Chapter Text

You know, if it were me, I wouldn't believe any of this either. Too much stuff happened that never happens, and part of it is because I got the big genes from my Dad's side. But you don't even know what I"m talking about, so I'll start at the beginning.

It all starts with my grades, my grandma and Genya.

Being a nerd is like having an exoskeleton made of super grades. It’s not who you are per se , but the longer it goes on, the more you rely on it for protection, and the harder it is to separate yourself from it. You’re not a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. The nerd is a lobster, and without its shell it’s pathetic and defenseless and will be consumed with melted butter.

The perks of nerdom are questionable. Teachers holding up your work as “an example to the class.” Overdevelopment in activities you can do sitting down, and serious underdevelopment in anything that requires gross motor skills. Time, ample time, eons of time for your scholarly musings, because the boys graciously give you a wider berth and more personal space than you ever thought you'd need.

High school, the final frontier, starts tomorrow, and I was doing my embarrassing night-before-school-starts ritural--sharpening pencils and opening my notebook to the fresh, clean first page. And then, as I'm alone, sniffing it a little.

I'm lying if I say I'm not excited. High school, where all 80's teen movies with unlikely romances and awesome parties come alive. Or awesome romances and unlikely parties. Either way, it's all new to me.

Aoi called, and asked what I was doing

"Sniffing my notebook."

"You are a the biggest nerd on the planet. Did you go and get your eyebrows threaded like I told you to?"

"Are you kidding? The time I went with you, there was that girl in there crying. CRYING, like she was giving birth. No way."

"That's because she was getting her upper LIP threaded, stupid. The eyebrows aren't as bad."

"They're staying. My grandmother says men LOVE bushy eyebrows. And my duck pout. Didn't you know having an upper lip that turns up fills boys with lust? I mean, I've never seen it myself, but the theory is sound."

"Yeah, and then she tells you that men are beasts and to watch out and carry a knitting needle in your bookbag. DON'T be late tomorrow."

It helps that my best friend is fairly militant about her grades herself. She's the lobster that's already pulled off a few rivals' claws and has them as trophies. We edge each other out in certain subjects, but Aoi, deep down, is just as bad as I am.

It is true that my grandma is always telling me I am "pretty to the boys". So I'm always surprised that a girl carrying so many books that she constantly leans to one side, with messy hair, bushy eyebrows and baggy clothes doesn't seem to fill the male population with longing. What, no takers on a young bag-lady hunchback? No one wants to to listen to my sarcasm at the same time?

On the way to school the next day, Aoi was hoping the student body would be more "mature" now that we were in high school, but she wasn't holding out any hope. Particularly if they had a Y chromosome.

"Aoi, if you're waiting for them to evolve, like Pokemon, it's not going to happen until like, college...maybe later. They're still idiots. But haven't you ever wanted an attractive idiot around every now and then, to gaze at you adoringly, and offer his big, strong arm as you walk under an umbrella in the rain…?"

"Avoiding people puking in the street, if it’s Saturday night." was Aoi's answer.

The school was big, and disorientating and bursting with a sense of teenage anticipation for whatever was to come. I was part of it...and, it felt pretty cool.

At lunch, I met one of Aoi's other friends, Tsuyuri Kanao, who had transferred and was now in our school. Aoi basically did all the work for us.

"Shizuku, this is Kanao. She is too shy, but she's nice. She just needs a kick up the butt to do stuff once in a while. She is way too into manga boys. Kanao, this is Shizuku. She reads stupid books about handsome men in knee breeches when women weren't allowed to wear pants, and watches movies from the 1950s and even EARLIER, and can't understand all those hot guys are dead. She's also freakishly good at math. There, now you're friends."

Kanao and I smiled kind of weakly at each other, but things just carried on from there. It wouldn't be bad to make more friends like that, like through osmosis.

Nothing is new forever, and things would've just settled into a regular routine. But in the second week of school, Aoi and I were called into the principal’s office. Principal Ubuyashiki smiled and welcomed us, but I was completely perplexed. I NEVER get in trouble. What, did I get a B on a homework or something?

“Girls,” he said in his gentle voice, “We are going to have some new students join our school. They are first.years, so they are in your grade, but they… went to a different type of school, and might need some tutoring to help them catch up. Kanzaki-san, one of the students needs help in writing and grammar, would you possibly be able to help? The other student needs more help in math, so Shinazugawa-sensei thought you, Kusakabe-san, would be perfect, if you thought you could… consider tutoring as well?”

Aoi and I exchanged glances. Tutoring? Sounded dull. But it also sounded like the sort of thing universities lapped up on your application, and well, I didn’t want to disappoint Principal Ubuyashiki. He is blind in one eye, and so nice. You just want to agree with him because it seems like nothing would, or could, ever make him happier.

“I know all about it,” Kanao said as we walked home, robbing us of our legit, but boring bit of gossip. I had found out (other than her manga boy obsession) that Kanao’s cousin is the biology teacher, and the most beautiful woman in the school. She is super nice and friendly as well, but not terribly discreet, so Kanao can usually get her to spill some beans on teacher stuff. Aoi and I are now waiting for the day she lets slip who’s hooking up with who.

“They’re students from a more rural district—four of them, all boys.” Kanao blushed a little as she said this, Aoi rolled her eyes, but I think my stomach started hurting. Wait...boys? I would have to tutor a boy? This made everything a little different. I have a zero batting average with boys. He wouldn’t like me, pay no attention, probably flunk, and in the end, I’d be the one who’d look bad. Was a boy I didn’t even know going to ruin my new school year? I wished Principal Ubuyashiki wasn’t so nice. Or that he could see out of that eye.

Chapter Text

“So I’m going to tutor some boy once a week” I said at dinner.

My family’s reactions were exactly as I would’ve expected. I could’ve written scripts for everyone and passed them out before we ate.

Mom: Shizuku, how nice! That’s so kind of you! I’m sure he’ll be grateful, and catch up in no time!

Dad: He’d better be, if he’s taking up your own time and getting free tutoring from the best student in the grade. Are they paying you? Can you ask about that?

My 13 year old sister, Ami: Is he cute?

Me: I haven’t even seen him yet.

Her: Will you make sure he’s cute?

If my old brother Kenji, who just started uni, was at home, he’d have said something like: “They should be paying HIM to spend time with YOU, like some sort of charitable outreach for lame pathetic loser nerd girls. Did I remember to say loser? And lame?”

However, even my brother’s imaginary answer paled in comparison to my grandmother’s real one. Sometimes, her dialect makes her difficult to understand. But her meaning is never anything but crystal clear.

“Boy? Real boy? You going to teach a boy? Why? He’s stupid? I thought you at smart school! Do you have to be alone with real boy? Alone? That’s a danger! Is this only way you going to catch one? You already getting old. 16! I MARRIED at 17. All the trouble now is from young people take this one, take that one, no one marry! Marrying young is best. Who wants old? You can dress old in silk and gold, still old. You didn’t want Asako’s grandson. But he was no good. Too stupid for you, and fat. No muscle from computer. I will get you a better one, because you pretty to the boys.” She calmly took a sip of tea and continued. “You teach, but don’t let him make a naughty touch on you."

No, I did not make that up. Yes, she really said this. And yes, this is so normal from my grandmother that no one even reacted that much. My mom seemed distressed at my grandmother’s assessment of my romantic future, but my Dad only got uncomfortable when she got to the naughty touch bit.

I contemplated the “real boy” part. Did she think they were animatronic these days? Larger than average puppets, perhaps under a spell?

My sister didn’t bat an eye.

"Mom, Shizuku would be great at teaching. You know, I wish I had someone helping me when I was at school, but I did it all myself." The story of my Dad leaving his rural village in the mountains to go to university in the city is a firm favorite of his, which his children can recite by heart.

The sequel, that my mom, a typical suburban girl, fell crazy in love in love with him, tends be heard less frequently, because my grandma is convinced it's too racy a story for our tender ears. When we asked my mom why, she would say things like “oh, your Dad was just so hardworking and ambitious.” Huh. My dad is nice looking, and it must have been moreso when he was young. He could have been bone idle, and I don’t think she would’ve noticed. My dad was a country boy with clear skin and nice hair who worked on the family farm every vacation, so he was ripped compared to the city boys. When he got himself his first proper haircut and a pair of well-fitted trousers, my mom swooned. It turned out he was hardworking and ambitious, but those were thrown in there for ballast—she’s lucky he wasn’t lazy as a sloth.

