Real (A Suzu/OC Story) Chapter 16 Now Up
Posted: Wed Apr 11, 2012 1:05 pm
Herro everyone. So I've been lurking the board for a while, just got off my lazy ass to join and figured I'd write a story.
Now yes, this does contain an OC, and I know how everyone feels about them, but, well, eh...
Anyway, comments and critiques are appreciated, even if you tell me I'm horrible and should an hero. This is my first long story in a while, so I may be a bit rusty. If you think I could tweak anything to improve, lemme know.
Chapter 1:Gimme Danger, Little Stranger
Chapter 2:War Dance
Chapter 3:Creatures of the Night
Chapter 4:She Said She Said
Chapter 5:Blues
Chapter 6:Moving Pictures
Chapter 7:Dream (When You're Feeling Blue)
Chapter 8:Can't Snuff The Rooster
Chapter 9:Doublewhiskeycoffenoice
Chapter 10:Cloud Mojo
Chapter 11:Faith No More
Chapter 12:Fluorescent Adolescent
Side 1:Dust Mite Supernova
Side 2: Burning Satellite of Love
Chapter 13: Sirius
Chapter 14: Sirius, Part 2
Chapter 15:Nobody Likes You When You're Eighteen
Chapter 16:Trina, a.k.a Master Splinter's Daughter
Chapter 1: Gimme Danger, Little Stranger
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
I knew this whole thing was a giant farce, but I still didn’t expect him to start off with such a cliche line. Everything in this room, the air, the neutral white walls, the god-awful brown plaid suit my psychiatrist is wearing, reeks of being artificial.
“Well...”
I pause.
What canned line am I supposed to answer him with?
“The walls are closing in on me, every agonizing moment I’m awake I feel the cold, damning touch of death against my throat, and this couch is making my back sweat.”
As expected, his eyes widen in their droopy sockets, and his next sentence comes out as a stammer.
“I-I’m sorry?...”
“Just playing. Honestly, though, I can’t see the point of me being here...I mean, it’s been three months since the accident. No matter how many times I’ve told my parents I’m over it, they still think I’m a second away from downing Bacardi and painkillers and jumping off the roof.”
He looks up, not too amused by my little joke, but says nothing for a few moments.
“I can’t help you if you don’t help me,” he finally says.
Help? Seems like everyone’s wanted to “help” these past few months.
If you just let us help you...
Helping them to help me with something I don’t need nor want help with? It makes no sense really. Then again, nothing's really made a whole lot of sense since-
“Your fall.”
“What?”
“Your fall. Would you like to discuss it?”
“Can’t say I would...”
“Talking may help you get through this.”
Help. HelphelphelphelpHELP.
“Listen, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I’m telling you, all I need to sort this out is some... me time, y’know. Just me, myself and I, that’s the best medicine for me. So, uh, yeah...”
I was hoping to finish it off with a sprinkle of “oomph,” let him know I was serious. But, as usual, I fall short in the end. It’s always been a bad habit of mine.
His skeletal fingers twiddle with one of the many wooden bird miniatures that adorn his office. In what’s become my signature bored-to-death routine, I run my hand through the dark, reddish-black hair atop my head, comb down my sideburns, and scratch at the stubble upon my chin.
Before long,I reach my left eye.
The truth is, a part of me still hasn't come to terms with it. A stubborn, bull-headed part, sitting away in the corner while all the other parts socialize and feel sorry for the poor little boy, wallowing in self-pity. But, as I always say, even if you admit defeat to yourself, don’t admit it to your enemy. Granted, the Crypt Keeper in front of me isn't much of an adversary, but the phrase still stands.
Dr. Name-Too-Complicated-To-Remember excuses himself for a short while, imploring me to have a drink and regain myself. A full five minutes after he leaves, I decide to heed his advice and pour myself some coffee from a nearby machine. I've never enjoyed black coffee myself, and this cup, a soothing blend of charcoal and foot, apparently, isn’t helping to sway that opinion.
