RECORDING
Chapter Seven
A Trip to the Headmistress's Office
Yui stared dully at her 18"x24" piece of sketch paper. A garish swirl of indigo, roseate, lime green, and blanc colored her vision. With some effort, she pulled herself out of her trance. She dimly considered the smudged white oil pastel in her right hand. She looked across the giant wood table to see Azusa and Ui working diligently on their own pastel drawings. This was their latest project in drawing media: select a painting and replicate it using oil pastels. Yui had chosen Monet's Water Lilies. While they worked their teacher handed back grades for their previous project, the charcoal still-life.
"My drawing looks like craaaaap," Azusa moaned. She had chosen a Gaugin piece that called for lots of detail.
Ui looked up from her Van Gogh emulation long enough to consider Azusa's drawing. "It's pretty good."
"The teacher's going to give me an F."
"Oh, I doubt that. She knows oil pastel is difficult to work with."
Yui blinked. It was so weird to see them getting along so well. Every night since Thursday she had that same dream, but some inocuous details had altered. For example, Azusa was sixteen in the dream but Yui was a kindergartener. The tension between Ui and Azusa was more heavily pronounced. It snapped between them like static electricity. Before Yui jolted awake in a cold sweat that morning Ui called Azusa a "cradle robber" and Azusa retorted with, "You gay incestuous freak!"
Yui shuddered. She'd never remembered a dream before, let alone relive one. It was so brilliant, vivid, and frightening. Why was it so frightening? she wondered. There were no monsters or anything she associated with fear. Maybe it was the way Yui felt in this dream - that was probably the most significant factor. She felt raw and vulnerable. Not in the naked way, but the painful way. The dream was hurting her, like lemon juice poured into an open wound. It stabbed through her whilst she slept and roiled in her subconscious while she was awake, resurfacing at the most inconvenient moments.
She looked up suddenly to see both her sister and her friend staring at her. Azusa's lips moved, but Yui could not hear what she was saying. You gay incestuous freak. The stinging words hit the third year so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. She tried to pull herself together and ask, "What?"
"Your sister asked how your pastel drawing is coming," Azusa repeated with deliberate slowness.
"Oh...Oh!" Yui giggled at her own silliness. "It's coming good. I worked hard to make it this good!" She proudly held up her paper. Her penciling was complete, but she was barely a third done with her pasteling.
Azusa sweat-dropped. "You don't do blending, do you, Yui-senpai?"
The older girl frowned at the white pastel in her friend's hand. "I don't like blending. It makes everything messy."
"But now your project looks like a preschool crayon drawing."
"It's okay. I don't like blending, either," said Ui. "You have to constantly clean the white pastel if you want it to be neat." She wrinkled her nose as she rubbed a paper towel on the tip of her pastel. Then she smirked and winked at Azusa. "Besides, given your grade in this class, I wouldn't try to advise someone if I were you."
Azusa's eyebrows shot down over her brown eyes. "Ara! Who told you about my drawing media grade? Yui-senpai?" She shot an accusing scowl in the elder girl's direction.
Unfazed by the kouhai's glare, Yui queried innocently, "Is your grade really that bad, Azu-nyan?"
"It's...it's average." Azusa seemed to deflate and sag a little bit. "There's nothing wrong with being average. Where did you hear about my drawing media grade, Ui-chan?"
"Oh, it was on the news." The reply came not from Ui, but their drawing media teacher. She breezed by their table, her vibrantly-colored skirt swishing, and deposited their graded still-lifes. The girls immediately dove into their grade sheets.
"Twenty-three out of twenty-five," Yui nodded, satisfied.
"Twenty out of twenty-five." Ui sighed and set her grade aside. "I guess that's not so bad..."
"Fifteen...What is that?" Azusa asked. "A low C? A D?"
Ui grimaced. "That makes sixty percent. That's an F."
