Tomorrow's Doom A.2/C.12 - Morning Tribulations

Chapter 11: http://pastebin.com/AmxBx4Qq
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Chapter 12 – Morning Tribulations

Sunday morning breaks through my window with brilliant sunshine, stirring me from peaceful slumber with its warming glow. Groggy, but content, I roll into my pillow and smile at feeling the soft fabric brush against my cheek. Last night I had my first good dream in months. I can't remember much of anything from it, but it was a happy, carefree dream, and I'm holding onto that feeling. Hisao was there, somewhere, smiling his happy smile and offering his hand. I took it and embraced him, I think, but the rest is a blur – I awoke with his smiling eyes in the forefront of my imagination.

A sudden battering on my door causes me to roll over and sigh, letting the image fade away. I grin despite the fading memory, lying there and waiting for Amaya to start yelling through my door. I think I can afford to rest here a while longer and make her wait – she doesn't know I'm awake.

The rapping begins anew, and now her strained voice croaks through the door, “I know you're in there, Aiko! Tadao already called after checking with the Swooner.”

She thinks I went back over there?

I groan and roll onto my side, “I'm awake, did you think I snuck out last night?”

She beats on my door again. “Thought you might dash off and jump him in his sleep or something,” she says, her voice cracking. “You were a little bit attached last night,” she remarks lasciviously.

I roll my eyes and swing my feet off the bed. “Nothing happened, I told you that!” I yell, annoyance in my groggy voice.

“Open your stupid door, I need help with this,” she demands, “I need your agile hands.”

Knowing what she probably means, I grumble and stand, quickly unlocking my door and yanking it open. Practically falling into my room, she pushes a bundle of hair pins and a brush into my hand and sits on my bed. “Tadao got me a flower for my hair and I want to frame it,” she explains, leaning forward.

“I just woke up,” I try to explain.

“Just do it, you barely need eyes... just two hands,” she slides over on the bed and turns to the side, giving me room to sit next to her. “Looking beautiful is an all-day torture for Tanabata,” she gripes.

Nodding, I sit down and start brushing her hair up and getting it clipped into place. I've always admired her indomitably straight hair, finding it much easier to manage than the wavy locks I inherited from my mother. After a few short minutes, I have everything wrapped up and she launches off my bed, dashing through my door and to her room without a mention of gratitude.

Not that I expected any.

A few minutes later, I'm still sitting on my bed looking out the window when she comes and stands in my doorway, holding a mirror up to check my work. “You approve, of course,” I state, not leaving her the option to disagree.

She nods and contorts her face to the side, trying to see the back of her head with the little mirror. “It'll do, Kurai... it'll do.” She drops the mirror down and grins. “Now we need to figure out what to do with that mop of yours,” she says with a crooked grin, pointing at my head with her mirror.

Oh, please don't.

“Yeah, we should do something...” I glance over at the big mirror next to my desk and bounce my head back and forth, shaking my hair around. The white strip has started to grow out a bit, now that I notice. Amaya is less than stellar at styling hair, and she has strange ideas about what to do with mine, usually. Right now, it's just too early to contemplate what she might have in mind, but I don't want to disappoint her. “After a shower, though,” I amend my statement, trying to keep the forlorn expression off my face.

Amaya nods absently, looking back in her little mirror and sitting down on my desk chair. I get up off the bed and glance at the clock. Ten in the morning, the day has barely started. “You gonna fiddle with it all day so it comes apart?” I ask, headed for my closet.

“No,” she says dreamily. I'm fairly certain that I'll have to readjust her hair no less than twice before we actually leave for the festivities. Having idle hands tends to make her fidget a lot.

Her attention span is sometimes decisively short, as well, so I clap my hands. “Up and out, Amaya. I don't want you searching my room while I'm gone,” I explain, to which she turns an accusatory glare.

“Worried I'll uncover secrets?” she asks as she stands. “Maybe a diary you secret away when I come knocking?” her question hangs in the air, but goes unanswered. I just roll my eyes and ignore her, continuing to dig through my disastrously messy closet. After a brief silence, her sturdy stomping feet march out of my room, leaving the door to swing shut with a bang.

“Don't mess with your hair!” I yell after her, my voice riddled with enmity. I'm glad she wasn't around when I rushed through getting ready for the Yamaku Festival – I'd have probably been late, and then Shizune would have-

Would she?

I shake the thought away, pulling off my nightshirt and tossing on some old blue-jeans and a green t-shirt. Tanabata would be our first real date without pretenses. Everything before this was a scheduled meeting of some kind, but now we were about to spend a night together for our own sake. No exceptions; just the two of us – and our friends. At some point, I hope we're able to get away from them, too, but I'll be glad to have Amaya and Tadao around. I think they gravitated back to me at the Festival for that same kind of security.

