RECORDING
Chapter Five
Serendipity
After going to high school for two full years, Mugi was pretty deeply ingrained in her routines. After school she always stopped by the bathroom, gathered her books from her locker, and went directly to Music Room 3. All in that order. The keyboardist was on the third floor when she realized she should be reporting to the fine arts wing. She had less than five minutes. But she doubted Sawako would care about how late she was.
Mugi knew she would not find Sawako in the usual homeroom classroom. The manager more or less taught everything besides band and choir. Mugi wished she knew which class Sawako taught seventh period so she'd know which room to report to. After talking to a drawing media teacher, she learned Sawako taught music technology last.
The MIDI lab was spacious and cold. To the left there was an overhead projector screen. The projector was bolted to the ceiling. Rows of keyboards hooked up to computers took the center of the room. Casio, Korg, Yamaha, Moog. All eighty-eight keys. All computers opened to the Noteworthy digital track recorder.
On the farthest end of the room was a desk behind which sat Sawako. Mugi giggled; her teacher was playing a videogame on her DS.
"Gah! Damn it, I forgot about Abra's Synchronize ability! Don't worry, Shroomish, I have a Full Heal for you!"
Sawako's tongue slipped out of the corner of her mouth. Her DS shook as she pressed the buttons more furiously.
"Okay, this'll do. Now I'll use a Premier Ball and…No! No! Don't teleport! If you teleport I'll…I'll…Ugh," she sighed, tipping her head back. "Lost it. But Hoenn is chock-full of Abra…Oh! Hi, Mugi-chan." Sawako sheepishly closed her DS and sat up straight.
"Hi, Sawa-chan," Mugi grinned. She tilted her head at the console in her teacher's hands. "Wouldn't it be more logical to use a dark-type Pokémon against Abra?"
"Hai. But I'm trying to catch Abra, not make it faint. The little bastards keep teleporting, though."
"You're in Granite Cave, ne?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Have you caught a Nosepass yet? Have it use Block, and then Abra won't be able to teleport."
Sawako blinked. "That's a great idea," she beamed. She started to open her DS, paused thoughtfully, then set it aside. She consulted the detention list on her computer. The computer was hooked up to the projector and Tsumugi winced as her ID number appeared on the screen.
"I gotta say, Mugi-chan," the sensei sighed, "I was kinda pissed when I saw a number on my detention list. For me, that means I can't have tea with you and Ritsu and everybody. Then I clicked the number, expecting a first year teeny bopper, but…" As if her words triggered the action, Sawako clicked the blue underlined number. Mugi's horrible ID photo (the keyboardist thought it was horrible, anyway) popped up in a separate window.
"I'm surprised," Sawako claimed.
"So was everybody else," Mugi muttered. She knew her father would blow a capillary over this one.
"What did you do?"
"I was late," the blonde girl scowled.
"Ah." The teacher nodded. "Happens to the best of us." She grinned. "How would you like to skip detention and head on up to Music Room 3?"
Mugi blinked. Then her bushy eyebrows shot up in alarm. "You can't do that!"
Sawako sighed and sat back in her computer chair. "True. I am obligated to make you do something…" After the Tabasco sauce punch bowl incident at the teachers' New Year's party, she was skating on thin ice with the Headmistress. Best not to push it.
Suddenly a mischievous smile broke across her face. Her brown eyes twinkled. "Stand on your head," she ordered.
Mugi dropped her hands down to her sides. She cocked her head, not totally understanding this if at all. She was expecting to write a sentence five hundred times. But standing on my head…What in the name of God is that? She looked down, gasped, and a pink blush rose to her face. She was aware of the skirt she was wearing.
The keyboardist giggled excitedly. I can't believe Sawa-chan really wants to see my panties. But I have a terrible sense of balance…Then she got an idea. She strolled over to the wall closest to Sawako. With some help from the teacher, Mugi propped herself against the wall. There was a temporary shock as the cold wall touched her bare thighs, but the blonde girl wanted to do this. She wanted to make Sawako aware of her feelings and desires.
"Sakura," the teacher nodded. "Classy with a touch of moé. I approve."
"I'm glad." Mugi really was, but her voice was husky with effort.
Sawako tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I gotta make this good…Um, what foreign language class are you enrolled in?"
"French III."
"Recite the days of the week."
"Lundi, mardi, mercredi, jeudi, vendredi, samedi, et dimanche." Something about showing Sawako her panties and speaking French titillated the keyboardist. Mugi could feel a sultry heat building up in her inner thighs. If Mother and Father knew I was thinking such things…
"Recite the French alphabet backwards."