A muscle in Azusa's jaw fluttered as her lips made a hard line on her face. For a scary moment Yui thought she'd cry. The kouhai sighed and closed her eyes. If this was happening to Yui-senpai, she wouldn't let it get to her. Azusa let the corners of her mouth turn up. She set her grade sheet aside. "Well, I'll talk to the teacher. Maybe she'll let me re-do it." That F's going to demolish my grade. She resisted the urge to flinch. She didn't want to think about what drawing media was doing to her GPA.
Azusa frowned at her Gaugin pastel disaster. After receiving that F, working on it seemed less pleasing. She set her pastels back in the box and returned it to the front table.
"Just out of curiosity, Yui-senpai," said she, seating herself on her stool, "why did you get a better grade than us?"
"I...don't know..."
A lone girl at their table looked up. "The teacher sets advanced drawers at a higher standard," she explained, "and grades them more harshly."
"Really? That makes a lot of sense," Ui nodded.
"But Yui-senpai's no worse an artist than I am," Azusa pointed out.
The girl bit the inside of her cheek and shrugged. The gesture reminded Azusa of her upcoming root canal. It was scheduled for November 7th.
Ui set down her pastel and considered the two grade sheets. The teacher had a method of having students grade themselves first before she did. This was where Ui found fault in Azusa's grade.
"Here's your problem, Azusa-chan: you gave yourself an F in each category. Why would the teacher give you a good grade if you wouldn't give yourself a good grade?"
Azusa's eyebrows knitted. That's a good question. She actually laughed a short, quiet chuckle. If the teacher had given her the grade she gave herself, she would have gotten a worse F. However, now she couldn't ask to re-do her still-life.
She glanced across the table, checking to see how Yui had graded her still-life. Her project was of the same quality as Azusa's, but the older girl had graded herself more generously. She must really believe in herself. The kouhai sighed. Maybe I should just relax and stop worrying. This pastel drawing doesn't look so bad. She smiled wryly at her half-finished Gaugin replica. She was about to get back up and get the pastels again, but the bell rang.
Sawako jotted one last thing on the dry-erase board. She stepped back with a flourish. "And that is how you do compression. Any questions?"
Her seventh period music technology class held their silence. Ritsu stared dully at her computer screen. Next to her, Mio wrote something down in her notebook. A few individuals shook their heads, indicating that they had no questions.
Smiling, Sawako capped her marker. She loved it when teaching a lesson was this easy. Since the classes she taught were electives, her classes were mostly composed of petulant first years who flipped their hair, snapped their gum, and bombarded Sawako with obvious questions.
"You ladies are such a great class," she beamed, heading back to her desk. "Fourth hour music technology class spent three days on sound compression, and their test scores are significantly lower than yours. I should bring you all a treat or something."
Sawako glanced at Ritsu, half-expecting some wise-ass remark about her cooking. The drummer had her eyes focused on the computer screen, a somber expression on her face. She got a treasure trove of opportunities to make fun of me, and she didn't. Mio, who was usually subjected to Ritsu's irrational fear torture, looked a little bored.
"You all have the rest of the class period to do what you want." As Sawako said this, her hand strayed to her drawer, where her DS was. "How's 'The Boys Are Back In Town Coming'?"
Their final project was to record and edit a song using everything they'd learned. The class boasted a princely amount of guitarists as well as drummers. Mio was the only bass player.
"Remember, you have to learn it by mid-December if you want to record a song."
"The autumn trimester always goes by so fast," Mio sighed, closing her notebook. When she heard no response, she turned to see Ritsu with her chin in her palm, her hazel eyes glued to the screen. The bassist frowned, and lightly rapped her knuckles on her friend's forehead.
Ritsu sat up and looked around. "Is class over already?"
"Yes, space cadet, it is."
The drummer caught the note of anger in her friend's voice. She leaned forward and touched Mio's knee. "What's wrong?"
"I could ask the same of you." The bassist tried to scowl, but her tough face was holding up about as well as Ritsu's friendly smile. "You've been really weird lately."