"Are you the only one who has to tutor, Shizuku?" asked my mom.

"The principal asked Aoi as well." Just mentioning Aoi set off a praise cascade. Grandma LOVES Aoi.

"That's the kind of girl Haru should have married! So useful! Such a good cook! And look who he picks! Your aunt Minako! So lazy!"

"Did you tell Uncle Haru this Grandma? No wonder Minako hates you."

"I hate her first, and I hate her more. Such a scandal a mother doesn't live with her oldest son. Shizuku, more umeboshi."

"Grandma, I hate those."

"Good for bathroom. Eat."

So Grandma lives with us, gossiping, making pickles in the basement, gossiping, monitoring our bowels, knitting a bewildering array of scarves, hats, toilet paper covers, gossiping, visiting shrines daily, and sometimes churches too (I think she’s spreading her bets) and of course, the favorite, opining on what was wrong with the modern world, a list which has no end.

"Shizuku," as it involved a boy ie., a potential mate, my grandmother was now fixated on the tutoring, like a wolf on the scent of a bleeding rabbit, "you going to teach him a long time? You know, I could've taught everyone in the village! I was so smart, but there was no time for school. I could only go a little, because so much work! Making pickles and carrying the water--no water in the house!--and watching my brothers and sisters! Then there was no time for school, because Grandpa saw me, and that was that! I was only 15, but he had to wait two years to show he was good enough. I was pretty to the boys."

This is my grandma’s euphemism for big boobs. My mom is petite and slim, as is my sister, but I got my grandma’s curvy? sturdy? body, and face that supposedly has this inner attractiveness I can never find when I look in the mirror. The search for eligible candidates for me, her heir apparent, is never something she bothers to filter out of her conversation, as there are "no hairs on her tongue." Grandma is proud of this, which is her code for tact being a completely foreign concept to her.

“Grandma,” I said, after her totally normal for her /breaking the cringemeter for the rest of the world comments. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. He’s probably just going to be a dumb jock.”

Chapter Text

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

This was Aoi’s observation as we waited by the front doors. Kanao had been allowed to skip class to be a one-woman welcoming committee (no nepotism at all there), and then she chickened out and made Aoi and I come along, as we had to “meet them anyway. Sooner rather than later, right?”

“Later is fine with me,” I said. “Much later, like when I’ve already graduated.”

“I hope they’re not late” whispered Kanao, who was really in the wrong place, as she didn’t have the courage to welcome dust motes to the school. “I’m getting nervous already.”

We should have all been more nervous. Then adrenaline could’ve been flowing through us if we had to run.

We heard them before we saw them. Someone was talking very loudly, like having a conversation with ear buds in loud, at the same time that someone else was desperately trying to shush him. The doors opened and our welcome smiles got stuck on our faces.

A boy swaggered in, with three others following, and we cleverly discerned the source of the noise, because the first one was shouting at the top of his voice. That wasn’t even the most surprising thing about him. He was beautiful. I mean, it was unreal. His eyes were so emerald green, and his eyelashes so thick, your first thought was “those have GOT to be contacts…and he’s wearing mascara.” The rest of his face was pale and sort of elven featured, but as he was bellowing, it was more like an elven football hooligan.

I saw from the corner of my eye that Aoi’s frown had snapped into place. She is military neat, and this kid’s clothes were an absolute mess. He looked as if had thrown his uniform in the washing machine and then crawled in after it to get dressed. With the machine on.

He caught sight of us-–we must have been staring at him, mouths open—and started towards us with a grin. Another boy rushed in front of him before I-Can’t-Believe-They’re-Not-Contacts could say anything, and bowed hastily.

“Good morning! Thank you so much for being here to help us on our first day. We’re really happy to be here.”

We finally unfroze and returned the greeting, and the boy turned a huge smile on us. I don’t know about the rest of them, but HE seemed happy to be here. That smile was so genuine, it was mesmerizing. The three of us just smiled stupidly back, like we were caught in his nice-ness tractor beam.

“I’m Kamado Tanjiro! This is Hashibira Inosuke” he motioned towards EL Guapo, who had stopped shouting and was now looking around suspiciously at the walls, floor, ceiling and Aoi’s rigid face. “Agatsuma Zenitsu and Shinazugawa Genya.”

Agatsuma-san had the oddest expression on his face—part fearful, part cringingly nervous, part …admiration? It was like he was poised to flee in terror, but the sight of girls in skirts was gluing him in place. I think he might have been trembling, but it didn’t stop his eyes from making this continuous loop from our faces, down our sweaters, to our knee socks and back again. However, I saw this all in a flash, because I was stuck staring at the fourth boy.

I didn’t know first years came in that size. He must have been six foot, and everything was too…too big for a 16 year old, shoulders, chest, everything. Unlike Legolas’s delinquent little brother, the other three boys were properly dressed, but on Shinazugawa-san the uniform looked kind of ridiculous. He was wearing our yellow school sweater, in what was obviously the largest size, and it made him look like a huge marshmallow Easter chick. An Easter chick who did a little moonlighting as a bouncer.

He was glaring at all of us with a look that made Aoi seem friendly and timid. Flushed face, clenched jaw, long black eyes. He was so intimidating that I almost stepped back involuntarily, because that bigness looked a lot more like muscle than fat. He just got here, what was he so mad about? I dared to peek at that angry face, and thought wildly, does he have an ulcer? Do 16 year-olds have ulcers? Is he just crazy hangry? Did I kill him in my past life?

He had a long scar across his face, which wasn’t scary or menacing at all, and on top of all that, a mohawk.

A mohawk? Who has a mohawk, a LONG mohawk? Who decides that, as they’re built like a brick shithouse, with a terrifying scar and black glare, they ought to shave off their hair into a mohawk?

This guy, apparently. Who I might have to….oh, crapity crap crap.

Out of Smiles, the Frightened Ogler, Feral Pretty Boy and murderous giant Chief Peep, two of them needed tutoring. Mentally crossing my fingers, I smiled weakly at Tanjiro (I immediately thought of them by their first names in my head, Tanjiro because he was literally oozing friendliness, the others because, well, 16 year old boys don’t tend to inspire respect. Especially this bunch.) and spoke up. “Principal Uyubashiki said some of you might need some….uh…review sessions in a few subjects. Kanzaki-san and I would be taking care of that?...” My voice drifted off, hoping either Tanjiro or even Zenitsu would speak up, but Tanjiro looked confused while Zenitsu looked crestfallen.

“No” Tanjiro answered. “I didn’t get any notice like that.”

“I did” bellowed Inosuke, “and if they think I’m going to school AGAIN, AFTER school, to sit with some chick…”

Aoi was now fixing Inosuke with a very precise execution style glare, like she was the Death Star about to explode a planet. I looked at Genya. The news that WE were, in fact, the mystery tutors seemed to make him even more furious, if that was even possible. He got redder and sort of stiffened up. He was staring at some point above my head, and I could practically see the fire coming out of his nostrils. This whole situation was getting more delightful by the second.

“Shinazugawa?” Aoi cut through Inosuke’s rant. “That’s the name of our math teacher.”

“Yeah,” said Inosuke, jerking his thumb at Genya. “It’s his big brother.”

BIG BROTHER? Shinazugawa-sensei’s LITTLE BROTHER? Genya shot a look of pure venom at Inosuke, but still didn’t say a word. As no explanation was forthcoming, all of us stood in a painfully awkward silence that was mercifully cut short by Kocho-sensei and Principal Ubuyashiki coming down the hall to make more welcome speeches. Zenitsu’s eyes glazed over as he caught sight of Kocho-sensei, and we girls beat a hasty retreat back to class.

“Shinazugawa-sensei’s brother!? Now I understand why he hated us all on sight--it's in their genes.” I said over lunch “and no wonder he got permission for that psycho haircut."

Aoi, Kanao and I were discussing the new arrivals, the brother thing being the big surprise. Shinazugawa-sensei is not my favorite teacher. He is not really anyone’s because he is super strict, super caustic and biting, and super intense about math. Some of the girls also think he is super hot, and that cruel streak seems to add to his hotness in some bizarre masochistic way. Though he has light hair to his little brother’s dark, they actually shared a pretty strong facial resemblance.

And attitude. I bet they have one smile between them a year, and they have to share that, too.

Kanao was still filling us in. “Kanae doesn’t know all that much about them yet, but she said big one is really sporty. I think she said he plays rugby.”