Shizune and Misha would be coming along as well, of course; I still haven't had a chance to apologize. Shizune has been aloof since Wednesday's cafeteria incident, and I haven't seen Misha around at all – she's been busy catching up with some classwork, I understand. Having been avoiding Hisao so we aren't tempted, I haven't had a chance to ask him what it was like building the Tanabata booths with Shizune, but I'm not worried. They've become friends through this ordeal, and they get along as such, I've noticed. Hisao understanding sign is probably a relief for both of them – and Misha.

Tanabata is a big deal or a waste of time depending on who you ask, though I think the ones in the latter category merely lack companionship for the event. As I make my way toward the common bathroom, several rooms are buzzing around the girls dorm as a number of the girls have plans for the day. Some of them have dates like myself, or plan to go touring the event with friends. Others are scheduled to work in one of the school's booths.

I managed to dodge that bullet. Or, more accurately, Yoko dove in front of it for me. She was in the cafeteria on Wednesday and came up to me Friday to say she'd take my shift; to help me win the war with Shizune. I meant to ask her why she was so interested, but didn't want her to back out of the offer. I feel a little bad not mentioning the war was basically over – or there never was one, really.

Was there?

When I arrive, there's a line, so I'm stuck standing in the hall with a few of the other girls. Miura is down in front wearing a purple bathrobe, holding a bundle of clothes, and leaning her shoulder against the wall with her stump-hand on her hip. Her long, dark hair is messy, but I can't see her face. Looking her over from this angle, though, she seems to be straining to stay standing; what with having Suzuki leaning against her back, eyes closed and seemingly asleep.

Suzuki isn't completely asleep, though, and she blinks at me when I approach; offering a tired, friendly smile. I don't know either of them particularly well, but I smile back and offer a wave in response. She closes her eyes and seems to drift off to sleep again. Miki grunts at the added weight, but she doesn't seem mad so much as bored.

Behind Suzu in line is a girl I don't know -I think she's a second-year student- with long white braids and red eyes, leaning her back against the wall and glancing at me sidelong as I approach. Taller than the rest of us and very narrow, she looks like she might be an albino, but you never can tell around here. She's wearing a white nightgown, carrying a blue towel, and she's talking with sporty little Emi at the back of the line.

Emi is wearing her track uniform, grinning at me devilishly as I walk up and lean against the wall. “Heya, Kurai,” Emi says sweetly, “I heard you dropped a bomb on Nakai.” As she talks, her twin-tails bounce erratically and the little beaded clips holding each tail seem to rattle.

I suppose I expected a conversation like this...

Miura, always ready to one-up Emi at every convenience, throws a comment back, “that was a full-on nuclear strike, not just a bomb.” Miura starts laughing, though I'm not sure if it's at her own comment or something Suzuki might be whispering as she stirs and blinks.

Blushing, I turn away, but that just makes Emi giggle. “He would never shut up about you, y'know, when he was still running with me,” she mentions and I raise an eyebrow at her. “He was always asking me stuff about you; in between wheezing and gasping for air, I mean,” she laughs and starts bouncing on her regular prosthesis, staring off dreamily.

I wonder, “did you tell him anything?”

She looks at me with a shocked frown. “No, not really - not my place,” she remarks, “I did say you were probably worth the effort, though.” She smiles and starts shifting her weight back and forth between her legs, looking nervous.

Emi gave me a vote of confidence? Now I feel bad...

The platinum-haired girl is looking me over now, and I cast her a smile. Emi picks up on the action and points over her shoulder. “That's Katayama Rika,” she says in introduction, “she's my new charge.”

I offer a wave at Katayama and she waves back. “Nurse and his buddy-system,” Katayama says with a sardonic edge in her voice, “he sent me to cheer her up when Nakai abandoned her.” She rolls her eyes at Emi and grins deviously.

Narrowing her eyes at the brash, braided girl, Emi commands, “quiet, Rika.” She then lifts an elbow and bumps her flank, blinking her poplar-colored eyes and grinning derisively.

“Oh, sure, bump the girl with the heart condition,” Katayama chides. Emi giggles nervously. “You're supposed to be preventing me from falling down dead, not causing it intentionally,” she states, rather mockingly. There's a lot of sarcasm in her tone for someone with a heart condition. She offers me a nod and grins, adding, “by the way, call me Rika.”

She's not shy, I guess.

“Aiko,” I say, being cordial.

