Calligraphy made Kara feel a thousand times better.
At first, listening to the teacher-Kaneda-sensei-she had thought it might be the most boring thing she would ever do. The gray-haired, fiftyish woman had a slow, drowsy voice, like some of the baseball commentators back home. Nothing made her fall asleep faster than when her dad would put on a Red Sox game on an August afternoon.
She’d also been on edge, wondering if the members of the calligraphy club would freeze her out the way the Noh club members had. And some of them had looked at her with disdain when they saw she was attending the meeting. But Sakura introduced her to some of the girls, and there were several kids from her homeroom in the club, including Ren and the female Sora. Ren teased her, slowly pronouncing the Japanese names for the special paper they used- hanshi -and the different brushes, but his teasing was so good-natured that Kara could shoot him a halfhearted icy stare and then laugh, which seemed to set everyone at ease.
What really helped, though, was when they actually got down to work. Kaneda-sensei stopped to show her brushstrokes several times, and she encouraged Sakura and the other members of the club to help as well. It was her first time even attempting calligraphy, and though she knew she couldn’t possibly be writing the kanji characters correctly, the process alone felt therapeutic. As she practiced different characters, following the order of brushstrokes carefully, she found her anxiety slipping away with every swath of black ink.
Japanese art all seemed to combine precision with beauty, but she had not seen the value in that precision with something like Noh theater. She admired it, yes, but couldn’t imagine doing it herself. Calligraphy was different. Working with the ink and brush seemed almost like meditation.
When the meeting ended, she knew she had found her club.
Afterward, Sakura and Ren walked out with her, the two of them involved in a conversation about their favorite manga that sounded almost like a completely different language to her. They talked artists and ink thickness, and when they discussed the actual stories, they spoke about the characters and places as though they existed in the real world.
Kara had already decided she liked Ren, but seeing the way he could distract Sakura from her troubles, she liked him even more. She only hoped that his interest in Sakura didn’t extend beyond friendship, because that might break Miho’s heart. As much as she dismissed the idea of dating Japanese boys, and only wanted to talk about American guys, it was painfully obvious that Miho had a crush on Ren. Kara made a mental note to talk to Sakura about him; she wouldn’t want to hurt her roommate without even realizing it.
“Why didn’t you two join the manga club?” she asked as they went into the genkan and changed into their street shoes.
They exchanged a look and a laugh.
“Matsui-sensei guides the manga club,” Sakura said.
“So? He’s very serious, but he’s nice enough.”
Ren shook his head. “Not if you don’t like baseball. He really would like to guide the baseball club, but since he had to settle for the manga club, he only wants to talk about baseball manga. We met in manga club last year and switched to calligraphy together.”
Kara couldn’t help the insinuating smile that touched her lips. “Really?”
Sakura rolled her eyes and whapped her on the arm. “It’s not like that. I’m not Ren’s type.”
The two of them shared another look and a laugh at what must have been a private joke between them. From Sakura’s tone, Kara got the implication. Miho would be very depressed if she found out that Ren was gay. Kara wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.
“Let’s go,” Sakura muttered. “I need a cigarette.”
They said their good-byes to Ren and went out through the front doors. The shadows had already grown long. Kara wondered how she would feel about being in school during the worst winter months, when she would be arriving shortly after sunrise and heading home after dark. Winter would be very long. Fortunately, it was far off, and they had all of spring and summer stretching before them.
“You and Miho really have to come over for dinner one night,” she said as they headed around to Sakura’s smoking spot.
“Your father really wouldn’t mind?” she asked.
“I’m sure-,” Kara began but stopped mid-sentence.
The soccer girls were there, gathered around like some 1950s gang waiting for a rumble. She knew a lot their names, now. Chouku. Hana. Reiko. In their sailor fuku uniforms, they looked like a real-life version of something out of one of Sakura’s favorite manga.
Ume started toward Sakura. Maiko grabbed her arm, trying to hold her back. Ume shook her off. A couple of other girls murmured hesitations, glancing around, worried there would be trouble and they would be caught up in it.
“Sakura…,” Kara began.
But she had no more luck than Ume’s friends. Sakura stormed toward her smoking spot. A couple of spiky-haired boys, obviously friends of Ume’s, were standing in the recessed doorway, but they did not try to help or interfere. They were there just to watch. They smiled.
To Kara, they all looked tired.
“You’re going to stop!” Ume jabbed Sakura in the chest with one long finger.
Sakura scoffed. With her jagged slash of hair and sleepless eyes, she actually looked dangerous, like she might at last be just as wild as she always tried to appear.
“Stop what? Breathing? Sorry, I’m not going to make it that easy for you.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Ume said, almost snarling, stepping in close.
Kara tried to separate them.
Ume slapped her hand away. “Don’t touch me, bonsai. This has nothing to do with you.”
Kara looked around at the other girls and the boys watching from that recessed doorway. They all looked ragged and on edge. She thought about her own behavior earlier, and the way Ume had sniped at Maiko that morning, and she knew, suddenly, that things could turn very ugly here. Not just ugly-violent.
“Maiko,” she said, turning to the other girl.
But Maiko looked away. None of them would meet her gaze. Some glared at Sakura expectantly, waiting for a fight, practically salivating over the possibility. Others looked like they wished they were anywhere but here, as though they thought maybe Ume was acting a little crazy but didn’t want to be the first to say it.
“You are going to stop,” Ume went on. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re putting these things in my head.” She spread her arms to indicate the others. “In all of our heads.”
A terrible smirk appeared on Sakura’s lips. “Oh, I get it now. You’re having dreams, too, aren’t you? Bad dreams.”
“See!” Ume said, triumphantly, pointing at her again and turning to the others. “I told you! She admits it.”
“She didn’t admit anything,” Kara said. “A lot of us are having bad dreams.”
Ume stepped in close to Sakura. She was taller and glared down at her. “It isn’t just in dreams anymore. Some of us… we’ve seen things while we’re awake, too.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Things that shouldn’t be there.”
Maiko took a step closer to them. But instead of menacing, she was pleading. “What did you do, Sakura? Is it some kind of drug? Or did you poison us? Please, you have to stop.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I’m falling apart.”
Maiko sounded so full of despair that Kara couldn’t help feeling badly for her.
“You’re haunted,” Sakura told Ume. She glanced around at the others. “You’re all haunted, as you should be. None of you should be able to sleep.”
Kara stared at her. What the hell was she talking about?
Ume laughed. Nobody else did.
“I knew your sister was crazy, but I didn’t realize you were just as bad,” Ume said.