“And beats people up for fun and profit on the side.” I added. “Tomioka-sensei had better check his back for tattoos during gym before anyone has to be alone with him.”

“Sporty doesn’t mean smart, obviously, or we wouldn’t be involved in this mess.” Aoi snapped. “Which one needs what help?”

Kanao checked the note Kocho-sensei had given her. “Hashibira-san needs help with writing and grammar,” Kanao flinched from the sight of Aoi putting her head back and letting out a howl of despair, “and Shinazugawa-san was having trouble with math.”

In contrast to Aoi, I put my head on the table. “Oh, swell. Did you see his face? That’s what you see in a dark alley before you die. He’s also 8 feet tall and will probably toss me out a window if I tell him he can’t add for squat. Huge, scary, scar, mohawk. And how does he need help in MATH? His evil brother is a MATH TEACHER.”

“Would you rather have that Agatsuma kid? He looks like first chance he got, he’d go in for a grope.”

“Well, that’s why I wear my sweater extra large. I could probably wrestle him to the ground if he tried anything, we’re probably the same height.”

“Aoi?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll trade you.”

Chapter Text

The fact that I would be tutoring someone who was good at sports only made it worse.

I stink at sports. "Coordinated" and "Shizuku" do not go together. I wish I could say that this is something Aoi and I share, but we part ways on this issue. Aoi is a wicked soccer player, super quick and agile. Even meek Kanao plays tennis, but maybe it helps that Kocho-sensei is the girls’ tennis coach.

Aoi is always trying to get me to go out for the volleyball club, claiming my height would give me a big advantage. Now, before anyone thinks I can dunk baskets, I am not that tall. I’m not a giraffe or anything, but when your friends are cute and petite, it does make you feel like Big Bird next to them. I do anything to minimize it. I hunch, I don’t wear heels, and I am freaking SICK of ballerina flats. They look so wrong on me—who ever saw a ballerina with a big chest?

My grandmother always wondered why on earth girls played sports anyway. “What will that bring you?” Not male attention, apparently, which was the only reason you did anything at all when she was a girl. Husbands didn’t care if you could hit a ball, they cared if you could produce a dinner for 10 out of a teaspoon of rice and a sardine.

When I said boys might like to watch the girls jump around in shorts, just for the fun of seeing flames shoot out of her eyes, Grandma gave me a very black look. “Yes! To see them bounce, and watch their legs! Wrong kind of boy! Would try to steal your clothes.“

Yup. My uniform would be hot property for sure.

Perhaps starting high school gave Aoi the courage to try more underhanded tactics, though. After we parted ways from Kanao, she said casually “Did you talk to Kanroji-sensei today? Because, I, uh, mentioned you might be doing volleyball. She really needs a few taller girls for the team, and, uh, she was so thrilled you might do it!”

I couldn’t believe it. I stopped and glared at Aoi with a look that Shinazugawa minor would be proud of.

“I can’t believe you! How could you sell me out like that?!”

“You’ll be fine” came the most pitiful response ever. “You need to do more stuff outside of your room, you know. And you can’t let Kanroji-sensei down now. Try it once! If you hate it, you can quit.”

For the second time in only a few days, I was stuck doing something I didn’t want to do, because I didn’t want to make a teacher unhappy. Ugh. Perhaps I am the huge loser nerd my brother says I am. THAT was a depressing thought.

So there I was, a few days later, standing around in the gym, in shorts, under the horrible yellow school gym lights that amplify how uncoordinated you are, and make wonderful back lighting for all of the scarring and humiliating memories you will shortly be making. Even though Aoi had kept blathering on about “You don’t need to know how to play! You’ll learn!” I knew better. If you don’t want to look like a complete fool, you do need to know how to play. I tried to let the mats on the wall absorb me while we waited for our coach.

Most sports have a teacher as an advisor, and then a separate coach who knows what they are doing (or at least the difference between a ball and a bat.) We got a two-for-one with Kanroji-sensei.

Kanroji Mitsuri teaches home economics and some art classes as well. She is a tremendous athlete, but you’d never know it to look at her. Wavy strawberry blonde hair, huge eyes, face full of makeup and no matter what she wears, she looks like a 50’s pin-up. She has a rack that makes me look like I should be in a training bra.

She is also the sweetest, kindest teacher in the school, and the easiest grader. I think the boys have made a shrine to her or something.

One of Aoi’s reason’s for shoving me onto a volleyball court was the fact that the boys’ volleyball team had some very attractive members. The aforementioned team was making the whole situation a million times worse, as they were all there, in the gym. I recognized some of the first years. There was a tall boy with black hair and a really pissy face that looked like he could be Aoi’s brother when she’s in a bad mood, and an even taller blonde kid with glasses that I had a few classes with. I didn’t like him in class, and I was liking him less now, as he gave our admittedly less impressive girls’ team a pitying once over.

There was even a really short kid with fiery orange hair. How he was a volleyball player, I don’t know, as I could have rested my chin on his head, but I guess it takes all types.

But the upperclassmen who were talking to Kanroji-sensei were a different story. I really didn’t want to humiliate myself in front of those two captains or whoever they were. Too good-looking, and third years to boot. I’m already awkward around guys, I might never recover. Captain-san looked our way and smiled, and I nearly hid inside my own neck.

The only thing the whole boys’ team had in common was the adoring looks they were giving Kanroji-sensei. Well, they like volleyballs, and she has two of them.

Thankfully, the boys left, and Kanroji-sensei took center stage.

“Okay girls!” she shouted. She was dressed in short shorts, a T-shirt with “Volleyball. I dig it!” printed on it, and what I could only assume was a titanium reinforced sports bra.

“I’m so thrilled we’ve got a great group here! I know our school is well known for lots of terrific boys’ teams, but we girls can achieve just as much!”

She was shouting with her fist raised, and I had the feeling Kanroji-sensei could easily be the entire team, manager and cheering squad all by herself. The rest of us could sell snacks.

The next two hours were a sort of torture. I didn’t know what to do with my arms, and was terrible at keeping the ball from hitting the floor, which is apparently the point of volleyball. It was like one big game of keepy-up, and I sucked at it. I was too slow, and far too nervous about breaking every bone in my body to hurl myself to the ground to stop the balls from landing. I found myself apologizing to my teammates over and over again. I was so embarrassed, I think I was going numb from all the blood in my body traveling up to my face.

After yet another humiliating miss and apology, a girl next to me took pity on me, and offered some advice.

“Don’t run with your arms out. Get to the ball, and then get your arms in position to receive.”

Receive? What was I getting other than that painful stinging smack when the ball attacked me? a little voice in my head sniped, but I was too grateful that she was helping to be snarky for real. I had noticed that she was actually good at this game, even though she was tiny—I must’ve been more than half a foot taller than her—but she was super quick and got to all the low balls.

“You’re a first year too, right? You’re really good.” I said, in gratitude for the advice.

She gave me a level look, and then smiled gently. “I’m a third-year. Vice-captain.”

Open mouth, insert entire leg. I started to babble an apology, but she cut me off with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I know I’m a midget. I’m Makomo.”

“Sh-Shizuku”, I answered, filled with relief she wasn’t mad. The relief however, was short-lived, as Kanroji-sensei put me in front of the net for yet another drill. Girls on the other side were jumping up like enthusiastic bunnies and smacking the ball over. I was petrified. What new punishment was this?

“Now,” Kanroji-sensei was saying, “you are going to block those spikes! Just jump up with your palms spread out.”

The likelihood of me stopping one of those balls was nil. The likelihood of me getting smacked in the kisser by a volleyball was much better. That, or getting tangled in the net like a big uncoordinated tuna.

The first girl came up. I was feeling a toxic mixture of anger at Aoi, mortification, fear and depression. I hated sports. I hated them. I hated them. On a wave of despair, I closed my eyes and jumped.

By the worst luck in the world, the ball smacked me square in the palms and fell to the floor on the other side of the net.

“Fantastic!” cheered Kanroji-sensei, “I knew you’d be a natural at the net!”

A natural. A natural fluke was what that was. I would never be able to repeat it, and there was my new coach, cheering like we were going to the Olympics. Why couldn’t the mats have eaten me? At this rate I’d be looking forward to the tutoring.

Chapter Text

I was experiencing all sorts of strange and wonderful new things this school year. One such fantastic experience was discovering all the different ways I could be mortified. Volleyball was one.

My first session with Genya was another. It was, how shall I put it? A complete failure? One of those painful episodes that make you writhe in humiliation when you think about it in the night? Both?

