Going back to school isn't something most kids look forward to. It's not just the loss of freedom they dislike, either; it's the anxiety that goes with it. Even when you're going back to a familiar school and maybe looking forward to seeing some old friends, there's more than enough new routine waiting for you to make anyone kinda nervous. You know- new room, new teacher, higher expectations, maybe some new bullies to round things off. And when you're looking at a major change, like from elementary to junior high or junior to high school, well, that's grounds for more than 'kinda' nervous.

When you've got a new school in a foreign country with a bunch of kids and teachers you've never seen in your life, in a language you can speak but not read or write, with customs and manners that are seriously different than the ones you're familiar with... lemme tell you, that is plain old scary.

I knew there were gonna be problems, but I didn't really expect 'em to start even before I got through the doors.

Well, maybe technically it wasn't a 'problem', but it hadn't occured to me that merely walking up to the steps in front of the school would get me so much attention. For some reason, I hadn't expected anyone to be hanging around outside talking, which really was a pretty ridiculous assumption. There were quite a few kids doing exactly that- right up until they got a look at yours truly approaching- and I discovered that it's very unnerving to hear conversations trailing off into silence all around you as you walk up a flight of stairs. I tried not to look around, just went through the open doors as though knew where I was going and what I'd do when I got there, hearing the murmurs of surprise and disbelief behind me.

The same thing happened as I walked through the foyer and down the main hall, looking for the office: kids going silent, heads turning, murmurs and whispers and stares. And one word- gaijin- repeated so often that my head practically rang with it.

The word 'gaijin' means 'foreigner' and it wasn't supposed to be considered insulting, but it was something I was getting pretty tired of hearing. I don't know why everyone who saw me seemed to feel the need to remark on the fact that there was a foreigner in the area; to my mind, that's kinda like pointing to every pigeon you see and saying, "Look! A pigeon!" Yeah, like- duh!

Okay, granted, foreigners weren't as thick as pigeons...maybe if a peacock strolled down Fifth Avenue, people would be saying, "Hey, lookit the peacock!"

I had hoped that the fact I- like everyone else- was wearing the school's uniform (black pants, white shirt, black tie, black jacket, black shoes... I felt like a waiter) would make me less conspicuous, but clearly that wasn't going to be the case. 'Mom was right, maybe,' I reflected; 'ordinary foreigners are unusual enough, but blue-haired ones are real rarities...maybe it was a mistake to color it. Well, no one to blame but me, so I guess I better just tough it out.' And I did, doing my best to ignore the stares and whispers and concentrate on finding the office to collect my class schedule.

That in itself had caused a bit of trouble- my schedule. Apparently fitting me into the already-established classes had proven to be something of a challenge for the administration, to the point where there had not been enough time for them to mail us the final result. Mom had explained that this was because very few students ever changed school in the middle of the year; the usual procedure was to finish out all three terms at the old school before transferring to the new one. It seemed strange to me- did families schedule their moves around the kids' school terms?- but since I didn't expect to be transferring anywhere else, I didn't imagine it'd come up again.

The office was reasonably easy to find, just down the main hall past the library, but getting my schedule was the first fiasco of the day. The first problem was that there was no one at the front desk when I went in, and I didn't quite have the nerve to venture down the hall that disappeared out of sight on my right. I told myself that someone would show up eventually, and occupied about ten minutes alternately watching the weird screensaver on the computer that sat on the desk, and looking around the room. There wasn't much to see: teacher mailboxes on the left wall, filing cabinets on the rear wall, the desk in the middle, and the hall leading off to the right. The ceiling was a surprisingly low, and there was only one window, behind the desk. The enclosure around the room was typical, though; half wood and half glass, so the administrators could look out at the students as they passed in the halls. I was keeping my back to that, in order to better ignore the curious stares, so I started when the door opened suddenly and a woman came in.

"Good morning," she said with a slight bow. "Is there-" Her eyes went wide as she straightened up and she stood blinking at me. I sighed internally; even the adults?

Yep.

"Good morning, I'm a new student," I explained. "I was told to report here to get my schedule."

She blinked a few more times, then gave herself a little shake and the second fiasco of the day began: finding the particular piece of paper that had my information on it. She asked my name, and after I told her 'Hashiba', went to a filing cabinet and started looking through it. After a few minutes, she closed that drawer and opened another. Then a third. I started to get a little worried, for the frown she was wearing indicated something was seriously amiss. Having rummaged all four drawers, the woman straightened up and closed the last one, then turned without a word and hurried down the hall and out of sight. I stood there feeling helpless, wondering what was going on, and started violently when a bell suddenly shrilled in the hallway. The first class was starting...wonderful. I was going to be late- in fact, from the looks of things, I might miss it entirely.

