his neck as he finished gathering his things. “I'll meet you there,” she said. There was no female change room in the clubhouse - being that there was no official female tennis team - so An had to hightail it to the girl's locker room by the gym to get ready. She always changed for practice, in case they needed her to join in. Even if they didn't, she usually did their workouts with them anyway, knowing she'd need to be ready to dive right into strenuous practices when she joined the high school team next year.
Kamio waved her on and stood up slowly, stretching his arms up over his head, listening to his spine pop back into place. History class, as fascinating as he usually found it, was still longer then any of the others he'd had that day. Monday was a double period and his tail bone ached from sitting on the hard chairs for the last two hours.
Shinji materialized next to him. Unsurprising, since he, An and Shinji all took history together. “What's taking you so long? The bell rang three minutes ago and you're still at your desk. You should be halfway to the clubhouse by now, seeing as how it's a three minute walk from this room and you usually jog over, yet you haven't moved.” He frowned at Kamio who rolled his eyes at him. “Don't roll your eyes at people. It's rude and a bad habit, and you're going to pass that on to your sisters. Then they'll do it to you and you won't be able to say anything without looking like a hypocrite.”
“So let's go,” Kamio interjected before Shinji could continue. He slid his chair into the desk and re-situated the strap An had plunked over him on his shoulder, gesturing for Shinji to precede him out of the classroom. “You know Shinji, you did a really good job with Norihisa this morning. Would you mind keeping an eye on him today?”
Shinji shrugged. “He twists his wrists when he serves, like that Ohtori kid from Hyoutei even though his speed isn't anywhere near the two hundred mark. His footwork is rough - he takes too much time to react to sharp shots at closer range.”
“So you can work with his speed drills today,” Kamio said, shrugging. “He's afraid of me and Sakurai for some reason, and Uchimura and Mori have their own foot problems they need to focus on today. He uses Ishida to hide behind and Ishida doesn't have the heart to force him into doing anything.” It was true - their tough teammate's muscular exterior housed a surprisingly gentle spirit, and he was loathe to impose his will on anyone. “Push him a little, okay Shinji?”
Shinji glanced at him contemplatively, and then nodded.
Drill practices didn't vary too much from day to day; mainly because the equipment they had was minimal, and funding hadn't been allotted to the tennis team yet that year. They'd been able to use what was left of the budget when they'd formed their new team to purchase their uniforms, but that was long gone. They'd managed to secure enough funds from the Headmaster to buy Norihisa his Regulars jacket - angry at them or not, the Headmaster did not want to be considered the laughing stock of the Kantou region for letting his school present themselves in shoddy, mismatching jerseys - but nothing had been given to them yet for purchasing new practice equipment. Players were responsible for their own personal equipment - racquets, grip tape, tennis bags, shoes - if they wanted to play.
It made things harder for them then it was for say, Houtei or Rikkaidai - heck, even Seigaku had a budget for the basics provided to them - but at the same time, Tachibana had taken the news with a smirk, saying if players had to do everything themselves, not only would it make them take the game seriously, but it would make them hungrier for the win.
It was true. Knowing that everyone had been against them; had, in fact, been actively rooting against them, had made them even more determined to fight back and prove they deserved every victory they got.
Still, Kamio reflected as he and Shinji reached the open clubhouse and took note of the battered and worn supplies inside the storage lockers. Being able to replace some of the balls that were losing their bounce, or restring the racquets with guts so saggy they were resembling lacross sticks, well, surely that wouldn't take away all their drive, right?
Ishida was already there, helping the first years drag out baskets of tennis balls. Sakurai was showing a young player how to properly re-tape the handle of his racquet and he looked up when the two of them walked in the door.
“The pylons are already set up,” he said. “Catherine-sensei was here early and did it for is - said she had nothing to do.” He motioned to the small firstie standing next to him. “Finish wrapping this the way I showed you.”
“Yes, Fukou-buchou!” The boy - Nara Tasuke, Kamio's mind pointed out - blinked up at Kamio with huge, adoring eyes. “Buchou!”
Kamio smiled awkwardly and let the boy dash past. Sakurai grinned saucily at him, getting up from the bench and walking over.
“Still not used to the idol-worshipping, hmm?” He snickered and mock-punched Kamio in the shoulder. “Isn't it cuuuute, the way they look at you, the way we used to look up to Tachibana-Buchou?”
“Shut up,” Kamio growled, feeling his cheeks grow hot, but at the same time, he couldn't argue. He did like the feeling, and, it always served as a reminder to treat their kouhai's properly. “That was different. It was...it was Tachibana-Buchou, for Kami's sake.”
“And you're Kamio-Buchou,” Sakurai returned calmly, whacking him on the back. “Now get out there and lead them.”
Kamio nearly doubled over - well, he was skinnier then Sakurai, especially since the boy had been hitting the weight room with his doubles partner, and he looked back at Sakurai with a glare. “I'm not sure how,” He said slowly. “...but there will come a day when I will get back at you, and I'm positive you won't be smiling then.”
“No. I'll be laughing.” Sakurai picked up his racquet. “See you out there, Buchou, Shinji.”
Whistling cheerfully, the boy sauntered out the door. Kamio rolled his eyes again, and Shinji gave him another smack, only this time upside the head. “Hey!”
“Don't roll your eyes, I told you about that and you thought I was joking, didn't you? We'll see if it's a joke and who will be laughing when your sisters start rolling their eyeballs every time you say something to them....”
o0o...o0o...o0o
Whoever had first coined the term 'suicides' for the series of sprints back and forth between the pylons whose distance gradually increased with each lap, couldn't have chosen a more fitting moniker. Even with his new-found stamina two years after starting to seriously train himself, Kamio still hated doing them with a passion. He wasn't the only one either.
“I'm dead,” Ishida said earnestly, gasping the words between huge intakes of air. “Somewhere during the last five sets, my physical body died but kept going anyway.”
“Me too,” Mori panted from where he lay flat on his back, arms and legs spread out as though he were attempting to make a snow angel on the court. “But if I'm dead, why does it still hurt?”
An was sprawled on her back, her legs over Ishida's legs, her head on Uchimura Kyosuke's stomach. She raised her hand. “I'd like to register my vote to have suicides banned from practice.”
Funny how they were dead with no energy, yet everyone managed to gather enough strength to raise their hands with surprising speed to agree with her.