"Zed, i grêcke, eeks, doublè vé…"
Once the alphabet was recited to Sawako's satisfaction, she let the keyboardist stand back up. "Congratulations, Kotobuki-san, your body as a high tolerance for alcohol. It'll come in handy at your concert."
"Arigatougosaimasu." Mugi bowed. "But, um…Why does standing on my head and speaking French mean I keep alcohol well?"
Sawako shrugged. "I dunno. Apparently that's what the health teachers are teaching everyone." She logged off her computer and stood. "C'mon, Mugi-chan. Let's go upstairs for tea."
Mugi straightened her jacket and looked up in surprise. "That was it?"
"Yep."
"No one thousand sentences? Twenty thousand word essay explaining why I got a detention?"
Sawako grinned. "Wow, you sure like being punished. Maybe I'll think of something better next time."
Better than showing her my panties? A shudder rippled through the keyboardist. She was considering being tardy again on Monday, just to have a detention with Sawako again. But that would be shallow and foolish, wouldn't it?
The teacher took Mugi's arm and pulled her toward the door. "Coming?"
The blonde snapped out of her trance with another shudder. She nodded dumbly and let Sawako pull her all the way to the third floor. She thought about what Sawa had said about her panties. I approve. But was Sawako understating that? Was she as stimulated to see Mugi's panties as Mugi was to show them to her? The keyboardist wished she could've seen Sawako's face when she said that.
"Hello, what's this?" the teacher murmured, pulling a taped piece of paper from the door. It read: Sorry, guys, but practice is cancelled today. We'll meet again on Monday and work extra hard. Ciao! Ritsu. Mugi chuckled because the drummer had drawn the Kanji for her name as a bunch of drum sticks and cymbals criss-crossing one another.
Mugi had seen Ritsu comfort the shaken Mio in psych today. She knew what it was. Without a doubt, Ritsu would probably visit Mio, perhaps take care of her, and then…
"Ehh? What are you doing, Sawa-chan?"
The teacher pushed the double doors open and entered. "We don't need the rest of them to have our tea, ne?"
"I guess not," Mugi mumbled, ambling in.
Whistling to himself, Tokudaiji-sensei made his way through the fine arts wing. He was a tall, skinny man with large hands, feet, and head. There was nothing soft or subtle about the psych teacher's face. All his features were sharp, from his strong jawline to his proud eagle nose. He was in his mid-thirties.
He'd just been on the phone. He had tried to call Akiyama-san's parents, but no one answered the phone. So Tokudaiji-sensei left a message on their voicemail explaining what had happened in psych today, wishing Akiyama-san to get well soon, and asking her parents to call back to discuss…important matters, as he'd so eloquently phrased it. A similar message was delivered on the Tainakas' voicemail.
He hadn't gotten his Master's in psychology from Tokyo University for naught. He knew what Tainaka-san and Akiyama-san's behavior in class today meant. He just wanted to know if their parents knew.
Tokudaiji halted in front of the MIDI lab door. Kotobuki-san would be serving her detention with Sawako-san here. Remembering the Tabasco sauce punchbowl incident, he peeked inside to make sure Sawako-san was doing what she was supposed to. Of course not, he thought with a snort. The MIDI lab was empty. He selected a key from his staff member's lanyard, unlocked the door, and entered.
Dinner at the Tainaka residence was, as usual, a cheerful affair. Mrs. Tainaka, having taken an interest in French cooking recently, prepared boeuf burgenion. It had taken a lot of meticulous preparation from last night to today. The warm, savory aromas had tantalized the family long enough. Satoshi, Ritsu's little brother, devoured the beef, but avoided the pearl onions. Ritsu, on the other hand, shoveled the whole nourriture down indiscriminantly - even the carrots, which she normally avoided.
"You trying to set a world record, oneechan?" Satoshi inquired, sweat-dropping.
"Sumimasen," Ritsu apologized, wiping gravy from her chin. "But I promised Mio I'd be at her house after dinner."
Mrs. Tainaka checked the clock. "Well, take your time. You don't want to make yourself sick."
"I won't." But a formidible hiccup racked Ritsu's body, sending a sharp pain up her upper back. She set her fork down and slowly sipped some water.
"So, Ritsu," Mr. Tainaka sighed. "Got a call from your psychology teacher today."
The drummer froze over her plate. Uh-oh.
Her father sat back and interlaced his fingers on the back of his head. He asked dryly, "Anything you care to tell me about?"
Ritsu chewed her dinner slowly, considering several answers. She could just tell the truth. Or she could play dumb. But her father usually had a keen nose for bullshit.
Mr. Tainaka didn't wait for her to respond. He, like his daughter, was fast-paced and impatient. He never liked other people to set the tempo of a conversation.
