I did find it easier to fight with a weapon- specifically, a long stick, or staff as Kento tended to call it- than just with my hands. I believe it's the distance; when your enemy is within the reach of your hands, you haven't much time to think or aim. An enemy at the end of a six-foot pole leaves a certain amount of time for deciding what you're going to do and how you're going to do it. I'm not the best planner in the world, but I'm better at planning than at acting on pure impulse. 

I would have liked to give Kento swimming lessons in return for the kendo lessons, but after he avoided my third hint, I decided to leave it be. If he changed his mind, he'd let me know. I could understand why he wasn't too enthusiastic about the idea, seeing how the ocean had nearly taken his sister. It wasn't fear- I didn't get the feeling that he doubted my ability to teach him safely- I think he was rather holding a grudge against the water and didn't want much to do with it.

The day he went to Hiroshima was a strange one for me, and not a particularly good one. Nothing really happened to be called 'bad', but I found myself lonely and inexplicably out of sorts for the majority of the day. It's remarkable how much you can miss someone that you've only been friends with for three days, especially when you know they'll be back that evening. Not that time has anything to do with it; it's the depth of the friendship that counts, but I suppose I had not realized just how deep our friendship was already.

In hindsight, I was probably missing the link as much as I was missing Kento; that explains the peculiar grumpiness I felt. I knew I was lonely, I just didn't know what was really lacking. 

Kento, for his part, came back tired, claimed he'd been bored half to death, and declared the day a waste of time. "I'm sure it's a fine school, but it's definitely not for me. And not just because it's too far. If it was a better school, it wouldn't be too far."

We were sitting on the porch steps, watching the sun set over the water. We'd had baked chicken for dinner and the smell of it was still lingering in the air. I'd invited Kento to come in and have some of the leftovers, but he'd declined; he and his father had eaten at a restaurant on their way back to Hagi, though he had not been much impressed by that, either.

"Not everyone can cook like your father, unfortunately. But what was wrong with the school?" I asked when he stopped grumbling about the inferior meal.

Kento leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out, his expression turning from disgusted to thoughtful. "It's not so much what they did, it's what they didn't do," he said slowly. "Things are...things are pretty conservative down here, aren't they?"

I nodded. Hagi certainly was; I wasn't so sure about Hiroshima, but frankly, that's a fairly safe thing to say about many parts of Japan.

"They were all polite and everything, of course- complimented my grades and were all honored that I was interested- and advised me that it would be an adventure for me, and probably a big change from what I was used to. Like I didn't know that. And then they pointed out how strict their rules were. And they made Pop ask if we could take a tour, they didn't offer one." 

"Now that last part is rather telling," I observed. 

"Yeah. They were all, 'oh, certainly, of course, nothing more reasonable'...but then they passed us off to some secretary or office-page or someone, and she- well, I dunno if she had her orders or what, but all she was saying was stuff like, 'these are the senior's lockers. These are the science labs. This hall is for first-year students.' Stuff like that. And Pop and I are all like, 'Ok, how many math teachers, how many students per class, what's the average grade points, the attendance records, what about substitutes?' And most of the time she's all, 'I don't know, I'm not sure, hard to say.'" Kento stopped for a breath and scowled. "And she had nothing at all to say about living arrangements. I mean, yeah, they do the dormitory thing and there's seniors to keep order and of course there's never any serious incidents-"

I snorted. 

"Right. But the thing was, she couldn't, or wouldn't, tell us if there was actually any rooms available. We'd have to go back and someone could look it up on the computer. And of course it turned out that the halls closest to the campus were all filled up, the only rooms left were like ten miles away."

I considered that for a moment, then nodded. "So nothing you could really point to and say was unreasonable, but it left you with a feeling that-"

"That the Chinese kid is Not Welcome, thanks anyway," Kento said bitterly, and leaned way back until his head was resting on the porch.

"Why, those- well! Their loss," I snipped, and laid my hand on his arm.

"Thanks." Kento sort of rolled his head over to give me a wearily appreciative look. 

"One thing I can say about Hanai: they have their issues with bratty students, but most of the teachers are fair and open-minded. I've only one who doesn't like gaijin- and him, really, I think he just doesn't like kids."

"Hanai? Oh, your school in Toyama." Kento sat up again, looking vaguely interested. "You did tell me it was kinda weird," he said in an invitational tone.

"It is," I agreed, and it was dark before I finished up my comprehensive lecture on Hanai High. The unusual changes in custom, the large classes, the cafeteria, the wide variety of sports and clubs, the quirks and attitudes of the teachers I knew, the early dismissal. "They say it's based on American schools," I mentioned when I saw him shaking his head.