The woman returned a minute or so later, this time with a man, and the two of them recommenced searching, painstakingly going through each file. I shifted from foot to foot, too ill at ease to be exactly bored, but not far from it, either. It was another ten minutes before the man suddenly said, "Ah!" and drew a piece of paper from a file. A rectangular card with a piece of paper stapled to it, I saw after a moment. "Hashiba Toma?" he said briskly, turning to me. The woman replaced the file, closed the drawer and went to sit down at the desk, activating the computer.

"Yes, sir," I replied, half relieved and half definitely not.

"From...New York?" The man looked at me dubiously; the woman ignored us both and started typing, evoking clicks and beeps from her computer.

"We moved here last month," I explained, nodding. "My father is working for a chemical research lab."

"Ah. Your homeroom is in 257, that's upstairs on the right. It took a long time to find because someone did not follow the proper procedure," the man explained sternly. The woman stopped typing, but didn't look up. "Additional notes are supposed to be stapled behind the card, not in front of it, so that the name on the card can be seen."

"I...see," I responded, somewhat at a loss. Surely that wasn't my fault! The man pried the paper from the card, handed me the card, nodded once more, and left, taking the paper with him. I looked the card over and my heart sank; of course it was all kanji that made no sense to me! I hesitated, glancing at the woman, but she ignored me and started typing again, hitting the keyboard so hard that I suddenly realized the reprimand had been meant for her. I decided to take my cue, shoved the card into my pocket and hurried out of the office. Maybe once I got to my homeroom, someone would tell me how to find my other classrooms.

Room 257 was trickier to find than the office had been, and it didn't help that there was no one in the hallway to ask directions from. A clock I passed told me I was now fifteen minutes late, and I wondered what would happen if I didn't find the room at all but just wandered the halls for the entire period. I also wondered why I couldn't just forget this school business entirely and bolt back to the familiarity of the apartment. It was a very tempting thought. Dad was home, but he wouldn't notice me, especially if I didn't make any noise... 'Of course,' I told myself, 'that assumes you can find the way out of this place. Besides, if it wasn't today, it would be tomorrow...' And that was the point: sooner or later, I'd have to deal with this nerve-racking procedure, so I might as well get it over with and not have it hanging over my head. Besides, I'd get in trouble, and I wasn't sure I wanted to find out what the Japanese school system considered appropriate punishment for skipping school.

I finally located the room and felt my momentary relief replaced by an even greater dread. I stood outside the closed door for a moment, trying to calm down a little and brace myself for whatever might go wrong next. Then I pulled the card from my pocket and opened the door, wondering even as I did so whether it would have been better to knock. The teacher, a pleasant-looking young woman sitting at a desk in front of a blackboard, looked up in surprise, blinked, then came over to the door. She regarded me uncertainly for a moment or two, then finally said, "Yes?" in a slightly wary voice.

I handed her the card, hearing the buzz of whispers in the room. "I'm sorry I'm late. They couldn't find my file at first," I ventured, barely remembering to speak Japanese in time.

"Oh..." She studied the card for a moment, eyebrows lifted, then nodded. "I see. Come in."

I obeyed, trying not to see the roomful of startled and curious and amused expressions, reminding myself that even at home, I would feel out of place and self-conscious. But here, confronted with two dozen dark-skinned, black-haired, dark-eyed teenagers, I stood out like- No. There was one pair of blue eyes regarding me in a curious but friendly way, and though I didn't feel exactly better for it, I did feel less worse. They weren't clones, and I wasn't really such a remarkable speciman- or wouldn't be, once the novelty wore off.

"...new student, Hashiba, from America. I hope you'll welcome him. Hashiba, you can take that seat," the teacher said, pointing to an empty place in the front row, directly in front of the blue-eyed boy. I sat down, relieved to have my back to the stares but acutely aware that every eye was still on me. I put my backpack on the floor by my feet and watched as the teacher went back to her desk and put my card down. She picked up a pen and wrote for a few moments, then put it down and started looking through a day-planner, ignoring the class.

Homeroom was twenty minutes long; I only sat through five of them, but it seemed like an eternity of confusion. The room was completely silent, the teacher did nothing, and I was totally lost. I didn't know what class was next or what room it was in, didn't know if I was supposed to have been assigned a locker or not, had been told nothing about lunch... 'Calm down,' I told myself sternly. 'That's what teachers are for, you ask them and they tell you what to do. She'll probably-' I jumped as the bell rang, and I think some of the other kids did too, but no one moved except the teacher. She got up, hastily gathered her planner and pen, and hurried out of the room. Baffled, I sat frozen, hearing murmurs around me and wondering what in the world was going on. Perhaps homeroom and first period were held in the same room?