As much as he wanted to lie there and complain (and possibly die along with them), Kamio wasn't allowed to. With a groan, he got his feet underneath him and pushed himself up. He hated what he was about to say, but there was no way around it. “Stair runs, thirty sets.”
A chorus of groans went up, followed by droned-out '....fiiiiiiinnnne...” and the Fudoumine tennis club got off their collective rears and staggered towards the bleachers. Stair runs were almost on par with suicides for cruelty (going up, anyway), but at least your muscles got a chance to breathe a bit on the way back down.
Kamio gritted his teeth and started them off, sprinting up the right side of the bleacher stairs as fast as he could go, listening to the sounds of his team following behind him. The Regulars took the first two sets of stairs that partitioned the bleachers, and the rest of the team members spread out over the last three. Reaching the top, Kamio turned around and lightly jogged back down on the left hand side, passing the others as they continued on their way up. Reaching the bottom again, was the completion of one set. He bit back a moan at the thought of twenty-nine more.
At the end of his twenty-second set, he saw Catherine-sensei wave to him from the end of the bleachers and he jogged over to see what she wanted.
“You have a call,” she said, pointing back to the office next to the clubhouse. “All I understood was 'hello' and 'Kamio'. I'm not sure but I think I told her to wait a minute but you know how bad my Japanese is.”
Kamio laughed. “I understand,” he said, and followed her back.
The office was small, a weather-beaten old desk set up in the middle of the wall along the right hand side, shelves along the back underneath a window Kamio had never seen open and was so crusted with dirt and filth, it probably couldn't open anyway. Kamio's books took up one shelf; forms and schedules and charts filled up the second. A first aid kit that Kamio made sure was kept fully stocked at all times, was tucked into the bottom corner of the third. A small fan was whirring away on top of the ancient TV set that sat on top of a wheeled cart, next to the door on the left hand side as Kamio entered behind the 'coach', a VCR unit underneath. Stacks of carefully labelled videocassettes were piled up next to it, the results of An's obsessive recording sessions.
The phone sat next to Catherine-sensei's laptop. It was probably over ten years old and crackled when one spoke into it, but Kamio had no problems identifying the person on the other end.
“Minagawa-san?”
“Hi Kamio. I'm sorry to disturb you during practice.”
Kamio shook his head, even as he realized she couldn't see his actions. “It's not a problem, Minagawa-san. That's one of the perks of being the captain.”
She laughed and Kamio felt the small spike of apprehension that he hadn't even noticed was there, drain away. She wouldn't be laughing if something were really wrong. “What's up?”
“I just called to let you know that Michiko came home with a fever today. It's not high, but it's making her cranky, and I thought I'd give you the heads up.”
Kamio sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. Again? “Thanks for telling me, Minagawa-san. I'll pick up some stuff at the store on the way home.”
“Oh, don't bother. I still have tons of medicines and things here leftover from Hana's bout with the flu two weeks ago. I've given her some children's Tylenol and she's lying down now with a gel-strip on her head. It seems to be doing some good. She wants you to come home, though. She was crying earlier - part of that crankiness, you know - but she was calling for you.”
Well, who else would she call out for? 'Momma' had stopped answering those calls before Michiko had even turned two. Kamio sighed again. “Tell her I'll be home in about half an hour, please. I have to stop at the store to get stuff for dinner--”
Minagawa-san interrupted him. “Kamio, I made an absolutely huge pot of soup for dinner, and there is plenty for everyone. Sachiko can eat now with Hana, but Miki-chan doesn't want anything until you come, so I'll send it home with you.”
Kamio just stood there silently for a second, twisting the phone cord around his fingers.
When Minagawa-san spoke again, her voice was gentle. “Just accept it for today, okay?”
“....of course. Thank you, Minagawa-san,” Kamio said finally, tiredly and hung up the phone. Catherine-sensei looked at him and frowned.
“Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” he said automatically. “My sister is sick. I have to go home early today.”
“Is it serious?”
Kamio shook his head. “No, but I should go.”
Anyone else would have perhaps wondered or even asked aloud why Kamio had to go and not a parent, but while she didn't pry into his personal business, Kamio had the feeling Catherine-sensei understood far more about his situation then she let on. The little sympathetic glances she occasionally tossed his way were big enough hints.
It was only five to five. Kamio would be leaving almost thirty-five minutes early. It wasn't like he had to do it often, but he still couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt stab him somewhere in his stomach.
Wandering back out to the court, he could see Sakurai and the other Regulars had finished their stair runs and were stretching themselves out. The last half hour of Monday and Wednesday drill practice was weight and free-training, meaning Regulars worked on what they felt they needed to work on. First years stuck to a strict regimen of sit-ups, push-ups, forehand and backhand swings, serves and beginner target practice. Targets were set up along the tennis wall, and they would line up and hit the ball against the target. Using the backhands and forehands they'd just finished doing a hundred reps of, they had to work on hitting the exact same spot on the target over and over again.
Catherine-sensei would watch from the office - or sometimes join them outside - to ensure there were no incidents, but she couldn't make the necessary observations, so Sakurai would monitor them for the first few minutes too, making notes before leaving them to do his own workout.
He and Ishida would hit the workout room along with Uchimura who, being the shortest member of the team, was determined to be the strongest if he couldn't be the tallest, and would work himself into either a frenzy or a coma, depending on his mood. Mori Tatsunori was always a bit paranoid about his reaction times, and would do speed drills for a while before using the ball-launcher (the only one they had and were super-protective of) on extreme-speed mode to work on his returns.
Shinji would help Norihisa for a little while longer before telling him what he should do on his own, and then head for the practice wall to rally against himself for a while. Sometimes he joined the others in the weight room, but it really wasn't that big and there were sometimes people from other teams in there, which made him nervous, even if he'd never admit it.
An-chan was...watching him. He smiled weakly and she scowled at him, not falling for it. He looked past her and raising a hand, he called out to Sakurai, waving him over.
“'Sup, Buchou?” Sakurai asked.
“I need to leave early,” Kamio said quietly. “My little sister came home with a fever and she's been asking for me.”
Sakurai tilted his head to the side and Kamio looked back at him. They'd done this the last time Michiko had been sick, and then there was the time Sachiko had come down with the chicken pox. He knew Sakurai was wondering why it was Kamio's problem to deal with and not someone else's - like, oh, say, a mother - but Sakurai had yet to come out and ask him head on.