"He said you swore at him in class today. You know that's unacceptable."
Ritsu opened her mouth, then wisely closed it. Her father wouldn't tolerate excuses.
"He also said he wanted to talk to us." Mr. Tainaka lowered his unshaven chin. "Is your grade slipping again?"
"No." Not that she knew of, anyway.
"I think we're about due for a parent-teacher conference," Mrs. Tainaka smiled. Once every year they stopped in to catch up on Ritsu's progress. Clearly, though, neither one of them was happy about this, least of all Mr. Tainaka, for he had to hear that message on his voicemail. Dinner had suddenly become a sullen affair. This was much to Satoshi's dismay, because he had nothing to do with this.
Afterward Ritsu immediately popped up to hastily clean her plate and go to Mio's. After the little scrape with her parents, though, she felt guilty for eating and running.
"There will be repercussions, Ritsu," her father growled, cleaning the stove. "Tomorrow I'm having you...serve...some sort of punishment."
"Hai," she sighed, sluicing her plate.
"You're too old for this."
The drummer just nodded, not knowing what to say to that. She offered to help him with the cleaning, but he declined gruffly. With a sigh, she bounded up the stairs to her room. She filled her bag with a change of clothes and other stuff. She bade her family adieu, then ran out the door.
Even though Mio lived less than a block away, Ritsu charged down the street at a breakneck speed. She needed to see the bassist. Badly. Ritsu had never acted so recklessly just to see someone. Was that weird? The scary thing was, it felt perfectly natural to the drummer.
Maybe it's just because she was sick today and I worried about her. Yeah, that was it. But at the same time, it didn't sound right.
Ritsu bounded on up to the door and rang the bell. She was impatient for someone to answer it. Still full of energy, she shook out her hands to keep the blood flowing. It was freezing, Ritsu could tell by her vaporized breath, but she didn't feel the least bit cold.
Finally, finally the sound of a latch being undone, and Mr. Akiyama opened the door.
"Hey, Ritsu," he greeted, giving her a soft, but genuine smile. He stepped aside to let her in.
When she was little Ritsu remembered Mr. Akiyama being very tall and a little paunchy, with feathery, thin jet-black hair and dark gray eyes. No longer being young, though, he'd grown thin - even his face was more sallow - and his raven-colored hair faded to silvery-white. Even in primary school Ritsu imagined Mr. Akiyama had been a shy, quiet boy for he was a shy, quiet man. Even at the age of nine she thought, The apple clearly doesn't fall far from the tree.
"It's funny. I was just done checking my voicemail," he commented. "I'd gotten a call from Tokudaiji-san about you and Mio."
Here we go again. Ritsu rolled her eyes.
Mr. Akiyama smiled wryly at the drummer's annoyed expression.
"Nothing really happened," she sighed. She then proceeded to tell him about psych class today. She kept her story short out of need to see Mio. She wondered how many times she'd have to tell this story.
"By the sound of his message, the issue seemed to be resolved." Mr. Akiyama shruged. "Heaven knows why he had to call. He said he wanted to speak with me."
"Yeah, he wanted to speak with my parents, too." Her limbs buzzed with energy. She longed for her drum sticks. Flicking her wrists, she inched toward the staircase. "May I see Mio?"
"Of course."
She needed no second bidding. She tore up the stairs. Midway through, though, she abruptly halted. Her ears hurt and she was finding it difficult to breathe.
"Something wrong?" Mr. Akiyama queried from the bottom of the stairs.
Ritsu shook her head slowly in puzzlement. "I just felt the air pressure drop..." She swallowed hard and her inner ears popped...and then she heard it. Breathing. Not her breathing, for it had a slower respiration pattern. The weirdest part was that it had that deep, muted internal sound. Ritsu wondered if this was what it was like to be a baby in the womb.
She heard a deep, slow sigh. THen the pressure she felt inside gradually melted away, starting at her head and ending at her feet. The breathing disappeared.
She shivered, contemplating whether she'd imagined that, then continued upstairs.
After some thought, Mugi decided intimate would be the best way to describe today's tea time. True, it wasn't as boisterous without the others around. But it certainly wasn't dull. A dull moment with Sawako was about as rare as a blue moon. With fall plodding ever onwards, dusk came sooner. The setting sun's rays gave everything in Music Room 3 a dusty, orange glow. It set Mugi's amber locks alight and dyed Sawako's eyes the color of honey.
"That Paranormal Activity movie sounds pretty great," said the teacher. "A friend of mine saw it last weekend and she wants to see it again with me. So that's what I'm doing this weekend."