The brunette bit her lip. She knew what Mio was talking about. Ever since her...revelation...on Saturday she'd withdrawn a bit from Mio. I'm...sexually stimulated by females. Ritsu couldn't bear to say that word with those implications. That word made her feel sick, angry, anxious, and ashamed.
Mio sat there, staring at Ritsu and into Ritsu. If it wasn't bad enough that the drummer couldn't pay for her ice cream and movie ticket, she hadn't said one word. At Coldstone she just poked her ice cream, a stony expression on her face. During the movie she didn't react to any of the events; normally she exuberantly laughed or cried. At the time it aggravated Mio. But now, after two days of this odd behavior, concern vied with her anger.
If it was a family problem or something like that Ritsu would have told me, the raven-haired girl thought. I wonder if she's mad at me?
Ritsu tapped her foot nervously. She knew Mio wanted an explanation - she knew she owed Mio an explanation. Now would be a good time to tell her how I really feel...am...whatever. But at the same time it wasn't. She couldn't tell Mio such a thing in the middle of music technology class.
"I...want to tell you." The drummer's voice was raspy. She cleared her throat.
"Then tell me," Mio begged, leaning forward. "Jeez, Ritsu, you're freaking me out."
Ritsu's eyes darted apprehensively about the room. "It's just...It's personal. And terrible." Without warning, emotion choked her throat, thickening her voice. "I can't even tell anyone this, it's just so bad."
Did she do something? the bassist wondered.
Ritsu swallowed, trying to keep her emotions at bay. It struck her that Mio very well not be a...girl who loved girls. And if she was, there was still that chance that she may not love the drummer back. Thinking of and being around Mio used to make Ritsu feel good. Now her love for the bassist wasn't as pleasing when it didn't have a prayer of being requited.
She was going to cry. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. Her breastbone ached as she held her breath. It was the bell that saved her from a grievous breakdown in the middle of class. She jumped up and darted out of the MIDI lab before Mio could see her tears.
But Mio came after her. Ritsu knew she would. They never left each other alone when one of them was upset. It was their code.
"Ritsu..."
The drummer screeched on her heels like a cartoon character. She swiftly and gruffly brushed away her tears before turning to face her friend. Her Mio.
The bassist's hands were clasped together, her expression beseeching. "I know what you're going through is personal and everything, but...please..." Her voice squeaked. "...please don't be afraid to tell me. It won't change anything."
A fresh flood of tears crashed down on Ritsu. Her eyes shining, she nodded slowly. The corners of Mio's mouth tightened, as if she didn't know whether to smile or frown. She has nice lips, the drummer observed. Kissing her would be...would be...Wrong. Immoral. Gay. That word hit Ritsu in the stomach, forcing her tears out. Shaking like a leaf in a gale, she pushed past Mio and practically ran for the nearest bathroom.
It won't change anything. Mio might be right about that. She might have believed it was true. But Ritsu knew it wasn't. It would change everything. It already had.
Sawako turned off her computer and threw her DS in her bag. On a craptacular day like Monday all the teacher could look forward to was band practice after school. Homeroom was usually a high point, but today it was a bit subdued. Ritsu was unusually quiet and sullen. Sawako had tried to provoke her by logging in her staff account and announcing to the entire homeroom, "Hey, who wants to see Tainaka-san's awful grades?"
Besides Ritsu there was Mugi. Then and throughout homeroom their eyes would drift toward each other. At one point their gazes met, and the two of them immediately averted their eyes, deeply mortified. They both knew what had happened on Friday. They both knew the risk it posed. They both knew one of them had to say something.
What do I say to her? She's a student! Sawako's breath caught in her throat. A ragged gasp escaped her lips. She continued on to Music Room 3 at a double-quick pace. Jesus Christ! I kissed a student! This is bad!
But really, Mugi wasn't just a student. She was more, so much more. They already spent a good deal of time together outside of school. And Mugi was eighteen. She was a consenting adult, and she knew what she was doing. And she didn't seem to not enjoy the kiss. Still, they couldn't pretend it never happened and skirt around each other. We got ourselves a situation, Sawako thought with a sigh. We have to figure out what to do.