I turned up five minutes early, trying to cover up my nerves of being alone with a real boy (my grandmother was running through my head shouting “Alone! Danger!”) with a calm, cheerful exterior. I tend to assume, straight off the bat, that members of the opposite sex are less than thrilled to meet me. This time around, I already KNEW the boy (“REAL boy, Shizuku?”) in question hated me, which did not help, but I would do my best. I’d give it the old college try. I would be nurturing, patient and manage to turn his grades around in a flash—so this whole thing would be as swift and painless as possible.

Genya came in right on time. He sat across from me, but then again, that was the only available chair. I got the distinct impression he would’ve preferred to conduct the session as far away from me as he could, like outside the door perhaps, or with him at home and me at school.

I tensed my stomach, and smiled.

“Hello, Shinazugawa-san. I’m Kusakabe Shizuku. Nice to meet you.”

Through this pretty little opener, Genya was glaring at me, red faced (the anger, the anger!). It was as if he hadn’t moved a muscle of his face since the day he arrived. The only difference was that now he had a rather frightening black eye and a busted lip to round off his welcoming face. He gave me the world’s smallest bow, more of a bob of the head, and immediately looked out the windows.

O…kay. I waited, and realized that nothing else was forthcoming. The back of my neck and ears were beginning to feel warm. I grasped around in my mind for another opening gambit, but his stony-faced silence was just sucking the life out of the room. What to say? “Have you shaved your mohawk recently?" "You know, your brother is kind of a jerk." "Shinazugawa-san, I hate to tell you, but yellow is NOT your color.”

I dismissed these and went for “So, what do you need help with today?” in my nurturing and patient voice.

Nothing. Genya looked the other way, eyeing the door.

He seemed to be holding his breath. His jaw kept clenching, like he was chewing on a particularly difficult Milk Dud in there. The red face, combined with the yellow outfit and the mohawk was giving me a sort of big, angry rooster vibe. Not good.

Two strikes, but third time’s the charm, right? I braved the waters again. “What are you working on in math class?”

No joy. I began to feel like there was a sort of bad dream quality to this situation, and at any moment I would look down and notice I was wearing my grandma’s nightgown and there would be sharks circling the table. As we sat in silence, I could feel myself starting to sweat a little. The discomfort level in the room started climbing, moving past awkward on its way to painful. This was...not going well. Was it me? I mean, he could talk, couldn’t he?

“Are there any assignments you want to go over?” My nice-nicey voice was wearing a tiny bit thin, and there was an embarrassing begging undertone to it. I honestly didn't know what to say next, and "read any good books lately?" was starting to seem like a viable option. I got a quick shake of the head—no. Genya was staring at a point past my shoulder and I had to stifle the urge to pointedly turn around to see what was so interesting. Maybe he sees ghosts. Maybe they could tutor him.

I tried one last time.

“Shinazugawa-san” I dropped the teacher-like encouragement, and my voice took on the kind of pleading quality women use when their lovers are leaving them, “Is there anything you need me to do for you this session?”

With another boy (a clothes-stealer, no doubt) I might’ve gotten some kind of dirty joke response to that one, but Genya shook his head almost violently. I guess naughty touching was the absolute last thing on his mind.

That was it. I gave up. This was worse than I had ever thought it could be. I sort of slumped back in my chair, defeated. All I could do was stare dismally at the table, which was….vibrating? Completely baffled, I twisted down to look underneath, and saw that Genya’s knee was pushed against the table leg. And the table was shaking, because the table leg was shaking….because his leg was bouncing up and down like he’d had twenty cups of coffee. Or several hits of speed. OR….he was impatiently tapping his foot because he wanted to get the hell out of here.

I straightened up, and found myself looking right into his face, which had gone from basic red straight to magenta. The tapping stopped.

“Shinazugawa-san” I asked faintly, “is there somewhere else you need to be?”

I don’t know why I was asking. Clearly, the only place he needed to be was here, being tutored by me, unless this was all a terrible mistake and he just hadn’t the heart (hah!) to tell me. It wasn’t even a question. But rhetorical or not, I had given Genya an opening and he just dove through it. After the briefest possible nod of relief, which may have been a twitch of relief, he scooped up his bag and left. For such a big kid, he was pretty nimble around the desks.

The door was slamming shut before my mouth had even closed. I just sat there, opening and closing it like a carp in my shock. That had to be the rudest anyone had ever been to me, and I live with my grandmother. I remained in my seat, blinking, before I realized I had no reason to be there, picked up my books, and left.

When Aoi and I compared notes later that day, it transpired that Inosuke was everything his first impression had promised.

“He’s crazy, CRAZY with two K’s, like he was raised by wolves or something. He shouted that he didn’t need any help, and why the hell (I’m sure he said something different, but Aoi never curses) did he have to be paired up with some stupid girl. Stupid? That’s rich! He was eating onigiri” here Aoi’s face almost started contorting with the horror of it all, “and chewing with his mouth open and”, she was almost whispering in agony now “he spat rice in my hair.”

“Well,” I said sarcastically, “at least you got something out of him. Mine was like a mime on strike, except he forgot his black top and was protesting in a yellow sweater. Did not speak. Did not answer. Just sat there hating me to the very marrow of his bones. I was asking questions like a complete moron, and then he just picked up and left. Do they honestly think we are going to go back and try that again?”

Apparently, yes. I got a notice to meet with Shinazugawa-san, same Bat time, same Bat place, the next week. The second time around was just as bad, almost worse in a way because I knew what was coming. It was the same scenario, me pitifully asking a few hopeless questions, him looking at the door like it was a life preserver, occasionally glaring at me, going various shades of red, and clenching his jaw on that indestructible Milk Dud. His eyes were very dark and very intense. Even a few seconds of him giving me the side-eye and then shaking his head no to every question I asked was enough to dry up my attempts to do whatever it was I was there to do.

It didn’t help that our near total silence meant we could perfectly hear Aoi and Inosuke screaming at each other in the next room. This particular session must have been a nasty one, as every now and again there would be a thump like something had been thrown.

Finally, how awful it all was hit me. It was now or never. In desperation, I steeled myself, looked Genya right in the face and said “You know, Shinazugawa-san, I’m here to help you! Just ask me whatever you want!”

At last, a sound.

“I’m fine.”

He said it so low, I barely caught the words. By the time I realized what he was saying, he was picking up his bag and heading out again. As he opened the door, Aoi and Inosuke’s screaming was amplified (Inosuke was definitely not just saying “hell”) before being muffled by the door shutting on my open-mouthed expression again.

Chapter Text

“Where IS he?”

I looked at my watch again. Fifteen minutes late. Talk about wasting my time.

I’d give him another five minutes, and then I was out of there. First tutoring session, and he was super late. Way to improve on your terrible first impression, pretty boy.

The door slammed open, and Hashibira-san…vaulted into the room.

With his shirt completely unbuttoned, and onigiri in his hand. And his mouth. And on his chin.

I looked him over. His shirt was, of course, untucked, while his tie was just draped around his neck, like he thought he needed a jaunty accessory. Scuffed shoes, ink-stained, crumpled trousers, and the forlorn arm of his sweater was just dangling sadly out of his rucksack. Maybe he figured it just had to be physically present to get credit. Once you got to his face, the beautiful eyes and delicate features were being completely canceled out by the fact that someone had never been taught to chew with his mouth closed. I had to close my eyes for a second, because nausea was setting in.

“I’m Kanzaki Aoi. Natsume-sensei asked me to tutor you. As we’re starting late today” my voice had more than a touch of frost to it “let’s get right to work.”

He just stood there, like a cow chewing its cud, and I glared at him, waiting. His black hair was pulled into one of those messy half-bun things, like the world's slobbiest samurai, tied back with...hold on, was that a shoelace?

He walked to my desk, and leaned over me a little bit.

“LISTEN, what’s-your-name, I don’t NEED to be here. I don’t WANT to be here. And I’m NOT going to stay here. So, you can TEACH YOURSELF!”

Way too loud, and way too close.

I leaned back in my chair, and now my voice was arctic.

“Natsume-sensei and Principal Ubuyashiki asked me to help you. That’s why I’m here, because I don’t need any help, but you do.”

“I DON’T NEED ANY F****** HELP!”

“Excuse me?” I can’t stand people cursing, particularly flinging f-bombs about. “You are NOT going to be using that kind of language with me when you’re in this room. Got it?”

