Ink. Amanda Sun

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the socket. The second guy lunged and clipped Tomohiro’s face, but Tomohiro swung his leg around and kicked the guy at the back of his knees. He stumbled forward and Tomohiro punched him in the back, shoving him into the third guy.

      Rolled Sleeves was up again, and he kicked hard. With three of them, there was no way Tomohiro could avoid all the blows. The blood trickled down his face.

      And just when his bruise from Myu was fading.

      Then Tomohiro took hold of one of the wiry boys and threw him through the air. The boy’s awkward body arced, suspended for a minute among the falling petals, and then thudded hard against the sharp gravel. In a minute he was up again, running across the park followed by the second guy.

      Tomohiro grabbed Rolled Sleeves’ collar and walked him backward, shoving him against the fence that overlooked the deep, cold moat. Tomohiro muttered something and Rolled Sleeves flinched. Tomohiro dropped him, wiping at the blood dripping from his nose.

      But as Tomohiro walked away, the boy stood up slowly and pulled out a switchblade.

      Oh my god.

      My legs started moving before I could think. “Watch out!” I screamed, running at Tomohiro. He looked up in surprise and then saw the boy behind him. He caught the boy’s arm as it swung down, squeezing his wrist hard until he dropped the blade. I grabbed it from the ground and threw it into the river, where it was sucked into the water with a sploosh.

      “Teme!” the boy shrieked at me.

      “You need some manners!” Tomohiro shouted and punched the boy so hard I could hear the crack of his nose as it snapped.

      Rolled Sleeves felt around his nose as the blood soaked his chin. He stumbled to his feet and took off, swearing at Tomohiro. Tomohiro swore back and the boy sped up.

      The blood trickled down Tomohiro’s face as he heaved in every breath.

      “Are you—are you okay?” I said.

      Tomohiro nodded, his shoulders moving up and down as he panted. “You?” he said.

      “I’m fine.”

      He wiped at his nose with the back of his arm, and as he dropped it down again, I saw a gash across the skin.

      “He cut you.” I panicked.

      “What?”

      “On your wrist!”

      He looked down, then quickly pushed the cuff of his sleeve down.

      “Just an old injury. It’s nothing,” he said.

      It didn’t look like nothing.

      “Thanks,” he said finally. “For the warning.”

      “Um, no problem,” I said.

      He paused. “But just for your own safety, maybe you shouldn’t run toward boys with knives. You know, in the future.” The corner of his mouth lifted as he tried to keep the grin off his face.

      I found myself grinning back. “I’m sorry, are you insulting me after I saved your butt?”

      He laughed, and the warmth of the sound spread through me.

      “I’m just saying you should avoid running toward sharp objects and dangerous guys.”

      “Like you,” I said. It just popped out—I didn’t mean it to.

      The grin faded, and he was serious again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Like me.” He kicked the toe of his shoe into the gravel. “Che! What the hell am I doing?” He turned, his shoulders lifting with a breath, and then he ran.

      “Wait,” I said. “I just wanted to—”

      The gravel sprayed across the grass, tiny drops of blood clinging to the stones. Except, some of the drops didn’t look like blood. They oozed like…like black ink.

      The shower of pink petals rained down.

      I stepped forward, one foot, then the other, numb to the beauty of the park. I bent down and lifted one of the stones. The droplet of ink spilled onto the side of my finger before dripping back to the ground.

      He’d been warm, laughing, the weight of something lifted. And then he’d stopped. What the hell am I doing? he’d said. What are you doing, Yuu? He was keeping something secret, something about the ink. He wanted me to stay away. But he’d forgotten.

      And it was nice.

      The castle rose as I neared the picnic site, and I saw the classes spread out under the branches laden with hundreds of pink-and-white blooms. I spotted the Class 1-D tarp, and Yuki waved wildly at me.

      “Hey, slowpoke, what took you so long?” she said.

      “Yuu Tomohiro,” I said. “Where’s 3-C?”

      “They’re not coming until this afternoon,” she said. “They have class.”

      I said nothing. It was still early enough that he could have been on his way to school through the park. With no book bag. Maybe. Or maybe he was headed somewhere else.

      More drops of ink where they shouldn’t be. And all I could think about was his face lighting up with that laugh.

      We ate our lunch amid the excited chatter of first-year senior high students. Yuki’s friends sat with us and shyly exchanged a few pink, white and green dango sticks with me for some of Diane’s karaage. The dango looked like pastel traffic lights and tasted overwhelmingly sweet.

      After the picnic, I helped fold up the tarp and carry it back to the school with Tanaka. We resumed our afternoon classes, but no one’s heart was really in it, even the teachers’.

      I had cleaning duty—the bathrooms—and I wrinkled up my nose when I heard it. I headed toward the ones by the gym, armed with my brush, my apron, my hair tie and my gloves. Not the most fun task, but I scrubbed away anyway. Making students clean the school toilets would never fly in my school back home, but here it was just expected. When everything was clean, I washed my hands in the sink and opened the bathroom door.

      Shouts erupted from the gym, a chorus of tired voices yelling in unison and the clatter of wood hitting wood. I walked toward the sound, carrying my toilet brush with me, and pulled the gym door open a fraction.

      About forty students were decked out in black armor, masks of screen mesh covering their faces. They wore long black skirts down to their ankles and stepped barefoot across the gym in pairs. Each student held a long bamboo stick with both hands, and at the shout of the teacher, they clashed them against each other. The noise echoed to the rafters of the gym and rang in my ears.

      One of the teachers, chemistry, I think, saw me peeking and hurried over.

      “I see you’re interested in kendo,” he said in English. He had a broad smile and a towel scrunched around his neck. The veins almost popped out from his head, and thick-rimmed glasses hunched over his nose.

      “Kendo,” СКАЧАТЬ