Opting to wander aimlessly around the room, I come to a splotched mirror on the wall, and find two eyes staring back at me. One is a relatively normal hazel eye,while the other is of a glassy white complexion, a single black dot floating lazily in the center. Its vision is blurry and tinted, like looking through a soft silk. The area around it is no better, a leathery and faded mess, stretching from the level of my eyebrow, down around the edge of my cheek, and circling up around my eye. A reminder of my stupidity I’d rather leave behind, but can’t seem to let go of.
Dr. What’s-His-Face returns from his trek and flashes me a polite smile.
“Well, Mr. Fukui, perhaps we shall continue?” he asks.
I offer up my own shit-eating grin, a technique passed down through the family line for generations and perfected to a science.
“Let’s.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aaron Fukui, you smarmy bastard, they actually listened to your advice.
A place of your own to “collect yourself” and overcome your undiscovered issues while playing video games and eating saturated fats all day?
Sounds too good to be true!
And it is.
It’s a school.
Fuck...
Granted, I shouldn’t have really expected to be let off easy for my studies. I’m in my last year, after all, which is apparently the year that defines how society sees you. Good luck, kid who let people kick you in the balls for money, you’re gonna go places. Putting on what I hope is my best “cool” look, I stroll in through the front doors of the school and make my way to the the front office. The appearance of the halls around me indicate that the school, at least indoors, is fairly modern, with some renovations to accommodate for the various needs of the students. Few of the aforementioned students are around at this point, though considering I’m here a good hour early, it makes sense.
The few students I do see, however, are certainly eye-catching. The clanking of metallic limbs and the whirring of electric chairs permeate through the air-conditioned hallways.
My mind suddenly comes to a revelation; Yamaku isn't normal.
Well, of course it isn't, I knew that. But it’s one of those things that doesn't hit you until later, like a bad hot dog from a movie theater that makes you hallucinate at one in the morning. I can’t help but think that my life from this point onward will consist of walking past weeping old ladies, dabbing at the corners of their eyes and pitying the “poor cripple children.”
Finally, an attendant emerges from one the rooms to my immediate right, letting me know that someone is available to see me. Wandering in, I see a surprisingly young woman with shoulder-length auburn hair seated behind a mahogany desk, typing away at her computer. Various packs of nicotine gum and styrofoam coffee cups fill the wastebasket on the floor next to her, and a loose toothpick dangles from the corner of her lips. Apparently the no-smoking policy in this school can really break people.
“Ah, Mr. Fukui! Please, take a seat,” she asks. “I’m Ms. Tanaka, your counselor. Must have been quite a trip, coming all the way from America.”
Admittedly, it was a pretty big leap. Japan’s the place of my birth, sure, but it’s never really felt like my “motherland.”
“Nah, I took a lot of naps on the way.”
Ms. Tanaka chuckles at this, and begins to search up my name in the school’s database. A somewhat long bout of silence emerges, with me drumming on my knees while she scans her eyes across the screen. Finally, she prints out a sheet filled with various pieces of information on it, including my schedule and room number.
“Planning on joining any clubs?”
I look up and shrug my shoulders.
“I never really liked to stay at school longer than I had to. I probably should have, looking back, but... oh well.”
“Well,you’re a pretty big guy, maybe you should try out for the wrestling team,” she says with a wink. Her carefree attitude is almost opposite of how I pictured the faculty of a Japanese high school would be, and it’s quite amusing really.
“I’ll keep that in mind,thanks.”
Deciding that she seems likeable enough, I elect to ask her what I’m really thinking in my head.
“So, uh, how’s the workload around here?”
She looks up at me and lets out a laugh, flicking her chewed toothpick into the nearby bin.
“Oh, not too different from other schools. The pace is a bit more relaxed though, to accommodate the various...needs, of the students. But, anyway, you’re only transferring in about two weeks into the year, so you shouldn’t have to worry much about making everything up. Trust me, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it here.”