That did prove to be the answer; two or three minutes later, another, older woman pushed a cartful of books into the room. She stopped in her tracks when she saw me; the class giggled and I looked down and tried not to blush. I heard the wheels move again and when I looked up, the cart was next to the desk and the teacher was reading my schedule card. "Ah," she said, looking at it, and then, in broken English, "So now have we American student help learn with English- is good. New York from, big like Tokyo." She smiled and I smiled back, but my head was spinning. Of all things, an English class- and a not very advanced one, from the sound of it. I wondered if there was a mistake, but my schedule seemed to say I was supposed to be here. Then I remembered telling Mom and Dad about my inability to read Japanese and wondered if that was behind it; maybe there'd been some communication error.

Or, maybe it was just that every seventh-grader took this English class, no matter their skill.

The books were passed out and the lesson got started. It was a surprisingly interesting class, considering that it was on the level of third-grade English- and for most of the students, that was a generous overstatement of their abilities. I could have taught it myself, but restrained myself from volunteering answers, feeling it wasn't right for a native English-speaker to show off like that. Besides, I had enough to do to keep from reacting to the blatant errors in grammar that the teacher was making and spent no little time speculating about the odds of this class ever learning something resembling proper English. I got so absorbed in the thought that the bell again took me off guard, but last year's habits kicked in automatically: I hurriedly pulled my backpack from under my feet, dumped the English book into it, wedged the bag over my shoulder as I stood, and took the few steps to the desk to get my schedule-

And came eye-to-eye with the shocked teacher. "What you do? Where go?" she demanded.

"Um- my..." I began, and hesitated, hearing laughter all around me. Suddenly aware that no one else had gotten up I finished lamely, inadvertantly speaking English: "My n-next...class?"

"You class here, you math now. Why get up? Sit!"

I stood staring for a moment. My next class... was here? Math and English in the same classroom?

"Sit, sit! Not get seat no permission out of! Bad boy, sit!"

I sat quickly, my face burning with humiliation. Why the hell hadn't anyone told me that seventh-graders in Japan didn't change classes? The teacher snorted and I looked up to see her shaking her head and frowning at me. "In America," I said tightly in English, "when class ends, students get up and go to new room for new class. Teacher stays in old room. Not mean to be rude."

The giggling died down a bit at that, and the teacher calmed significantly. "True?" she inquired. "Not...messy?"

"Well, yes," I admitted, thinking longingly of the crowded halls of my old school. Fifth and sixth graders, in preparation for secondary and high-school, were switched from room to room for several subjects; two for the fifth-graders, three for the sixth.

"Hm. Japan here, no America. No messy. Home room, all day room." And with that, she grabbed the cart and hurried it out of the room. I eased the pack off my shoulder and shoved it under my feet again, biting hard on my tongue to get my embarrassment and dismay under control. So, now I was going to be the foolish foreigner who tried to leave class early...

"Must be very weird over there," I heard someone say in Japanese, but didn't turn. Other comments drifted around the room, but I didn't pay much attention until, "I don't think his hair really grew that way, do you?" registered in my mind, along with the reply, "Of course not, don't be stupid. It's just how they are over there, they get attention that way."

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again as several things occurred to me in a flash. One: they didn't think I understood them; two: if I let them know I did understand, they'd be embarrassed and stop. And three: if I didn't let on that I understood, they'd continue to air their comments and opinions freely. It wasn't entirely honest of me, but it was a good way to learn what my classmates were like, how tolerant- or intolerant, from the sound of it- they were.

The talking died down at once when the next teacher- a man this time- entered the room, pushing another cart of books. Math books; Algebra Two. Apparently the talk about accelerated education in Japan was true. This teacher registered me with a scowl, read my new student card, nodded, and said, "Temikyono-san," to me, tapping his chest. I nodded respectfully. He frowned again, then ordered one of the other students pass out the math books, and the girl hurried to obey. "Chapter six- six-" he held up six fingers and pointed at the book. I opened the book and paged through it, hearing the rustles all around me.

The lecture was about comprehensive quadratic equations; I had long ago mastered that particular theorem, so didn't pay a lot of attention to the lesson. English and math...what else would there be? Probably Japanese, like a grammar class- that might be enlightening, or it might just be confusing-

"Hashiba."

I started a bit and looked up uneasily. "Temikyono-san?"

