Ink (18 page)

He paused.

“Did she find out about you?”

Another hesitation. “No.”

“But she was going to, wasn’t she?”

“—yes.”

“Did you make it all up? Did you pretend to cheat? Did you pretend to be a jerk, like you do at school?”

“I wasn’t a jerk, Katie.”

“You were an ass,” I said.

“Oi.”
He sounded annoyed.

“And you let her believe you cheated on her, didn’t you?”

He shrugged, leaned back and slouched into the wooden house.

“Things with Myu were breaking down anyway. Too many questions. I drew a few sketches of Shiori in case anyone went snooping and then just happened to forget my notebook in the
genkan.
I didn’t say anything either way and it worked in my favor.”

“You’re doing it right now,” I said.

“Huh?”

“You’re being a jerk.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

He blinked at me, his lips curving into a sly smile.

“Tomo, I’m serious. Stop it.” It slipped out, just like that.

I’d switched to his first name, a shortened one even, and made whatever it was we had closer. He heard it the minute I did, and his face started to turn beet-red. “Anyway,” I babbled,

“why would you do that to Myu? That’s cold.”

“Because,” he said in a gentle voice, “I had to do it, to protect her.”

“You could’ve been less of a jerk about it.”

“If I’d been less of a jerk, she wouldn’t hate me like she does now. And I needed her to hate me.” And I heard the guilt in his voice, the carefully thought out sacrifice. I saw the way his eyes softened when he talked about her. And despite all the denial I could muster, something flipped over in my stomach when I heard him talk about her like that.

“So why not push me away like you did Myu?” I asked.

The heat rushed to my cheeks. I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t. I just thought he was being stupid.

He didn’t answer at first, and he stared at the ground, the corners of his mouth curved up like he was laughing at me.

I wanted to smack him and walk away, but first I wanted an answer.

“You already know, don’t you?” he said eventually. “It’s not an easy burden, is it? I didn’t want to involve you, but the ink is tied to you. I’ve known that since— I know. Anyway, how was I supposed to know you would come to Toro Iseki when I was supposed to be at a funeral?”

“Well, don’t you think it was going to happen sooner or later? I’m here every week, watching you draw stuff and cross it out.”

“Maa.”
His eyes flashed up and caught mine. “I guess deep down I wanted you to know,” he said.

My heart pounded in my ears. “Why me?”

“First, because the ink is hunting you down. I can’t keep you in the dark and protect you at the same time. You’re part of it somehow. And second, because…”

He walked toward me slowly, his leather shoes pressing down the long grasses. I could feel his breath on my cheek as he leaned forward. My eyes fluttered shut, but I forced them open again. His breath was hot against my lips, and his face blotted out the sky, so I could see nothing but his eyes and the pores of his skin.

“Because,” he said in tones of honey and velvet, “I’ve always had to push away people I cared about. You’re the only one who ever pushed back.”

The words brushed against my lips and sent the butterflies tumbling again.
He’s going to kiss
me,
he’s going to—

He leaned back and patted me on the head. My cheeks turned tomato-red as I glared at him.

He blinked and stared back, looking completely innocent.

“What?” he said. He took another look at me and burst out laughing. “Did you think I was going to…?” He folded his arms, pressing his fingertips against the insides of his elbows as he laughed.

“I’m glad you think it’s so funny,” I fumed. Why the hell could he always pull one over on me?

He bit his lip, trying to stop laughing, and bobbed his head at me. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. Let me draw something to make it up to you.”

“Draw yourself getting smacked in the face.”

“Katie,” he protested, in the smooth voice he used when he said my name. I said nothing.

A wagtail chirped, and I turned to watch it fly across the clearing, into the ring of trees. And then I felt warmth as Tomohiro stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pressing his head against mine, his chest solid against my back. Tufts of his copper hair tickled against my neck, and his skin was warm, the sound of his breathing calm.

“Warui,”
he whispered in apology, and I knew then that I couldn’t live without him, even when he was infuriating.

Which was pretty much all the time.

My only chance was to stop the ink from reacting to me.

There had to be a way. I couldn’t just bail on him—I had to save us both.

I couldn’t walk away, and I knew it. Not until we both could.

Three weeks until summer vacation, and each time we visited Toro Iseki, Tomohiro’s ambitions grew. He drew birds and trees, turtles and rabbits. I pleaded with him to try to scratch the drawings out slowly, to see if it could be less traumatic to watch, but nothing seemed to help. Everything keeled over like its soul had been sucked from its body. And the turtle had time to take a chunk out of my finger before it collapsed, the ingrate, so I gave up on my humane-sketching plans. Tomohiro still insisted the creatures were just thoughts, so that made me feel a little better. So did searching recipes for turtle soup.

“They’re just extensions of me, I think.”

“So which part of you wanted to bite me?” I sneered.

Wrong thing to say. His eyes took on this fiery look and he gave me a wicked grin.

“Okay, grow up. I did not mean
that.
”

“Oh, please. It’s obvious how you feel about me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“Ugh,” I said. “And so modest, too. That’s super attractive.”

“Well, it must be working,” he said, “because you’re the one coming on to me.”

“I am not coming on to you! Your stupid pen pal bit me.”

“And I took him out for it.”

“Well, thanks.”