"Sounds fun," Mugi beamed. "I heard about it from Ritsu-chan." She paused to sip some of her green tea. "She said, 'It was so real! There's no way it could be fake! I swear to God!'"
"My friend said the same thing. That probably means it's totally fake." Sawako sighed and toyed with her now empty cup. "It sounds like the sort of thing I should be doing with a man, I know. But all the men I meet are either married, homosexual, or have a mommy complex."
"How do you meet these men?" the keyboardist asked.
"Mostly at bars. I met one guy on the train to Harajuku. But he was on parole for something or other, so that was no good...Then there was that one guy who was a lead guitarist in his own band."
Tsumugi's face brightened. "Aww, that sounds like a lovely match."
"We were for a while." Sawako removed her glasses and ran a hand over her face. "I was fresh out of college and substitute teaching here. He was unemployed and lived with his parents. When I got a permanent job here, he broke up with me." She swung her glasses back and forth gently. The motion hypnotized Mugi. "I guess...my success gave him a complex. He didn't want to be...poor...when I was making money. He didn't want to live off my salary."
The blonde girl flinched. Talking about money always made her uncomfortable. The situation Sawako was describing was one Mugi had been in numerous times, and her father once before her...
The teacher donned her glasses. Her topaz eyes were sad, but appreciative. "For now, you should be happy. High schoolers never have to worry about getting hitched."
"Oh, I do. My father makes sure of it." Mugi laughed humorlessly. "If ever I slip up - even a little - with etiquette he goes, 'Oi! Tsumugi!'" She'd lowered her voice to impersonate Mr. Kotobuki. "'If you act that way no one will marry you!' I'm eighteen and he treats me like I'm thirty or something."
Sawako nodded. "And your mother? What does she make of this?"
Mugi's face pinched slightly. "When I see her, she tells me I should ignore my father's...BS...and not accept his charity." Her mother had, of course, used a stronger word, but Mugi wasn't given much to swearing.
"When you see her?" the teacher blinked.
The keyboardist's face pinched even more. She seemed to be holding her breath. The sunlight rippled in her teacup which Mugi clutched with unsteady hands. After what seemed like hours she finally exhaled in a low, rushed whisper, "Myparentsaredivorced."
Well, there it was.
Mugi slowly looked up. There was intensity in her blue eyes, hoping that Sawako could say something that mattered in this situation. The teacher said nothing.
Whenever Mugi told people about her parents' divorce a wide gap seemed to form between them. This was not so with her and Sawako. In fact, the gap between them seemed to be closing. Sawako leaned in and gently brushed her hand along Mugi's cheek. The keyboardist felt cold wetness spread thinly with the teacher's hand. She was crying.
Embarrassed, she looked away. She produced a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and dabbed her eyes. "Oh, this is mortifying. I don't cry very often." But Sawako could tell that she did.
Mugi sat up and tried to steady her breathing, but it was all in vain. Though her eyes were closed, large miserable tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. Her shuddery sigh turned into a ragged sob. Against all etiquette rules her father had encoded within her, Mugi leaned her elbows on the table. She cried as a child would, with her palms over her eyes. She heard the chair next to her scrape, felt Sawako's hand on her shoulder.
"It's not fair," the keyboardist hiccuped. "They never loved each other, nor could they build a life together. Wasn't that obvious? She was drunk and he was rich and now I have to live with it. My father's happy. My mother's happy. But what about me?"
She sobbed for a few more minutes into her hanky. Once she'd calmed down Sawako offered, "I know this sounds outdated, but a lot of what a relationship has to do with is money."
"Well, that's daft," Mugi sniffled, sitting up. She looked at her teacher, her eyes swimming. "Like your guitarist boyfriend. Why should he leave you just because he's slower to make his living than you are? Why does that matter more than the funny, smart, beautiful person you are? Sawa-chan?"
Sawako's cheeks pinkened.
"Either way..." Mugi smiled at her teacher. "...I believe that matters more. I believe it here and now. I think you're..." She took a deep breath, for courage, and finished her sentence: "...the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. That matters a lot more than your caste."
"Oh, Tsumugi..." Sawako's face softened considerably. There is so much more to her, and she can see so much more in me.
The gap between them was closing again. Within seconds, it was nonexistent. Sawako kissed Mugi on the cheek.
The night time hours seemed long and endless in autumn. Ritsu could hardly believe it was only ten o'clock when she and Mio got bored with their various games. The drummer had learned that her best friend actually wasn't sick, that all she had needed was a nap and she felt better. Nonetheless, Mio's energy burned low at this point and she stretched out on the carpet floor. Ritsu, ever energetic, tapped random things with her knuckles. That was the highest point of being a drummer - the world is your instrument.