The session goes on for a while, with Ms. Tanaka giving me the rundown of the various facilities and activities that Yamaku provides. Sharing an amiable goodbye, I head towards the third floor, with more students having now started to arrive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few students rush by me, apparently not having quite memorized the locations of their classes. I feel the urge to shrink back into the shadows, avoid the surging crowds and cling to the walls, but I doubt I could disappear even if I wanted to. Here, I stand a good head or two over most people; it’s a little daunting, and serves to remind me just how much of an outsider I really am.
Throwing away my now empty box of chocolate milk, I finally arrive at my destination: Class 3-3, taught by one Mr. Akio Mutou. Entering, I see a few people have arrived before me; a bespectacled girl with two different colored eye, a blonde haired girl alongside her, a rather fat kid in the back corner snoring away, and a brown-skinned girl wearing prosthetics. Deciding that the latter seems like the most inviting choice, I make my way over and take a seat next to her. Seeing me, she gives a warm smile and a nod.
“Hi there! You must be new, I haven’t seen you around here,” she says, closing up the textbook she was previously engrossed in.
Her voice contains a vaguely Indian accent, though otherwise her Japanese is impeccable.
“Aaron Fukui, I just transferred in today.”
The girl looks a bit surprised, but her expression soon changes to one of excitement.
“Oh, another exchange student! How wonderful!”
“Well, not technically an exchange student, but, uh... it’s complicated really.”
The girl gasps lightly and slaps the palm of her hand into her face.
“How rude of me! My name’s Molly, Molly Kapur.”
Before I can respond, I feel a weight shift a few feet next to me, and turn to see someone has occupied the seat next to mine; A girl with short blue hair, eyes half-closed in a dreamlike state. Her cloudy, emerald eyes just... float there. Everything about her seems surreal and out of place. Then again, I've always had something of a soft spot for surreal things. A lifetime of Space Ghost Coast to Coast does that to a guy.
The next moment, her pursed lips open a bit, and a wispy voice emerges through.
“Is there something in my teeth?”
“Wha-? Oh, sorry, just spaced out a bit...”
Perhaps sensing the awkward silence, Molly moves in to alleviate the situation.
“Fukui, this is Suzu Suzuki; Suzu, this is Aaron Fukui, he just transferred in today.”
“Suzu, huh? That’s a wonderfully alliterative name,” I say, trying to muster up some semblance of small talk, as pathetically cheesy as it may be.
Suzu gives me a look of confusion... or annoyance... or is it amusement? It’s a bit hard to tell with her, really.
“Fukui means ‘fortune’, doesn’t it?” she finally asks.
“Uh,yes?”
“If you’re here, you must not be very fortunate.”
Molly lets out a sigh and rubs her temples, apparently used to this rather blunt and odd behavior from her friend.
“Suzu, you can’t just talk to people like that, it’ll hurt their feelings!”
“He doesn’t look hurt,” she replies. It sounds a bit malicious, though judging by the soft edge to her voice, she most likely didn't mean it to be.
Before I can assure them that I’m not offended, I feel a strong pat on the back, followed by yet another girl rounding about to meet me face to face.
Her skin has the same brownish texture as Molly, though she doesn't seem to be a foreigner. Her left hand ends in a bandaged stump, which I try my best to avoid staring at. I don’t know how offended this girl can get, but she hits pretty hard, so I’d rather not find out. She flashes me a toothy grin, and delivers yet another solid pat to my shoulder.
“Miki Miura, at your service! Suzu here giving you trouble?”
I suddenly remember the other two girls alongside us. “Oh, it’s all good, she’s fine. I'm Aaron Fukui, by the way.”
Miki turns to give a half-hearted glare in Suzu’s direction.
“Suzu, you know if you keep messing with people, you won’t get a boyfriend! I mean, you already got Lezard to switch classes.”
“... Lezard?” I ask
“He’s the one who used to sit in your seat,” Molly replies
“Yeah, but... Lezard?”
Miki waves her right hand dismissively. “I think his parents were Slovakian or something. Anyway, I’m glad he’s gone, he was a total drama queen asshat.”