"Ah! Sawako-san!"
She looked up to see Tokudaiji across the hall, hailing her. Her eyebrows furrowed and her chin lowered. She neither liked nor trusted Tokudaiji. He was kind of creepy in her opinion.
"Murakami-senpai wishes to speak with you."
Sawako halted a few feet before him. Her lip curled into a derisive scowl. "Are you her messenger now?" Mrs. Murakami was the headmistress.
Tokudaiji bristled, trying unsuccessfully to puff up his diminutive frame. "Murakami-senpai is a good friend of mine. It helps to make friends with your senpais, Sawako-san. It'll help you advance up the ladder."
Suck up to your senpais, more like. But Sawako worried. What did Mrs. Murakami, her boss, want with her? Her mind flashed back to Music Room 3 on Friday. A pang of horror struck her nerves. Sawako had never felt so much remorse for something she did. And so much fear, too. I kissed a student at school! Anyone could've seen that!
Forcing her signature wise guy grin, Sawako retorted, "If you claim to be such good friends with Murakami-senpai, why do you address her as 'senpai'? Do you even know her last name?"
The psych teacher lowered his chin, his broad mouth pulling up into a knowing smile. "You sound a little shaken, Sawako-san. You nervous about talking with the headmistress?"
"Maybe," Sawako responded through tight lips, "not that it's any of your business."
"Fair enough. I'll be on my way."
Venemous silence hung over them like a thunderhead whilst they leered at each other.
Sawako raised an eyebrow. "I believe you'll be on your way?"
"Just as soon as you're on yours," Tokudaiji replied.
The music teacher glowered at the psych teacher over the thin rims of her glasses. Then, without meeting his haughty gaze, she curtly walked past him.
"Sawako-san." His voice reached her ears, bringing her to a halt.
She wanted to scream at him. She was ready to yell, What the hell do you want, you passive-aggressive freak? but that was improper conduct that would definitely get back to Mrs. Murakami. Instead, she turned around, her face an impassive, cold mask.
Tokudaiji ran a large hand over his sallow face, as if this was a great struggle he was not relishing. But Sawako could tell that he was.
"I know you and Kotobuki-san were not in the MIDI lab on Friday. And I know what you were doing in Music Room 3."
Sawako's heart paused, and then broke into a frantic and arrythmic gallop. Guwuhguwuhguwuh. She gasped and sucked in air, fish-like. Her lungs felt very shallow. So Murakami-senpai is calling me about Mugi-chan! I'll bet that weasel tattled!
Her throat burned, like she might throw up. "Y-you...t-told..." She couldn't find the appropriate words to express her rage.
Tokudaiji threw up his hands defensively. "Cool your jets, Sawako-san. I haven't told her." The music teacher's relief was almost tangible. "...yet," he finished with a malignant smile.
"What reason would you have to tell her?" Sawako exploded, no longer able to contain her anger and fear. "This doesn't involve you!"
"But the worst crimes are those which are committed in silence. You probably know that quote. If you don't...eh, that's typical of a music teacher." His smile broadened as Sawako visibly fumed. "My point is, I know it's against regulations for a teacher to get involved with a student. I'm obligated to report this."
Then why didn't you? You can't have it both ways! Sawako was about to say this, but the psych teacher turned away, dismissing their dispute.
"We'll discuss this later. Right now you have your meeting. Rest assured that it does not concern Kotobuki-san."
"Tokudaiji-san!" the music teacher yelled after him. "What will it take for you to not tell Murakami-senpai?"
He did not turn around, but continued to walk away. "I said we'd discuss this later."
Sawako's hands shook violently. She balled them into fists to steady them. She wanted to punch Tokudaiji. She wished there was something for her to do about this right now. All she could do was turn the other way and go to the headmistress's office.
