March 15th, 1993; Oshirogaoka Highschool, Kanazawa City, Ishikawa Prefecture, Japan.
The place used to be an all-girls school, up until about two years ago - that’s good news for one Rokuro “Rocky” Tanaka, because the only other school this close to home is the one he just got kicked out of. Feet up on the desk in front of him, zoning out and staring at the ceiling, he clearly has no intention of changing his ways; he’s the picture of a delinquent, the kind you’d find anywhere.
There’s only one thing wrong with this picture: the girl sitting behind him. Everyone else is spending the morning catching up with their friends, trading White Day gossip and talking about last night’s Ghost Sweeper Mikami, but she’s just sitting there, quiet; doing absolutely nothing but watching everyone else. Being alone, sure, isn't too weird, but he’s seen her do this all day, every day. She never even gets out a notebook, or answers in attendance - hell, he’s been listening out, but the teachers haven’t even called her name. Maybe it’s weird to be so invested in a girl who’s done literally nothing at all, but she’s weird, too.
That’s why, when he sees her in the garden behind the school between classes, it sticks with him.
It’s a memorial garden, at the heart of it; Rocky’s just here to bunk off and avoid getting dragged to PE class after lunch. It's always quiet around here - mostly because it’s supposed to be haunted, teeming with the ghosts of the victims of the bus crash it’s there to pay respects to - but if someone did want to come here to say a few words and remember some people, then a delinquent skulking around might be a bit-…
“Uh, I can leave.”
Over the bushes, the girl’s head snaps back, stunned and shocked. There’s no way she couldn’t have seen him, right? With bleach-blonde hair (tipped in black for a bit more bite) and a dark red bandana to match the t-shirt underneath his uniform, black gakuran jacket tied around his waist, Rocky’s well aware of how much he stands out against the dark greens and soft pinks of the flowers and trees lining the cobblestone. The path through the centre is winding and curved around the rock-rimmed pond in the middle, but you’d have to pass the bench he’s sitting on to get to the little, wooden shrine in the heart of it all, and she definitely did go past him.
Nevertheless, the girl panics. She turns and runs, straight into the bushes - it’s a dead end, but his “hey, wait! It’s cool, I’m not gonna do nothin’,” seems to be heard by little else but the tree branches stretching overhead. Was she that shit-scared?
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Letting out a breath, Rocky grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. Leaving is the only decent thing to do, if a girl’s that scared of him, right?
How bad did he scare her, anyway?
She’s not in class that afternoon, which…is really, really weird. She might never take notes, or answer the register, or clean up after school, or…anything, but she’s always been in class - still, though, nobody else seems to notice. He wasn’t gonna say anything until he actually saw her, but when it gets to last period, and she still hasn’t shown up, that bullet starts looking crunchy.
“Oi, Munezawa.” He’s never seen them talk - he’s never seen that chick talk to anyone - but Erimi Munezawa, neon streaks and heavy make-up, knows just about the whole damn classroom, and she’s seat-neighbours with Mystery Girl, too. She looks up incredulously from the bag Rokuro dumped unceremoniously on her desk, staring at him from under raised brows. She takes her sweet time getting up from her seat, too.
“Whaddaya want?”
“That girl who sits next to you,” he jerks his head in the empty seat’s direction, “who’s she?”
Munezawa pauses. Her gaze goes wide, then into a squint, clicking her tongue as she sizes him up. “Watch your goddamn tongue.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“That was my best friend, jackass. I get you're new here, but…” Hand on her hip, venom drips from her tongue. “Don't. The fucking bus crash isn't your free ammo.”
As Munezawa, back straight, grabs her bright red, keychain-laden backpack and storms out of the room, Rokuro is left at a loss. He doesn't have a whole lot of choices but to head out himself, ignoring the stink-eye the rest of the class is giving him along the way.
Could he really have seen her?
She's never felt this self-conscious before. Even Erimi taking a second glance over her shoulder shakes her to her core - Shiori finds herself, hand over her mouth, standing behind a row of blue and red lockers, peering around the corner. Why? How? It's been years, alone, and suddenly, there someone is, talking to her. He's leaving, staring dumbly at the ceiling in mystified thought, and she's kicking herself, because all she can do is watch the answer to her prayers walk away.
…Maybe he'll be back tomorrow…
…
…Then again, will tomorrow be too late…?