Sakurai finally nodded. “No problem,” he said easily, and Kamio was again thankful that his Fukou-Buchou was such an easy-going person. “We'll just do what we usually do - what we always end up doing when you have to leave. I'll just have the first years clean up, the Regulars cool down, we'll have our orgy in the locker room and then head out.”
Kamio nodded at each item on Sakurai's checklist, and then blinked. “ What?”
“Gotcha.” Sakurai smirked and formed a gun with his fingers, playfully shooting him point-blank in the chest. “Bang.”
“You're a dork, Masaya.” Kamio smacked him in the head. Ignoring his second's cries of 'Abuse! Torture! Molester!', he turned to head back to the clubhouse.
An suddenly barred his path. “What is it?” She asked quietly.
Kamio exhaled, long and slow; resigned. “Michiko's running a fever,” he told her. “I need to go check on her.”
“Poor baby,” An frowned. “She was sick last week too, wasn't she?”
“Yeah.” Kamio shrugged. “She's susceptible to ear infections - that's probably what's causing her fever again this time. Minigawa-san's daughter was sick last week and had an ear infection too, so she's already given Michiko something. Hopefully it'll be gone by Wednesday. They don't usually last long.”
“But they're not fun while they do,” An said knowingly. “Well, go take care of them, and don't forget to eat something for dinner yourself, okay?” She poked him in the stomach. “It's not right that you have a better figure then I do.”
Kamio grinned tiredly and nodded. “Say hi to Tachibana for me.”
“I will.” An gave him a little push to the clubhouse. “You. Going now. Good stuff.”
“Yes, yes...”
o0o...o0o...o0o
Sachiko was happy to see him but also a little upset because his arrival meant she couldn't finish watching the Pocket Monsters movie with Hana. The fact that she had seen it a hundred times before meant absolutely nothing. Kamio left her to get ready and followed Minagawa-san to the spare bedroom where Michiko was dozing, her face red and blotchy, half from tears and half from the fever.
“Hey, baby girl,” Kamio murmured, reaching down to touch her shoulder. Michiko opened hazy eyes, saw her big brother and immediately reached up to him. He sat on the bed and let her crawl into his lap, cuddling her for a minute, letting her take comfort from the fact that he was back. Minagawa-san slipped out the door, murmuring something about making sure Sachiko was ready.
Kamio brushed Miki's hair back and touched the gel-strip on her forehead. It was warm, as though it had pulled the heat directly out of her head and into the strip itself.
“Feeling better, kiddo?”
“Mff.” Michiko grunted at him and burrowed closer. He chuckled and gently pulled the gel-strip off her head. The skin beneath it felt warm, but not the flaring heat it had been the last time she'd come home with a fever.
“Wanna go home now?”
“Mm-hmfff.” Another grunt. Kamio laughed at her again and stood up, bringing her with him. Carrying her downstairs, he saw Sachiko standing by the door, talking animatedly with Hana-chan about something they'd done in school, and Kamio had no doubt he'd be hearing about it at least three times before bed. Kamio set Miki-chan on the floor and slipped her shoes on her feet.
“Ready, Sachi?”
Sachiko nodded and then Minagawa-san appeared, holding a bag. She handed it to Kamio and he looked inside to see a large plastic container with a lid firmly held in place with kitchen elastics around the entire thing.
“The bowl is microwaveable,” she said. “You can give it back to me tomorrow.”
Kamio bowed low. “I will. Thank you.”
“It's no trouble at all, dear,” she said, waving him off. Kamio nodded and then turned around, letting Michiko climb on his back. She wrapped thin arms around his neck and snuggled in close, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Kamio gave Sachiko Miki's backpack to carry as he slung his tennis bag and his own schoolbag over his other shoulder, carrying the soup in his hand.
Sachiko skipped along the sidewalk, cheerfully telling him about how a boy in her class had laughed so hard during lunch that milk came out his nose, and Kamio made the appropriate 'ewwww, GROSS' noises she wanted to hear. Michiko was fast asleep by the time they reached the house, five minutes later.
Kamio had a moment where he had to juggle everything without dropping his bags or dislodging his 'rider' but he managed to liberate his keys from his backpack without incident, and he let Sachiko run ahead of him before closing and locking the gate.
Once inside, he stepped out of his shoes, dropped his bags, told Sachiko to carefully put the soup on the kitchen table, and then carried Michiko up the stairs to the girls shared room. He felt her forehead again, and was relieved to note that it seemed almost back to normal. If it was completely gone by morning, then there wasn't a problem. But if it came back, then that meant Kamio had to take her to the hospital to get looked at, and that meant tracking his mother down for extra money to pay for the trip. He grimaced at the thought.
He quickly swapped her uniform for her pajamas - she didn't want to open her eyes while he moved her arms and legs like a doll, and immediately flopped back over when he finished. He grinned at her and then moved away from the bed, picking up her uniform and shaking it out. It was still clean - she could get another days wear out of it, he noted, and so he hung it up carefully, before leaving the room. He'd wake her up in an hour or so, try to get her to eat something then.
Back downstairs, Sachiko had the TV on, and was lying on her stomach in front of it. Kamio poked his head in. “Homework?”
Sachiko nodded and moved over a bit so he could see the papers in front of her. “It's easy,” she informed him. “I finished my math in class, and I just have to write out my words for Japanese class.”
“What about English?”
She grinned and rolled over, sitting up to show him a picture of a teddy bear in a tuxedo dancing with a Barbie Doll, numbers scribbled all over it and a legend at the bottom. “Color by numbers,” she said. “I know how to read colors and I can read the numbers, so this is really easy.”
“I'll check it when you're done, okay?”
“Okay!”
“You hungry?”
“Nope!”
“Good.” Kamio went into the kitchen to heat up the soup for himself. After setting the timer on the microwave, he went back out to the hallway and opened his schoolbag. Minagawa-san had made sure he didn't need to cook dinner that night, but he had still stopped by the store for stuff for breakfast. Oatmeal was cheap, and the girls liked it with brown sugar and milk which they still had lots of.
Plus he was home early - it was just past five-thirty, which meant he had extra time. Extra time meant there was a very good chance he would get to bed early tonight. The thought made Kamio very happy. He put the meager groceries he'd purchased away, and pulled his homework out, setting it on the table to get started on while he ate.
