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The school day is over, cleaning supplies back in their closets and the classroom ready for tomorrow’s lessons. The halls are busy with students hurrying to club activities, to get changed for sports, or leaving for cram school. Aoko, done cleaning the blackboards several minutes ago, is chatting with her friends about a new store open by the train station when an elbow knocks into her ribs.
“Oi. You ready to go?” With excellent grades and no interest in club activities, Kaito doesn’t have anywhere to be. And student council doesn’t meet on Tuesdays, leaving Aoko with a free afternoon. Stopping in a local ice cream parlour on the way home has, somehow, become a Tuesday habit.
She glances at him, surprised, and then flushes. “Sorry. I forgot – I’m meeting Nozomi-kun this afternoon. Go ahead without me.”
Just for an instant, Kaito’s face goes funny, the way it does when he’s thinking hard and trying not to show it. Then, just barely too slow, it slides into an expression of curiosity. “Who? Can’t be a date – no one’s noticed you’re a girl yet. In fact, better let me check –” he starts to bend down, and she jumps off the desk she’s sitting on and lands neatly on his foot, face red.
“Bakaito!” She watches proudly as he hops between the desks in overacted pain, cursing her under his breath. “And he’s just a friend – a friend of my father’s, actually.”
He looks up from where he’s stopped a couple of rows away. “Oho. Better look out Aoko – maybe he’s trying to get you married off. Maybe he wants to set up a swinging bachelor pad, with shag carpets and –”
Whatever further travesty he’s intending to commit, Aoko doesn’t hear it, because she shoves him out the classroom at this point and slams the door behind him. The other girls are all giggling to each other; thankfully Kaito’s joking is so standard that people hardly listen to the topic anymore. She hurries back and picks up her bag, smiling wearily. “Sorry – I really do have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye bye!”
“Bye, Aoko-chan.”
“See you later!”
She walks over to the door slower than she has to to give Kaito time to have disappeared, then slips out into the hall. It’s still busy, and getting out of the school without seeing him again is no problem. Outside the gates she sighs and drops the forced smile, cheeks aching.
Yamamoto Nozomi’s school is nearby, but middle schools get out earlier and he’s probably waiting. She hurries through the crowded streets, bag held close by her side, and can’t help but notice that she gives parked cars wider berths and avoids men standing along on corners. Just as she has for the past month. Walking home with someone else is easier, and Kaito’s coincidentally been very free – a coincidence she doesn’t believe for a second – but she couldn’t take anyone else with her to meet Nozomi-kun.
She has his letter folded neatly in her pocket; it arrived in her mail slot yesterday, with no stamp or address.
Nakamori Aoko-san,
Could I talk to you tomorrow after school? At the park near the new gymnasium?
Yamamoto Nozomi
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The park is a typical one. Dusty, almost summer-dry dirt, a large square shelter with benches, a swing set, and some animal spring rides whose paint is beginning to chip. Two young girls are running around with a pair of bubble blowers, and an old man is sitting on the other side of the park reading a paper; otherwise it’s empty, except for Nozomi.
He’s sitting in the shade of the shelter with his bag on his lap, but he jumps up awkwardly when he sees her. He’s just entering that loose-limbed stage she remembers all too well from Kaito and the rest of the boys in her class, when they couldn’t seem to put one foot in front of the other without tripping. Nozomi knocks a knee against the corner of the bench, winces, but doesn’t pause.
“Nakamori-san! I hope – I hope this was okay?”
She smiles, and takes a seat. “Of course it is. You’re not in any clubs, Nozomi-kun?”
Nozomi sits down almost a foot away from her; he stares straight at his shoes and shakes his head. “I want to join basketball, but they said I was too short this spring; I’m going to try out again in the fall.”
“Oh; I hope you make it – I’m sure you will. You may even have grown since the last time I saw you.”
He shakes his head, still not looking at her. “Maybe. Nakamori-san?” his voice is quiet and anxious; he won’t be able to make small talk.
“Yes?”
“Do you think –” he looks up, face screwed up in nervous apprehension, and spills out the words quickly, “Do you think you could talk to my dad?”