I chuckle a bit at Miki’s rather liberal use of language.
“All I said was his cologne smelled funny,” Suzu insists, a tiny hint of childlike innocence in her statement.
“I’m pretty sure the word was ‘like cow piss,’ not ‘funny,’” Molly says.
“Well,I was pretty mad at him for... something... I can’t remember.”
Just after she finishes her statement, Suzu lets out a mighty yawn before propping her head down and sleeping within the warmth of her arms. It’s a bit odd to see a girl fall asleep so quickly, but this being Yamaku, I’m trying to suspend my disbelief.
More and more students have started piling into the class, the last to arrive being the teacher himself, who lets out a rather half-hearted apology for his lateness.
Seemingly remembering that there’s a new student, he looks my way. “Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?” he asks in a mellow drawl.
Scanning around the room, all eyes are on me, save for a purple haired girl whose eyes are glued to her book, and Suzu and the fat kid, both sleeping with various degrees of subtlety.
No one looks to be particularly interested in who this new big guy is, so I politely decline.
Mutou, the science teacher, simply shrugs his shoulders. He fetches some make-up sheets for me to help me catch up, and begins his lesson for the day.
To my right I see Miki silently attempting to gain the attention of Molly, who diligently tries to avoid her... until a well aimed paper football smacks her in the head.
“What?!” she silently mouths
Miki holds up a crumpled paper with barely legible chicken scratch on it. Either she wasn't right handed before she lost her hand, or she just plain sucks at writing.
“Mall later?” it reads.
Molly quickly nods before returning to her studies.
Miki then turns her attention to me, nodding down towards the note. Already? I mean, I only got here today. Then again, hanging out at the mall with three cute girls isn’t really something you pass on. Besides. I may get to know Suzu better... if she wants to, anyway. I imagine Suzu would be like a porcupine. Pretty cute and cuddly looking, but those spines, man, those spines...
Or maybe I’m just overreacting. Suzu’s a bit blunt, to be sure, but she doesn’t seem to be particularly spiteful.
I nod over at Miki and look down on the sleeping figure of Suzu, her body moving up and down in a silent rhythm.
What’s your story, Morning Glory?
Now yes, this does contain an OC, and I know how everyone feels about them, but, well, eh...
Anyway, comments and critiques are appreciated, even if you tell me I'm horrible and should an hero. This is my first long story in a while, so I may be a bit rusty. If you think I could tweak anything to improve, lemme know.
Chapter 1:Gimme Danger, Little Stranger
Chapter 2:War Dance
Chapter 3:Creatures of the Night
Chapter 4:She Said She Said
Chapter 5:Blues
Chapter 6:Moving Pictures
Chapter 7:Dream (When You're Feeling Blue)
Chapter 8:Can't Snuff The Rooster
Chapter 9:Doublewhiskeycoffenoice
Chapter 10:Cloud Mojo
Chapter 11:Faith No More
Chapter 12:Fluorescent Adolescent
Side 1:Dust Mite Supernova
Side 2: Burning Satellite of Love
Chapter 13: Sirius
Chapter 14: Sirius, Part 2
Chapter 15:Nobody Likes You When You're Eighteen
Chapter 16:Trina, a.k.a Master Splinter's Daughter
Chapter 1: Gimme Danger, Little Stranger
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
I knew this whole thing was a giant farce, but I still didn’t expect him to start off with such a cliche line. Everything in this room, the air, the neutral white walls, the god-awful brown plaid suit my psychiatrist is wearing, reeks of being artificial.
“Well...”
I pause.
What canned line am I supposed to answer him with?
“The walls are closing in on me, every agonizing moment I’m awake I feel the cold, damning touch of death against my throat, and this couch is making my back sweat.”
As expected, his eyes widen in their droopy sockets, and his next sentence comes out as a stammer.
“I-I’m sorry?...”
“Just playing. Honestly, though, I can’t see the point of me being here...I mean, it’s been three months since the accident. No matter how many times I’ve told my parents I’m over it, they still think I’m a second away from downing Bacardi and painkillers and jumping off the roof.”
