THE GREAT SHIZUMA
Chapter Six
Tamao v. Shizuma
It took Tamao three minutes to run from the lake to the dorms, another athletic asset due to her childhood spent playing softball. She knew she was fast. Her coach didn't give her nicknames like Suzumi Fleetfoot or Quicksilver Tamao for naught.
The poet burst into her room to find Shizuma reclining on the bed Tamao and Nagisa now shared. She was buffing her nails.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tamao demanded.
"Hello to you, too."
She shook her head and snatched the buffer from Shizuma's hands. "Out."
"Huh?" The silver-haired girl looked up at her.
Tamao pointed the buffer at the door. "Out."
Shizuma sat up on the edge of the bed. "But Tamao, you haven't given me a chance to apologize."
The poet scowled. "Oh, is that why you're here?" She sighed and turned away, toward the full-length mirror. She pulled out her hairnet and proceeded to brush her cerulean hair. Shizuma remained silent. "I'm listening," Tamao said curtly.
"Let me start by saying this - I came here with the intent to propose."
Tamao dropped her brush.
"Yes, 'propose' as in 'marry,'" Shizuma smirked. She pulled the ring case out of her dress pocket. "Tell me, Tamao, how well off is your family?"
Up until now, the poet had always believed that her family fit within the parameters of rich. One contributing factor was that Tamao had no siblings. Her parents had not intended for her to be an only child, but that was how it turned out.
"I'll assume by your silence that you're as poor as a church mouse."
Tamao fumed.
"This ring…" Shizuma popped open the case and held up the object in question. "…cost me billions of yen, as did this case. And you know what? The resulting price was far from expensive for me. I almost feel like I'm skimping out on Nagisa," she sighed, "but alas! It was the most valuable one at the jewelers."
"Just because it's pricier doesn't mean it's more valuable!" Tamao was pulling her hair up into a ponytail. "How do you know Nagisa would even like it?"
"Would you like to see it?"
Shizuma passed the ring to her. The poet studied it. The ring was a gold band with an emerald gemstone.
"Nagisa would hate this," Tamao concluded, handing it back. "And you'd be wasting your time, money, and breath proposing. She doesn't love you."
"She would love this. Yellow metal looks so good on her."
"But she doesn't love you." Tamao dug through her closet, emerging with a softball, two gloves, and a cap.
Shizuma didn't smile, but squinted in amusement. "And you think she loves you?"
"I know she loves me," Tamao said flatly, fitting a glove on her left hand.
"How do you know? Has she said it? Has she said 'I love you, Tamao'?"
"She doesn't have to."
"I've seen you with her. She kisses you, she hugs you, she holds your hand…"
"You're only proving my point."
"That's not love. Those are hollow gestures. Those are just kissing, hugging, and holding hands, and nothing more." Shizuma was no longer concealing her smirk. It showed up full on her face. "Of course you have it confused. You are nothing but a little idiot who thinks attention equals eternal love."
Tamao put on her cap, pulling the brim over her baleful violet eyes. She turned on the silver-haired girl.
"I don't know who you think you are… or who you think you're talking to… but I am this close to kicking your ass right back to Ninnian, Shizuma. So you better watch it."
The poet was standing over Shizuma now, jaw rigid, eyes blazing, her breath blasting from her nostrils. Nothing daunted, the silver-haired girl stared back up at her.
"It's divine, isn't it?" Shizuma said at last. "The roles we were assigned for The Great Gatsby. Daisy really loves Gatsby. You read the book. You know that Daisy would jump at the first opportunity to run away with him and leave poor, sad little Tom behind. You know that, right, Tommy?"
Tamao meant for the heel of her hand to hit Shizuma's nose, but so blind with rage was the poet that she missed and caught her chin. The force of the blow sent Shizuma sprawling on the bed with Tamao on top of her. Tamao trembled as she dug her nails into her enemy's face.
"You don't call me 'Tommy,' got that?" she hissed.
"Oh, right. I call you 'old sport.' Or would you prefer 'the polo player'?" Shizuma seized her wrist. "I say, old sport, mind taking your nails out of my face? It hurts."
Tamao did not say anything, but flexed her hand, gouging her fingernails deeper. Shizuma winced and all the deceptive ambience in her temperament drained from her.
"Maybe you didn't hear me," she snarled, squeezing the poet's wrist. "I said 'take them out,' you scum sucking, rug munching - AAAAARRRRRRRGGGHH!" she yelled in pain. She had tried to pry out Tamao's nails, but only succeeded in dragging them through her face. Hot sticky blood drizzled from her cheek and stained Tamao's hand.
Admittedly Tamao had a weakness for blood. The very sight of it made her nauseous. Her grip faltered and she allowed Shizuma to pull her bloody hand from her bloodier face.