Hashibira-san started laughing. “I can’t believe it, why the F***--I think he turned the volume up, on purpose—did they pair me up with some STUPID, STICK UP HER ASS, PRUDE GIRL? What’s-your-face, you think you’re going to teach me manners, or writing? Which one?”

Was that rice?

Oh my God, was that rice?

Whatever clever insults he thought he was dishing out went completely over my head. Someone chewing with their mouth open, and laughing, and standing over you create a perfect storm.

I think there’s partly chewed rice in my hair. Oh gross gross gross gross.

I stood up.

“We are done.” The words came out, part angry hiss, part shocked whisper.

I got my books, walked out, and went straight to the bathroom.

Natsume-sensei could deal with this one all by herself.

*********************************************************************************************************************

I went to see Natsume-sensei the next day to let her know I was resigning as a tutor. I wish I could have made it retroactive.

Natsume-sensei is new this year. She teaches grammar, composition and literature. Right up my alley. But being the teacher’s pet only goes so far.

“Kanzaki-san, how can I help you?” she began with a big smile. Too much smiling. Act normal and depressed every now and again.

“You can find another tutor for Hashibira-san. I’m not going to be doing it anymore.”

Natsume-sensei’s eyes popped open. I guess I was a little blunt, but why beat around the bush?

“Are…are you sure, Kanzaki-san? I…I…thought you would be a perfect choice!”

“Thank you sensei, but no one is a perfect choice for him. Except perhaps a zookeeper.”

Natsume-sensei started to look distressed. “Kanzaki-san, won’t you reconsider? I know he is a bit of a handful—”

“A bit?”

“—but I thought you’d be able to handle him. You’re so…well, I felt he’d respect you. You have such a strong character.”

Ah. So he certainly doesn’t respect you, and you’re not going to touch this tutoring gig with a barge pole.

“NATSUME-SAN! SO NICE TO SEE YOU!”

Rengoku-sensei walked over with an enormous smile, which Natsume-sensei returned with pink cheeks and obvious relief, like her knight had come along to champion her cause.

“AND KANZAKI-SAN AS WELL! ISN’T THIS NICE!”

Yes! It WAS nice, wasn’t it? This is so jolly! I can’t imagine having any more fun in my life than hanging out in the teachers’ lounge with you two!

“Rengoku-san, please help me!” Did she just flutter her eyelashes? Okay, she’s already far too pretty to be a teacher. The two of them are going to look like the cover of a romance novel pretty soon.

“Kanzaki-san was so kind, and had offered to tutor one of the new boys, but…she says it’s not working out.”

So first I was kind, and now I’m not?

“KANZAKI-SAN, WHAT AN EXCELLENT CHOICE! ANYONE COULD LEARN FROM HER! ONE OF MY BEST STUDENTS!” boomed Rengoku-sensei.

This is kind of cheap praise, as everyone is Rengoku-sensei’s best student.

Rengoku-sensei is the most popular teacher in school. And it’s not because everyone loves history. I mean, even with all his crazy idiosyncrasies, I still like him, which is saying something. He encourages everyone, makes class fun, jumps on desks, draws murals and battle plans, that kind of teacher. He is the boys’ best friend, and every girl is a little bit in love with him, to a greater or lesser degree. He’s a big, strong guy with wavy golden hair and a huge smile. I think he could probably assemble a harem out of the female teachers and students, but Shizuku insists he isn’t a harem sort of man, and we’d all be sister-wives.

He also SHOUTS when he talks. Like he is texting his life in caps.

“Kanzaki-san”, Natsume-sensei turned to me, with an appealing look, “I know Hashibira-san is not the easiest pupil to teach, but he is just …exuberant, untrained…”

Feral.

“I know there is a fire within to learn…he just needs the right person to unlock it.”

He can stay locked up, for all I care.

“Would you please try one more time? Please?”

Both of them were looking at me. Rengoku-sensei with an encouraging smile and his crazy expressive eyebrows, Natsume-sensei with a pleading one and puppy eyes. Bleah. It is SO annoying to have to live up to a good reputation sometimes.

“Of course I will, sensei.” I could see her shoulders fall in relief. “But Hashibira-san might not be so inclined.”

*****************************************************************************************************************************

The next session rolled around, and again, he was late.

I told myself I’d give it another minute, when I heard a sort of scuffling sound. What was that? It was getting closer, and then the door frame shook and burst open.

Hashibira-san was shoved into the room, still struggling, with Shinazugawa-sensei gripping both his arm and the back of his collar. I had assumed Shinazugawa-sensei just had those muscles for decoration, but I guess they have their uses. He must have dragged Hashibira-san the entire way to the classroom, kicking and screaming.

“Kanzaki-san,” he panted, “here is your student.”

Shinazugawa-sensei gave him a push and let go of him, and then quickly shut the door.

We looked at each other for a moment in silence. Mine was the result of mild shock, but Hashibira-san looked so mad that speech was out of the question. Even so, he found his voice pretty quickly.

“DID YOU TELL THEM TO BRING ME HERE!?!” he roared.

Shock over. I can scream as well as the best of them.

“NO, I DIDN’T! I told them I wasn’t doing this anymore, and they begged me to come back and try again! This is a huge waste of my time!”

“Waste of YOUR time? You look like you have nothing else to do! What, did you f******* raise your hand for this?”

“Sure, it gives me practice for my volunteer work at the animal shelter!”

He was so mad, like a rabid dog, that I kind of wished Shinazugawa-sensei had stuck around. For, you know, moral support.

“I’m not doing any of your STUPID work! I don’t need a damn TUTOR! I don’t need a stupid BITCH to tell me what to do!”

“What did you call me?”

“You heard me! What the hell are you doing here anyway? Only way you could get in a room alone with a guy?”

“WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?”

“You HEARD me, you BIT—”

I have never had a very good temper.

My textbook went flying across the room. Hashibira-san looked surprised, but he ducked. I was already incandescent with rage at this point, and as he turned to look at where the book smacked into the wall, I took the opportunity to hurl my water bottle at him. That got him in the neck. Then came another textbook, that hit him in the chest.

I think he would’ve retaliated, but I was too busy picking up a chair to heave at him to notice.

“Get OUT!!”

“What do you think you’re going to do, throw the f****** chair? What is this, WWF? BRING IT ON!”

“It’ll have to do …so I can kill you without touching you!!”

*******************************************************************************************************************

Natsume-sensei basically got down on her knees and begged me to go one last time.

“Kanzaki-san” --was she CRYING? --“please, please give it one more try. Hashibira-san…has a difficult situation. He has been given a chance to go to this school, but if he doesn’t at least TRY to get his act together, he could risk being expelled. He’s been having disciplinary problems in all sorts of areas, but I understand why. He…has had a difficult upbringing, and this school could be a new start for him…oh PLEASE give it one more try. You don’t have to teach much at all! Just get him to cooperate and come to the sessions.”

Just fly up to the moon while you’re at it, won’t you Kanzaki-san?

The day of the next session, I sat in Civics wondering what kind of strategy I could employ with Hashibira-san. I had briefly considering asking him to be handcuffed and gagged, but felt Natsume-sensei might get some very weird ideas about me. Could I request a bodyguard? Could he be sedated? Could they just freaking get someone else?

This kind of pondering was easy to get away with, as Gyomei-sensei's class is hands-down the most boring possible. He is a gentle giant of a teacher, so your first impression might be intimidation from the sheer size of him, but you can sleepwalk through the class. If you've got a pulse, you've got a C. If you say "Good morning sensei", and let your eyes glaze over in his general direction and not out the windows, you've got a B. If.you actually answer any questions, particularly with answers like "We should be merciful and just in judgment" and "All people deserve to be understood" you are an A student.

This is no joke. One of the volleyball boys, Kageyama Tobio, is in the class with me. I tend to avoid him, ever since Shizuku said he reminded her of me (thanks, friend), but that's beside the point. The boys' team must practice at dawn, because he uses that class to sleep with his eyes open every day. Every now and again, he nods and say "We should be just, but merciful in deciding what is right or wrong." He definitely has an A.

I figured my best bet would just be to ignore Hashibira-san. I had plenty of my own homework to do. And so that's the way it went. I went to the appointment room after school and pulled out my notebooks to start working. I barely lifted my head when Shinazugawa-sensei came struggling into the room with his prisoner like some kind of very hard-working parole officer.

Shinazugawa-sensei’s chest was heaving. “Here he is.”

