Act 1, Scene E: Fire in the Sky

My alarm clock blares at me to wake up: 11:30am. A swift fist to the snooze button silences it, and I roll over on my mattress to head back to sleep. Ever my mortal enemy, the sun protests, creeping into my room through slightly opened blinds. Can't I just have 10 more minutes?

'Wake up, Hisao,' my brain commands. 'You made a promise. Keep it this time.'

I toss the sheets back, hopping out of bed and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I take a glance in the mirror attached to my closet door. The image is familiar: a lithe, messy-haired kid with a rather grim expression on his face. I think I've really looked in a mirror maybe a handful of times since the accident. It's sobering.

“You're gonna cheer up,” I tell myself. “At least for today.”

I reach into the closet, pulling out a towel and heading for the showers. It's as empty as always, barring that one time that Kenji walked in stark naked after my shower. That's... not a pleasant mental image. Let's not go there.

The water warms up quickly, and I go through my regular shampoo-wash-rinse cycle. I like taking time to just stand under the hot water; it's relaxing, and a good time for introspection. I start thinking about that nightmare from yesterday. Was I close to lucid near the end there? It felt like I was in control, to some extent, but I just... couldn't wake up.

Maybe I'm over-thinking things. It's probably nothing to be worried about, honestly. I certainly hope so.

I step out of the shower, drying myself off liberally. The towel wraps around my waist before I head back to my room. Were we supposed to dress up today? Given that the school is hosting the festival, it's probably safe to assume so. Besides, I'd rather be overdressed than underdressed. I pull a clean uniform out of the closet, slip on the pieces, and make sure my tie is loose enough to be comfortable.

Snazzy.

I head out the door, fumbling with my keys when a thought hits me. Is Kenji planning on going to the festival? He doesn't seem like much of a people person, but maybe there's more to him than meets the eye. I elect to take a shot at inviting him to the festival and knock on the door to his impenetrable fortress.

A few seconds pass. “Who's there?” his voice booms from the other side. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It's Hisao,” I answer. “And yeah, it's... 11:45ish.”

“Too early. And just how can I be sure that you're Hisao? You could be a feminist spy in disguise!”

I frown, my brow furrowed. Why does he have to be so stubborn? Maybe I can get down on his level. “Why don't you come see for yourself, then?”

“Not a chance! You'll gas me and take me away into their clutches! Well you won't take me alive!” Strangely, I can hear the numerous locks on his door coming undone. The hinges creak open, and the man of mystery himself appears, carrying a short wooden pole. He leans in closer, standing on his toes and glaring at me through his glasses. He's oddly calm, given his rather hostile earlier attitude.

The scowl on his face tightens. If his lenses weren't so thick, I'm certain I could see my reflection in his eyes. His expression relaxes, and he falls back down to flat footing. His frown morphs into a smile. “Hisao, how you been, bro?”

“'How you been?' You talked to me yesterday. And what happened to me being a feminist spy?”

He frowns again. “Not important. Put it behind us. And lots of things change between days. Just ask ol' Abe Lincoln.”

“Who?”

“Exactly.”

I don't think I'll ever understand this man. “Look, I just wanted to see if you were going to the festival or not.” He glares at me, obviously confused. “You mean you haven't heard the people outside?”

A switch flips in his head. Full paranoid time. “People?! Why wasn't I warned about this? Dammit, Takeshi, you fail me again!” He grabs my wrist, starting to pull me into his room. “C'mon, man, it's not safe out here. We have to hunker down, man up with pretzels and whiskey!”

I yank myself away from his grip before he sucks me in further. “Thanks, but no thanks,” I comment, rolling my wrist while standing in the doorway. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to come along. But I'm late, and Miki is probably waiting for me.”

“Miki? You mean Miura?” The paranoia vanishes at the sound of her name. “Why didn't you say so?” he continues, smacking me on the shoulder. “She's one of my top agents. You'll be in good hands.”