Ritsu felt like she had stuck her finger in an electric socket and held it there. As she staggered up the stairs to Music Room 3 she experienced a series of jolts, shivers, and then the sensation of her entire body being encased in dry lint. Though she was through with crying, her body was not. Whereas most people cried through their eyes, Ritsu had felt like every pore of her being was sobbing. And it did nothing to solve her problems. When she was finally done crying, the guilt and the shame and the worry were still there.
She took a moment to compose herself. Quite a few locks of her bronze hair had fallen loose from her headband. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her nose and cheeks were flushed. The reddening of her topaz eyes couldn't be undone so easily, but Ritsu fixed her hair and let her face return to its normal color. Then she pushed the double doors open and entered.
Immediately the warm, sweet aromas of chamomile tea and croissants avec nutela surrounded Ritsu. Her shoulders sank to a more relaxed position. Sure enough, Yui, Mio, and Azusa were having their tea time. The drummer cocked her head; Sawako was not there, and Mugi had busied herself with the keyboard, playing a minor treble melody with painstaking slowness. Usually Mugi enjoyed the tea time with a passion that rivaled Yui's.
"Ricchan!" Yui greeted as brightly as ever. She threw her right hand forward in an enthusiastic wave. "I was hoping you'd come soon! Where were you?"
Jolt, shiver, and then the lint. I should've thought up an excuse. "Um..." Usually she was an expert at lying on the spot. Today she was not in form. "I'm..."
"Not feeling well," Mio interjected. "She told me she'd make a stop by the infirmary for some Motrin."
"Yeah." Ritsu nodded affirmatively, if not frantically. She threw a grateful smile in Mio's direction. The bassist smiled back, but her ever expressive eyes belied her worry for her best friend. Mio was worried enough for both of them.
"Where's Sawa-chan?" the drummer queried. At their sensei's mention, she noticed Mugi dipping her head closer to her sheet music.
"I guess she's running late, too," Mio mused.
"Maybe we should wait up for her before we begin practice." As Yui said this, her hand strayed closer to the platter of croissants.
Azusa stayed Yui's hand with her own diminutive one. "You're looking for an excuse to keep eating sweets, senpai."
Ritsu checked the clock. Two forty-five. "If she's not here by now, I don't think she's going to show up." That's very strange. "And we have the concert a week from Friday. We should be practicing."
Azusa and Mio seconded this whole-heartedly. Whilst the kouhai struggled to detach Yui from the croissants Mio turned to Ritsu and commented, "It's a pity Sawako-sensei isn't here. I have a few questions about our concert."
"As do I," the drummer nodded wearily, seating herself behind her drumset. "I guess those will have to wait until tomorrow."
They ran through a few favorites such as 'Fude Pen' and 'Heart Goes Boom!' Mio had played these songs so many times she no longer needed to concentrate on the music. Rather, the song became a pleasant background hum to the raven-haired bassist's not so pleasant thoughts. The verses and the choruses and the bridges melted into oblivion as Mio let her mind stretch out.
I wish she would tell me what's bothering her. She could feel her neck stiffening with frustration. We're best friends! We tell each other everything! She could clearly remember the time when things got tense between Ritsu and her father; that was when she was twelve and Mio was eleven. It was close to Christmastime. Ritsu phoned Mio to give her the play-by-play of her latest snit with Mr. Tainaka. At first her tone was indignant, then vulnerable, and then she was sobbing. Surprised by this more delicate side of her friend, Mio whispered sleepily, "It's going to be okay. Just stay on the phone until you fall asleep." And they did just that. All that was exchanged between them for that half hour were some ragged sobs from Ritsu and some soothing shushes from Mio. Nonetheless, that was a determining night for them. It was like a pivot-point. That may have been the night they became best friends.
Maybe if she tells me what's wrong...we'll be even closer friends. Mio smiled, though she suspected Ritsu was scared that this...whatever it was...could end their friendship. That Mio would hate her for...whatever was going on. This suspicion disturbed the bassist. I grew up with her. We practically live together. I could never hate her no matter what.