Hey, sensei, chin up. Now you don’t have to go to the gym today.

The door closed, and Hashibira-san seemed ready to do battle. But I just turned back to my work.

He was eating, of course, so I knew he was still there from the chewing that seemed to be coming at me in surround sound. After a minute, I glanced over to see him stealthily creeping towards the door, looking for Shinazugawa-sensei.

“If you put one foot out of this room, I tell them, and you’re out of here. Like, suspension or expulsion.”

“I’m not doing a damn thing with you.”

I could sense the rage building up in him, but let me tell you, cold and quiet works a treat.

“Did you hear me? I’m NOT DOING THIS.”

“Whatev.”

I kept on writing, putting an extra frown on my face, like my homework was terribly engrossing. Wait for it, wait for it….

“What are you doing here then?”

“Babysitting.”

The volcano exploded. After five minutes of roid rage, or Hashibira-rage, which was the same thing, he went back to the door again, desperate.

“No, naughty.”

Well, I could’ve guessed he was the kind of person to take things literally.

Hashibira-san went to the windows, pushed one open, and looked like he was gauging how many bones he’d break if he jumped.

Not my problem. But ugggghhhh…..having a conscience is so annoying.

“Hashibira-san, just sit down and wait it out. There’s only 38 minutes left.”

He spent 20 of those minutes on the windowsill, trying to find a footing, and the rest punching desks and walls. I got quite a lot of homework done, actually. I didn’t care at all if this situation didn’t change.

The only fly in the jam was that people seemed to think I was supposed to DO something with him…to improve him. They were the teachers, they could do their own jobs. My chem teacher, Iguro-sensei, actually had the nerve to confront me about it in the hall one day.

“Kanzaki-san” he sort of hissed through his mask, “Considering how much I’ve heard, and seen, about you being a dedicated student, I’m shocked you aren’t getting through to Hashibira-san.”

I’m shocked you decided to become a teacher, you hypochondriac reptile. Why the hell didn’t you get a job in a nice, antiseptic place, like a space station or something? Why are you a high school teacher? We could have the plague, Or at least mono.

He adjusted his mask, squirted on some hand sanitizer, and frowned while he rubbed his hands. “I really had higher hopes, considering it was you they had picked.”

“I’m so sorry sensei, but there is only so much one can do with a reluctant student.” When Iguro-sensei slithered away, I realized both my fists were clenched. Another minute, and I would’ve given him a good reason for another bandage across his face.

Like a fool, I told Hashibira-san about this one afternoon, and he finally stopped trying to construct a makeshift rope ladder out of his shirt and sweater to roll on the floor laughing.

“YOU got in trouble! Because of ME?” He was laughing so hard, he nearly choked. If I hadn’t promised myself I wouldn’t get within spitting distance of him, I would’ve helped him out the window myself.

Headfirst.

Chapter Text

I couldn’t figure out which one I dreaded more, going to volleyball or the tutoring.

Volleyball was mercifully not every day. I had figured out the rules, but my actual progress at hitting any actual volleyballs was moving at a glacial speed. I was getting nowhere slow. The only thing I was able to do well was block the ball, thanks to the Kusakabe's and their stupid giant genes. For everything else, I was a volleyball dunce. Makomo the Kind continued to give me pointers, and Kanroji-sensei was constantly optimistic, but their help only made me feel worse that I wasn’t getting any better.

As for the tutoring, it didn’t help that some people began to get curious about how it was going. Three different people, to be precise.

Principal Ubuyashiki stopped me in the hallway, smiled his gentle smile, and asked me how the tutoring was progressing. So ironic that he used the word “progress”. I didn’t have the heart to tell him “Terribly. Shinazugawa-san is a menacing mute who loathes me, and I think he will flunk harder than before. The only thing we learned last week is how much Aoi and Inosuke hate each other.”

Instead, coward that I am, I smiled brightly and chirped “Fine! Just fine!” and then, in case Principal Ubuyashiki has some spies about, I added, “Shinaguzawa-san is quite quiet, but we’re working well together.” Ouch. Which hell am I going to end up in for that lie?

The principal smiled, “Yes, Shinazugawa-sensei told me he might be, but I knew a great student like you would be able to inspire him!”

I kept that smile on my face until he turned and left, even though I actually wanted to fling myself to the floor and cling to his ankles shouting “No! It’s all lies! I’m a fraud! The only math being done in that classroom is my student counting the seconds and then running out the door! Don’t make me go through it anymore!”

Then there was Shinazugawa-sensei himself, who held me back after class one day to talk to me. I had a bad feeling I knew what it was all about, as my grades, my true and faithful friends, had not been letting me down.

“Kusakabe-san”, he said, looking down at me with those light blue eyes of his that look almost lavender, “How are the tutoring sessions going?”

I knew what was coming, so I answered more readily this time, but with less smiling, “Fine, sensei. Shinazugawa-san is pretty quiet, but we are getting through some work.”

“Oh?” Shinazugawa-sensei kind of drawled the syllable, arching an eyebrow. “Are you.”

I wanted to scream “Are you asking me or telling me?” but I bit my tongue. “Well,” I stammered “Shinazugawa-san is, uh, like I said, you know, quiet, and well, of course you know, as you’re his brother, so I wouldn’t know anything about him you don’t already know, ha ha..”

I knew I was babbling, so I tried to pull myself together to spit out a coherent sentence, because that eyebrow was now rising into his hairline. “He is very quiet, so he doesn’t ask many questions” I managed to get out.

Both eyebrows suddenly snapped down in a line above those piercing eyes, and then the resemblance between the brothers was obvious. “He IS cooperating? Or is he not?” I found myself quailing under that look, and realizing the scariness was definitely an inherited trait.

“No, no sensei! I mean…he is! I mean, he just, well, we don’t do anything but math. We don’t, uh, chat or anything.” Well, at least that was the truth, to mitigate the avalanche of lies that was going to bury me if this went on any further.

All at once, the tension lifted. I don’t know what I had said, but Shinazugawa-sensei went from menacing to mildly amused. “Really? That’s not surprising.” He said this with a sort of quirk to his lips, and kept looking at me with the same expression, as if there was some sort of private joke he was mulling over. I was dismissed with a “Let me know if there are any problems.”

Problems? It didn’t need to be plural; it was all one big problem.

It was a problem Aoi, Kanao and I were trying to solve. Both mine and Aoi’s separate problems, actually. Inosuke had already had detention multiple times for his uniform infractions, language, tardiness, eating in class and fighting in the hallways. Aoi was livid when a teacher who knew about the tutoring had asked why she hadn’t been able to exert some influence over him, as she was such a “model pupil.” I think Aoi had been inches away from getting her own detention for fighting in the hallways when she heard that one.

“I know!” Kanao piped up, in the middle of Aoi describing how Inosuke had laughed hysterically at her when she told him that she was getting in trouble for his rotten behaviour, “you could give him roofies!”

“Roofies?” Aoi was looking at Kanao like she’d just started speaking in tongues. “Date rape drugs? Give him date rape drugs ? I’m trying to teach him to write in complete sentences! I don’t want to date him! I certainly don’t want to do anything else with him! I wouldn’t touch him with a stick!”

“He does have that beautiful face” I said, watching Aoi closely to see if she got flustered. I had been curious—how did she not get nervous around someone that looked like that? “Not that I would recommend doing anything except looking at him, myself.”

“And he is pretty, um, strong.” Kanao said, and then added hastily “I couldn’t help seeing. He ran out of school that warm day last week and just ripped his shirt off.”

“Sure,” Aoi snarled “face of an angel, body of a boxer. Brain of a gnat. Manners of a pig. Vocabulary of a sailor. I think I’m changing my opinion on where he came from. Not raised by wolves, but pigs. No, boars. Not even domesticated pigs. He is constantly looking for something to eat, or eating, and it’s like visiting a farm. I’m sorry, but between that and his head being filled with rocks, it cancels out the prettiness.”

“That’s it!” said Kanao excitedly, still two steps back. “You could bake them into brownies!”

“I’m not giving him brownies!”

“No! The roofies! They knock people out, right? And he loves to eat! So if Hashibira-kun is twice as crazy as a normal person, a roofie wouldn’t knock him out, it would just calm him down enough to make him normal! And you could bake them into a brownie, like a pot brownie, so he wouldn’t taste it!”

“You want me to bake ... date rape brownies.”

“Don’t worry Aoi,” said Kanao in a soothing voice “you’re a great cook. I’m sure you’ll work out a recipe.”

