The next day, school felt different. Its noise felt like background music of a life that was no longer his.
The final bell rang like a liberation.
Seiji walked out of the building with Masashi, the afternoon sun beating down on his skin. His backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, he moved with a new confidence. Masashi hurried along beside him, talking about nothing in his usual frantic way, his hands flailing around.
Seiji barely listened.
"Hey, check it out," Masashi suddenly blurted, nudging Seiji with his elbow.
Seiji looked up.
Across the courtyard, near the vending machines, stood Ayame.
Ayame.
The Japanese vision of perfection.
The girl every guy in school stared at, dreamed of.
She was taller than most other girls, with long legs and a perfect figure that made her uniform look like it had been custom-made for her. Her dark hair flowed like ink, tied loosely with a ribbon that only made her seem more untouchable.
Her face?
Cold.
Beautiful, and cold.
The kind of beauty that froze everyone around her.
Seiji felt a familiar pang of annoyance. Why did she have to be like that? Especially the way she held herself—head high, eyes half-lidded, as though the people around her were beneath her notice. Like she was walking through a sea of insects.
"God," Masashi muttered under breath. "She's so damn hot it should be illegal."
"Yeah," Seiji replied. "And she knows it."
"Knows it?" Masashi's laugh was bitter. "She probably has every guy here wrapped around her finger. But she doesn't even look at them. Like they're not worth a minute of her time."
Seiji nodded, half-listening.
"Yep," he said. "Sounds about right."
"Kind of like my sister," Masashi said, rolling his eyes. "Same attitude. Always acting like she's better than everyone. Brags about how many guys hit her up. It's disgusting."
Seiji's thoughts drifted. "Yeah?"
"Yeah! She keeps saying my hair looks like a dirty mop." Masashi kicked a pebble. "And if I respond, she beats me up. I swear, all pretty girls are demons."
Seiji didn't reply. Masashi's hair did look like a mop, but what was the point in telling him that?
Seiji watched Ayame.
She was laughing with a friend, her fingers brushing against her neck in that casual way that seemed to say she had the world at her feet. Like a movie star on set. Sunlight played in her hair, making it look even darker, almost ethereal.
She is pretty. Reminds me of someone I know.
The thought of Yumi stirred something inside him. Yumi was older. Just as attractive. And she had already capitulated to him, gasping his name.
Could Ayame come even close to that?
"Don't tell me you're also falling for her," Masashi groaned. "You'd have to be crazy."
Seiji chuckled. "Crazy, huh?"
Masashi blinked, confused.
Seiji waved his arm dismissively. He couldn't tell Masashi what was really happening to him anyway.
He glanced at Ayame, standing there like a distant star, one last time. "Forget it," he said.
Masashi laughed, shaking his head. "Exactly."
They walked out into the street, Seiji's mind was already elsewhere. A strange warmth crept up his chest. Yesterday's memory—the sensation of Yumi's body, her gasp of 'Oh, god,' the amulet's hum—was taking him over. He couldn't wait for what was yet to come.
Masashi tugged at his sleeve. "Yo! Okay?"
Seiji turned his head. "Okay what?"
"The math homework. Chapter seven. Tonight. Okay?"
Seiji half-smirked.
What else do you expect from a nerd? Just like I used to be…
"Oh. Yeah, right."
Masashi frowned. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."
They turned the corner as Masashi babbled on. But Seiji didn't hear him. He thought of Yumi—and the letter.
"And when you're ready, follow the paths I left behind."