Thomas Randall - The Waking

When her father finally slid the door closed, trying to get her attention back, that only made it worse. Without being able to see into the corridor, she could easily imagine the cat still there. She knew all of this was paranoia and sleep deprivation, but knowing didn’t help. She needed to get out of school, to go home and get some rest while the sun was still up. It would be worse after dark.

When at last the class ended, her father beckoned for her to follow him out into the corridor. Today he’d worn a dark jacket and black tie, and Kara flashed to her mother’s funeral, to a vision of her father standing beside her grave in grim funeral clothes. He wore something similar every day to teach at Monju-no-Chie School, but the comparison had never occurred to her before. Now she’d never be able to erase it from her mind.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked in English. They’d agreed on no English in school, but there was less chance of being overheard this way.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“ Kara.” His tone said it all-she wasn’t fooling either of them. “You looked like a deer in headlights in there. You’re either scared of something or you’re on drugs, and it damn well better not be the latter.”

She looked at him, forced herself to focus on his eyes, and then she took a deep, shuddery breath and let it out in a long sigh. Her back and shoulders and neck were knotted up with tension, and she felt the muscles relax.

“I haven’t been sleeping well. I think… I don’t think I’m the only one. I was getting freaked out in there, but I’m all right.”

He looked dubious. Kara took his hands in hers and squeezed.

“Really, Dad. I’ll be okay. I think everyone’s on edge ’cause of what happened to Jiro. The weirdness is like a cloud around here. It’ll blow over.”

He had to get to his next class, but it was obvious he was reluctant to go. Finally he nodded.

“Okay. But you really need sleep, kiddo. I’ve got some Ambien. I know you don’t like to take that stuff-”

“Are you kidding?” Kara said quickly. “I’ll make an exception.”

Her dad smiled. “All right. I’ll see you later. If you start getting really antsy, just tell the teacher you’re sick and come find me.”

Kara would never do that. They had to fit into the culture of the school, and Japanese students at Monju-no-Chie School weren’t about to beg off class unless they were throwing up or too weak to get out of bed. Their parents weren’t going to coddle them, either. Her father would lose some of the respect of his peers if she behaved that way, and more if he seemed to condone it. She wouldn’t do that to him.

“Sure,” she lied.

Her father headed off to teach his next class and she went back into the room, glancing around first to make sure there was no sign of the cat. It made her feel a little better to know she would be able to sleep that night.

But not much. Whatever the weirdness was, it was just as contagious as the dreams. The more people had trouble sleeping, the more irritable they got. That was only natural. But that didn’t explain the cat-the same creature that she’d dreamt about-showing up just as Maiko had been having her nightmare, almost like the cat knew. Or as though it had brought the nightmares to her itself.

Calligraphy made Kara feel a thousand times better.

At first, listening to the teacher-Kaneda-sensei-she had thought it might be the most boring thing she would ever do. The gray-haired, fiftyish woman had a slow, drowsy voice, like some of the baseball commentators back home. Nothing made her fall asleep faster than when her dad would put on a Red Sox game on an August afternoon.

She’d also been on edge, wondering if the members of the calligraphy club would freeze her out the way the Noh club members had. And some of them had looked at her with disdain when they saw she was attending the meeting. But Sakura introduced her to some of the girls, and there were several kids from her homeroom in the club, including Ren and the female Sora. Ren teased her, slowly pronouncing the Japanese names for the special paper they used- hanshi -and the different brushes, but his teasing was so good-natured that Kara could shoot him a halfhearted icy stare and then laugh, which seemed to set everyone at ease.

What really helped, though, was when they actually got down to work. Kaneda-sensei stopped to show her brushstrokes several times, and she encouraged Sakura and the other members of the club to help as well. It was her first time even attempting calligraphy, and though she knew she couldn’t possibly be writing the kanji characters correctly, the process alone felt therapeutic. As she practiced different characters, following the order of brushstrokes carefully, she found her anxiety slipping away with every swath of black ink.

Japanese art all seemed to combine precision with beauty, but she had not seen the value in that precision with something like Noh theater. She admired it, yes, but couldn’t imagine doing it herself. Calligraphy was different. Working with the ink and brush seemed almost like meditation.

When the meeting ended, she knew she had found her club.

Afterward, Sakura and Ren walked out with her, the two of them involved in a conversation about their favorite manga that sounded almost like a completely different language to her. They talked artists and ink thickness, and when they discussed the actual stories, they spoke about the characters and places as though they existed in the real world.

Kara had already decided she liked Ren, but seeing the way he could distract Sakura from her troubles, she liked him even more. She only hoped that his interest in Sakura didn’t extend beyond friendship, because that might break Miho’s heart. As much as she dismissed the idea of dating Japanese boys, and only wanted to talk about American guys, it was painfully obvious that Miho had a crush on Ren. Kara made a mental note to talk to Sakura about him; she wouldn’t want to hurt her roommate without even realizing it.

“Why didn’t you two join the manga club?” she asked as they went into the genkan and changed into their street shoes.

They exchanged a look and a laugh.

“Matsui-sensei guides the manga club,” Sakura said.

“So? He’s very serious, but he’s nice enough.”

Ren shook his head. “Not if you don’t like baseball. He really would like to guide the baseball club, but since he had to settle for the manga club, he only wants to talk about baseball manga. We met in manga club last year and switched to calligraphy together.”

Kara couldn’t help the insinuating smile that touched her lips. “Really?”

Sakura rolled her eyes and whapped her on the arm. “It’s not like that. I’m not Ren’s type.”

The two of them shared another look and a laugh at what must have been a private joke between them. From Sakura’s tone, Kara got the implication. Miho would be very depressed if she found out that Ren was gay. Kara wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.

“Let’s go,” Sakura muttered. “I need a cigarette.”

They said their good-byes to Ren and went out through the front doors. The shadows had already grown long. Kara wondered how she would feel about being in school during the worst winter months, when she would be arriving shortly after sunrise and heading home after dark. Winter would be very long. Fortunately, it was far off, and they had all of spring and summer stretching before them.

“You and Miho really have to come over for dinner one night,” she said as they headed around to Sakura’s smoking spot.

“Your father really wouldn’t mind?” she asked.

“I’m sure-,” Kara began but stopped mid-sentence.

The soccer girls were there, gathered around like some 1950s gang waiting for a rumble. She knew a lot their names, now. Chouku. Hana. Reiko. In their sailor fuku uniforms, they looked like a real-life version of something out of one of Sakura’s favorite manga.