He looks up, not too amused by my little joke, but says nothing for a few moments.
“I can’t help you if you don’t help me,” he finally says.
Help? Seems like everyone’s wanted to “help” these past few months.
If you just let us help you...
Helping them to help me with something I don’t need nor want help with? It makes no sense really. Then again, nothing's really made a whole lot of sense since-
“Your fall.”
“What?”
“Your fall. Would you like to discuss it?”
“Can’t say I would...”
“Talking may help you get through this.”
Help. HelphelphelphelpHELP.
“Listen, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I’m telling you, all I need to sort this out is some... me time, y’know. Just me, myself and I, that’s the best medicine for me. So, uh, yeah...”
I was hoping to finish it off with a sprinkle of “oomph,” let him know I was serious. But, as usual, I fall short in the end. It’s always been a bad habit of mine.
His skeletal fingers twiddle with one of the many wooden bird miniatures that adorn his office. In what’s become my signature bored-to-death routine, I run my hand through the dark, reddish-black hair atop my head, comb down my sideburns, and scratch at the stubble upon my chin.
Before long,I reach my left eye.
The truth is, a part of me still hasn't come to terms with it. A stubborn, bull-headed part, sitting away in the corner while all the other parts socialize and feel sorry for the poor little boy, wallowing in self-pity. But, as I always say, even if you admit defeat to yourself, don’t admit it to your enemy. Granted, the Crypt Keeper in front of me isn't much of an adversary, but the phrase still stands.
Dr. Name-Too-Complicated-To-Remember excuses himself for a short while, imploring me to have a drink and regain myself. A full five minutes after he leaves, I decide to heed his advice and pour myself some coffee from a nearby machine. I've never enjoyed black coffee myself, and this cup, a soothing blend of charcoal and foot, apparently, isn’t helping to sway that opinion.
Opting to wander aimlessly around the room, I come to a splotched mirror on the wall, and find two eyes staring back at me. One is a relatively normal hazel eye,while the other is of a glassy white complexion, a single black dot floating lazily in the center. Its vision is blurry and tinted, like looking through a soft silk. The area around it is no better, a leathery and faded mess, stretching from the level of my eyebrow, down around the edge of my cheek, and circling up around my eye. A reminder of my stupidity I’d rather leave behind, but can’t seem to let go of.
Dr. What’s-His-Face returns from his trek and flashes me a polite smile.
“Well, Mr. Fukui, perhaps we shall continue?” he asks.
I offer up my own shit-eating grin, a technique passed down through the family line for generations and perfected to a science.
“Let’s.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aaron Fukui, you smarmy bastard, they actually listened to your advice.
A place of your own to “collect yourself” and overcome your undiscovered issues while playing video games and eating saturated fats all day?
Sounds too good to be true!
And it is.
It’s a school.
Fuck...
Granted, I shouldn’t have really expected to be let off easy for my studies. I’m in my last year, after all, which is apparently the year that defines how society sees you. Good luck, kid who let people kick you in the balls for money, you’re gonna go places. Putting on what I hope is my best “cool” look, I stroll in through the front doors of the school and make my way to the the front office. The appearance of the halls around me indicate that the school, at least indoors, is fairly modern, with some renovations to accommodate for the various needs of the students. Few of the aforementioned students are around at this point, though considering I’m here a good hour early, it makes sense.
The few students I do see, however, are certainly eye-catching. The clanking of metallic limbs and the whirring of electric chairs permeate through the air-conditioned hallways.
My mind suddenly comes to a revelation; Yamaku isn't normal.
Well, of course it isn't, I knew that. But it’s one of those things that doesn't hit you until later, like a bad hot dog from a movie theater that makes you hallucinate at one in the morning. I can’t help but think that my life from this point onward will consist of walking past weeping old ladies, dabbing at the corners of their eyes and pitying the “poor cripple children.”