The teacher picked up a bit of chalk and scribbled a rather lengthy equation on the blackboard. Then he turned around and held out the chalk, beckoning with it. I stood up, feeling the smiles around me and knowing that everyone was anticipating the next gaffe from the American. I tried to ungrit my teeth as I walked up to the board and accepted the chalk, then stood there a moment, running rapid-fire through the steps in my head. Add this, carry that, subtract...final multiplication... I wrote a large '34' on the board and circled it. The whispers and murmurs from behind me ceased as I turned to go back to my desk.

"Hashiba!"

Startled, I turned back around. Temikyono gestured me back to the blackboard and pointedly put a one, a two, a three under the equation... and I sighed as I realized he wanted me to write out all the steps. Nodding, I took the chalk back and patiently carried the equation out, reaching, of course, the final answer of thirty-four. I re-circled my original total, then put the chalk down and went back to my seat...and met the blue eyes of the boy in the seat behind me. His hand was on his desk, finger twitching sharply downwards; as I looked at him he inclined his head slightly in time with his finger and I thought I understood what he meant. Turning, I bowed to the teacher, then glanced at the boy as I took my seat. His small smile indicated message received, and I relaxed a little as I turned to face the front again.

Temikyono ignored me for the rest of the class, not that I minded. After he left, most of the students got up from their seats and stretched, moving around the room and talking among themselves. I watched for a moment, blinking as one girl, then two more ducked out of the room, and wondered what was going on now. A touch on my shoulder made me turn to see the boy behind me, now standing. "Time rest...get water-" he paused, then stretched his arms up over his head. I nodded my understanding and smiled.

"Thanks. What about lockers?" I asked in English. He didn't seem to understand, so I picked up the math book and pantomimed putting it into something, then nodded at the hall.

"Oh! Ah...lunch, you get."

I frowned, trying to figure that one out. I had seen students using them before school and concluded that since the classrooms were the same each term, the lockers probably were, too. I had also assumed my assigned one was listed on my schedule, but since none of the teachers had mentioned it, I'd begun to wonder. Now this kid was saying- and why did I have to wait till lunch-? 'Oh. Because classes don't change, and I was already late. Lunch'll be the first opportunity I'd have to get out of this room and find it. Great, hope I don't spend all lunch looking for it, it probably won't be in this hall.'

"Adopting another gaijin, Sanada?" a voice inquired sneeringly, interrupting my train of thought. I looked over; the speaker was a short, pudgy boy wearing an expression of smug disdain. "You'll have a whole collection before the year's out, at this rate."

"Better than those scum you collect," the blue-eyed boy responded calmly, brushing his heavy black bangs from his eyes. "Haruka," he added to me, tilting his head at the other. "Jerk."

"Oh." I doubted 'jerk' was in any of the textbooks, but insults do have a way of getting themselves learned.

"Scum, is it?" the other boy fired back. "Well at least my friends are still my friends, now the soccer season's over. You're gonna learn all about being at the bottom now, Sanada, now that no one needs you to score any goals."

Sanada laughed. "Friends, is it?" he retorted mockingly. "If you call those backstabbers your friends, you must be desperate indeed."

There was a murmur at his words, and the girl who had passed out the books said suddenly, "There should be more like Sanada-san in this school, and less like Haruka-jerk. None would be best, but one can't have everything."

Sanada looked over at her with an expression that managed to mix pleasure with embarrassment, and I noticed then that he differed from our classmates in another way as well; his hair fell well past his shoulders, sleek black against the velvety black of the school coat. The coat was unbuttoned, showing the white shirt under it; the sleeves were pushed up, baring strong brown arms, and the tie was loose. Casual, yet...confident. He was relaxed, not lazy or sloppy. He didn't reply to the compliment, just ducked his head and smiled at the girl.

"I agree," another voice- a boy's- remarked. "We know who taunts people and who threatens and bullies and gangs up on people four to one- don't we, Haruka-jerk? And who steals lunch money from the little kids, too."

"That's a lie!" the chubby boy snarled, starting forward.

"Don't start a brawl with Minoro-san coming in any minute!" a tall girl on the far side of the room hissed. "Unless you want to be caned, baka."

Haruka subsided at once, scowling but glancing uneasily at the doorway. Muttering something that was probably rude, he returned to his seat. 'Interesting,' I thought, letting my gaze go to the window. 'Feisty bunch. Looks like there's a rivalry between Sanada and Haruka...and looks like Haruka really is a jerk, if what that other guy said about bullying is accurate. Caning, huh? Corporal punishment...guess I better be a little careful, didn't know they still did that. And I bet this Minoro-san is a mean one...'

That was true, as I discovered only a few minutes later. Minoro-san was the history teacher, and he was not at all pleased to have an American student turn up in his class. "How," he demanded, standing over me, "does this boy expect me to teach him? Six chapters behind and knowing nothing, nothing at all... Sanada!"