The microwave went off and he went to get his dinner, breathing in deep the scent of a homemade meal, and for a split second, a wave of bitter-sweet nostalgia swept over him, dragging him briefly back to a time when there had been homemade dinners every night.
Then the moment passed, and Kamio set the bowl on the table with hands that were shaking only a little bit. The memories had sucker-punched him, taking away his appetite, and the smell that had been so good only seconds before was now making him nauseous.
Kamio scowled and fought back the urge to smack himself. It didn't do to dwell on things he couldn't change. Kamio reminded himself of that fact, and resolutely pulled his homework towards him, determined to put that rule into practice.
He had too much to do to let something as stupid as a memory wear on him and drag him down. It was a poor substitute, but at least homework would keep his mind occupied, and would actually be something useful to him.
Besides, if he focused on negative things, the girls would sense it, and then they would be upset and that was a Very Bad Thing. Kamio shuddered at the idea of twin waterworks going off.
“'Nii-chan?”
“Hmm?” Kamio looked up to see Sachiko poking her head in, her paper in hand. “Wanna see my picture?”
“Sure kiddo. Let's see it.”
Sachiko ran into the kitchen and ignored the other chairs in favor of Kamio's lap. She held up the picture and Kamio stifled a laugh. The bear was blue and had number two's written all over it. He looked down to see Sachiko had scribbled out the 'brown' that the two's were supposed to be, and had written 'blue' instead, in surprisingly neat printing. All of the colors had been switched.
“Sachiko?”
“See, the bear is Shinji because he's got blue hair and he's all huggy like a bear,” she said matter-of-factly. “See? He's wearing the Fudoumine uniform!” Sure enough, the tuxedo was colored black, but Sachiko had drawn in and colored the pink and white stripes on their jerseys. Kamio choked back a laugh and instead looked at Barbie. Instead of yellow, Sachiko had made it brown (making the required number change in the legend below), and had drawn in some pink barrettes. Barbie's dress looked very similar in color to the Fudoumine girls uniform.
“Is that supposed to be An-chan?”
“Uh-huh, because Barbie's pretty and so is An-chan.”
Kamio snorted and buried his face in his sister's hair so she wouldn't see him laughing. He was again reminded of how moments like these reminded himself that no matter how hard things sometimes got, there were times when everything was just perfect.
“Sachiko?”
“What?”
It was a good thing Sachiko's English teacher was an open-minded and creative person who would appreciate the extra effort she'd put into her work. He pointed at the paper, grinning widely. “After the teacher marks that and gives it back to you, bring it home, okay? You can show it to Shinji and An-chan on Saturday.”
“Okay!”
o0o...o0o...o0o
End Chapter 3
o0o...o0o...o0o
End Notes:
The worksheet Sachiko does is actually a color-by-numbers worksheet I've given my students, and I did have one student who didn't like the prescribed colors, so she rewrote them all to suit herself. I was impressed with the creativity and gave her a '100' - she was thrilled.
Gel strips for fevers are the greatest things ever invented. Sometimes they suck the heat out of you so fast it can make you dizzy. Whee!
I absolutely HATED doing suicides in high school for basketball, but I confess to not minding the stair runs. Not sure why.
Finally, if you see any errors or mistakes, feel free to let me know. Please. ^^
Bedtime. Meh.
Because frankly, at this very moment in time, I can' tell who's at fault here. Either FFNet is wonky tonight - letting me log in, read fics, search etc, but NOT letting me upload - or China's internet service people have been given another order from the grand high dictator to 'stop those commoners from having fun online in my country, damnit'.
So yeah, if anyone's having trouble uploading to FFNet, can you drop me a line and let me know, so I can place appropriate blame and rant accordingly? Thanks. :)
I love Fridays. Oh sure, I have to go in to work early (read: for 10:15 as opposed to beginning at 12:30 the other 4 days of the week) but I also get out early, usually 2:30pm. Today I was finished at 1:15 because grade's A and B classes were crammed together and I taught them all at once after lunch so the teachers could leave school early to go traveling to another city.
Works for me. I played Sharks up the river with the kids - basically I have two teams. Each team is represented on the board by a canoe with a person inside it. I have a red canoe, and a blue canoe. I draw 2 'rivers' across the length of the board and do vertical lines all the way through it to mark off spaces the canoe moves along down the river. Then I place the canoes in the first squares - and my two pictures of Great White Sharks directly behind them.
I ask the teams questions and they have to give me the right answers in proper sentence format. If they are wrong, or grammatically incorrect, or don't know, or need help - they can still roll the dice to move ahead, but each time there's a problem, *I* get to roll to move the shark.
I 'ate' Team 1 today. ^^ Team 2 each got a 3D foam sticker in the form of various sea animals, that they can color and draw details on - a present from my dad, Beth and Peter during my summer 'christmas'.
So anyway, since FFNet's being a bratty child, I'm posting chapter 3 of ze Kamio fic here. It shall only be posted here because I can't access communities either remember. Stupid China. Love it here, really. But when it comes to internet....stupid China.
Title: Life Goes On - 3/?
Author: Stormy1x2 (traveling_storm)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word count for chapter 3(fic portion): 5244 (14 OpOff pages)
Pairings: Non-specific (for now)
Summary: A new year has begun for Fudoumine. Kamio-Buchou tries to run his team, take care of his family, and make something of himself, all without going completely insane. Chapter notes and fic under the cut.
Notes: Again, big thank you's to everyone who reviewed. I'm putting a lot more effort into this fic then some other ones I've done in other fandoms, and it's nice to see people enjoying it. :) Also, Writing Kamio interact with his sister's is a guilty pleasure for me. I believe that Kamio is a very caring person beneath that loud exterior - and I believe he's so high-strung and loud because of excessive stress in his life, as you can see here. ^^ His sister's are the source and also the solution for his stress. ^^
Additional: Yes, there are pairings forthcoming. No, they haven't even been hinted at yet. You'll get a clue in chapter 5, maaaaaaaybe chapter 4 - depends on how long it ends up being. ^^
o0o...o0o...o0o
He had forty minutes for lunch, and Kamio made sure to never waste a single one. The instant the bell rang, he shot out of his seat, bag in hand, and instantly made tracks for the clubhouse. If he had a lunch - which he did today, thanks to An-chan - he usually ate it while going over the rosters and schedules for the team. It only ever took a few minutes - the lineups for games never changed unless there were extenuating circumstances, and practices followed the same format Tachibana had instilled in them two years previous:
Mondays and Wednesdays were singles practices. Tuesdays and Thursdays focused on doubles, everyone playing at least two matches (best two out of three games per) with a different partner each time (in case those pesky extenuating circumstances ever popped up and the schedule had to undergo a rapid rearrangement). Afternoons were spent half on drills and stamina building, and half on weight-training or free-training. Fridays were all drill-work. Saturdays were usually reserved for exhibition games, and if nothing was scheduled, they had practice matches instead.