Miura turns, ignoring Suzuki's groans. “Rika stop buggin' Emi,” she says, playing peacemaker. She then looks at me with one eye closed and a toothy grin. “That took balls, Kurai. If he hadn't said yes, I was gonna deck him,” she boasts, holding up her stump. She quickly drops it down behind her and grins sheepishly.

Was that was an attempted thumbs-up?

“Uh... thanks,” I reply, not really knowing how to respond.

Most mornings, the girls in the dorm don't end up running into each other in this fashion, but with everyone getting gussied up for Tanabata, the bathrooms are in high demand. Glancing back, I notice Yoko walking up in her green night-shirt, towel in hand, with a tired half-smile on her lips; a smile that fades when she notices the line. Nodding at me, her groggy voice barely manages to croak out, “heya, Aiko.”

I offer her a smile, but seeing her pinch the bridge of her nose and slam her eyes shut, my smile fades to concern. “Morning, Yoko. Headache?” I ask, squinting at her flushed expression.

“Migraine,” she corrects, “happens a lot.”

I offer her a nod, but I can't really relate. I'm used to getting dizzy spells and the occasional swoon, but I don't get migraines. “You take anything for it?” I ask.

Sighing, she stretches her neck to one side and then the other, keeping the pressure on her nose. “Nurse gave me a prescription, but they make me kinda foggy. Kinda wanted be alert for today, y'know? There goes that, I guess,” she explains, and I understand what she means. Popping pills is usually not my first solution to anything; especially the kind that can alter your state of mind. “They don't seem to be helping, but a hot shower should probably help it out. Don't worry, I'll be running the fish-bowls as planned,” she remarks, starting to rub her temples.

I balk, “I'd send someone else if you were that out of it, so don't worry about it too much.” Smiling cheerily, I add, “you shouldn't be miserable today, besides.”

As Yoko smiles at my understanding, I notice another figure walking up behind her. Rin's short shock of red hair bounces and her pink bathrobe sways as she walks; the latter seeming to practically fall open with each step. She leans to one side as she walks, coming to a stop a few feet behind Yoko and raising her eyebrows at the line.

“Hey, is there a concert or something?” her throaty voice asks. “Usually only see lines this long outside theaters or concerts and I know there isn't a theater in the bathroom. So, I assume there's either a concert or a run on hot water,” she rambles as she leans to one side to look around Yoko, trying to see through the bathroom door. Looking at her eyes, I almost believe she could actually see through the door – if only metaphysically.

Armless girl with x-ray vision – comic book logic.

Emi answers, “today is Tanabata, Rin.” Then she rolls her eyes and groans, “everyone's taking their sweet time in there.” It's then I notice Emi is bouncing back and forth on her false legs, not just swaying, and I don't think it's because of her usual boundless energy. Her knees are knocked together and the pleading expression in her eyes almost makes me start laughing aloud, but I stifle it; not everyone is here for a shower, apparently. I smile helplessly and lean against the wall.

“Oh,” Rin says, “Is that what all that hammering was out behind the school? I fell asleep on the steps back there the other day and this weird blue-haired figure woke me up and started shooing me away. I recognized her, I think, but she might have been a phantom 'cause she was mostly blurry and kept motioning with her hands instead of saying anything. Or I could have been dreaming the whole thing; it was a pretty long day.” Her cloudy green eyes close and she stretches into a yawn. The loosely-hung bathrobe opens as she does so and I turn away to avert my eyes.

It's a good thing the dorms aren't co-ed.

Emi shrugs spitefully and balks, “that was probably Deaf-charge.”

“That's an odd name for a phantom,” Rin comments. “Don't ghosts usually get a spooky, cryptic name instead of a belligerent one?” she asks randomly, and I can't help but start to giggle at the absurdity.

Emi, noticing the situation behind me, darts over to help Rin close her bathrobe. “Modesty is the best policy,” she chides. I resist the urge to hide my face in my hand, instead closing my eyes while my shoulders start shaking with laughter.

I just had to take a shower right now, didn't I?

As I'm reconsidering my timing, the bathroom door opens and Hanako Ikezawa steps out into the hall wearing a soft smile and her pink nightgown with a towel hung across her neck. Freezing in place when she sees the line, seven pairs of eyes reflexively fall on her, and I see her recoiling from their gaze. The tension is palpable for a few seconds while she looks us over, seeming to shake slightly.

Wanting to say something -a greeting or anything to break the tension- I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Hanako is caught like a deer in the headlights, and we're all equally dumbstruck. Hisao mentioned he had tried to befriend her during his first week, but she ran away in a huff when he sat down with her in the library. Recently I heard from Naoko that she's getting involved with the school newspaper, but years of crippling shyness don't dissipate overnight.