"It doesn't really sound much like American school to me," Kento mused. "I've got family in New York, you know, and when we went to see them, my cousins told me about their schools. But then, New York itself is a pretty weird place itself, and the schools are different everywhere you go. They don't even all start on the same day."

"Really?" I said in astonishment. "How...disorganized!" 

"Actually, lots of them start in September and end in June, but definitely not all," Kento assured me. "There's a holiday in September, the first week, a Monday- and school usually starts the Tuesday right after it. I forget what they call it, Work Day or something. It's to give 'em a short starting week. And you know they don't go on Saturdays?"

"They don't? Well, I wish Hanai would follow that custom!" I said enviously. Kento nodded, then, reminded, asked what I'd meant about 'issues' and 'bratty students' at Hanai.

"Well, some of the kids aren't the nicest," I admitted, not quite sure where to begin. "Of course there's gossip, there always is, and there's a lot of bullying- I've never had to deal with it, but a bunch of the fifth and sixth graders make life really unpleasant for the more unpopular kids. But what's really bad is the thing they call Backstabbing. It's just what it sounds like, you pretend to be friends with someone and then you find some way to make a fool of them and hurt their feelings. So not only are they kicking themselves for telling you, say, that they still sleep with a stuffed toy, they're also feeling rotten because their supposed friend thinks they're a creep and insults them in the halls every day. And so does the supposed friend's other friends."

"Assuming they really are friends," Kento observed, and I nodded. "I see what you mean. Those kids sound more than just bratty. But there's not many bullies that would care to mix it up with me- at least, not after the first time- and knowing ahead of time about the backstabbing pretty much takes care of that, ne?"

I nodded. "If you keep to yourself and just watch for a bit, you see fairly quickly who's playing the game and who isn't. And most of them aren't very patient anyway- they don't want to waste time prying some wary soul out of their shell, so they'll give up if you keep the formality up for a while."

"It's a good thing you're an oyster, then. I hate to think of some creep pulling that dirty trick on you..."

I blushed, though it was too dark for him to see that. "Similarly," I replied softly, and he chuckled a little. 

"I'm no oyster, though. I'm- I'm more like a shark."

"A hammerhead," I suggested, and he laughed again.

"Yeah! I like that. ...So what about the teachers? They don't stop any of this crap?"

"The teachers don't allow disruption in their classes, and if they hear or see some disturbance in the hall they do stop it- but the school's so big, and so many students... and of course, when they aren't in the classroom..." I shrugged. "There's only one cafeteria teacher, too, and he never goes out into the courtyard. So lunch is when most of the nastiness goes on."

"Oh. So they're outnumbered in a big way." 

I nodded. "They're fair though- most of them. Some of them are more stern and others less effective, but you get that everywhere." I hesitated, then added honestly, "Some of the bullies do like to pick on the non-Japanese students, but they're the same ones who like to pick on the short students, or the tall ones, or-"

"Basically, anyone who isn't them," Kento summed up neatly.

"Yes. It is an unusual school, so the kids who go there are generally more open-minded and less conservative than you'd find in other schools. At least, my English teacher said so; he said his classes at Hanai showed more imagination and originality than classes he'd had in three other schools."

"I dunno about imagination, but I'll take open-mindedness any day," my friend remarked. He seemed amused about something, but before I could ask what he changed the subject and asked what I had been up to all day.

We talked about other things for a while, but when we parted for the evening it was his interest in Hanai that occupied my thoughts. Interested, yes, and intrigued, asking so many questions, considering... I looked out my bedroom window at the moon shining down and let myself imagine how wonderful it would be if he decided to attend my high school. I would help him settle in, show him around, explain things. Two of my house-mates had talked of finding a different place to stay; surely at least one of them would go, and then Kento could have that space. That would be wonderful; there'd be less quarreling, and we'd both have a good friend near to talk to and study with. He would be able to help me in the kitchen- not a novice, either, but someone who knew at least as much, maybe more, about food as I. And-

-Study?

Of course, he was younger than me, he wouldn't be in my grade. Certainly not in my class. But we would see each other before school, and at lunch, and after- perhaps we could be in the same club. And we would ride the bus home together.

Unless... he might be happier staying with his grandfather? It was sure to be much less crowded. It might be farther away, but it might be closer- and if he could take one bus, he could certainly take another.

My spirits fell at the thought, and then it occured to me that Hanai's registration date might already have passed.

And...even if it hadn't, maybe Kento didn't want to go to Hanai. 