Again, Ritsu was struck by this odd feeling. That feeling of confusion and...it seemed like she had the desire to define something. Define what, though? And why am I feeling this way?
She sighed, sat with her back against the wall, and let her eyes roam across the room. Nostalgia stoked her heart deep inside. Right now Mio's room was painted periwinkle. Right now her bed had a modest brown-and-green quilt on it. Right now its only furniture and accessories were the tall oak-wood bookcase crammed with various literary masterpieces, the six-drawer chest of drawers, and the wicker arm chair with the cream cushion. But Ritsu remembered this room from their younger days. Back then Mio's room boasted a lot more color and flair. The chest of drawers was lower, and painted yellow and blue. Ritsu grinned, remembering how the paint had chipped over time; that had driven Mio crazy. The bedspread was frillier, more girlish. Basically the only relic left from their childhood was a framed faded polaroid of them when they were nine. Or were they ten? Maybe they were ten.
She looked at Mio appreciatively, who looked about ready to drift off. Her eyes were glazed and her cheek was mashed up in the carpet. She looked peaceful. It suddenly struck Ritsu that she rarely saw Mio look peaceful. Especially these days.
She really is the bestest friend I ever had. Ritsu felt lame using the word 'bestest,' but it seemed like an understatement just to call Mio her best friend. They'd known each other for over ten years (granted, during three of those ten years Ritsu constantly harrassed Mio and the raven-haired girl had tried to avoid her). They had to be more than just that.
Maybe that's what I have to define right now. I have to define Mio.
What comes after friendship, though? It felt like there should be something more. More than what we have? How could that happen? They had their private jokes, sideways glances, and they finished each other's sentences. When they went to the movies Mio would bang her foot against Ritsu's leg during the funny or scary parts, but the drummer hardly noticed the bruise until a few days later. When Ritsu would show Mio something on a computer, Mio would rest her chin on the drummer's shoulder and her teeth would click whenever Ritsu turned around to explain something. How do you beat that?
Awkwardly enough, Ritsu thought of her parents. They had been buddy-buddy since high school, and she and Masao could never get enough of their funny anecdotes. But...her parents were more than best friends. They had fallen in love, weathered the temporary separation during college, going on only their letters, and finally got married.
Maybe Mio and I are like my parents.
Ritsu pushed that thought away warily. That couldn't be. Sure, her mother and father had been best friends. But this was a boy and a girl she was thinking about, not two girls. Could she and Mio do that...? Do I want us to do that?
Maybe this is as far as I'll ever get with Mio.
Well, that was the most logical thought Ritsu had had all night concerning Mio. But it still didn't seem right.
Suddenly, Mio's eyes snapped open wide and she sat up. Her slate eyes darted anxiously from her door to her friend.
"I think I can hear the...uhh, Ritsu? Why are you smiling like that?"
Was I smiling? It seemed only natural to her. Did Mio make her smile that way?
"No reason. What's wrong?" With an effort, Ritsu dropped her grin and leaned forward.
Mio's apprehension was almost tangible. Fidgeting warily, she gazed at her bedroom door. "I think I can hear that ghost in the stairs."
Ritsu had laughed when she first heard about the ghost. But, remembering the weird drop in pressure as she'd gone up the stairs, she decided maybe her...best friend (?) was on to something.
Ritsu was on to something as well.
Maybe I love her.
The thought was so outrageous she exploded into a fit of nervous laughter. It sickened the drummer how perfectly that piece fit. It was disturbing how satisfied she was by this answer. Suddenly it seemed she could define the raven-haired girl in front of her, who had been in front of her for over half her life. Akiyama Mio was the person she loved.
Mio glared. "Th-this isn't funny, Ritsu! Can't you h-hear it in the stairs?"
Ritsu strained to hear the ghost's footsteps over the clamor of her own racing thoughts. But one look at Mio's angry/frightened face sent her into another bout of giggles. She actually rolled on the floor, she was laughing so hard. This so is not right! I can't believe I'm in love with Mio, of all people!
"Come on!" Mio pleaded desperately, but that just made Ritsu laugh harder. "You're insane," she sighed, hopping into her bed and pulling the covers over her face. "But I guess I feel relieved to have you with me right now. Thanks, Ritsu."
"Heeheeheeheehee! N-no problem, Mio! Hahahahahaha!" With a sigh, Ritsu sat back up. She grabbed Mio's flashlight from a shelf on her book case. "C'mon, Mio. Let's check out this ghost! I wanna see it for myself!"
Rather than laugh, Ritsu felt a warm bubbley feeling in her chest as Mio peeked over the covers in both interest and fear.