His eyes shone as he curled his hand around mine, and my heart almost stopped. “Anytime.”

Yuki invited me to go with her family to Miyajima Island for a couple weeks of summer break. Her older brother was working there, and she pleaded with me to go, too, so she wouldn’t be bored out of her mind.

The humidity of the Japanese summer wiped out any energy I’d had for kendo, and I could barely make it through practice drills. But Tomohiro and Ishikawa did the hundred push-ups without complaint, completing round after round of
kiri-kaeshi
as we looked on, dabbing our faces with the handkerchiefs everyone carried around because it was so ridiculously humid. The sweat dripped down their backs as they fought without their
men
on, their headbands damp and their hair slicked down to their necks.

“How come you and Ishikawa dye your hair?” I asked as Tomohiro chugged back a water bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm.

“It’s Ishikawa’s strategy,” he said, loud enough for him to hear. “He figures he might blind the opponent with his ugly mop.”

“Shut up,” Ishikawa said, but the corners of his mouth tugged in a grin.

“So why is yours red?”

“White and red, right?” said Ishikawa. “Because we’re rivals.” He grabbed Tomohiro in a headlock and they both grinned as they fought. I wondered what Tomohiro had said to Ishikawa, because he seemed like a different person, too.

Outside of kendo, they both slouched, looked badass and, in Ishikawa’s case, got into a lot of serious trouble. But somehow wearing the
bogu
armor and covering their faces with the
men
actually unmasked them and put them at ease. They were really themselves here, and Ishikawa and I somehow came to a truce. He stopped acting like a jerk, and I pretended his threats had never happened. Every now and then I still caught him glaring at me, though, so I avoided him when I could.

You’re keeping him from his destiny.
The words haunted me.

But he didn’t know for sure Tomohiro was a Kami. He only suspected it, and we had to keep it that way.

Watanabe-sensei announced a special kendo retreat, man-datory for those proceeding to the prefecture competition.

From our school, only Ishikawa, Tomohiro, two senior girls and one junior boy would attend. Takahashi Jun from Katakou would be there, too. I still couldn’t believe he was the same Jun I’d met on the train. He already knew there was a strange boy at my school who drew weird sketches. In my thoughts I pleaded that he wouldn’t make the connection to the ink, that he wouldn’t question the puddle at the tournament. But then I reminded myself that no one knew about the Kami anymore anyway. There was nothing to put together at all.

That week the school set up a big
sasa
tree by the office.

The bamboo leaves splayed out like a Christmas tree, and students crowded a nearby table lined with neatly stacked papers.

“Tanabata,” Yuki told me as she chose a soft yellow piece.

“Tanabata?”

“The lovers’ festival. Two stars in the sky meet only at this time of year, and the rest of the year they’re forced to be apart.

When the lovers are reunited, our wishes can come true.”

I thought about Tomohiro and his kendo retreat, how he would slave away in the heat while Yuki and I splashed around on the beach. But even when we were together, we had to keep a distance, at least until I figured out how to stop whatever was going on with the ink.

“So what are you wishing for?” I said.

“A boyfriend.” Yuki grinned.

“You’re going to write that?”

“No, no,” she said. “I’m writing good grades and health, like everyone else.” She took her slip of yellow paper and wrapped it around one of the branches. “What about you?”

she said, offering me the pen. “You already have a boyfriend, so…”

I’d stopped denying it. It wasn’t worth the effort. After Tomohiro had held me like he had the other day, there was something in his eyes when he looked at me. And even if I wasn’t sure about the label, I knew we were connected now, that we shared a special bond.

“You going to wish for good grades?” Yuki said. I stared thoughtfully at the tree. Then I chose a blue paper, dark enough that students would have to strain to read my words.

I wrote in English to try to keep the wish to myself.

I hope Mom has found peace.

Yuki went silent when she saw it, unsure of what to say. I didn’t blame her; I didn’t know what to say, either.

I took a piece of the yarn and tied my wish to the tree, on a lower branch where it would go unnoticed.

The tree ballooned with wishes as the week went past.

Tanaka wrote his wish at the end of the week.
I wish my sister
could cook.
Yuki and I raised our eyebrows.

“Did you see my lunches this week?” he said, tapping his finger on the paper for emphasis.

“If you flunk out of high school and have to eat ramen for the rest of your life, it’ll be your own fault,” I said. “You wasted your wish.”

“Obviously you haven’t tried my sister’s
onigiri,
” Tanaka said. He threaded the yarn through the end of the paper and looked for a spot.

“You waited too long,” said Yuki. “The tree’s full.”

“Here,” I said. “Put it beside mine.”

I stooped down and found mine quickly enough, the English writing standing out amid the blocky kanji.

“Here it is,” I said, reaching my hand out for the twirling paper. But there was a new scribble on it, not in my hand-writing. I pulled the tag forward, squinting to read the faint reply to my wish.

Mine, too.

Tears brimmed in my eyes and I tried to blink them back.

I dropped my paper before the other two could read it and did my best to smile with Yuki as Tanaka tied his wish next to mine.

Chapter 10

I grabbed my ticket and hopped on the Roman bus down to Toro Iseki. I’d stayed behind to clean the classroom and had to make up time. It was way too humid to bike anyway. I wiped my face with my handkerchief.