Finally, Miura breaks the silence. “Heya, Hanako,” she greets.

Hanako tenses even more for a second, but then relaxes upon seeing the familiar face. Seeming to gather up all her courage with a quick, deep breath, she squeaks out a quick, “m-morning, Miki.” Smiling slightly, she steps to one side, no longer shaking. Miura and Suzuki start heading for the bathroom, nodding at Hanako on the way by, and I breathe out a relieved sigh. Miura exchanges a brief, hushed conversation with the timid girl, but I can't hear what's being said.

As the door closes, Hanako starts stepping swiftly past the line of girls, moving with amazing stealth and speed. Quickly disappearing around a corner, she's gone faster than she arrived. She is kind of infamous around the school; though that feels like an unkind description. Being prone to panic attacks and overwhelming shyness, not to mention the scars she's constantly trying to hide, led to some unfortunate rumors over the years. I try not to think about it, but having the worst moment of my life painted on my face forever would be torturous – never mind the unenlightened teasing.

I'm glad my past isn't written on my face.

With the awkward moment still hanging in the air, Emi lets out a giggle and picks up the previous conversation. “Shizune was out there working with Hisao, right?” she inquires. I nod and follow her gaze back toward Rin.

Looking her over, I notice she's staring at Yoko, and it's apparently making the ailing girl uncomfortable.  I decide to try and get her attention with a query. “Was Hisao- er... was there a tall guy in a sweater-vest back there with her?” I ask, not sure if she's really going to understand.

Rin breaks her gaze and turns her analytical gaze on me, blinking sleepily. “Um...” she starts to reply, “might have been...You mean that guy you're always hangin' around with – the one with the broken heart. What's his name?”

I just said his name... wait, broken heart?

Yoko relaxes -or at least she looks less tense- turning her gaze at me and smiling at my attempt to free her from Rin's inspection. Unfortunately, I'm too distracted by the mention of Hisao's broken heart to respond. While I'm caught dumb by the revelation, Emi clarifies, “Hisao, silly. The one that was running with me for a couple weeks until Aiko stole him away,” she explains, not bothering to move.

Rika pipes up, “Emi, seriously, stop bringing him up. You just stopped crying about it like two days ago. If you keep dredging it up over and over, I'm gonna end up having to listen to you whine.” That earns her another elbow bump from Emi, and she doesn't comment further. Repeatedly tempting the wrath of Emi like that, I wonder if Rika has a death-wish. Although, remembering Emi's dejected return after Hisao told her he was going to start swimming with me instead, I wonder how much truth there might be in the teasing.

Noticing Rin nodding, I turn a curious gaze at her. “Yeah he was out there, I'm pretty sure,” she says, screwing up her face in thought. After a moment of consideration she explains, “mostly sure. About ninety-five percent certain. Nice guy. Kinda flaky, though.”

Strange accusation considering the source.

Without blinking, she continues relating the story in her rambling fashion, “that phantom kept waving her hands at him and snapping her fingers like a voodoo witch-doctor, cursing his ancestors. I didn't wanna get any more curses cast on me than I already get from people commenting on unfinished paintings, so I left.” She offers a sagely nod, like it was the right thing to do, while I stifle a giggle at her description of Shizune.

A voodoo witch-doctor casting silent curses. It's fitting.

Emi is basically dancing now, back and forth, making her prosthetic legs squeak. She looks like she's about ready to abandon etiquette and dash into the bathroom, but, taking a deep breath, she leans against the wall and closes her eyes; making a face like she's trying to mentally control her bladder. Rika looks on with a bemused expression, her arms folded, sighing while shaking her head. “You should have worn your spikes, Emm,” she says simply, and Emi nods.

A few minutes later, Rin's throaty voice resonates from behind me. “Hey I didn't mean anything by it,” she says, making some kind of apology.

Turning, I see she's shaking her head with her eyes closed; her bathrobe has started falling open again. “I probably misremembered the flaky part. I do that sometimes – remember something different from how it happened. Sometimes I remember things that didn't happen, or forget things that did. It's a real problem, sometimes.” Rin leans against the wall with her eyes half-open, but doesn't say anything else.

Looking from Rin to Yoko, I notice a strange smile on her freckled face. Her eyes keep looking at Rin and then back to me, but all I can offer is a shrug. Unsatisfied with that answer, she leans against the wall, using her folded towel as a pillow, and asks, “ever try to forget something you didn't want to remember?”