You hypocrite, she thought bitterly. Who are you to make so light of Ricchan's feelings when the same thing happened to you? When she was fourteen Mio was struck with a sort of serendipity. But at the time this discovery was not so pleasant. In fact, it freaked the raven-haired girl out. Suddenly, after several years of wondering and fruitless searching, she'd found her identity. She found it with such ease she speculated on how come she never found it earlier. There was a degrading word for this identity. It began with an L, and Mio thought it subtly implied that you were a coward.
Oh, yeah. Lesbian.
"S-sumimasen," Sawako stuttered as she tentatively entered the headmistress's office. Any teacher should be as nervous to see the headmistress as any student.
"Sawako-kun." Mrs. Murakami smiled as she looked up, causing relief to flood through the music teacher. So this can't be anything bad. The headmistress gestured at the chair across her large desk. "Please, sit down. Would you like some tea? Or would you prefer coffee?"
"H-hai. Coffee, please." Sawako hastily seated herself in the chair, which was small in comparison to Mrs. Murakami's grand tilt chair. She twiddled her thumbs and watched as the ancient headmistress slowly eased herself out of her chair. She reached for her cane and made her way to the coffee pot.
"I only have decaf. Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all." If this was any other old woman Sawako would've magnanimously offered help. But she knew doing so would offend Mrs. Murakami. Despite her frail, bent frame, the headmistress was as hardy and strong as a tree. She had been a student, like most of the female staff members, and she had an inclination toward sports and martial arts. Karate, kendo, tai chi, badminton, lacrosse, and soccer. She was too strong to let some little filly like Sawako help her.
"So, um..." The music teacher's hands shook and the coffee sloshed. "You...sent for me...?"
Mrs. Murakami nodded slowly. "I've called you here to discuss your promotion."
The coffee seared Sawako's tongue and she cried out. Well, there it was. Nothing less from Mrs. Murakami.
"P-promotion...?"
"Mm-hmm." The corners of the headmistress's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "You've only been a teacher here for three years, yet you already teach more classes than I did when I was your age." It staggered Sawako to think how long ago that was. "I can't think of someone better to chair the fine arts department."
"Department chair...!" Sawako gasped.
Mrs. Murakami's smile broadened. "Yep. I'll bet you were expecting something bad. A detention, perhaps?"
"P...perhaps..."
The headmistress got a distant look on her worn face. "Golly, I gave you truckloads of those when you were a student...you were such a brash, foolish girl..." She smiled again. "But you've grown up so much since then. You're more responsible and trustworthy. I know I can count on you."
"Murakami-senpai..." Sawako whispered. She wanted to cry. It was such a great thing to be promoted, but...She can't count on me! I kissed Mugi-chan! A student!
Mrs. Murakami shook her head, her expression pained. "Please...do not refer to me so properly anymore. We go way back, you and I. I want you to call me Noriko from now on."
"H-hai, Noriko-senpai."
Noriko smiled. "That's better." She returned to her paperwork. "Alrighty, Sawako-kun. You may leave."
Unable to comprehend the turn of events, the new fine arts department chair exited the office. She took a moment to lean her head against a wall. She, Yamanaka Sawako, former class clown and bane of all teachers, was promoted! Being department chair was such a tremendous honor and responsibility. Also, it had tons of financial benefits. Who knows, she thought humorously. Maybe someday Ricchan will be a department chair...if she decides to teach. The idea of that was so hilarious that Sawako burst into a fit of laughter.
Her laughter abruptly died as Tokudaiji patronizingly approached her.
"Ah, yes," he smirked, as if picking up their conversation where they'd left off. "Why would Murakami-senpai punish you for Kotobuki-san when she has the bounty that is the punchbowl incident?"
"Actually, Tokudaiji-san, Noriko-senpai and I were discussing my promotion to department chair." Sawako paused to enjoy his thunderstruck expression. "But hey. Who am I to tell you this? You're the one who knows how to ascend the ladder."