Having everything run on a familiar routine, meant it only ever took Kamio about ten or so minutes to check his books and make any additional notations from the mornings practice. The rest of his lunch period he usually spent trying to get ahead on his homework. The more he finished in the day was less that he had to do at night. Less homework at night meant possibly getting to sleep before midnight.
Catherine-sensei wasn't in the clubhouse. She usually ate her lunch with the Japanese teachers, but sometimes Kamio would find her in there, listening to music on her laptop while she worked on lesson plans. Even though she was a teacher, Kamio didn't mind the company at all - he had an interest in North American music and Catherine-sensei had a very large and varied collection of MP3's.
Kamio finished the last of the spicy hamburger patties in the lunch An had forced on him and washed it down with the last of his water, sticking the empty bottle in his bag to refill at home. Books updated, he turned to his math text, complete with accompanying worksheets piled a few inches thick, with a determined look. He was finished the portion he'd been assigned for homework - had in fact, finished it the week before - but he still wanted to get as far ahead as he could.
A knock on the door a while later brought him out of the confusing world of word problems, and he looked up to see Shinji glide silently inside. Kamio blinked. “You okay, Shinji?”
Shinji stared solemnly at him as he took the seat opposite Kamio. “I'm fine, but I knew you'd be in here doing math homework again and I know you try to keep ahead but that won't do you any good if the answers are wrong you know.”
Which was Shinji-speech for 'I'll check your work for you', and Kamio nodded gratefully. “Thanks Shinji,” he said, pushing one of the completed worksheets over to him.
Shinji nodded and set to work, muttering the word problems under his breath - what they were, how they should be done, what Kamio had done, and how the ones that were wrong or incomplete could be fixed, scribbling notes over the paper. Shinji might have been considered a little odd or eccentric by most of the student body, but he was a genius eccentric with a knack for both math and writing out tips and strategies in a way that made far more sense to Kamio then their math teacher ever had.
Kamio smiled to himself and turned the page in his math book, setting back to work.
o0o...o0o...o0o
“Let's go, let's go!” An clapped her hands eagerly, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet next to Kamio's desk. The bell had just rung, and even though Kamio was the captain, he still followed the same rules that Tachibana had laid down as law the year before. Practice began promptly at four-fifteen sharp, and that meant Kamio had fifteen minutes to get to the clubhouse, change, and begin.
An dropped the handle of his bag around his neck as he finished gathering his things. “I'll meet you there,” she said. There was no female change room in the clubhouse - being that there was no official female tennis team - so An had to hightail it to the girl's locker room by the gym to get ready. She always changed for practice, in case they needed her to join in. Even if they didn't, she usually did their workouts with them anyway, knowing she'd need to be ready to dive right into strenuous practices when she joined the high school team next year.
Kamio waved her on and stood up slowly, stretching his arms up over his head, listening to his spine pop back into place. History class, as fascinating as he usually found it, was still longer then any of the others he'd had that day. Monday was a double period and his tail bone ached from sitting on the hard chairs for the last two hours.
Shinji materialized next to him. Unsurprising, since he, An and Shinji all took history together. “What's taking you so long? The bell rang three minutes ago and you're still at your desk. You should be halfway to the clubhouse by now, seeing as how it's a three minute walk from this room and you usually jog over, yet you haven't moved.” He frowned at Kamio who rolled his eyes at him. “Don't roll your eyes at people. It's rude and a bad habit, and you're going to pass that on to your sisters. Then they'll do it to you and you won't be able to say anything without looking like a hypocrite.”
“So let's go,” Kamio interjected before Shinji could continue. He slid his chair into the desk and re-situated the strap An had plunked over him on his shoulder, gesturing for Shinji to precede him out of the classroom. “You know Shinji, you did a really good job with Norihisa this morning. Would you mind keeping an eye on him today?”
Shinji shrugged. “He twists his wrists when he serves, like that Ohtori kid from Hyoutei even though his speed isn't anywhere near the two hundred mark. His footwork is rough - he takes too much time to react to sharp shots at closer range.”
“So you can work with his speed drills today,” Kamio said, shrugging. “He's afraid of me and Sakurai for some reason, and Uchimura and Mori have their own foot problems they need to focus on today. He uses Ishida to hide behind and Ishida doesn't have the heart to force him into doing anything.” It was true - their tough teammate's muscular exterior housed a surprisingly gentle spirit, and he was loathe to impose his will on anyone. “Push him a little, okay Shinji?”
Shinji glanced at him contemplatively, and then nodded.
Drill practices didn't vary too much from day to day; mainly because the equipment they had was minimal, and funding hadn't been allotted to the tennis team yet that year. They'd been able to use what was left of the budget when they'd formed their new team to purchase their uniforms, but that was long gone. They'd managed to secure enough funds from the Headmaster to buy Norihisa his Regulars jacket - angry at them or not, the Headmaster did not want to be considered the laughing stock of the Kantou region for letting his school present themselves in shoddy, mismatching jerseys - but nothing had been given to them yet for purchasing new practice equipment. Players were responsible for their own personal equipment - racquets, grip tape, tennis bags, shoes - if they wanted to play.
It made things harder for them then it was for say, Houtei or Rikkaidai - heck, even Seigaku had a budget for the basics provided to them - but at the same time, Tachibana had taken the news with a smirk, saying if players had to do everything themselves, not only would it make them take the game seriously, but it would make them hungrier for the win.
It was true. Knowing that everyone had been against them; had, in fact, been actively rooting against them, had made them even more determined to fight back and prove they deserved every victory they got.