Aoko blinks, nonplussed. “Your father? What about?”
Courage exhausted and face red, Nozomi looks away again and Aoko has to force down a smile. She would never have been brave enough at ten – eleven, now – to speak to a seventeen year-old boy she hardly knew, much less ask him for help.
“It’s – he’s – it’s about… about you know. Those days. He’s different – all weird. He hasn’t been home late since then, and if I don’t answer him when he comes in the house, he comes right into my room without even knocking, even though mom’s right there. And the other day when I was complaining about the basketball team, he said it was a good thing I didn’t make it! Good, ‘cause I was home earlier! He always wanted me to play before – we’d practice, when he had days off.” Nozomi shakes his head indignantly, staring out at the little girls catching bubbles.
“I’m sure your father was frightened, Nozomi-kun. Sometimes that kind of fear takes a while to get over. And he’s trying to make you feel safe, even if it’s maybe not the best way.”
“I just want things to go back to the way they were before.”
She folds her hands softly in her lap, tilting her head to the side so she can see him more clearly. “And they will. But it will take time. You have to be patient. I know it’s hard, but things will go back to normal.”
Nozomi pulls his feet up under him, crouching down against his knees with his arms wrapped around his shins, school bag forgotten on the ground. “Every time he sees me, he looks surprised. Just like – just like he did, that night,” he mutters, quietly. “Why can’t he just forget it?”
Why can’t he just let me forget it? Aoko reads the unspoken words without any difficulty. She’s felt them herself a few times; it’s always easier to blame her dad for bringing the memories up than blaming herself.
“I think,” says Aoko, slowly, waiting for Nozomi to listen, “that you’re very brave, Nozomi-kun. You’re brave to come here and talk to me, like an adult. And you were brave before, very brave. Your dad knows that – that’s why he’s trying to be there for you, but give you space. Coming home on time, and checking on you – they’re not really big things, are they?”
Nozomi shakes his head silently.
“And your dad’s trying his best to be brave, too, even if he’s getting it a bit wrong. I think you should tell him if he’s making you unhappy, but you should try to remember that he was frightened too.”
“Were you scared, Nakamori-san?” he looks up through his bangs at her, tiny and timid. She gives him a weak smile.
“Of course I was! Really scared. But it’s over now, and it won’t happen again – I trust my dad to keep me safe, just like yours will.” She smoothens her skirt down over her thigh, can almost feel the pale white scar hidden beneath it. It makes the skin on her back crawl. Suddenly, she can’t be here anymore, can’t do this. “Do you trust him, Nozomi-kun?”
Nozomi nods, firmly this time. “Un.”
“Right.” She stands. “Want to go get some ice cream? My treat.”
He jumps up, nearly trips and just catches his balance in time. “Yeah.”
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After the ice cream parlour, Aoko walks Nozomi home. He lives nearby, in a nice little apartment building with a garden in the front. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You can call me anytime, if you need help, or want to talk. This is my cellphone number. Okay?” She hands him a scrap of note paper, which he takes and puts carefully into his pocket.
“Thanks, Nakamori-san.”
“Bye, Nozomi-kun.”
She watches him let himself into the foyer, then turns and heads for home. It’s a longer walk than it is from the school, but she’s feeling jumpy, restless. Every car that slows as it passes her makes her heart beat harder, every person who walks by on the sidewalk makes her flinch away, fingers clenched in her skirt’s pockets. It’s not usually this bad, but once her confidence falters it crashes down hard, until she wants to sprint all the way home and lock the front door behind her – and even then she won’t be safe. Even in her own room, her own bed, she wasn’t, and it would have been so easy for them to have –
“Aoko?”
Aoko turns, eyes wide, to find Kaito just behind her. He stares at her in surprise, and all of the sudden she can feel the tension stiffening her muscles to steel and the near-panic that’s showing on her face.
“You okay?” he asks, slowly
She forces a smile, feels it become more genuine as she takes a deep breath and the tension seeps out. “Yeah. Yes – I’m fine. I was just thinking about something.” The minute she says it she regrets it, because he’s going to ask what, and she absolutely doesn’t want to talk about it.