Finally, an attendant emerges from one the rooms to my immediate right, letting me know that someone is available to see me. Wandering in, I see a surprisingly young woman with shoulder-length auburn hair seated behind a mahogany desk, typing away at her computer. Various packs of nicotine gum and styrofoam coffee cups fill the wastebasket on the floor next to her, and a loose toothpick dangles from the corner of her lips. Apparently the no-smoking policy in this school can really break people.
“Ah, Mr. Fukui! Please, take a seat,” she asks. “I’m Ms. Tanaka, your counselor. Must have been quite a trip, coming all the way from America.”
Admittedly, it was a pretty big leap. Japan’s the place of my birth, sure, but it’s never really felt like my “motherland.”
“Nah, I took a lot of naps on the way.”
Ms. Tanaka chuckles at this, and begins to search up my name in the school’s database. A somewhat long bout of silence emerges, with me drumming on my knees while she scans her eyes across the screen. Finally, she prints out a sheet filled with various pieces of information on it, including my schedule and room number.
“Planning on joining any clubs?”
I look up and shrug my shoulders.
“I never really liked to stay at school longer than I had to. I probably should have, looking back, but... oh well.”
“Well,you’re a pretty big guy, maybe you should try out for the wrestling team,” she says with a wink. Her carefree attitude is almost opposite of how I pictured the faculty of a Japanese high school would be, and it’s quite amusing really.
“I’ll keep that in mind,thanks.”
Deciding that she seems likeable enough, I elect to ask her what I’m really thinking in my head.
“So, uh, how’s the workload around here?”
She looks up at me and lets out a laugh, flicking her chewed toothpick into the nearby bin.
“Oh, not too different from other schools. The pace is a bit more relaxed though, to accommodate the various...needs, of the students. But, anyway, you’re only transferring in about two weeks into the year, so you shouldn’t have to worry much about making everything up. Trust me, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it here.”
The session goes on for a while, with Ms. Tanaka giving me the rundown of the various facilities and activities that Yamaku provides. Sharing an amiable goodbye, I head towards the third floor, with more students having now started to arrive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few students rush by me, apparently not having quite memorized the locations of their classes. I feel the urge to shrink back into the shadows, avoid the surging crowds and cling to the walls, but I doubt I could disappear even if I wanted to. Here, I stand a good head or two over most people; it’s a little daunting, and serves to remind me just how much of an outsider I really am.
Throwing away my now empty box of chocolate milk, I finally arrive at my destination: Class 3-3, taught by one Mr. Akio Mutou. Entering, I see a few people have arrived before me; a bespectacled girl with two different colored eye, a blonde haired girl alongside her, a rather fat kid in the back corner snoring away, and a brown-skinned girl wearing prosthetics. Deciding that the latter seems like the most inviting choice, I make my way over and take a seat next to her. Seeing me, she gives a warm smile and a nod.
“Hi there! You must be new, I haven’t seen you around here,” she says, closing up the textbook she was previously engrossed in.
Her voice contains a vaguely Indian accent, though otherwise her Japanese is impeccable.
“Aaron Fukui, I just transferred in today.”
The girl looks a bit surprised, but her expression soon changes to one of excitement.
“Oh, another exchange student! How wonderful!”
“Well, not technically an exchange student, but, uh... it’s complicated really.”
The girl gasps lightly and slaps the palm of her hand into her face.
“How rude of me! My name’s Molly, Molly Kapur.”
Before I can respond, I feel a weight shift a few feet next to me, and turn to see someone has occupied the seat next to mine; A girl with short blue hair, eyes half-closed in a dreamlike state. Her cloudy, emerald eyes just... float there. Everything about her seems surreal and out of place. Then again, I've always had something of a soft spot for surreal things. A lifetime of Space Ghost Coast to Coast does that to a guy.
The next moment, her pursed lips open a bit, and a wispy voice emerges through.
“Is there something in my teeth?”
“Wha-? Oh, sorry, just spaced out a bit...”
Perhaps sensing the awkward silence, Molly moves in to alleviate the situation.
“Fukui, this is Suzu Suzuki; Suzu, this is Aaron Fukui, he just transferred in today.”