Still, Kamio reflected as he and Shinji reached the open clubhouse and took note of the battered and worn supplies inside the storage lockers. Being able to replace some of the balls that were losing their bounce, or restring the racquets with guts so saggy they were resembling lacross sticks, well, surely that wouldn't take away all their drive, right?
Ishida was already there, helping the first years drag out baskets of tennis balls. Sakurai was showing a young player how to properly re-tape the handle of his racquet and he looked up when the two of them walked in the door.
“The pylons are already set up,” he said. “Catherine-sensei was here early and did it for is - said she had nothing to do.” He motioned to the small firstie standing next to him. “Finish wrapping this the way I showed you.”
“Yes, Fukou-buchou!” The boy - Nara Tasuke, Kamio's mind pointed out - blinked up at Kamio with huge, adoring eyes. “Buchou!”
Kamio smiled awkwardly and let the boy dash past. Sakurai grinned saucily at him, getting up from the bench and walking over.
“Still not used to the idol-worshipping, hmm?” He snickered and mock-punched Kamio in the shoulder. “Isn't it cuuuute, the way they look at you, the way we used to look up to Tachibana-Buchou?”
“Shut up,” Kamio growled, feeling his cheeks grow hot, but at the same time, he couldn't argue. He did like the feeling, and, it always served as a reminder to treat their kouhai's properly. “That was different. It was...it was Tachibana-Buchou, for Kami's sake.”
“And you're Kamio-Buchou,” Sakurai returned calmly, whacking him on the back. “Now get out there and lead them.”
Kamio nearly doubled over - well, he was skinnier then Sakurai, especially since the boy had been hitting the weight room with his doubles partner, and he looked back at Sakurai with a glare. “I'm not sure how,” He said slowly. “...but there will come a day when I will get back at you, and I'm positive you won't be smiling then.”
“No. I'll be laughing.” Sakurai picked up his racquet. “See you out there, Buchou, Shinji.”
Whistling cheerfully, the boy sauntered out the door. Kamio rolled his eyes again, and Shinji gave him another smack, only this time upside the head. “Hey!”
“Don't roll your eyes, I told you about that and you thought I was joking, didn't you? We'll see if it's a joke and who will be laughing when your sisters start rolling their eyeballs every time you say something to them....”
o0o...o0o...o0o
Whoever had first coined the term 'suicides' for the series of sprints back and forth between the pylons whose distance gradually increased with each lap, couldn't have chosen a more fitting moniker. Even with his new-found stamina two years after starting to seriously train himself, Kamio still hated doing them with a passion. He wasn't the only one either.
“I'm dead,” Ishida said earnestly, gasping the words between huge intakes of air. “Somewhere during the last five sets, my physical body died but kept going anyway.”
“Me too,” Mori panted from where he lay flat on his back, arms and legs spread out as though he were attempting to make a snow angel on the court. “But if I'm dead, why does it still hurt?”
An was sprawled on her back, her legs over Ishida's legs, her head on Uchimura Kyosuke's stomach. She raised her hand. “I'd like to register my vote to have suicides banned from practice.”
Funny how they were dead with no energy, yet everyone managed to gather enough strength to raise their hands with surprising speed to agree with her.
As much as he wanted to lie there and complain (and possibly die along with them), Kamio wasn't allowed to. With a groan, he got his feet underneath him and pushed himself up. He hated what he was about to say, but there was no way around it. “Stair runs, thirty sets.”
A chorus of groans went up, followed by droned-out '....fiiiiiiinnnne...” and the Fudoumine tennis club got off their collective rears and staggered towards the bleachers. Stair runs were almost on par with suicides for cruelty (going up, anyway), but at least your muscles got a chance to breathe a bit on the way back down.
Kamio gritted his teeth and started them off, sprinting up the right side of the bleacher stairs as fast as he could go, listening to the sounds of his team following behind him. The Regulars took the first two sets of stairs that partitioned the bleachers, and the rest of the team members spread out over the last three. Reaching the top, Kamio turned around and lightly jogged back down on the left hand side, passing the others as they continued on their way up. Reaching the bottom again, was the completion of one set. He bit back a moan at the thought of twenty-nine more.
At the end of his twenty-second set, he saw Catherine-sensei wave to him from the end of the bleachers and he jogged over to see what she wanted.
“You have a call,” she said, pointing back to the office next to the clubhouse. “All I understood was 'hello' and 'Kamio'. I'm not sure but I think I told her to wait a minute but you know how bad my Japanese is.”
Kamio laughed. “I understand,” he said, and followed her back.
The office was small, a weather-beaten old desk set up in the middle of the wall along the right hand side, shelves along the back underneath a window Kamio had never seen open and was so crusted with dirt and filth, it probably couldn't open anyway. Kamio's books took up one shelf; forms and schedules and charts filled up the second. A first aid kit that Kamio made sure was kept fully stocked at all times, was tucked into the bottom corner of the third. A small fan was whirring away on top of the ancient TV set that sat on top of a wheeled cart, next to the door on the left hand side as Kamio entered behind the 'coach', a VCR unit underneath. Stacks of carefully labelled videocassettes were piled up next to it, the results of An's obsessive recording sessions.
The phone sat next to Catherine-sensei's laptop. It was probably over ten years old and crackled when one spoke into it, but Kamio had no problems identifying the person on the other end.
“Minagawa-san?”
“Hi Kamio. I'm sorry to disturb you during practice.”
Kamio shook his head, even as he realized she couldn't see his actions. “It's not a problem, Minagawa-san. That's one of the perks of being the captain.”
She laughed and Kamio felt the small spike of apprehension that he hadn't even noticed was there, drain away. She wouldn't be laughing if something were really wrong. “What's up?”
“I just called to let you know that Michiko came home with a fever today. It's not high, but it's making her cranky, and I thought I'd give you the heads up.”
Kamio sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. Again? “Thanks for telling me, Minagawa-san. I'll pick up some stuff at the store on the way home.”
“Oh, don't bother. I still have tons of medicines and things here leftover from Hana's bout with the flu two weeks ago. I've given her some children's Tylenol and she's lying down now with a gel-strip on her head. It seems to be doing some good. She wants you to come home, though. She was crying earlier - part of that crankiness, you know - but she was calling for you.”