He hadn't said he wanted to. He'd been interested in what I could tell him, but that might just be his curiosity for unusual things and places. He might already have a second choice decided on; Hiroshima might not even have been his first choice. He might prefer somewhere closer to home- closer to his shy Yun and his little princess, and close enough to keep that wilful Shun Ryu in line... closer to his mountains...

I sighed, the last shreds of my glad mood drifting away. I tried to tell myself that anyone who would consider going as far from home as Hiroshima was from Yokohama probably wouldn't be averse to Toyama, but it wasn't much help. The odds were against it, and it might be too late anyway. I should just resign myself to the thought that once Kento's family left Hagi, I probably wouldn't see them- him- again. 

'Maybe they'll come back," I muttered, turning over. "In the summers, for vacation." But what kind of a friendship was that? 

Isn't it strange, how being very happy and being unhappy both make it difficult to get to sleep?

I woke up in the morning determined to say nothing of my deflated idea, and equally determined to enjoy every particle of the next nine days. I was going to make the most of this friendship, however brief it might be. I wasn't going to think about how lonely it would be once they- he- left, and I wasn't going to worry about when I might see them- him- again. There would be time for that later, and there was no sense troubling now with thoughts that belonged to then. 

So, I didn't. Or, did, depending on how you want to look at it. I did what I was determined to and didn't do what I wasn't, and I enjoyed that week and a half more than I thought I could. I had never had the opportunity, before, to appreciate the difference that friendship makes to one's activity. That is- 

I mean, if- 

Argh.

Walking along the beach in the afternoon, picking up shells, seeing how far you can throw them...that's pleasant. It's solitude, peace. Walking along the beach in the afternoon, with your friend.. talking, having a shell-throwing contest, laughing... it's a completely different experience. It's a different kind of solitude, a shared peace.

We didn't exactly keep busy, but I don't recall that either of us ever got bored. Kento wanted to see the shop, so I took him there one morning, before it got busy, and showed him around the place (having warned Sayoko beforehand. She was very gracious to him and actually seemed pleased at all the questions he asked.) We spent some time in the little news-shop, getting books and papers- Kento picked up some manga he said he'd never seen before and that got us started on an all-day discussion of various manga series. We often went to the grocery to get something cold to drink, and took lunch wherever we could find it; at home, at the hotel, or at one of the very, very crowded restaurants. We tried to spend some time in the little arcade that had just been put in around the corner, but that was more or less what it consisted of: spending time in there, waiting for someone to leave their particular video-game so we could claim it. We had more luck at the pachinko hall...well, more luck getting a place. Kento was much better at the game than I was, though I was surprised to notice that I had improved somewhat. There was the usual boat-racing contest: paddle-boats against canoes against kayaks against motorboats against speedboats, in just about every combination. 

A speed-boat race is fairly basic, but you need some ingenuity to come up with a fair paddle-boat vs speed-boat race, or a canoe vs motorboat. The one with the engine would be told to proceed to a particular buoy and return, while the one without the engine would be given a complicated arrangement of obstacles to weave through and around before the motorized one got back. The paddle-boats won about half the time, but the canoes kept tipping over, which was a disqualification. The kayaks were a bit of a problem; they're made to flip over and come up again, so no one was quite sure whether a flip was a disqualification or not. I believe they decided that each kayak flip added five seconds to the total time.

There was a fishing contest, too, but we didn't attend to that one. Kento got bored, standing around and watching nothing happen, and it was nothing special to me to see catches made. We found out later that we missed some excitement, in the form of three of those trouble-makers snarling a bunch of the fish-lines together under the water. They wouldn't have been caught if one of them hadn't gotten his finger hooked, but he did, and jerked the line, and the inevitable occurred. There was a lot of laughing about what kind of fish he was, and what a puny specimen, and other such not-undeserved taunts, and the other two were made to untangle the lines while the hooked one got his hand treated.

There were other things, too, other activities- gatherings and games both during the days and at night when things were cooler- but what really stays in my mind about those ten days is the time we spent near that deserted pier, sitting in the shade under it and talking. The odd thing, though, is that I don't really remember what we talked about. It's all mixed up together: silly things and serious things, things that angered us, things that confused us, things that made us happy- or sad. Memories and hopes for the future, speculations and unavoidable facts.

The only thing we didn't talk about was the armor. Not that I wasn't tempted to mention it, several times. But I held back, half-afraid he'd think I was crazy, and half-worried that he'd know I wasn't. I think we all went through that, that awful fear of losing someone who'd become important to us by telling them the whole, fantastic truth. 

I do know Kento felt about the same way, because he didn't say a word about it, either, until the almost very last minute.