“Uh... I'm sorry, what?”

He waves his hands in front of his chest. “I've said too much. I need to get ready for the potential invasion.”

Before I can answer, he slams the door in my face. Well, I guess that answers that question.

- - - -

The school grounds are packed with people, their voices overlapping with each other as I weave through the crowd. I glance at my watch: 12:04pm. Dammit, I'm already late. She's not gonna let me live this down, is she?

Speaking of which, what stand is she at? She mentioned something about working fundraising for the track team...

“Well, well, well.” I recognize that voice. Feminine, cryptic. “If it isn't Mr. Nakai.” I turn my head, greeted by the enigma herself, her silver braid laying across her left shoulder. “Surprised to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing, you know,” I reply.

She smirks. “Touché. I assume you're looking for Miki?”

“Yeah, do you know where she is?”

She points me down one of the aisles of stands. “That way. Can't miss it.”

“Thanks.” I start taking off, before a stray thought hits me. She isn't following. “You coming along?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I'm just here because it's diverting. But sure.” She seems rather anti-social, for the most part. I wonder if she has any real friends outside of Miki? Or if she even considers Miki a friend?

We head down the row of booths, admiring some of the handiwork and games being played. I mutter, “They put a lot of work into these, huh?”

“Usually,” Rika answers. “Some of the clubs spend all year on them. I know the council works itself to the bone to get things done.”

“I can see that,” I comment. “Shizune and Misha seem the type to get people moving.”

“You mean get themselves moving,” she quickly responds. I give her a confused look, which she catches from her peripheral. “They -are- the council. No one else is on it.”

I have to admit, I suspected it. Glad to have some confirmation. “There a story behind that?”

She shrugs again. “Needless drama. It's not important.” Fair enough, I suppose.

The track team's stand is close to the end of the aisle. And rather barren, by the looks of it. I can see one customer leaving, no others in line. One of the male members is manning the front counter, leaning over the surface with his arms folded for support. “Afternoon, you two,” he greets. His Japanese is rough, almost forced. A transfer student, maybe? “What can I get for you?”

“Hey, Azazel,” Rika replies. “Is Miki around?”

“What do you take me for?” another voice answers. Miki appears from behind a row of rice cookers. “Some kind of slacker?”

Rika sees an opportunity and seizes it. “Well, there was that one time...” Miki's death glare interrupts her thought process, just before they both burst into laughter.

I feel left out. “Am I missing something?”

“Tell you later, handsome,” she replies from across the counter. ...Handsome? I have to admit, I'm a little flattered by that. “Also, Rika? Thought this wasn't really your cup of tea.”

Rika folds her arms across her chest. “Well, I had to help knucklehead over here figure out where you were.”

“That so?” she responds with a trademark wink. “Well, let me grab my stuff and we'll head out.”

She wanders off to collect her belongings. I turn to Rika, “Where are we going, exactly?”

“Hell if I know. You dragged me into this.”

Good point. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shout, “Hey, Miki! What's the plan?”

She wraps around from the back of the small stand, carrying the same messenger bag from yesterday. “Nothing major. We're meeting up with some of the others from class in the downtown park. Lunch, hanging out... that kinda stuff. And the fireworks later on.” Fireworks? I didn't know that would be happening. Color me interested.

I shove my hands in my pockets. “What happened to touring the festival?”

She chuckles. “One thing you should know about me: nothing is -ever- set in stone.” With that, she grabs my wrist, pulling me forward. “Now c'mon, you two. Last one to the park eats dirt!”

- - - -

The park is crowded with a good number of students. There are quite a few of them in  standard athletic gear, engaged in a friendly game of football. We decided to stop at the same corner restaurant as yesterday, picking up a few sandwiches for our lunch. Our party of three claims a spot in the grass, just outside the game's field boundaries.