Rin doesn't move, but she blinks at the question and furrows her brow. “All the time,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

“Ever work?” Yoko asks, looking hopeful.

Rin closes her eyes again and frowns. “Not really,” she replies.

Rin doesn't say anything else, but the look on her face makes me think there are memories churning within her. What she must have gone through being born without arms was probably harrowing, but there's probably a lot more to it, like anything else. Yoko looks similarly troubled as she leans back against the towel and breathes out a long, introspective sigh.

Everyone has baggage, I guess.

Their contemplative exchange, and their mournful expressions make my thoughts turn inward. There are so many things I haven't told anyone here – almost anyone, at least. Amaya knows most of my secrets, but she isn't privy to everything in my past. Mostly, I just don't want to remember some things. Were there a way to remove bad memories and retain only the happy ones, I think I almost would; especially the things haunting my dreams. Talking about troubling memories can be therapeutic, I've heard, but the prospect of letting anyone else in on that knowledge makes me feel sick.

Minutes pass as we stand there in silence. Relative silence, that is; Emi's continued squeaky bounces break the quiet repeatedly, as do Rika's stifled giggles. Rin sits down against the wall and stares up at the ceiling, though I'm certain she isn't inspecting the tiles. I almost think she's looking at her own messy locks of hair caught in her peripheral vision. Yoko joins her on the floor, and looks as though she might be falling asleep – or resting her eyes at least.

The door to the bathroom opens suddenly, banging against the wall and waking Yoko from her snoozing. I turn to see Miura and Suzuki headed out the door, side-by-side, giggling to each-other about something or other. Emi bounds between them quickly, and leaps into the bathroom with Rika following close behind. I'm glad for the diversion, and giggle a little when Rin starts laughing and comments, “Emi at her Emiest.” To which I can only smirk and nod.

When she reaches me, Miura holds up her good hand and nods at me, smiling widely. “Miki, by the way,” she says. “And you can call her Snoozu,” she adds, pointing at the blue-haired girl.

“Suzu,” the she corrects, nudging Miki with her elbow. Her tired expression is still there, but she's not clinging to Miki like a crutch anymore. “Stop telling people that, Miki,” she complains.

I chuckle a little at their their banter and offer a warm smile. “Aiko, then,” I say, grinning.

“I knew that already, Aiko,” she says, holding her hand out. I take it awkwardly and she shakes it vigorously, grinning widely before pulling me toward her to whisper, “whole school is watching, y'know.”

I nod, unfazed. “That was part of the plan,” I say without a hint of uncertainty. The moment I decided to make it a public proposition, I knew what I was getting into, and I accept whatever consequence that might have for the Yamaku rumor-mill.

I do kinda wonder what Hisao thought of it, though...

“Damn...” Miki looks bewildered for just a moment as she breaks her grip, but the toothy grin returns quickly. “Well, good luck. don't think you'll need it, though,” she confides, “Hisao seems pretty well wrapped around your finger.” Patting Suzu's shoulder with her stump-hand, she smiles at her sidelong. “C'mon Snoozu, we have to make ourselves bee-you-tee-full for the boys,” she says, starting to walk away.

“They're just friends,” Suzu argues, dropping her hands down in front of her in frustrated fists. “What's the point?” she asks as she starts to follow.

“Even friends are worth looking your best when you're supposed to,” Miki says, holding up her stump hand up to emphasize her point. “I read that somewhere, I think,”  she adds. Suzu just sighs, shaking her head, and they've soon disappeared around a corner.

Looking down at Yoko and Rin, sitting quietly on the floor, I glance at the bathroom door and let out a sigh. Sliding down the wall, I sit cross-legged and lean forward holding my head up with one hand while the other hand starts absently running across the carpet. I lean over toward Yoko and notice she's still a bit flushed and holding her eyes closed.

I'm concerned, so I ask, “you sure you're alright?”

Stirring a bit at hearing the question, she opens her eyes and rolls her neck, turning her head toward me instead of just her eyes. She offers a stilted smile and I notice sweat along her brow, “I'll be fine, really, mom.” I'm a little confused by her tone – it doesn't sound like she's joking.

Does she think I'm her mother?

“You don't look fine,” I reply. “Are you sure it's just a migraine?” I inquire, reaching up to pat her shoulder. The casual contact startles her, causing her to jump back reflexively, but I'm too busy noticing that she's radiating heat to be worried about her reaction. “You're burning up,” I comment.

Lolling her head back to center, she looks away and lets out a whimper. Even Rin is watching with some concern now, and I wonder if she noticed something was wrong earlier. I move my hand off her shoulder and feel her forehead, with the back of my hand. It's unusually hot, and my brain automatically switches over to mother-mode. “You have a fever,” I say calmly.