"Sir?"

"How is your English?"

"It- is not as good as it should be, sir," came the subdued reply from behind me.

"You will see to it that this boy understands his lessons. He will turn in the answers to all the chapter questions before the semester ends, and he will be expected to know the information for the winter tests. And you will improve your English in the process, hopefully. Tell him!"

'Oh, great, now he's gonna resent being saddled with me...' Minoro-san was pointing over my shoulder and I obediently turned to look. Sanada looked chagrined, but managed a faint smile.

"This- history- help you learn, I," he offered.

I smiled, glanced up at the teacher, then back at him, and nodded. "Arigatou," I replied, and his smile grew less tentative.

The books were handed out and opened and the lecture began. I had my hands full keeping up, and that was a new experience for me; I had a pretty good idea of Japanese history, thanks to my own curiosity, but Minoro-san went into details I hadn't heard of and was very intrigued by. I paid close attention, even pulling out a pen and paper to take notes- in English, of course. No one else seemed to notice; they were all too busy trying to take their own notes. Every so often, the teacher paused to bark out a question or have one of the students read a paragraph- keeping them on their toes. A harsh one, I concluded vaguely, but good at his job.

"What is the American doing?" Minoro-san snapped suddenly, breaking the pace of the lecture. I started a little as Sanada touched my shoulder and repeated the question in hesitant English.

"I'm writing..." I paused, then mentioned a few dates that were written in the book and several names that had come up during the lecture.

"He's taking notes on the dates and places, sir."

"Hmmm," was the only response, and after that I was again ignored, but I got a feeling that the teacher approved. At least I was 'trying' to learn, not just sitting and staring into space.

Minoro-san ended his lecture with a lengthy homework assignment, then rummaged around on the desk for a moment and finally handed me a small slip of paper. From the numbers on it, I concluded this was my locker and the combination to it, and was relieved that there was one assigned to me. After the glitch in the office, I'd been a bit worried. The class was dismissed to put their books away before lunch, and I was glad to see Minoro-san gather his own things and stalk off down the hall.

It took a few tries to get my locker open, but finally I mastered the combination and stowed my new books, along with my backpack and heavy jacket. Then, thinking about it, I put my history book into the pack. I would tell Dad about the assignment- maybe I could write it in English and he could type out a translation on Mom's new keyboard. Then I took out my lunch bag and wondered what next. Did we eat in the classroom as well? Closing the locker, I looked around to see what everyone else was doing, and was relieved to find Sanada standing nearby. Apparently, having been assigned to me, he was taking his role as my guide pretty seriously. And it didn't hurt that he was easy to pick out of the crowd of kids that had somehow flooded the hall while I was dealing with the lock. 'It's like a funeral school,' I thought glumly as Sanada nodded in the direction we were to go. 'Black, black, and more black. Even the girls are wearing black socks or stockings to go with their black skirts... Of course, here, it's white for funerals,' I reminded myself. 'But still, it's pretty depressing.'

"Take history?" Sanada asked quietly, and I looked over at him. "Take book?" he tried again. "Talk history, lunch?"

I stopped, thinking about it, then made a decision. "Sure," I agreed, and turned back to my locker, dodging the kids who were hurrying in the opposite direction. As I'd hoped, my mentor followed and leaned against a nearby locker as I fiddled with my lock. The hall went silent in a remarkably short time; glancing at my patient companion, I asked in casual Japanese, "Do you get the same lockers each time, or do they assign a new one every term?"

"The same," he said absently; "that way they don't-" and stopped, his eyes widening.

"They don't have to change all the combinations three times a year?" I suggested, smiling.

Sanada tilted his head, looking bemused and somewhat indignant. "Yes," he said slowly, deliberately, and put one hand on his hip. "So. Whoever taught you Japanese did a good job of it."

I don't blush easily, but that remark nearly did the trick; all of a sudden I saw my silence in a new light: deceptive and dishonest. "Um, my parents. But no one bothered to ask if I understood, they just assumed I didn't," I offered feebly. "And after what they said about me, I didn't want to talk to 'em anyway. Maybe if I'd told 'em the truth, they'd be polite, like they're 'supposed' to be, but then I'd be wondering if they were still thinking those nasty things." I stepped away from the locker, wondering if I'd just ruined any chance of being friends with this boy, and was relieved when his indignant look faded and he nodded thoughtfully.

"I see. They were rude."