Rika's spot lies in the shade. “I'm not much of a sun person,” she comments. “Pale skin. I prefer not burning to a crisp.”

“That bad, huh?” I ask. She frowns, her eyebrows flat on her forehead. I'll take that as a yes.

We sit in silence, devouring our sandwiches. Rika eats surprisingly quickly, even faster than Miki. It isn't long after she finishes her lunch that she stands. “Sorry to run,” she remarks, “but I'm gonna head back. Too many people for my taste.”

I move to protest, but she's already walking away before I can say anything. “Is she always that way?” I ask Miki.

She takes a final bite of her sandwich, covering her mouth as she speaks between chews. “Kind of. She's always been a bit anti-social.” Finally, she swallows her mouthful. “Friendly, but definitely not a people person.”

“That's definitely the vibe I'm getting.”

“Don't worry about it,” she continues. “Just have fun for now.” Easier said than done. I tend to worry about people. Sometimes I wonder why; it's probably just a reflex.

A football rolls up to us. Miki stands from her seat on the ground, presumably to toss it back to the players. However, it looks like they've already picked up another ball to play with, as they've started passing back and forth, going through strategic positioning and trying to set up scoring attempts.

Miki drops the ball on the ground, kicking it around in circles. I ask, “You like sports, don't you?”

She laughs, light and airy. “What was your first clue? Basically my entire life.”

She continues rolling the ball back and forth on the ground, rustling up strands of grass in the motions. My eyes follow its movements, tracing out the path carved by the drifting sphere. “You play?” I hear her ask. She must have noticed me watching so closely and assumed I was interested.

“I played in high school, but never anything serious.” I fall back on the ground, using my hands to support my own weight. My gaze turns upward, toward an open, blue sky. Nary a cloud overhead, nor any to the west. From the looks of things, it's going to be a beautiful night. “We - my friends and I - just played together after school.”

The arch of her foot cups the top of the ball, locking it in place. “So why don't you play, then? It's not like anyone here cares how good you are.”

My chuckle carries an almost condescending tone. “My condition's a lot more serious than that.” The way she looks at me is odd. Her eyes are piercing, almost questioning why I would think that way. I notice one of the boys playing take a dive into the grass. “See him?” I continue, motioning to the group helping him up. “I can't take a fall like that. Too risky. Running is fine, but getting hit in the chest is just asking for it.”

She smiles. Funny, that's not a reaction that I would expect from that kind of statement. “Well, at least you know your limits.” She kicks the ball over between my legs, taking a seat next to me. “That's a good thing. It means you won't get yourself killed by being stupid.” Something tells me that she's talking about Rika not knowing her limits. “Still, you should always push yourself. Limits are just a weakness to overcome.”

“Hm. I guess that's one way to look at it.” It makes me wonder what kind of limits she's had to work around with her injury. She mentioned wrestling early yesterday. Was she the athletic type? Given how she reacted yesterday when I asked her about how she got here, though... I can imagine that being a touchy subject. I'll call a rain check on that one.

I lurch forward, bringing my forearms to rest on my knees. Watching the guys run back and forth, dribbling and passing the ball... it's all so nostalgic. “I guess,” I wonder aloud, “you don't really know what you have until it's gone.”

The sound of stirring grass rustles through the air. Miki stands over me, hand extended in a simple offer. “Come on,” she says. “Let's get back in on the celebration.” I willingly accept, letting her pull me to my feet.

Out of nowhere, a dull force smacks the side of my head. I look down, a standard black-and-white football rolling innocently near my feet. Up ahead, one of the guys playing attempts to wave me down. With a solid kick, I send it back to its owner, at least for another round of passing.

Something nudges at my elbow. Still prodding, Miki asks, “Why don't we see if they want to take two more?”

I laugh to myself. “Think they'll go easy on the boy with a heart problem?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “That's up to them.” She starts walking toward the group, both good and bad hands on the back of her head. “Or you can just look at it like another challenge. That's up to you.”

