The Waking (7 page)

Kara stayed by the window, waiting for dawn to break and for the cobwebs of her dream to burn away. Already, only fragments of it remained, but it left her with the sensation that she’d been lost in the dream all night. Details changed, but certain elements had been consistent all three nights—the blood and the candles and the cats. The presence of her parents’ bedroom and the feeling of expectation, like she might see her mother again, had been new this time, and it lingered with her. It felt like she’d lost something, though of course even if she had seen her mother, it would only have been a dream.

With a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around herself and watched the sun climb over the horizon. The morning light spread, and she began to feel better.

Then she remembered that it was Saturday, and a smile touched her lips, as though sunrise had spread within her. Yes, she had a few hours of school this morning, but the afternoon would be free. Miho and Sakura were taking her shopping in Miyazu City. After hearing about Akane’s murder and the creepy thing with the cat earlier in the week—added to the stress of trying to adjust to her new life—no wonder she’d been so troubled. The dream had been haunting her all week, but her friends from home were fond of saying there was nothing a little retail therapy couldn’t cure. Shopping was just what the doctor ordered. They’d walk all afternoon, get completely exhausted, and if she was lucky, there would be no dreams tonight.

No dreams tonight
. She made it her mantra.

Or perhaps it was more like a prayer.

Pink lanterns were strung from the trees in Takinoue Park, where spring had just begun to blossom. Kara took a bunch of pictures, framing some of them diagonally because she liked her photos off-kilter. At home she would take pictures of her friends because they’d bug her until she relented, but Sakura and Miho seemed to understand that the camera meant something to her beyond just snapping tourist shots, and so they posed only when she asked them to get into the picture.

After school they’d taken the Tankai bus to Sanno-bashi, where only a few minutes’ walk brought them to the park. Kara loved the Turning Bridge and Ama-no-Hashidate and had already photographed them endlessly, not to mention beautiful shots across Miyazu Bay, framing some of the islands in her shots, especially the misty rise of Mount Oidake on Kami Island. One day, she hoped to explore those places with friends. But today wasn’t for sightseeing. It was a day just to be with the girls.

“Can I ask you something?” Miho said, adjusting her round glasses.

Kara lowered her camera. “Sure.”

“We always hear about how much more time we spend in school than American students. Is that really true?”

“Well,” Kara said, “back home, we don’t have school on Saturdays, that’s for sure. And the school days here are definitely longer. But in Japan, there are longer breaks between classes, and more art and physical education classes. We’re probably not actually in class with a teacher that much more than in America, if you add it all up.”

Miho nodded as though this satisfied some suspicion she’d already had. Kara had to know.

“Why do you ask?”

Sakura let out a derisive laugh. “I told her American boys are stupid. That they wouldn’t be intelligent enough to keep up with her, but would expect her to act like she is even dumber than they are.”

Miho glared at her.

Kara grinned. “You mean Japanese boys aren’t the same way?”

“Exactly the same,” Miho said.

“Not all of them,” Sakura added quietly.

“Oooh, Sakura likes a boy!” Kara said.

Whatever vulnerability Sakura had just revealed vanished in an instant. Her cynical, tough-girl mask reappeared, and she winked at Kara.

“I like them all. Except American boys.”

Miho glared at her. “You’re evil.”

But she couldn’t keep the angry face in place for more than a few seconds, and then they were laughing. Kara’s heart felt lighter than it had in days. She had never acquired a huge number of friends at home; she just didn’t have that kind of personality. But she missed Dawn and Toni and Aaron, the kids she’d hung out with in her high school in Massachusetts. She’d kept in touch by e-mail, but she’d been gone three months and already it felt like they’d forgotten about her. Out of sight, out of mind.

Which meant she had to live in the now, with the people around her.

“Say ‘cheese,’ ” she said, raising the camera.

Sakura and Miho grinned. “Chee-zu!” they both said.

Kara laughed. “It’s ‘cheese!’ I’m not the one pronouncing it wrong.”

“You’re in Japan,” Sakura told her. “We say ‘chee-zu.’ ”

“Because
we
say ‘cheese,’ ” Kara replied.