“You going home?” he asks, instead, surprising her so much that he frowns and knocks on her forehead and repeats himself. “Oi – Earth to Aoko. You going home now?”
She snaps out of it and nods. Kaito’s face splits into a grin.
“Great. You can make me some snacks.”
“Snacks? For what – hey!” Her bag is grabbed from her and he spins too fast for her to snatch it back, hangs in over his head and starts walking backwards in the direction of her house.
“I deserve payment for carrying your stuff, don’t I? Come on; I don’t have all day.” He turns back around and leads the way at a quick march, still holding her bag out of her reach.
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There isn’t much food in the house – tomorrow’s 10% off at the grocery store, and as such is the weekly shopping day. It’s only Kaito, anyway, so she just brings him cold tea and some of her dad’s otsumami. He eats them in the front room, sprawled on a zabuton while she sits and drinks juice, drawing circles in the condensation that drips on the low table.
“Kaito?” She looks at him; he’s lying on his side, staring up at the ceiling and throwing the snacks to catch them in his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever been scared – really scared?”
“Sure – every morning when you catch me trying to look at your panties. You’re pretty terrifying, Ahouko.” He crunches another snack, still staring up vaguely at the ceiling.
“I meant –”
His eyes snap to her, cutting her off before his words. “I know what you meant.” And I know what you’re thinking about goes unspoken but understood. “Why?” he asks, in a low voice.
“I always thought I was brave. Not amazingly – not anything special. But I got over mom, I lived watching Dad chase Kid all these years, I stopped bullies in school. You know – an ordinary kind of brave.”
“That’s more than ordinary,” says Kaito, softly. “Most kids wouldn’t do any of those things – couldn’t.”
“Then why am I still afraid?” she demands, snapping the words out like a whip. She slams her glass down on the table, the bottom skidding slightly in the wet chain she drew there. “I know it won’t happen again – I really know it. But I’m still scared – when I wake up, when I go to school, when I take a shower. I don’t want to be scared anymore.” Her throat is filling with tears, thick and hot, choking off her words. She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve like a child, shaking her head in frustration with herself, her fear, her tears. She’s no better than Nozomi-kun, demanding that everything just go back to the way it was.
Kaito produces a handkerchief from her own sleeve and hands it to her; she wipes her eyes with it, sniffling quietly. “I’d take it away, if I could. Steal it, like Kaitou Kid.”
She should be irritated; Kid’s name never fails to rile her. But for some reason, she doesn’t feel anything at all. All she notices is the mistake: “Kaitou Kid gives back what he steals.”
“Only the things that are worth something. Some fear is good. Most of it is just a stupid burden we have to carry without letting it crush us – like carrying Miyazawa in Raw Hide.”
Aoko smiles weakly. “Well, I wish he would steal it away too, then. I’m sure I’ll never say that about anything again.”
“Someone should alert the media,” agrees Kaito, just a beat off. “But if you’ll settle for me…” he trails off theatrically, as though there’s a big choice to be made. She raises her eyebrows – not far, but it’s enough.
“Yes?”
“I think I could at least manage tickets to Tropical World this weekend.”
It’s not what she wants. What she wants is someone to stay with her, to walk with her to school and home, to joke with her, to stay when she’s frightened. But, she realises with a shock, Kaito’s already doing all those things.
Has been, all month.
The weight on her shoulders slips off abruptly, as though the ropes anchoring it on suddenly snapped. She isn’t trapped alone in this spiral, afraid to hurt her dad with her own fear, afraid to be pitied and coddled by her friends. Kaito’s been here, all along. Has done everything she needed, without her having to ask.
“I’d like that,” she says honestly, so overwhelmed by the realisation that she forgets to play along with Kaito’s act. He turns away, ostensibly choking on a pretzel, but she can see the back of his neck reddening. “Thanks, Kaito.”
He waves away her thanks without looking. “You’re bringing the snacks. Real good ones, too.”
Aoko nods. “I can do that.”