I started fumbling around for my phone, because I had the feeling I might never see that exact expression on Aoi’s face again.

“Yes… because the brownie recipe would be the tricky part of this scheme. Buying illegal drugs and dosing my tutee with them should be a cinch. Maybe I should put them in onigiri instead.”

As I was laughing so hard I couldn’t speak, Aoi took it upon herself to haul Kanao out of her sulks that her “ideas hadn’t been appreciated, when she was just trying to help.”

“Help in this way.” Aoi barked. “Get one of his friends to talk to him. Not Agatsuma, my “student” would tie him into a pretzel. How about that Kamado kid? The smiley one? He seemed the most normal out of the bunch. Have you talked to him since the first day?”

“Tanjiro?” Aoi and I exchanged glances. First name basis, huh? “He’s in a few of my classes and” suddenly Kanao’s words came out in a rush “he’s SO nice! And so cute! I mean, handsome cute, not baby cute. His family runs a bakery. And he has five brothers and sisters! One is just a year younger than us. Can you imagine, six kids?”

“I guess Kamado-kun’s Dad is pretty handsome cute himself” I said. Kanao tried to look shocked but couldn’t manage and started giggling. I don’t know where these comments pop up from sometimes myself.

“A bakery,” mused Aoi “maybe he can bake the roofie cake.”

Between Kanao and her disturbing seduction brownies and the fertile and fruitful Kamado family, I had forgotten about my own problems. However, my sister was the third curious cat on the whole tutoring issue. I had almost forgotten about meeting with the big frightening brother, as opposed to the little big frightening brother. Ami reminded me.

“Shizuku!”

“What?”

“Was he cute?”

“Who?”

“The boy! That you have to teach.”

“Oh, him. No.”

Chapter Text

It was the afternoon of our third session, and I had had enough.

The day before had been a particularly humiliating one as far as volleyball went. Our practice schedule was sort of erratic, as the boys' team dominated court time, so we practiced at odd times before and after them. On this particular day, they got in early and decided to hang around before they started their practice. They sat at the side of the gym, stretching and warming up, and watching us.

Being physically awkward and playing a sport with girls who are better than you is embarrassing. Doing it with a bunch of guys watching you is paper-bag-over-your-head territory. It didn’t matter if they were the strange first years or the fetching upperclassmen, it was all mortifying.

I particularly hated that beanpole blonde with the glasses, Tsukishima. He was watching us and our attempts with such an insulting smirk on his face that, for the first time, I wished I really could hit a volleyball. Accurately. I would’ve clocked him with it.

So today, as I was walking to the classroom to meet Genya, of course I had the bad luck to pass him and his inseparable best friend in the hallway. I tried not to look at them, but I could see him glance at me, and then say something to his pal with such a superior look on his face. What was he saying? There’s that big nerd from Chem who stinks at sports and is trying to play volleyball? Did you see how bad she was the other day?

I scurried into the classroom feeling ashamed and angry at the same time. I was not in a good mood. I got in a worse mood thinking about how my “student” would turn up, wait for me to ask my few desperate questions, glare at me, and then leave. Why was I doing this? As a favor for a teacher? As do-good fodder for an application? What was wrong with me? Why was I putting myself through this?

This was my mood when Genya turned up. He said down, in silence, and was met with silence. Angry silence. After a few minutes of this, he looked up at me with something approaching confusion. I should’ve pleadingly asked if he needed help by now.

I even surprised myself. I glared at him.

His eyes, always angry even though I’d never given him any reason to dislike me, widened.

I wanted to shout at him, but years of being meek and being good were not letting the words come out. If I got mad and accused him of wasting my time, he would just refuse to answer me anyway. Plus, I couldn’t help it-- I was honestly a little scared of him.

This was my last try.

“Shinazugawa-san,” I began, tight-lipped, “Do you need any help?”

Nothing.

“Shinazugawa-san” my voice had a slightly hysterical edge to it. “Do you need my help with your math homework?”

Curiosity over, the glare narrowed again. That did it.

I felt angry tears in my eyes, so I looked down at my hands to hide them, and caught sight of my gym bag, full of clean clothes and knee socks for volleyball practice. Suddenly, my own musings on grandma’s crazy comments about real boys popped into my head. Considering the source, I suppose that’s what made me go nuts.

My head snapped back up.

“You know, I am here to tutor you in math. I can do that for you, easy. It seems, however, that you don’t know how to speak or ask questions. So I guess I’ll have to do that for you as well.”

With that, I reached down, grabbed a knee sock, and stuck my arm inside of it. I pulled it all the way up, scrunched my hand a few times, and had myself a creditable sock puppet. Real boys. Puppets. I had lost it.

“Shinazugawa-san,” I asked my sock sweetly, “How are you today?”

I wanted to give the puppet a deep voice, but I didn’t want to flatter this jerk across from me, so it came out sounding like the ghost of Mickey Mouse.

“I’m fine Kusakabe-san. It’s nice to see you too. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me!” The puppet swiveled around to look accusingly at Genya, who was staring like he’d been turned to stone.

“Oh, it’s nothing!” I trilled, “I don’t mind at all, because I SEE YOU GET SO MUCH OUT OF THESE MEETINGS!”

Now the sock and I were both glaring at Genya. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was glad my sock was clean, because it was about 3 inches from its namesake’s nose.

“Kusakabe-san” the sock said “let’s get right to work. We wouldn’t want to WASTE EACH OTHER’S TIME!”

The last bit I bellowed. Faced with a wild-eyed girl who was screaming in his face, and a hostile knee sock, Genya finally spoke up, or mumbled up. It came out through clenched teeth, but it was an answer.

“Fine….fine! What do you want me to do?”

I stared at him.

“Do!? Some math! Ask me some questions! I’m here to help you! Ask me whatever you want! Do you know I’ve been lying for you? I don’t even know you! I lied to the principal, who got me into this mess because of that eye of his, I lied to your brother, who is my actual teacher, and I have no idea if he believed me when I was blathering on about how we were working on math instead of sitting in here staring at each other like we’re playing Quaker meeting! I had to threaten you with a puppet to get you to say something!”

Genya looked at me, then looked down. His blush was thermonuclear. I could’ve made s’mores on his face. I felt like I had the upper hand, and I had to exploit it.

“Give me some of your work that you’ve done. Anything. Just hand me a paper with numbers on it.”

With the utmost reluctance, Genya reached into his bag and, after a minute, pulled out a paper that looked like a test. I took it, and had to slap on a true poker face. I don’t know if he had anything right except his name.

Do you know when you sometimes get a flash of insight? For the first time, looking at that abysmal test, I thought there might be another reason Genya hated these sessions and me along with them. I am familiar with the concept, and feeling, of shame.

I took a breath.

“Okay, let’s go over some of these. Sometimes, with math, you don’t understand the concept, and that’s the problem, but other times, you mess up in some part of the operation, even though you know what you’re supposed to be doing. Let’s see what you did on this one.”

Genya hadn’t moved since I had taken the test, or even looked up. “Shinazugawa-san”, I threatened softly. “I’ll make the sock talk again.”

We went over the problem, and it turned out that not only did he not understand the concept, he was making mistakes in his mistakes. Ouch. I don’t know if the process was more painful for him or me. When we finally, torturously, arrived at the right answer (with me providing 90% of it) there was silence. I was not going back there again, so I spoke up, without any clear idea of what I was going to say.

“Right. This is what we’re going to do. Math is like, like…Jenga. You know, Jenga, the game with the little wooden blocks that you take out of the tower—”

“I know what Jenga is.”

“Oh, you do?” Ooohh, I could’ve bitten my tongue out, as Genya shot me a look that nearly roasted me alive.

“G-good, I mean, of course you do.” At this point, my normal self would’ve been hiding under the table from the soup of embarrassment, hostility and who-knows-what that was floating around in that room, but I was still on my adrenaline high from my sock puppet’s victory.

“Well, you know when you’ve got a lot of pieces out, and the tower starts swaying, and everyone starts going “Whooooaaa” whenever it’s someone’s turn? Well, math is …well, actually, it’s not like Jenga.”

Where the HELL was I going with this? The look on Genya’s face told me he was thinking exactly the same, but his inner monologue was more colorful.

“When you’re doing math, even if you take just one piece out of the tower, it will fall. So math IS Jenga, but only Jenga the moment you slide it out of the box and it looks like a huge block of cheese. If you’re doing a math problem, and it’s got lots of steps, and you add something wrong in the beginning—”

“I can ADD!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t! I’m still getting over my shock that you can talk!”