As enticing as bettering myself sounds, I'm going to err on the side of caution this time. Sorry, Miki. Yesterday showed me what happens when I push the mold a bit too far: the unexpected. It might be a while before I'm really willing to step outside my bounds like that again. “I'll just stick to some passing games, I think.”

“Suit yourself.” She hounds down a few of the people not already playing, and we fetch another ball. We end up playing some variant of an icebreaker game. Pass the ball to a random person, then ask them a question, and they have to answer it. I get the sense that this is mostly for my benefit. Everyone else here should know each rather well by now, right?

Some of the questions are weird. One of them I recognize as Azazel, the exchange student working the track team's booth earlier today. He definitely asks the weirdest ones, though that might just be a cross-culture thing.

The hours pass, filled with other games and socializing. I'm actually growing to like this place, to be honest. Before I know it, the sun has set, and darkness has fallen on the town. Plentiful stars light up the sky, shimmering in greater numbers than I've ever seen before. It's a testament to just how removed from the city life this place is. We always considered ourselves lucky to see a few stars in my hometown.

It's closing in on 8pm. Soon enough, the fireworks should be starting. We decide to stop playing our game, and I reclaim my old seat in the grass. As I expect, Miki joins me in the stargazing. It's amusing how cliché this is, sitting under the stars with some girl, just existing with her like something out of a cheesy romance comedy.

“Hey, Miki,” I say to the girl sitting next to me, hunched over with forearms on her knees. “Just how good are these fireworks of yours?”

She shrugs. “Can't say. This is my first festival here.” Her first festival? Has she not been here very long?

“Really?” I respond. “So you're a recent transfer, then?” I think about what that would mean. It would confirm the recency of her injury. Or at least hint at it. I still don't know how long she might have spent at her old school before transferring.

“Yeah. Mid-December, last year.” So before I had my attack in February. I feel like I want to learn more about her, like there are so many more things I can figure out.

I start to ask her more questions, but the first explosion ignites in the sky, filling it with a gush of color and flame. “It's starting!” she cries exuberantly. She sits up straight, legs crossed and hands in her lap. The next firework rockets upward, joining in the symphony of light. The sulfuric remnants fall from above in a dance of reds, greens, and blues. Each burst spreads illumination across the park, leaving a glow on our faces.

“Incredible,” she whispers, “isn't it?”

I turn my head to look straight at her, admiring the swirling mixture of color on her skin. The glimmer in her eyes perfectly reflects both her wonder at the sight and the explosions themselves. “Yeah...,” I reply, awestruck at just how beautiful she looks right now. I don't know how I never noticed it before. “Pretty amazing.”

She glances over at me. I catch her eyes moving, turning my attention back to the sky before she sees me staring at her. My face feels hot, cheeks engorged with blood. Here's to hoping that she can't quite see that in the dark of the night.

“You're pretty easy to embarass, huh?” Dammit. Foiled again.

I do her the grace of an awkwardly playful smile. “Sometimes.”

Another firework shoots up and explodes, its contents drooping from a nexus, almost like a willow tree. “Those are my favorite,” Miki proclaims. “Up into the sky, falling away from the center back down to the ground. Going back to where you came from.” Philosophical? I never imagined that coming from her. “And I always liked willow trees. It's like nature wrapping its arms around you, isolated from the troubles of the world.”

“That's pretty deep, coming from you,” I remark, poking fun at her.

“What, you think I'm just some dumb jock?” she retorts. “There's more than meets the eye, you know. Try to look beneath the surface. You never know what you might find.”

“Don't judge a book by it's cover?” She only nods. I continue, “And you're saying that - beneath this eccentric shell of a girl - there's something very different?”

A light chuckle comes from her side, approaching a giggle. “You don't even know the half of it. But, for now, let's just enjoy the show. Another story for another day.”

Be careful what you promise, Miki. I'll hold you to that.