“Which is silly, anyway,” Miho put in. “Why cheese?”

Kara laughed. “Fine. Explain ‘chee-zu,’ then.”

Miho and Sakura glanced at each other, genuinely baffled, and Kara snapped their picture like that. She viewed the shot on the little screen on the camera and giggled, showing it to the girls.

“Who’s evil?” Sakura said.

Miho crossed her arms. “Kara is evil,” she said in English.

Kara nodded in appreciation. “Hey, that was pretty good.”

“We need practice,” Sakura said, also in English. “You should speak English with us.”

“I need practice, too,” Kara replied.

“We . . . ,” Miho began, but switched to Japanese. “We should take turns.”

Which sounded more than fair. For the rest of the afternoon, they moved back and forth between English and Japanese, correcting one another as politely as possible. They were hungry and ate lunch in a small restaurant near the park. The girls were much more comfortable with gossip outside of school, and Kara learned the secrets—real or imagined—of some of the most popular students, not to mention some teachers. Some of the teachers she’d barely met, and some of the other students she’d never heard of, but Kara listened intently and laughed in all the right places.

Miho and Sakura weren’t content to talk just about their own world, though. They wanted to know about her life in America, and Miho, of course, about every boy she’d ever kissed, or wanted to kiss. They had questions about fashion, shopping, and the house she’d lived in, and Kara happily filled them in. An older woman who worked in the restaurant joined in on the conversation at one point, wanting to hear Kara speak English.

“You should learn to speak Japanese-English,” the woman said, “if you want us to understand when you speak your own language.” When she saw the confusion on Kara’s face, she went on. “The accent. If you speak English with a Japanese accent, it will be easier to understand you.”

Kara bowed her head in gratitude for the advice. As the woman walked away, Sakura rolled her eyes.

“Don’t listen to her,” Miho said. “You need to speak

American-English if we’re going to learn correctly.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Kara replied. “It’s hard enough to speak Japanese without trying to learn to speak English with a Japanese accent.”

By the time they finished lunch it was after two-thirty, and Kara knew she wouldn’t be hungry at dinnertime. Still, her fish had been excellent and the plums delicious. And since she’d never be able to finish her dinner, it made total sense to her that they should get some candy at the little shop just down the street.

They rode the bus back into the heart of Miyazu City, eating their sweets and talking about nothing. A boy who looked old enough to be at university admired Sakura, apparently taken by the dramatic cut of her hair or the collection of patches and pins on her jacket, though Kara thought it just as likely he merely appreciated the shortness of her skirt. Many Japanese girls would have looked away, either with a shy smile or in an attempt to ignore him. The culture avoided bold eye contact whenever possible, but Sakura had her own style, and it involved challenging convention whenever possible. She gave the boy a withering stare that eventually forced him to turn away.

Kara and Miho shared a smile over that.

“You look tired,” Miho said quietly, in English, adjusting the bow in her hair. “Are you feeling all right?”

The change of tone and subject was abrupt. Kara blinked and looked at her, but Miho’s gaze was elsewhere.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she confessed, also in English.

“
Soudesuka
,” Miho replied with a nod. “Sakura hasn’t either.”

The word meant something like
I hear you and understand
. Kara enjoyed how versatile the Japanese language was. After a couple of months in Japan, shifting between the languages had grown difficult. If she was thinking in Japanese, it wasn’t easy to switch to English.

“What haven’t I been doing?” Sakura asked, moving across the bus to sit beside Miho.

Seeing them next to each other—the mousy, proper girl with her cute glasses and the wild child—usually made Kara smile at the contrast. But on the subject of sleep, she couldn’t muster a smile.

Kara switched to Japanese, hoping they would stick with it. “Sleeping well. Why not?”

With a shrug, Sakura unwrapped a small candy and looked away from them. “I haven’t slept well since Akane died.”

“This is different,” Miho said. Sakura ignored her, but Miho leaned toward Kara and whispered, “Bad dreams.”

The words made Kara flinch, thinking of her own nightmares of cats and no-face girls and all that blood. A chill snaked up the back of her neck and she would have asked Sakura to elaborate, but then the bus slid to a halt and the doors opened.