I nodded, still feeling a little ashamed of myself. I had, in essence, tricked the whole class just because a few creeps had said some unpleasant things, and that wasn't right. I'd deceived the teachers, too, and they were not going to be amused when they found out I had played dumb. "I'm sorry I deceived you," I told Sanada, sighing. "I shouldn't have done that."

"I'm thinking Minoro-san might be slow to forgive you," he warned me, and then smiled suddenly. "I guess this means you won't need my help with history after all."

I stood for a moment, trying to puzzle that remark out. Was he saying he, like the teacher, was slow to forgive? Was he so pleased that he wouldn't be burdened with an ignorant foreigner any longer? Or was he just stating facts? Had he forgiven me? He hadn't said so, but maybe they didn't, in Japan... Baffled, I changed the subject, asking rather abruptly, "So where do we go to eat?" Sanada's brows lifted briefly; he nodded down the hall in the direction the other students had gone, turned, and started walking. I followed several paces behind him, feeling very low. Subtlety and courtesy were the staples of Japanese conversation, but I'd never realized it would be so difficult to figure out what someone really meant.

We proceeded down the hall, past the rows of lockers and the closed classroom doors and the occasional window. The only sound was the soft tap our shoes on the gray tile floor. Around a corner, down several flights of stairs- at which point I started to get anxious- down another short corridor to a set of swinging doors. Sanada pushed through and went on in; I started through, then froze in the doorway, staring into the tiny cafeteria in something like horror.

The walls were dull white, scattered with bulletin boards and murals. The impossibly low ceiling loomed over me, maybe ten feet high, fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering. The air was warm and close and tinged with food smells; the clamor of hundreds of voices filled my ears. Row after row of tables lined the floor, narrow walkways between them where students carrying trays dodged each other and searched for the remaining empty chairs. The occupied ones nearly touched each other, students pulling themselves closer to the tables to allow others to squeeze by behind them or take seats beside them. The serving entry was at the far end of the room, and the line of students waiting their turn snaked along two walls. Every few seconds, another student exited from the other end, carrying a tray and taking a seat somewhere in that packed confusion to eat, in a space that seemed to crowd ever closer, space disappearing, air siphoned away...

I felt the panic seize me and forced myself not to run. I backed away, letting the door swing shut, spun around and walked as fast as I could without actually bolting. Up the hall, up stair after stair, around the corner- I didn't stop till I got back to my locker, then leaned against the wall, shaking and breathing much too fast. The walls still seemed too close, but the ceiling was higher, the air cooler. After a moment I spotted a window nearby and hurried over on shaky legs to look out. The view was nothing spectacular- a deserted courtyard under a steely winter sky- but it soothed the panic to look out at the wide, empty space. A bit of white fluttered past, followed by another, and soon tiny, hypnotic snowflakes were drifting down by the dozens. The silence of the deserted hall was all around me, and I welcomed it.

As my nerves began to relax, my stomach reminded me that the point to all this was to feed it. There was no way I was going back to that cafeteria; I sat down on the floor under the window and opened up my lunch bag, which I had been holding all along but had forgotten about. I didn't know what I'd do if a teacher happened by, but I didn't worry about it. It wasn't exactly defiance on my part, more like mental numbness.

I had just finished with my lunch- and missing certain things I'd been used to having at home, I might add- when, right over my head, the bell rang to signal the end of lunch. I almost jumped out of my skin, then sighed, knowing the hall would be crowded with students in a matter of minutes. I quickly gathered up my empty sandwich-bag and drink can and looked around for a trash can, didn't see one, and went into the classroom. There was a small bin beside the desk and I dropped the bag in there before sitting back down in my desk. A minute or so later I heard voices and footsteps in the hall and soon the classroom was filling up with students again. I was aware- rather acutely aware- when Sanada paused beside me, but I didn't look up and neither of us said anything as he sat down.

The next class was Japanese- both the vocabulary and the grammar- and I really enjoyed that. I learned some words I hadn't known, and I learned some technical stuff that I hadn't been aware of- the terms one uses to talk about a language. Like 'antonym' or 'dangling participle.'

The final class, or classes- rather, what I thought were the final classes- that's confusing, isn't it? That was how I felt at the time, anyway. Okay: after grammar was a science class. The lecture lasted the whole class, but when the bell rang, we moved down the hall to another room; a lab, where we spent the next (and I thought final) hour looking over the equipment we'd be using over the year. Then we went over safety procedures, and finally got paired into teams. Somewhat to my disgruntlement, I was assigned to be Sanada's partner. I suppose it was inevitable, since we were using the same seating-chart in the lab as in the classroom, but I wasn't exactly leaping for joy and I didn't think he was, either.