She doesn't argue, but she shrugs her shoulders. The expression on her face is far-away and seemingly confused. Looking more closely, I notice dark circles under her eyes, and, where she isn't flushed, her usually creamy complexion is clammy and pallid. Her eyes are also bloodshot like she's been crying, and there are tears forming there now.

I pull my hand back and look over at Rin, who's already nodding at me. “Keep an eye on my stuff, I'm getting Nurse,” I tell her and she leans toward Yoko, agreeing to stay with her until I return.

Suddenly happy I decided to wear jeans and a t-shirt instead of just a bathrobe or a night-shirt, I head out of the dorm and across the campus. Even being barefoot, I make it down to the auxiliary building and find Nurse in his office alone in only a few minutes. After I explain about Yoko, he grabs up his little medical bag and follows me back to the dorms looking somewhere between curious and concerned.

When we arrive, Emi and Rika have emerged from the bathroom and are kneeling by Yoko. Rin is offering her lap as a pillow, smiling down at her sweetly, but looking a little bewildered. As we approach, Nurse sidles up beside them and kneels, checking her over with deft hands and calm eyes, his expression locked in an unreadable grimace.

“Miss Guidot, how are you feeling?” he asks, a caring edge to his usual monotone. She doesn't respond.

Emi answers for her, “she's been kinda out of it, but she's feverish and said she was nauseous.”

Nurse nods at her and frowns. Grabbing for his stethoscope, he wraps it around his ears and places one hand on her forehead, while the other holds the device against Yoko's chest, listening to her heartbeat. From his eyes being on his watch, I imagine he's timing the beats.

After a few seconds, his grimace returns, and he holds up a hand asking Emi and Rika to back away, which they do quickly. “Was there anything else you noticed about her?” he inquires.

Recalling her reaction to my touch, I mention, “she was kinda jumpy, too. Practically leaped away when I touched her shoulder. Said she had a Migraine.”

He nods grimly. “Miss Tezuka, thank you, but I think she needs a cooler place to lie down,” he offers her a smile and she gently stands, letting Nurse hold Yoko's head. “Miss Kurai, would you mind helping me get her up?”

I nod dutifully and walk over to her other side. “Her room is just down the hall,” I mention. He nods and reaches under her elbow; I do the same with her other elbow. A moment later, we have her on her feet, but she's hardly able to stay standing. We walk her slowly over to her door, which Emi opens, and we carry her over to lie her down on her bed. Considering I've never been in her room, I think of taking a look around, but I'm too worried about Yoko to bother.

Nurse looks up at me and smiles. “I need a second opinion, can you go find Joyce?” he asks.

As I'm headed out the door, I glance over and see a number of pill bottles on Yoko's nightstand; Nurse notices them as well, and he's checking through them as I leave. Emi follows me down to the pool building and we quickly find Joyce, asking her to come back with us – it worries me what Nurse might need a second opinion on, but I don't want to pry.

When we return, Joyce checks Yoko over with the same procedures and nods grimly at Nurse, who holds up a few pill bottles. “I didn't want to jump to conclusions, and we'll need to confirm, but she'll need a hospital for that,” he remarks grimly.

Whoa... I thought she was just sick.

Joyce agrees, “better safe than sorry.”

As they're sharing a nod, I notice Yoko twitching on the bed and point. Nurse looks over and frowns. “Make the call, I'll stay with her.” he motions to Joyce and then sits on the bed next to Yoko, placing a calming hand on her shoulder as I see tears streaming down her face.

Joyce heads out of the room and gets out her cellphone to call for an ambulance while the four of us look on, all wearing bewildered expressions. Rika looks less bewildered than Emi and I, and Rin's expression is unreadable, but we all understand the implications of a hospital visit being recommended considering the facilities available at Yamaku.

After Joyce finishes making the call, she heads back into Yoko's room and Nurse comes out a moment later. He ushers us away, thanking us for the quick reaction and saying we should go about our day and not worry.

Easier said than done.

We disperse awkwardly, and I make my way to the bathroom for that shower. Still in shock, I drone through the shower trying to keep my mind off the sound of a gurney wheeling past the door, and the medical jargon echoing through the door. There have been times like this before with other students, so it's not really new, but that doesn't make it any less disturbing.

Walking back to my room, I feel like a zombie. Whatever happened to Yoko, it's serious; maybe life-threatening. Perhaps I'm overprotective of my friends -especially Amaya and Tadao, and probably Hisao- but the thought of any of them ending up in a hospital frightens me. The fact that I don't know Yoko particularly well doesn't seem to matter – she's a friend.

