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In the shadow of Yuuyuu Girl’s Vocational High School was a windswept clearing, nearly forgotten and rarely seen. Some years ago it had housed nothing but a lonesome shack. Now, with persistence and luck, it was home to a thriving club — due in no small part to its fearless (if clumsy) leader, Serufu Yua.
It was late March, hotter than average, and Miku Suride was holding her sun hat tight to her hair as she walked a familiar path towards that clearing. Her graduation ceremony was finished. She was eighteen and free to follow her dreams to Kyoto, to college, to a degree in Engineering. She checked her watch. The Gatagata students would be getting out of their own ceremony soon, and she wanted to be at the clubhouse before they arrived. There was one last conversation to be had, one she’d been dreading since the morning she took her entrance exams at Kyoto University.
In the years since it was first constructed, the treehouse above the D.I.Y. club had expanded outwards. Each incoming class added their own personal touches and the result was chaotic, but charming. Miku settled onto the wooden swing. She and Serufu had built it together nearly three years ago, and it wrenched her heart to realize how little time she had left in this place. She took off her hat, put it back on, adjusted the ribbon, took it off again. Full of nervous energy, she kicked the ground and let the swing carry her gently against the wind.
Suddenly, in the distance, Miku heard a familiar voice. It was too far away to make out any words, but she knew it better than her own. Laughter followed. The wind carried it to her like a comforting spirit. She stood up from the swing, overcome by a wave of embarrassment with herself. At the same time the wind yanked her hat out of her hands and sent it spiraling into the air. She grabbed for it but it was already gone. Furious, she stomped the ground.
“Purin!” Her childhood nickname broke through the rushing wind. Miku shook off her self-pity and looked up, and the sight of Serufu silhouetted by the afternoon sun was breathtaking. Lost for words, she just waved. Serufu waved back, walking faster, now breaking out into a full sprint towards Miku.
“Purin! Purin! We did it!” She was dressed in the Gatagata uniform, shirt untucked, bow askew, sneakers dusty from riding her bike. Around her neck was the ceremonial cord marking her as a club president. Miku watched as though in slow motion as the cord slipped over Serufu’s shoulders and fell, tangling around her knees, pitching her forwards at full speed. Miku reached for her out of pure instinct and the two collided, spinning around and around until Serufu landed back on her feet.
“Are you ok?” Miku asked. Before answering, Serufu dropped something onto her head. It was her hat. The brim was bent and the ribbon crumpled, but Serufu had returned it to her all the same.
“Of course I’m ok!” Serufu’s arms were still around Miku’s waist, a fact she was becoming increasingly aware of with every passing second. “Purin,” Serufu said, “the club got the funds we asked for — they can stay next year!” Serufu smiled with every inch of her face. “And guess what?” She paused for a fraction of a second before barreling ahead. “They’re finally letting Yuuyuu students join as official members!”
She let go of Miku and began rummaging in her shirt pocket. Miku watched with interest as Serufu pulled out what she had been looking for — a seemingly random piece of trash. She turned it towards Miku to show it off. It was a handmade award with a royal purple ribbon dangling from the bottom, creased and fraying at the edges. It read, “Miku Suride — Yuuyuu Ambassador to Gatagata D.I.Y.” The cramped, disorganized handwriting was clearly Serufu’s.
Miku took the button from Serufu’s outstretched palm, turning it over between her fingers as she stared at it, thinking about what to say. As usual, Serufu didn’t wait. She reached out, taking the button right out of Miku’s hands, and started pinning it to the front of her shirt. She took her time, unusual for her, clearly trying hard not to poke Miku with the button’s sharp pin. Miku held her breath, sure that Serufu would be able to feel how hard her heart was beating. After what felt like hours Serufu stepped back, beaming at her handiwork.
“There,” she said. “Now you have something to brag about to all of your new friends in Kyoto.”
“What—" Miku stuttered. “I just got the results from my exam this morning! How did you know—?”
“I didn’t!” Serufu’s smile never faltered. “But you’re so smart. If you can’t get in, nobody can!”
A wave of thoughts and feelings hit Miku all at once. There they were, the two of them, under a tree meant for confessions, and Serufu had figured hers out already. She had always known Miku better than she knew herself.
Oblivious, Serufu continued. “I made you something else, too. Here!” She pulled a little square of paper from a pocket in her skirt and unfolded it, handing it to Miku. It was a drawing, much like the one she’d done for the treehouse, exploding with color. It showed a pair of houses, one made of stone and glass, the other of wood and clay, connected in the middle by a rope bridge. In the foreground were two figures that looked a little like Serufu and Miku, if you squinted. They were standing next to each other in the middle, and each was holding hands with a man in a suit. Miku frowned at the drawing, trying to decipher it.
“That’s you,” Serufu said, pointing to the figure on the left. “And that’s me.” She pointed to the one on the right. Then, gesturing to the connected building in the back, she said “By the time you graduate, I’ll be a manager at Waku Waku Wan Wan, so I can get discounts! And then we can build this together.”
“Who’s this?” Miku asked, pointing to the two men in the drawing. “Are we being arrested for breaking the building code with our bridge?”
Serufu laughed. “No, those are our husbands! You’ll meet someone at college and I’ll meet someone at the hardware store, and after we get married we can all live together in our big house.”
Miku winced. “What if I don’t get married?” she asked, testing the waters. “What if I’m too busy? Or nobody wants to date me?”
Serufu’s face grew serious, an expression Miku didn’t often see on her. “Lots of boys will want to date you,” she said. “You’re so smart and so pretty!” She grabbed Miku’s hands, crinkling the drawing. “If I was a boy, I’d ask you out right now!”
“And what if you don’t get married?” Miku pressed, not sure if she wanted to yank her hands away or let Serufu hold them forever. “What if boys think you’re stupid? What if they don’t want a clumsy wife?” Her words careened away from her, a bicycle racing downhill with no brakes. “They don’t know you like I do!” Tears filled her eyes. “They’ll be mean to you!”
A silence rang out after that. Miku pulled her hands out of Serufu’s grip, ashamed to her core. Serufu looked down, her face red, staring at her drawing. She sat down hard on the treehouse’s swing and the ropes creaked, twisting in the wind.
“Here,” Miku said, tugging the paper out of Serufu’s hands. “I think your idea is good, but let’s work together to make it even better.” Serufu looked at Miku with her eyebrows pinched, trying to understand, and offered a pencil. Miku took it. She held the paper as best she could with one hand, turning her back to Serufu as she worked. She was used to digital tools, ones that could erase and redraw as though the original had never existed. With pencil it was different. Blurry outlines remained even after Miku did her best to get rid of them. She added a few extra details, longing for perfection, hoping that Serufu would understand what she meant anyway.
“Here,” she said. “What if it’s more like… this?” She gingerly held the drawing out to Serufu, who took one side. The two held the paper between them like architects with a blueprint. Like explorers with a map. Serufu was quiet as she looked at what Miku had done. The husbands were gone, the two girls now holding hands in the middle.
“Will you…” Serufu began, then stopped. Miku could tell she was mulling something over before she said it. A rare occurrence. She looked up. “Purin, will you write to me from college?”
In the same moment the wind picked up again, flooding the courtyard with dancing cherry blossoms. The wind chimes they had made together all those years ago rang out overhead.
“Of course!” Miku cried. “I’ll write to you every week.” She planted her hands on Serufu’s cheeks, tears rolling down her face. “I’ll write to you every day!”
Serufu threw her arms around Miku’s neck and kissed her. It was too forceful, angled badly, more like a headbutt than a first kiss. Exactly how Miku had always thought it would be.
It was perfect.