The next step, after that ended, was heading back to the main classroom and doing the daily cleanup and I must say, those kids were very efficient. About all I managed to contribute was to stay out of the way, though I did get to beat the erasers. I've always liked doing that. When everything was shipshape, the class more or less emptied into the hallway. I lingered in the classroom, sitting back down at my desk to arrange my books and feeling relieved that it was all over. I was just wondering whether I'd be able to pry Dad away from his latest experiment long enough to help me with the history or not, when a figure stepped up beside me and a familiar, somewhat amused voice remarked, "If you're ready for your second history lesson, we can go on down to the library."

Sanada, of course. I frowned down at the pen I had just picked up and responded, impolitely, "You said yourself I wouldn't need any help from you. And just because Minoro decided to inflict me on you doesn't mean you need to babysit me. I'm sure you have much better things to be doing than looking after ignorant foreigners, so why don't you go do them and let me go home."

"What?" The boy sounded shocked. "What's- go home? You can't go home now."

I glared up at him. Really, that was too much! "I don't have to stay late if I don't want to. And I don't."

Sanada shook his head, looking baffled. "Stay late?" he repeated. "I don't know what you mean by that."

"I mean, staying after school," I replied, exasperated, and when his puzzled look didn't alter: "We cleaned up! Everyone left!"

"Well, they left the classroom, but they're not going home. It's not time yet." I must have looked as dismayed as I felt, for Sanada gave me a concerned look and reached out to touch my arm. "They really didn't tell you anything, did they?" he asked, almost sympathetically. "In America, you have sports and clubs, right?"

"Yes," I replied, a little shakily; "after classes. After school is over."

"Oh. Well, here, we go home after the activities," he answered. "Look, come down to the library with me, I can explain more there. They'll be locking up the classrooms soon."

I looked at him for a minute, wondering if this was some weird hoax, then sighed, dragged myself up from the desk, and followed him into the hall. We both stopped at our lockers; I put my science and grammar away and took my history book from my backpack with a very heavy heart.

The library was on the first floor, on the opposite side of the building from the office. It looked like any other school library- book checkout desk near the door, rows of bookshelves, tables and chairs, lots of windows. The windows were a big relief, since the ceiling was just as low here as in the cafeteria. It also helped that there were only twenty or thirty students that I could see, mostly boys sitting at tables and talking among themselves.

Sanada put his books down on an unclaimed table, then nodded in the direction of the bookshelves. I didn't ask questions, just followed him down the narrow aisle between two of the tall units until he halted. I didn't even look to see what section we were in, just stared fixedly at the floor. Just when I thought the day was finally over- just when I thought things couldn't get much worse...

Nothing quite as disappointing as having to delay an expectation.

"Okay, you said your sports and things come after school is out," Sanada said quietly. I nodded. "Here they're part of the school day. At the end of the day, so everyone can participate at the same time. So we have all our classroom subjects, and lunch in the middle, and then when we're done we clean up and go to our activities. Since you said yours take place after school, that means they're optional?"

"You're telling me clubs and sports are mandatory?" Sanada nodded and my mood dropped to somewhere south of my feet. "Do you sleep here, too?" I asked bitterly.

"We go home afterwards," he replied softly. "The clubs all meet in special rooms. I forget which ones there are- debating, and computers, and different science ones- and photography, I think, and acting. And a few others. They meet all the time, all year- even during vacation, some of them. The sports are a little different. There's baseball, basketball, football, soccer- I play soccer- and tennis. Basketball goes all year, since it's played inside, but the outside ones only play in the fall and spring terms. So in our off-season, we either join one or the clubs or just come to the library and work on other things."

"I see," I mumbled. "I guess I have to pick one and join it."

"Well, you can join a club, but the sports teams are all filled up. They have tryouts at the beginning of the year, and if you don't get on the team you want, you try another or pick a club you like. They might let you just come to the library each day, since you're new- it's a good time to get homework done, so you don't have to carry so many books home."

I could tell he was trying to encourage me, and it was a good point, but I still didn't like it. Once again I mentally cursed my parents for bringing me to this country, for taking my choices away from me.

Sanada took a breath. "Now, the other thing you said."

"Guess I do need a babysitter, don't I?" I growled, and dropped down to sit on the carpet, starting resolutely at my feet and wondering why frustration so often makes one feel about a hairsbreadth from crying.

"I was new here last term," Sanada's light voice said kindly, and suddenly his hand was on my shoulder, warm and gentle. That was completely unexpected; from all I'd heard and seen, the Japanese seldom touched each other, even those who knew each other very well. I figured I must look miserable indeed, for this stranger to reach out to me. "It was confusing," he continued. "Too many new things and too much happening at once. Too big and busy, and stern teachers and strange rules...and no one really stops to help you. So I know, a little, how you're feeling. It's worse for you, though. Being able to speak Japanese isn't enough."

