“I’m Japanese,” said Takahiro. “Half.” He was enjoying this. For about a third of a second I was furious. And then I thought, Okay, I guess he’s earned it.
“Wa’,” I said tentatively, which maybe meant “wow,” and he laughed.
“Ee, sugoi,” he said. “Yeah, amazing.” And picked up his coffee mug.
By the end of the game (he won and Val was second by three points) Taks was beginning to look and move more like himself again. His shoulders had dropped by at least two inches and he no longer looked like he was sitting on the edge of his seat because he was expecting to have to run away somewhere. As I put the game away Ran was telling him unbelievably lame thirteen-year-old-boy jokes and Taks wasn’t offering him even minor violence, which is pretty sugoi.
And the gruuaa weren’t juddering around so much. Hix had dangled over my shoulder for most of the game like she was watching. Mongo had been asleep and was now cruising. He was cruising in that I’ve-slept-long-enough-I-want-something-to-happen way. After I put the game away I went to fetch a few more dog biscuits. I had three choices: I could take him for a walk, I could give him something to do, or I could watch while he started running through his repertoire, hoping for the trick that this time would make praise, petting and dog biscuits appear. If none of his tricks worked, then in his despair at discovering he was no longer loved and appreciated he’d look for something someone—probably Ran—had carelessly left at dog level and destroy it tragically. (I have been known to accuse Ran of leaving something at dog level for Mongo to destroy. Like those fabulously expensive sneakers he then decided he didn’t like. Very old history. But it made my job as dog trainer harder. As I pointed out to Mom when she stopped me from gnawing off all of Ran’s top surfaces.) I usually managed not to let it get this far. And Mongo was a lot saner than he’d been as a puppy but he was still the same dog. It was hard to believe he was almost eight years old. He was already doing pirouettes as I closed the cupboard door.
The radio had been burbling away for the last hour with gardening tips and the health benefits of bicycling to work, and I heard a plug for Clare’s shelter. We had a bunch more kittens to find homes for and usually managed to move a few grown-up cats as well during a kitten rush. And then there was the kind of pause that isn’t supposed to happen on the radio and totally gets your attention, and then a new crisp official voice was saying, “I have an announcement. While General Kleinzweig wishes to emphasize that there is no cause for anxiety, he has decided it would be prudent to leave additional patrols in the area overnight, and to reassess the security of the situation in the morning. Please do not be alarmed if you should see soldiers on your street; they are there in your best interests.”
The radio went back to burbling but we sat in silence. Some of the gruuaa climbed up the wall and started doing their spiky dance—the dance that had so freaked me out that first night Val had come to dinner. I looked at Vaclass="underline" the heavy lines down the sides of his mouth seemed even deeper and heavier than usual. The gruuaa had climbed higher and higher on the wall behind him and were making a kind of pointed filled-in-arch shape. All of it kept moving and seething and little bits of wall flickered through as—I don’t know—legs and bodies and heads moved and left gaps, but the overall shape remained weirdly steady. Usually when the gruuaa threw themselves around they just threw themselves around. Val’s grim face and the dark pointed arch behind him made him look like Evil Cobra Man or something. I didn’t like it. It was only two days ago that Val was still my worst enemy.
Val moved, like someone jerking himself out of a bad dream, and the gruuaa fell back down the wall and made thornbushes over the baseboards. I knew that jerk: Jill did it when her foresight was hurting her. I stopped not-liking and started worrying.
Takahiro stood up and said, “Thanks for”—and his eyes fell on Ran and he finished—“everything. Dinner was great. Sorry I ate the last brownie.”
“You aren’t sorry,” said Ran.
“I’m not sorry,” agreed Takahiro. “Maggie, the bus stops at the end of your street, doesn’t it?”
“I’ll take you home,” said Val, standing up like there was a cobey regiment on his shoulders. There wasn’t, but there were a few gruuaa.
“I can catch a—”
“Yes, you can, but I’m going to drive you home.” Val snagged the car keys off the hook on the wall.
Takahiro hesitated.
“I’ll come too,” I said. “If I stay here, Mom’ll make me clean up the kitchen.”
“Or do your homework,” said Mom, but she didn’t mean it. She was worried about Takahiro too.
I waved to Mongo, and he shot out the door in front of us, trailing gruuaa. I didn’t know what happens if you shut a car door on gruuaa and I couldn’t see them in the dark, so I left my door open while I clipped Mongo into his car harness next to me and put my seat belt on. Then I closed the door so cautiously I had to do it twice. Nothing squealed. I really had to learn about doors and gruuaa. Both Taks and Val had just got in the front and closed their doors.
We were on a corner lot of a street near one edge of town, and we had to go clear across town and out the other side to where Takahiro lived. We saw a car turn and come down our street, and several passed by on the main road as we drove toward it. Val stopped at the intersection.
“Look,” whispered Takahiro.
There were three soldiers standing on the sidewalk, watching the cars pass. They had the big orange cobey unit badges on their hats, and one of them was holding something like a video tablet or ’tronic desk up and looking at it.
All three of them turned their heads and looked at us.
Suddenly the car was full of a smell. I can’t describe it, but anyone who has spent as much time at an animal shelter as I have knows smells like it. It’s a clean smell—it’s not about dirty bedding or food bowls or anything—but it’s a critter smell. I reached forward and put my hands on Takahiro’s shoulders. And squeezed. Hard. “You’re okay,” I said. “You’re here, you’re with us, you’re okay.”
His hands came up and grabbed mine. Really hard. “I shouldn’t have eaten so much,” he said in a muffled voice. “This has never happened before. But if I were still weak and hungry I bet I couldn’t . . .”
“You’re not going to,” I said, trying to remember how Ms. Dunstable—who was also Mom’s friend Joanna—made her voice go all solid-state when she was talking to the full school assembly. “You’re going to stay the way you are right now because while Val and I are okay with you no matter what, these soldiers aren’t.” Takahiro was panting—way too much like a dog. Or a wolf. Mongo whined. The soldiers were sauntering toward us, like daring Val to step on the gas and make a run for it. Val was looking out the window, his hands motionless on the steering wheel. I thought, Oh, gods, he’s performing for them. Mongo whined again. Just before the first soldier leaned down to tap on Val’s window Takahiro let go of my hands. I sat back but twisted around and slid my right hand between the car door and Takahiro’s seat, and his hand dropped and grabbed it. Mongo whined a third time and with him straining toward the front seat I could just reach the snap, and flicked it loose. He was through the gap between the seats in a flash, sitting in Takahiro’s lap. Takahiro’s lap was nearly big enough. I saw Taks’ other hand rise, as if involuntarily, and run down Mongo’s silky head and back.