“Let’s go,” Sakura said, leading the way.

The streets of Miyazu City looked nothing like an American or even European city. There were markets and shops everywhere, monks in white, police officers stopping bicyclists to see their riding permits, and tourists buying souvenirs of Ama-no-Hashidate. Some of them were embarrassingly American, one man even wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cowboy hat, as though he had dressed up expressly for the purpose of becoming a caricature. Kara cringed at the sight of him, but nobody else seemed to notice, as though this man in his sandals and sunglasses was what they expected of Americans.

Don’t be nasty
, she thought.
He might be perfectly nice
.

Still, the shirt had to go.

They visited Miho’s favorite dress shop, where a saleswoman seemed to adopt them as her personal mission, though none of them bought anything. Sakura dragged them into a bookshop, where she introduced Kara to her favorite manga and they both spent too much money, and then into a music store, where Miho insisted Kara pick out some American music for her. Since she hated J-pop—the bubblegum pop music a lot of Japanese kids liked—Kara was happy to oblige, grabbing the latest Alicia Keys and an ancient Nine Inch Nails, just for variety.

Outside a little store where Sakura had bought them each a spangly hair band and herself a pair of bright orange socks, they stopped for a break near a fountain. Kara thanked her for the gift, and Sakura seemed pleased.

“A keepsake of our day,” she said.

Then her smile went away. She couldn’t manage happiness very long. If Kara judged just by her appearance, she’d have thought it was part of the persona Sakura had crafted for herself, but she felt sure it had much more to do with Akane and the way their parents seemed to have just left Sakura here and forgotten about her. Maybe the girl felt like she shouldn’t be happy.

The thought made Kara’s heart hurt.

Sakura surprised both Kara and Miho by suggesting they visit Temple Chigenji, which had been built by someone named Takahiro for his mother, who’d been a Buddhist saint.

“I didn’t think you’d like history,” Kara said.

“Just because I don’t have respect for authority doesn’t mean I don’t have respect for the past,” Sakura explained.

Standing in front of the temple, Kara felt exhausted. It had been a very long day.

“My mother would have loved it here,” she said. “She never liked the idea of leaving home, living someplace so far away. But she would have loved it here. Sometimes beautiful places made her cry. I think Ama-no-Hashidate would have had her in tears. It feels like the top of the world . . . like you could sail north and find—”

Kara faltered. She’d been about to say
find heaven
, but she couldn’t finish the thought. If that was where her mother had gone, Kara wished she would come back.

Miho touched her arm. “I haven’t heard you mention your mother before.”

“We know your father,” Sakura added. “He gives too much homework.”

Kara smiled, a twinge of sadness still in her heart. “He’ll lighten up. He likes to put a scare into his students at the beginning of the year to make us take him seriously.”

Both girls were still watching her but did not speak, as though waiting for her to go on.

At length, Kara glanced away. “My mother died in a car accident, almost two years ago. It’s just the two of us, my father and me. She left us to take care of each other.”

“But she loved you,” Miho said.

Kara looked up to find a sad smile on the girl’s face. She nodded.

Sakura did not smile. Her expression was hard, and her eyes difficult to read. But she met Kara’s gaze.

“That’s a treasure,” Sakura said. “And you’ll have it as long as you live.”

Kara startled her with a quick embrace. By the time Sakura started to return it, Kara was already stepping away. The three girls looked at one another for a moment, and then the subject changed and they were talking about nothing and everything again, heading back along the street. Heading for home.

And they were friends.

Jiro had his window open, and the night breeze brought the powerful scent of cherry blossoms into his room. So strong was the aroma that he blinked in distraction and pulled his attention away from the television set. He spent too much time in front of the TV, his parents were always telling him. But the stupid game shows helped numb him.

Ever since September, when Akane had died, numb had been his goal. They’d been close friends—maybe even best friends—and he’d known that she didn’t love him any other way. But his feelings for her had been so strong that it felt like love to him, or the way he thought love should feel. He still wasn’t sure he knew what love really felt like, but no one else had ever made him so happy inside, so nervous, and so lighthearted, as though he could rise off the ground and fly.