Well, who else would she call out for? 'Momma' had stopped answering those calls before Michiko had even turned two. Kamio sighed again. “Tell her I'll be home in about half an hour, please. I have to stop at the store to get stuff for dinner--”
Minagawa-san interrupted him. “Kamio, I made an absolutely huge pot of soup for dinner, and there is plenty for everyone. Sachiko can eat now with Hana, but Miki-chan doesn't want anything until you come, so I'll send it home with you.”
Kamio just stood there silently for a second, twisting the phone cord around his fingers.
When Minagawa-san spoke again, her voice was gentle. “Just accept it for today, okay?”
“....of course. Thank you, Minagawa-san,” Kamio said finally, tiredly and hung up the phone. Catherine-sensei looked at him and frowned.
“Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” he said automatically. “My sister is sick. I have to go home early today.”
“Is it serious?”
Kamio shook his head. “No, but I should go.”
Anyone else would have perhaps wondered or even asked aloud why Kamio had to go and not a parent, but while she didn't pry into his personal business, Kamio had the feeling Catherine-sensei understood far more about his situation then she let on. The little sympathetic glances she occasionally tossed his way were big enough hints.
It was only five to five. Kamio would be leaving almost thirty-five minutes early. It wasn't like he had to do it often, but he still couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt stab him somewhere in his stomach.
Wandering back out to the court, he could see Sakurai and the other Regulars had finished their stair runs and were stretching themselves out. The last half hour of Monday and Wednesday drill practice was weight and free-training, meaning Regulars worked on what they felt they needed to work on. First years stuck to a strict regimen of sit-ups, push-ups, forehand and backhand swings, serves and beginner target practice. Targets were set up along the tennis wall, and they would line up and hit the ball against the target. Using the backhands and forehands they'd just finished doing a hundred reps of, they had to work on hitting the exact same spot on the target over and over again.
Catherine-sensei would watch from the office - or sometimes join them outside - to ensure there were no incidents, but she couldn't make the necessary observations, so Sakurai would monitor them for the first few minutes too, making notes before leaving them to do his own workout.
He and Ishida would hit the workout room along with Uchimura who, being the shortest member of the team, was determined to be the strongest if he couldn't be the tallest, and would work himself into either a frenzy or a coma, depending on his mood. Mori Tatsunori was always a bit paranoid about his reaction times, and would do speed drills for a while before using the ball-launcher (the only one they had and were super-protective of) on extreme-speed mode to work on his returns.
Shinji would help Norihisa for a little while longer before telling him what he should do on his own, and then head for the practice wall to rally against himself for a while. Sometimes he joined the others in the weight room, but it really wasn't that big and there were sometimes people from other teams in there, which made him nervous, even if he'd never admit it.
An-chan was...watching him. He smiled weakly and she scowled at him, not falling for it. He looked past her and raising a hand, he called out to Sakurai, waving him over.
“'Sup, Buchou?” Sakurai asked.
“I need to leave early,” Kamio said quietly. “My little sister came home with a fever and she's been asking for me.”
Sakurai tilted his head to the side and Kamio looked back at him. They'd done this the last time Michiko had been sick, and then there was the time Sachiko had come down with the chicken pox. He knew Sakurai was wondering why it was Kamio's problem to deal with and not someone else's - like, oh, say, a mother - but Sakurai had yet to come out and ask him head on.
Sakurai finally nodded. “No problem,” he said easily, and Kamio was again thankful that his Fukou-Buchou was such an easy-going person. “We'll just do what we usually do - what we always end up doing when you have to leave. I'll just have the first years clean up, the Regulars cool down, we'll have our orgy in the locker room and then head out.”
Kamio nodded at each item on Sakurai's checklist, and then blinked. “ What?”
“Gotcha.” Sakurai smirked and formed a gun with his fingers, playfully shooting him point-blank in the chest. “Bang.”
“You're a dork, Masaya.” Kamio smacked him in the head. Ignoring his second's cries of 'Abuse! Torture! Molester!', he turned to head back to the clubhouse.
An suddenly barred his path. “What is it?” She asked quietly.
Kamio exhaled, long and slow; resigned. “Michiko's running a fever,” he told her. “I need to go check on her.”
“Poor baby,” An frowned. “She was sick last week too, wasn't she?”
“Yeah.” Kamio shrugged. “She's susceptible to ear infections - that's probably what's causing her fever again this time. Minigawa-san's daughter was sick last week and had an ear infection too, so she's already given Michiko something. Hopefully it'll be gone by Wednesday. They don't usually last long.”
“But they're not fun while they do,” An said knowingly. “Well, go take care of them, and don't forget to eat something for dinner yourself, okay?” She poked him in the stomach. “It's not right that you have a better figure then I do.”
Kamio grinned tiredly and nodded. “Say hi to Tachibana for me.”
“I will.” An gave him a little push to the clubhouse. “You. Going now. Good stuff.”
“Yes, yes...”
o0o...o0o...o0o
Sachiko was happy to see him but also a little upset because his arrival meant she couldn't finish watching the Pocket Monsters movie with Hana. The fact that she had seen it a hundred times before meant absolutely nothing. Kamio left her to get ready and followed Minagawa-san to the spare bedroom where Michiko was dozing, her face red and blotchy, half from tears and half from the fever.
“Hey, baby girl,” Kamio murmured, reaching down to touch her shoulder. Michiko opened hazy eyes, saw her big brother and immediately reached up to him. He sat on the bed and let her crawl into his lap, cuddling her for a minute, letting her take comfort from the fact that he was back. Minagawa-san slipped out the door, murmuring something about making sure Sachiko was ready.
Kamio brushed Miki's hair back and touched the gel-strip on her forehead. It was warm, as though it had pulled the heat directly out of her head and into the strip itself.
“Feeling better, kiddo?”
“Mff.” Michiko grunted at him and burrowed closer. He chuckled and gently pulled the gel-strip off her head. The skin beneath it felt warm, but not the flaring heat it had been the last time she'd come home with a fever.
“Wanna go home now?”
“Mm-hmfff.” Another grunt. Kamio laughed at her again and stood up, bringing her with him. Carrying her downstairs, he saw Sachiko standing by the door, talking animatedly with Hana-chan about something they'd done in school, and Kamio had no doubt he'd be hearing about it at least three times before bed. Kamio set Miki-chan on the floor and slipped her shoes on her feet.
“Ready, Sachi?”
Sachiko nodded and then Minagawa-san appeared, holding a bag. She handed it to Kamio and he looked inside to see a large plastic container with a lid firmly held in place with kitchen elastics around the entire thing.