“Suzu, huh? That’s a wonderfully alliterative name,” I say, trying to muster up some semblance of small talk, as pathetically cheesy as it may be.
Suzu gives me a look of confusion... or annoyance... or is it amusement? It’s a bit hard to tell with her, really.
“Fukui means ‘fortune’, doesn’t it?” she finally asks.
“Uh,yes?”
“If you’re here, you must not be very fortunate.”
Molly lets out a sigh and rubs her temples, apparently used to this rather blunt and odd behavior from her friend.
“Suzu, you can’t just talk to people like that, it’ll hurt their feelings!”
“He doesn’t look hurt,” she replies. It sounds a bit malicious, though judging by the soft edge to her voice, she most likely didn't mean it to be.
Before I can assure them that I’m not offended, I feel a strong pat on the back, followed by yet another girl rounding about to meet me face to face.
Her skin has the same brownish texture as Molly, though she doesn't seem to be a foreigner. Her left hand ends in a bandaged stump, which I try my best to avoid staring at. I don’t know how offended this girl can get, but she hits pretty hard, so I’d rather not find out. She flashes me a toothy grin, and delivers yet another solid pat to my shoulder.
“Miki Miura, at your service! Suzu here giving you trouble?”
I suddenly remember the other two girls alongside us. “Oh, it’s all good, she’s fine. I'm Aaron Fukui, by the way.”
Miki turns to give a half-hearted glare in Suzu’s direction.
“Suzu, you know if you keep messing with people, you won’t get a boyfriend! I mean, you already got Lezard to switch classes.”
“... Lezard?” I ask
“He’s the one who used to sit in your seat,” Molly replies
“Yeah, but... Lezard?”
Miki waves her right hand dismissively. “I think his parents were Slovakian or something. Anyway, I’m glad he’s gone, he was a total drama queen asshat.”
I chuckle a bit at Miki’s rather liberal use of language.
“All I said was his cologne smelled funny,” Suzu insists, a tiny hint of childlike innocence in her statement.
“I’m pretty sure the word was ‘like cow piss,’ not ‘funny,’” Molly says.
“Well,I was pretty mad at him for... something... I can’t remember.”
Just after she finishes her statement, Suzu lets out a mighty yawn before propping her head down and sleeping within the warmth of her arms. It’s a bit odd to see a girl fall asleep so quickly, but this being Yamaku, I’m trying to suspend my disbelief.
More and more students have started piling into the class, the last to arrive being the teacher himself, who lets out a rather half-hearted apology for his lateness.
Seemingly remembering that there’s a new student, he looks my way. “Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?” he asks in a mellow drawl.
Scanning around the room, all eyes are on me, save for a purple haired girl whose eyes are glued to her book, and Suzu and the fat kid, both sleeping with various degrees of subtlety.
No one looks to be particularly interested in who this new big guy is, so I politely decline.
Mutou, the science teacher, simply shrugs his shoulders. He fetches some make-up sheets for me to help me catch up, and begins his lesson for the day.
To my right I see Miki silently attempting to gain the attention of Molly, who diligently tries to avoid her... until a well aimed paper football smacks her in the head.
“What?!” she silently mouths
Miki holds up a crumpled paper with barely legible chicken scratch on it. Either she wasn't right handed before she lost her hand, or she just plain sucks at writing.
“Mall later?” it reads.
Molly quickly nods before returning to her studies.
Miki then turns her attention to me, nodding down towards the note. Already? I mean, I only got here today. Then again, hanging out at the mall with three cute girls isn’t really something you pass on. Besides. I may get to know Suzu better... if she wants to, anyway. I imagine Suzu would be like a porcupine. Pretty cute and cuddly looking, but those spines, man, those spines...
Or maybe I’m just overreacting. Suzu’s a bit blunt, to be sure, but she doesn’t seem to be particularly spiteful.
I nod over at Miki and look down on the sleeping figure of Suzu, her body moving up and down in a silent rhythm.
What’s your story, Morning Glory?
