So that’s how things were.
Camille was still gathering up her stuff. If we were going to be sitting together for the rest of the year, I should probably try to smooth things over.
“I’m um, I’m really sorry about the, you know, getting all your stuff wet,” I said.
She shrugged.
“The drawings especially.”
Her cheeks colored slightly. “It’s ok. I’ll make more.” Again I was struck by her unusual accent.
“So, um, where are you from?” I blurted.
“Tokyo.”
I laughed. “No, seriously. Where are you from? I can’t place your accent at all.”
Her brow creased. “Tokyo.”
I gaped. “What, you’re serious? I mean, not that you don’t, um, seem like a serious person.”
She snorted; I think it was a laugh. “I’m serious.”
I let that sink in a second. I’d thought I had it bad. Half a country away was nothing like half a world away. “So this must be like, some major culture shock, I bet.”
She considered that, and gave a nod.
Maybe I had been right after all. Maybe she really was like me. Heartened, I went on, “I’m definitely not any kind of expert about the area...or the school...or anything, really...but if you um, ever need help with anything...”
“I don’t need help,” she said flatly, hoisting her bag over her shoulder and striding swiftly out of the room.
“Oh. Ok then,” I said to her empty chair.
Chapter 5
Camille
They wanted her to stay after class. Camille was not happy about that. She didn’t care about completing evaluations for classes she didn’t want to take in the first place.
If she did badly enough, would they get to go home? She could just throw the evaluation. How mad would Gabriel be if they had to go back to Japan? It might be worth it. He could just start a cafe there instead. None of these people who hated him were there.
The other students had left for the day. The pretty, awkward girl. The boys who wanted to be near the awkward girl. The stylish ones who ignored her. She didn’t have time for any of them. All this social dancing seemed so pointless. And she was sick of all this English. The teachers - all but Charlotte, Gabriel had been right - hated her. All in all, this had not been one of her better days.
They had penned her in Rin Umino’s office. Awaiting the arrival of the principal, she slumped in her chair, arms folded into her hoodie. She shouldn’t have snapped at Jul. That had been rude. The other girl had clearly been trying to be kind and accommodating. Guiltily, Camille had avoided her for the rest of the day. In truth, Jul seemed like a really nice, friendly person. But friends complicated things. She didn’t need anyone else. She and Gabriel could handle whatever came at them on their own. She certainly didn’t want to be responsible for getting someone innocent like Jul hurt. She still didn’t know what had precipitated their leaving home -
The door opened, but it was not the principal who entered. The boy who’d startled Jul in science class stepped in, his eyebrows rising slightly when he caught sight of her. Kai? Kei? Something forgettable.
“Sent to the principal’s office already,” he intoned. “That might be a new record. What was your name again? Chamomile Tea?”
Camille would not dignify that with an answer, just returned to looking at the wall behind Umino’s desk. One of the frames held a blank piece of parchment, and she was trying to decide its significance.
“Oh yes, you’ll go far here,” he said. “Can’t even take a joke. I’m Kei, I’m sure you’re dying to know. Sakamoto. Don’t mind me, I’ve just come to pick something up.” He walked around the desk and opened a drawer. He rifled around in the papers for a moment, closed it, then opened another.
Camille frowned. Was he really supposed to be in here? It didn’t seem like he knew the principal’s office very well. He looked more like he was ransacking her desk than running an errand. But saying something was out of the question. She didn’t have the right words. Unless...
His name was Japanese. Maybe he spoke it? Everything here would be so much simpler if she had someone to talk to. She never knew she’d miss simple conversation so much.
“Are you really supposed to be in here?” she asked in Japanese.
“Hm?” he looked up from the drawer.
“Your actions are suspicious,” she said. “Explain yourself.”
His mouth quirked slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t speak Chinese.”
What hope she had was summarily quashed. “Japanese,” she snapped.
“Oh, right,” he said lightly. “Yeah, I don’t really speak that either. I mean, I know some words here and there, like karate...ninja...kamikaze, that sort of thing.”
He was pronouncing them all wrong. He really was American. “Kamikaze,” Camille said, letting her irritation color her correction.
He shrugged. “Over here it makes no difference. Distinctions like that, you just have to learn to let them go. Sorry to disappoint. Did you want to run that by me in English?” His head tilted slightly, like a bird.
She was beginning to think that Kei Sakamoto was not the sort of person she wanted to talk to, in any language. “No,” she answered him, eyes firmly on the floor.
“Don’t be shy,” he said. “Shy never helped anyone.”
“I’m not shy,” she growled. “I don’t like you.”
He feigned offense. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Me, I like everyone. You’ll never get along here if you can’t learn a few basic social skills. Here, I’ll show you. Step one is pointless conversation. You pick out something about the other person, and get them to talk about it. People love talking about themselves. Pretend you’re interested and they think you’re best friends. Like so.”
He settled into Umino’s chair, errand apparently forgotten. What was he still doing here? He should have left by now. She just wanted to be alone.
“I like that...metal...thing,” he observed, gesturing vaguely to the iron bracer on her arm. “Where’d you get it?”
She eyed him warily. That was none of his business. Pointless conversation or not, he’d landed on the one thing she wouldn’t talk about. Gabriel had tricked her into putting it on years ago, and it wouldn’t come off. She’d learned to forgive him for it, but the hunk of metal still gave her its share of annoyance. Just the mention of the bracer had her fighting the impulse to scratch at it. She’d worn it forever and even though it did no good, she still wanted to scratch at the skin beneath.
Kei Sakamoto leaned forward on the desk, steepling his fingers, like he belonged there. “Family heirloom?” he prompted. “Ebay? Found it in a dumpster? Ooh, I know, it was a gift from an old boyfriend.”
Camille frowned. Maybe he hadn’t been fishing for info on the bracer. Maybe he really was just an idiot. Americans were all the same.
“No?” he went on, undeterred. “On second thought, you don’t look like the boyfriend type. Old girlfriend?”
The bracer felt tighter and more restricting the more he made her think about it. Her mouth formed a grim line of disapproval.
“Still no? I guess that look would scare off just about anybody. You look like a mob boss. Ooh, did you steal it from the mob? Is it some sort of treasure from the Japanese mafia?”
She’d had enough of this. The bracer was digging into her wrist, and her right hand twisted at it reflexively.
“Go away,” she said.
“Just when we’re getting to know each other?” he objected. “No, I want to hear the story of how you broke into mafia headquarters and swiped their prized metal thing.”