When I arrive back at my door, Amaya pops out of her room already asking questions about the ambulance. I tell her what I know; surprisingly little. Neither of us really knows how to make sense of it, nor do we know how to deal with the implications. Amaya gives me a friendly hug, saying everything will be fine, but it's hard to shake this dreadful feeling.

“C'mon, we can't let a little drama get us down,” she says cheerily. “Yoko wanted you to have a good time,” she grins and elbows my side, “she'll wanna hear about it when she gets back, so you can't disappoint her.”

Uncertain why it's working, Amaya's little speech makes me smile. Perhaps it's the goofy grin or the cadence of her voice, but she's always been great at digging me out of my worries to see things a little brighter. Optimism isn't one of my strong suits, but it's one of her best qualities; even if she can sometimes be even more cynical than myself – her cheerful smile is contagious.

Negative feelings spawn negative results.

Deciding I should try to stay positive about the whole thing, I shrug the worries into the back of my mind and offer her a nod. Whatever happened with Yoko, there are skilled professionals attending to her by now, and I trust them enough to know they wouldn't let anything bad happen. Though it couldn't have happened on a worse day – she's going to miss Tanabata.

I can't cheer her up with stories if I don't go.

Remembering that, I realize we have a night to prepare for and push through my door to grab the little red bundle before heading over to Amaya's room. Usually, Amaya will come to my room in the morning to wake me up, bother me, ask me a question or some combination of the three. When it comes to really sitting down for some girl-time, like getting prepared for Tanabata, we plan to use her room for a few obvious reasons.

Most prominently, I'm a total slob; my room is usually a scattered mess of discarded clothing, papers and other assorted junk haphazardly strewn about and completely disorganized. Most of the time, I can't even manage to close my closet, much less find anything inside. I just leave things wherever I happen to drop them instead of making the effort to put them someplace more appropriate, and my tendency to stay up all hours of the night has resulted in finding some intriguing science experiments. Growing in discarded cereal bowls I'd completely forgotten about and left someplace inconspicuous for a few days -or a few weeks- I've come across them and marveled at the little green and black wonders, but Amaya isn't quite so forgiving.

Should I have cleaned my room before tonight?

Pushing that thought -and all its dirty implications- aside, I take a moment to look around her room; not much has changed since my silent vigil last month. Being on the less-sunny side of the building, her window doesn't let in quite as much light, but she isn't terribly fond of excess illumination. The burgundy-stained mock-mahogany desk she uses as a writing table is the only non-modern piece of furniture in her room, though it's obviously a reproduction. Her laptop rests atop it, sitting on an office calendar with carefully marked days, and there are a number of books lined up against the wall – her rainy day stash.

Her bed is neatly made with the black and white striped comforter laying across it and neatly tucked under the mattress. If I were to pull that top-layer off, I'd find the corner of her sheets crisply folded like a hospital bed. She spent a lot of time in hospitals when she was little, and I guess she got used to the feeling. There's a strange sterility to her room that I always found uncomfortable, but the excess number of pillows and stuffed animals make it homey.

Her closet is carefully closed, unlike mine. If I were to open it, I know I'd find every piece of clothing she owns neatly folded or hanging from the crossbar, meticulously color-coded and arranged by season. Hung along the green-painted walls there are a number of posters for various video games and movies; Amaya has a lot of interests that conflict with her epilepsy. Otherwise, the room is spotless and usually smells like a combination of peach shampoo and pine-scented cleaner. She's a neat-freak, but I think it has a lot to do with her condition – preventative measures and such.

As I'm scanning around, she darts over to her closet and draws out a small metal box; carrying it over to her desk and opening it quickly. “I figure turquoise for you and indigo for me,” she says, holding up two bottles of nail polish.

I sit on her bed and sigh, taking a second to look over her hair as she's looking away. “I'll have to fix your hair too,” I mention, noticing it's already starting to fall out of place.

She nods as she comes over to sit next to me, handing me the little bottle of indigo nail polish, and scooting over to the foot of her bed while I slowly make my way to the head. “We can take care of that while these dry,” she suggests. I nod as she drops her left foot onto my right knee, and I drop my left foot onto her right.

About half an hour later, we have bunched-up tissues between our toes and I'm sitting behind her, fixing the mess she made of her hair. As I'm adjusting the hair-pins, I glance over at my little red bag and grin. “Who's going first?” I ask, nudging her shoulder.

“You are, duh,” she says, likely with a roll of her eyes. “Are you done back there?” she asks, squirming.