I shook my head and bit my tongue hard, closing my eyes. His hand moved softly, comfortingly on my shoulder.

"So you see, Minoro-san and his assignments have nothing to do with me helping you. He didn't need to tell me to do something I was doing already. Or- well, willing to do. If you don't want me to, though, that's different."

I looked up. He was kneeling on my left, facing me, his right hand warm on my left shoulder. "You didn't look very happy when he dumped this burden on you," I said shakily, surprised at his directness but very grateful for it. I suppose he realized I was too stressed to try and untangle anything more correctly evasive. Make things easier for the unsophisticated American to comprehend...

"It was the English," he explained, turning a bit red. "I think you must have noticed that my English is terrible- I was awfully worried that I wouldn't be able to make things clear to you and you'd get bad grades because of me."

"Oh..." I blinked, taken off guard. "But then when I spoke to you in Japanese and you said I wouldn't need your help..."

Sanada grimaced and shook his head, then impatiently brushed some hair from his eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have said that," he muttered. "It was meant to be a little amusing- my idiotic sense of humor. Exactly the wrong thing to say to someone you want to help." He sighed; I blinked again, amazed at how bluntly he was speaking.

"I- I thought you were being- indirect, like everyone in this country is. People don't really say what they mean, they give you a hint and let you figure it out," I blurted. "My parents taught me to speak Japanese when I was little, and they tried to teach me the customs, too. But you don't use Japanese customs in America, so I never got many chances to practice them...and I'm finding it really, really difficult to get used to. And I do need help," I admitted, before I could lose my nerve. "Speaking isn't a problem, except for putting my foot in my mouth all the time, but no one ever taught me to read or write."

Wide blue eyes stared into mine for a moment before Sanada let out his breath in a 'whew!' "You do have problems, don't you?" he murmured, and both his hands pressed lightly against my shoulders. "I'll help you. Between us, we'll be speaking and writing both languages- eventually."

His qualification made me smile a little. "All right," I replied, leaning back against the bookshelf behind me with a sigh. "Sounds good. And maybe it'll help me learn some of this subtle business, too."

"I don't know if I'd count on that," he returned, smiling. "People are a lot less formal in my village than they are in this city, so I'm not too great at it myself. Dodging around the point is considered the polite, formal thing to do," he added when I frowned curiously. "Directness is informal, something friends do."

"Oh. I think I might have known that, but I forgot it. And I haven't really made friends yet..." I mused as he let go of my shoulders. Then I looked directly at him. "Thank you. You are a big help, and I really appreciate it. And I'm sorry I was so cross at you."

"You're welcome," he said, looking almost a little shy. "When you disappeared at lunch, I guessed you were angry about my stupid not-a-joke."

"Oh! That wasn't you," I said quickly, straightening up. "That was the cafeteria. I get..." If there was a word for claustrophobia in Japanese, I didn't know it. "I have a lot of trouble in small, enclosed spaces," I tried to explain. "Especially when there's no windows. And I don't do very well in big crowds, either. So when the two are put together, it's- it's bad, it makes me feel like I can't breathe. So I leave. Fast."

"Then where did you eat, in the classroom?"

"In the hallway. I looked out the window till I felt better," I clarified.

My new friend was silent for a moment, bemused. "You're an interesting person, Hashiba."

It took me a second to remember why he was calling me by my last name. "Rowen," I corrected.

"Rowen?"

"It's not really my name, it's one I picked when I got a nickname I didn't like. As long as I'm going by a nickname, it might as well be a good one."

"You sound like my friend, Sage. He prefers that to his own name," Sanada remarked. "I guess I'm lucky," he added, grinning. "I got a name I like. Ryo."

"Very lucky," I agreed. "Shall I call you that?"

"Yes, please. Never thought I'd get tired of my own last name." And at the very curious look I gave him, he began to explain the events that had earned him popularity, status, the honorific behind his name, and lots of headaches.

We never did get around to talking about the history assignment, but by the time the final bell rang- twice as long as any other bell of the day- I had completely lost my bewildered frustration and was enjoying Ryo's company and conversation immensely. We had to scramble to get our neglected books from the unused table, hurry from the library to our lockers, and almost trot out of the school because Ryo had a train to catch, but I left the school with the feeling that I had found not just a mentor, but a good friend as well. It was a new feeling for me, and it made my heart feel uncommonly light as I threaded my way through the discreetly staring pedestrians to our 'salt-tower' apartment building. Maybe living in this country wouldn't be so bad, after all.