“The bowl is microwaveable,” she said. “You can give it back to me tomorrow.”
Kamio bowed low. “I will. Thank you.”
“It's no trouble at all, dear,” she said, waving him off. Kamio nodded and then turned around, letting Michiko climb on his back. She wrapped thin arms around his neck and snuggled in close, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Kamio gave Sachiko Miki's backpack to carry as he slung his tennis bag and his own schoolbag over his other shoulder, carrying the soup in his hand.
Sachiko skipped along the sidewalk, cheerfully telling him about how a boy in her class had laughed so hard during lunch that milk came out his nose, and Kamio made the appropriate 'ewwww, GROSS' noises she wanted to hear. Michiko was fast asleep by the time they reached the house, five minutes later.
Kamio had a moment where he had to juggle everything without dropping his bags or dislodging his 'rider' but he managed to liberate his keys from his backpack without incident, and he let Sachiko run ahead of him before closing and locking the gate.
Once inside, he stepped out of his shoes, dropped his bags, told Sachiko to carefully put the soup on the kitchen table, and then carried Michiko up the stairs to the girls shared room. He felt her forehead again, and was relieved to note that it seemed almost back to normal. If it was completely gone by morning, then there wasn't a problem. But if it came back, then that meant Kamio had to take her to the hospital to get looked at, and that meant tracking his mother down for extra money to pay for the trip. He grimaced at the thought.
He quickly swapped her uniform for her pajamas - she didn't want to open her eyes while he moved her arms and legs like a doll, and immediately flopped back over when he finished. He grinned at her and then moved away from the bed, picking up her uniform and shaking it out. It was still clean - she could get another days wear out of it, he noted, and so he hung it up carefully, before leaving the room. He'd wake her up in an hour or so, try to get her to eat something then.
Back downstairs, Sachiko had the TV on, and was lying on her stomach in front of it. Kamio poked his head in. “Homework?”
Sachiko nodded and moved over a bit so he could see the papers in front of her. “It's easy,” she informed him. “I finished my math in class, and I just have to write out my words for Japanese class.”
“What about English?”
She grinned and rolled over, sitting up to show him a picture of a teddy bear in a tuxedo dancing with a Barbie Doll, numbers scribbled all over it and a legend at the bottom. “Color by numbers,” she said. “I know how to read colors and I can read the numbers, so this is really easy.”
“I'll check it when you're done, okay?”
“Okay!”
“You hungry?”
“Nope!”
“Good.” Kamio went into the kitchen to heat up the soup for himself. After setting the timer on the microwave, he went back out to the hallway and opened his schoolbag. Minagawa-san had made sure he didn't need to cook dinner that night, but he had still stopped by the store for stuff for breakfast. Oatmeal was cheap, and the girls liked it with brown sugar and milk which they still had lots of.
Plus he was home early - it was just past five-thirty, which meant he had extra time. Extra time meant there was a very good chance he would get to bed early tonight. The thought made Kamio very happy. He put the meager groceries he'd purchased away, and pulled his homework out, setting it on the table to get started on while he ate.
The microwave went off and he went to get his dinner, breathing in deep the scent of a homemade meal, and for a split second, a wave of bitter-sweet nostalgia swept over him, dragging him briefly back to a time when there had been homemade dinners every night.
Then the moment passed, and Kamio set the bowl on the table with hands that were shaking only a little bit. The memories had sucker-punched him, taking away his appetite, and the smell that had been so good only seconds before was now making him nauseous.
Kamio scowled and fought back the urge to smack himself. It didn't do to dwell on things he couldn't change. Kamio reminded himself of that fact, and resolutely pulled his homework towards him, determined to put that rule into practice.
He had too much to do to let something as stupid as a memory wear on him and drag him down. It was a poor substitute, but at least homework would keep his mind occupied, and would actually be something useful to him.
Besides, if he focused on negative things, the girls would sense it, and then they would be upset and that was a Very Bad Thing. Kamio shuddered at the idea of twin waterworks going off.
“'Nii-chan?”
“Hmm?” Kamio looked up to see Sachiko poking her head in, her paper in hand. “Wanna see my picture?”
“Sure kiddo. Let's see it.”
Sachiko ran into the kitchen and ignored the other chairs in favor of Kamio's lap. She held up the picture and Kamio stifled a laugh. The bear was blue and had number two's written all over it. He looked down to see Sachiko had scribbled out the 'brown' that the two's were supposed to be, and had written 'blue' instead, in surprisingly neat printing. All of the colors had been switched.
“Sachiko?”
“See, the bear is Shinji because he's got blue hair and he's all huggy like a bear,” she said matter-of-factly. “See? He's wearing the Fudoumine uniform!” Sure enough, the tuxedo was colored black, but Sachiko had drawn in and colored the pink and white stripes on their jerseys. Kamio choked back a laugh and instead looked at Barbie. Instead of yellow, Sachiko had made it brown (making the required number change in the legend below), and had drawn in some pink barrettes. Barbie's dress looked very similar in color to the Fudoumine girls uniform.
“Is that supposed to be An-chan?”
“Uh-huh, because Barbie's pretty and so is An-chan.”
Kamio snorted and buried his face in his sister's hair so she wouldn't see him laughing. He was again reminded of how moments like these reminded himself that no matter how hard things sometimes got, there were times when everything was just perfect.
“Sachiko?”
“What?”
It was a good thing Sachiko's English teacher was an open-minded and creative person who would appreciate the extra effort she'd put into her work. He pointed at the paper, grinning widely. “After the teacher marks that and gives it back to you, bring it home, okay? You can show it to Shinji and An-chan on Saturday.”
“Okay!”
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End Chapter 3
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End Notes:
The worksheet Sachiko does is actually a color-by-numbers worksheet I've given my students, and I did have one student who didn't like the prescribed colors, so she rewrote them all to suit herself. I was impressed with the creativity and gave her a '100' - she was thrilled.
Gel strips for fevers are the greatest things ever invented. Sometimes they suck the heat out of you so fast it can make you dizzy. Whee!
I absolutely HATED doing suicides in high school for basketball, but I confess to not minding the stair runs. Not sure why.
Finally, if you see any errors or mistakes, feel free to let me know. Please. ^^
Bedtime. Meh.