The look I got for that one made me glance towards the windows. If he was going to throw me out of them, this was probably the time.

“I’m just saying that one mistake, and the whole thing goes wrong, even if you get the other steps right! It’s not like you can get the answer a little bit right, math is right or wrong, period. It’s not like an essay you can make crap up on. So half the time we’ll work on whatever concept you’re working on in class, and half the time we’ll do drills. Easy ones, and then they’ll get harder. Does that sound okay?”

I crossed my fingers and waited.

Genya didn’t say a word. Finally, he looked to the side and nodded his head.

I felt like cheering. I felt like jumping up on the desk and doing the Cabbage Patch. However, my sixth sense told me if I showed the tiniest sign of triumph, all bets were off. So I pressed my lips together and gave a firm, teacher-like nod. I was about to suggest going over his current homework, but Genya was already getting his things together.

“We’ll, uh, start next week then.” Genya looked at me one last time, with an inscrutable expression on his face, and headed out the door. Well, I didn’t care if he didn’t talk. I won, so take that, Mr. Mime.

Chapter Text

“No…you have to solve for x.”

Genya glared at his paper, erased his answer with enough force to rub through the desk, and tried again. His notebook looked like it had been through a war. I glanced out of the window and stifled a sigh. It was getting dark and starting to rain, but we still had half the session to go.

Fast forwarding from my big win (mine and Genya’s stretchy cotton alter ego) and my life seemed to have plateaued. School ticked along, and volleyball was finally winding down. Being forced to practice three times a week had changed me from a 100% failure to a 90% failure, because the law of averages dictated that my body would end up blocking the ball from hitting the floor at least sometimes. Kanroji-sensei was talking about having spring training, but there was only so far my ingrained dutifulness would go.

Makomo told me during practice that she was pleased the season was ending in a way, as she’d have more time to see her boyfriend, Sabito. “He’s in the army…he only gets leave now and again.” She showed me his picture, and I didn’t have to fake being impressed. He had a really lovely smile, and looked smitten with her in the photo. He also looked a few years older than her. I took this as a sign that my grandmother is bats. Makomo, who looks like she is 12, ends up with an attractive older soldier boyfriend, but her granddaughter, aka Busty Heart, is like mono—don’t get too close or you’ll catch her.

The tutoring sessions were something Genya and I both approached with a sort of grim fatalism. I explained things, he listened in silence, and tried to do the work. It was like me and volleyball, which I had been duped into doing and stayed with because I felt guilty. Something had to be getting through, but he was resisting all the way.

Now he started turning up at sessions with colorful additions to his face, like black eyes and busted lips. I deduced they were from rugby, not beating people up in alleys at night like Batman, but I still kind of felt like I was tutoring a surly MMA fighter.

One afternoon before a tutoring session, I stood around in a sour mood during P.E. with Aoi and Kanao, while Tomioka-sensei lined us up for drills. Adding about a gallon of lemon juice to the sour was watching Daki try to flirt with Tomioka-sensei. It was hilarious and depressing at the same time.

I was in middle school with Daki. And when I think I can’t hate her more than I did the month, week or day before, I always surprise myself. She was that girl who decided before anyone else that playing with dolls was officially babyish and lame (I played with mine faithfully, just to spite them all) and that giggling at what the boys said was really where it was at. She is the roll-her-skirt-up-at-the-waist girl, the push-up bra girl, the "climb to the top of the heap by stepping on your heads" girl. The infuriating part of it all is that she is really pretty. I mean, the makeup helps, but the boys all think she is so hot, so gorgeous. It’s an ego boost for them just to be picked up by her for a day, even if she drops them for something better that comes along the next.

That kind of popularity with the boys tends to go to one's head, methinks. The three of us were watching the spectacle of her trying to sidle up to Tomioka-sensei. Daki is smart enough to know her brain will never get her anywhere, so she relies on her other…talents, but too stupid to know where her limits are. Watching her try to push them with someone like Tomioka-sensei is popcorn worthy.

Tomioka-sensei teaches gym. Like we are preparing for war. I think he was in the military before he became a teacher, and the only difference now is that he grew his hair out long as opposed to a buzz cut—his one act of defiance against rules and order. He has a whistle that I’m sure he polishes lovingly every night, and nothing gives him any joy in life except to BLOW THAT WHISTLE.

“Girls! Line up! Enough talking! We’re going to start with stretches and sit-ups!” Fweeet!

“Imagine,” whispered Kanao, “if Tomioka-sensei were married. He’d blow that whistle at his wife all day long. “Faster! Is dinner ready? I’m timing you!” He’d blow it at his children, so they would be like the Von Trapp family with a different whistle combination for each kid.”

I whispered back, “Well, he’s not, so I bet he has to blow the whistle at himself to get his fix before he comes here and starts in on us. Fweeet! Get up Tomioka! Fweeet! Breakfast! Faster! Don’t chew so loudly! Fweeet! Shower! Tie that hair back! Put on that blue tracksuit, just like the other 47 identical ones in the closet! Faster! Your grandfather could do better! Fweeet!”

Her teacher crush being criticized, Aoi felt compelled to add “He’s gorgeous though. He looks like a model.”

Aoi was being no fun, but well, he kind of does. The lust of the girls at our school is basically divided between Shinazugawa-sensei, Tomioka-sensei and our art teacher. (Our history teacher is in a different league of devotion altogether). Team Tomioka swoons over the pale skin, sapphire eyes and stern pretty face.

“Well, for me it’s Rengoku-sensei 4-EVA, but if you’re gunning for him, get used to that whistle. You’ll be hearing it in your sleep.” Aoi gave me a dirty look.

However, Tomioka-sense is also completely oblivious. To everything: girls, other teachers, parents’ complaints, everything. And Daki trying to flip her hair and laugh up at him earned her a particularly loud blast on the whistle.

“I said, IN LINE! Can you not hear me? Do I I have to repeat myself?”

Watching Daki get smacked down didn’t happen often. It was the highlight of the day.

Tomioka-sensei continued to monitor us (“That is not a sit-up! It’s a crunch! All the way to the floor, and back! Fwweeeet!”) and Kanao took her chances to keep talking.

“My cousin Shinobu, you know Kanae’s sister, she might be coming to sub a few classes next term. She’s super fun, you guys will love her—”

We all froze. Tomioka-sensei was right in front of us. He was staring at Kanao, and then gave his head a tiny shake, as if he was coming out of a trance. “Tsuyuri, SIT-UPS!” Fweeeeeet!

With one thing and another, my mood was kind of off that afternoon, as I sat watching Genya tear his mohawk out over basic algebra.

“No…no. Let me see what you did. This should be 8…how did you get 6? Here…let’s try it again.”

I wrote out another problem, pushed it over to him, and waited. Genya took one look at it, started to write something, and then just angrily flipped his pencil across the room.

I stared at where the pencil landed, and then looked back at him. “Well, that was useful! What is wrong with you? Can’t you just try it?” I snapped the words out, sounding beyond exasperated. I was tired. Daki had made some snide comment about my gym uniform. I was hungry. It was raining. I had a good book I wanted to start as soon as I got home, and someone was pitching a hissy fit because he had to try a math problem again.

"I did try it."

“Try it again.”

“I am DONE with this.”

“No, that’s my line. I don’t know which one you hate more, me or the math, but like it or not, we’re gonna do it! Even if we hate every minute, and you want to chuck me across the room instead of the pencil!”

Genya stared at me. I would’ve stared at me. Thanks to this tutoring lark, I was developing multiple personalities. Queen Math Bitch was the latest. I would rule with Shinazugawa-sensei.

“You? ” He was looking at me like he was talking to the other head that had grown out of my shoulder.

“Who else do you see?”

“I…I don’t, okay?!”

“You probably want to!”

“Want to do what? What the hell are you talking about? I said I don’t hate you!”

“Yes you …wait, what? Oh, okay, I was talking about the wanting to throw me part. But, you definitely hate me! If hate were fat, you’d do sumo!”

“What the fu—hell is wrong with you!? Why do you think that? I DON’T!”

My phone was on the table, and Genya was in full rage mode. I picked it up, and snapped a photo at exactly the right facial expression.

Genya jumped like I had poked him with a pin in the ass.

“Why do I think that?” I said accusingly, as I took my phone, and pushed it to his face.