I set the last pin and pat her on the shoulder. “Done,” I inform her, though she's already jumping away to look it over in the mirror next to her closet.

“Your turn,” she chirps, turning back and coming to sit beside me. “I think we should do a braid – a double braid. Like a princess braid.”

“You're not making me look like Princess Leia,” I say, frowning.

She punches me, hard, on the shoulder and lets out an exasperated, “why not?”

I choose not to answer, offering her a glare instead. She frowns and rolls her eyes, sticking her tongue out for good measure before grinning. “Okay, still a braid, though. Maybe wrapping around the sides then down the middle in the back?”

“Like a garland?” I ask, trying to imagine what she means.

“Yeah, like a crown kinda thing,” she starts describing, ”pull the hair out of your face so he doesn't have to choke on it when-” I elbow her flank to shut her up before she can finish that thought.

Thinking over her idea, it sounds alright and I smile, sitting back on the bed. “You're gonna need to be right behind me,” I mention.

“It'll look great, I promise,” she says, kneeling on the bed and sitting behind me.

Peering at the clock, nearly half an hour has passed since she started diligently twisting and layering my hair, and I'm anxious to see whether it looks alright. She had to start over twice, getting the braids backwards the first time, and then accidentally losing the left braid before she could link them together on her second try. Meanwhile I have some time to think over some of the events from earlier, but they don't go back to Yoko; I start thinking about what Rin said about Hisao having a broken heart.

Emi probably knows about it for the same reason he told me, but as far as I know he hasn't told anyone else. When the subject comes up, he gets nervous and starts fidgeting, rubbing the scar through his shirt and trying to change the subject. I thought he was like that with everyone, but, if he told Rin, maybe that assumption is wrong. This many hours later, I can't exactly ask her about it now, but I think I'd rather hear it from him; for my own sanity's sake if nothing else. Rin would likely attack the query with her usual roundabout language and I would have to piece together the story from her scattered wispy thoughts.

I don't even know what she really meant by broken heart, either.

Amaya chirps, “done, finally,” as she falls back onto her pillow and lets out a frustrated sigh. The suddenness of her movements startle me out of my contemplation, and I quickly jump up to have a look in the mirror.

Surprisingly, I'm impressed. The tight braids along the side wrap up over my ears and link together just above my neck, combining into a large braid that hangs down on a bed of my carefully brushed, wavy hair. The way it wraps around makes it look like a crown, as Amaya described, and I can't wait to see it with my new yukata. The white strip is woven into the left braid, giving it an asymmetrical look that I find appealing.

“You approve, of course,” Amaya echoes my earlier statement, not leaving an opening to disagree.

I turn back and nod at her, then reach down and pick up my red bundle, tossing it to her and smiling. “Should we get dressed now, or wait?” I ask.

Setting the bag aside, she looks over at her analog clock, hanging on the wall over her bed, and sighs. “We should probably wait, it's still a little early,” she says as I note the time; it's not even two o'clock yet.

We decide to wait before getting dressed, instead heading down to the common room to make lunch. Well, technically Amaya is the one who does the cooking; I just watch and hand her things when she asks. Cooking eludes me more than I think it should considering my mother's chosen profession, but I suppose my ability to accidentally set fires and overcook everything was inherited from my father.

While we're there, I have to field unanswerable questions about what happened with Yoko, so we take our food back to her room. Amaya is less than thrilled with the idea because she knows I'm excellent at making a mess with my deplorable eating habits, but she grins and bears the consequences – not wanting the constant reminder to dampen the mood.

Yoko will be fine.

Surprisingly, I don't make a mess of her room, though she still complains. After eating, it's nearly three o'clock, and we're to meet the boys at four, so, once we've cleaned up -rather, once Amaya disinfects the room and takes care of the bio-hazard container- we unroll our new yukata and set about wrapping them, tying them and securing them with brightly colored obi.

It turns out the turquoise nail polish is a perfect match for the colors in my yukata, and the indigo on her toenails blends into the night-time scene along the lower half of hers. She slips into her peach-colored geta and grins at the mirror, turning left and right to check for the proper lines and folds. Dragging the tied bow in my obi around to the back, I slip into the green geta I wore last time, completing the look.

Peeking at the clock on her wall, I have to try really hard to keep the excited smile on my face. We both giggle as we look into the mirror, and, for a few minutes, I completely forget about the morning tribulations. In less than an hour, I'd be meeting up with Hisao for our first official date, and I can barely contain myself.

I hope he likes green...
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Chapter 13: http://pastebin.com/HZud1tys