"This is what you like, huh?" the silver-haired girl growled. "This is what gets you hot? Well… It would be prudish of me to not return the hotness, so…"
Several things happened at once. Shizuma managed to hook a punch at Tamao's jaw and bring her knee up sharply into her gut. With a cry, the poet fell off of Shizuma and onto the floor where she lay doubled over and sobbing. Stealing a shirt to staunch the flow of blood, the silver-haired girl jumped up and ran out of the room.
---
Nagisa was beginning to wonder and worry about Tamao. The poet had been gone for half an hour. The idea that perhaps she had ditched Nagisa was quickly dismissed. Tamao didn't roll like that.
I should teach you something as well. The redhead didn't know why Tamao felt like she had to do everything Shizuma did. They were two different people and so her relationships with them had to be different as well. And besides, Nagisa was learning from Tamao. In the course of their year as best friends, she had learned to be more patient, to look first before jumping into a situation, to begin with the end in mind, and, of course… eat your dessert slowly, Nagisa-chan, you'll enjoy it more. The redhead laughed out loud.
Does Tamao-chan think she's my second choice? That hit Nagisa like a ton of lead and she stopped laughing. How horrible. Tamao knows she would never rank below first in my heart. She knows I love her. Right?
I have to find her and talk to her, Nagisa decided and stood. She packed away the scraps from their lunch, rolled up the blanket, and picked up the basket. She started to go when she heard a rustle in the foliage behind her. She halted.
"Tamao-chan…?" She slowly turned around.
"No, not Tamao…" came that silken voice, and Shizuma materialized from the brambles out into the clearing.
"Shizuma!" Nagisa gasped, unable to tear her gaze from the angry scab on her right cheek, from her bruised jaw and swollen lip.
"Aren't I the pretty one?" Shizuma grinned lopsidedly.
"What happened?" The redhead was so shocked, she dropped the picnic basket.
"Had a run-in with an old classmate." The silver-haired girl shrugged. "I'll be fine. It's not as bad as it looks."
"Who was this old classmate?"
"Not important." Shizuma stuck her hand in the pocket of her dress, felt the ring case. "Look. I need to do this, and I need to do this quickly before that classmate finds me."
"A-alright…"
"Alright. Nagi-"
"Nagisa-oneesama!"
The redhead whirled around to see little Chiyo crashing through the woods with wee Kagome in her wake. They were obviously in a major hurry to seek their oneesama, and it was evident by Chiyo's fatigue that they had been searching for a while. Kagome used her free arm (as her other one was clutching Pashibaru) to steady the Miator second year as she leaned her hands heavily on her knees, gasping for breath.
"Nagisa-oneesama… I-it's… Oh, God…" Chiyo sank to her knees, her hand on her heaving chest, her face screwed up in agony.
Kagome put her hand on Chiyo's shoulder. "It's okay," she whispered. "Take a moment and breathe."
Just don't take too long, Nagisa thought, her anxiety mounting by the second. Something was wrong, she could tell by the look on Kagome's face.
After a few seconds, Chiyo's breath had regulated and she could look up at her oneesama without hurting her throat. She gasped when she saw Shizuma. Kagome, too, had noticed the former Étoile's injuries, but had limited her reaction to a more subtle arcing of an eyebrow.
"What's wrong?" Nagisa asked.
"Tamao-oneesama is hurt!" Chiyo cried.
"What?"
Kagome explained, "Her jaw is bruised, as is her tummy."
"Do you think her spleen is really ruptured like she said?" Chiyo asked.
The Lulim second grader shook her head, her soft broft curls bouncing. "I doubt it. She's pretty badly bruised, though."
"What happened?" Nagisa shook her head. "Never mind. Just take me to her, please." She felt sick. Her head was spinning. Bruised jaw. Ruptured spleen. The images made her stomach turn.
"Sorry, Shizuma," Nagisa muttered as Chiyo took her hand and led her toward the dorms, "but this will have to wait!"
Shizuma watched her go until she and her kohais disappeared into the foliage. It unnerved her how the little one with the bear stared at her. She pulled the case out of her pocket, popped it open, and stared at the ring. The poet's cold words echoed in her head: You'd be wasting your time, money, and breath proposing. Was she right?
---
Nagisa had a hard time keeping up as Chiyo ran at a breakneck pace to Strawberry Dorms, pulling her oneesama behind her. The blue-haired librarian noticed Kagome lagging far behind, her hand cupped around her chin, her sleepy green eyes turned toward the ground.
Chiyo screeched to a halt with Nagisa crashing into her from behind. The younger girl turned to face her oneesama. "She's in your dorm. You know where to go. Keep going, I'll meet up with you." Nagisa ran off ahead of her, and Chiyo circled back to where Kagome was.
"What's wrong, Kagome-chan? You look… thoughtful."
"Tamao-oneesama wouldn't tell us how she got hurt."
"That's because she was too busy crying about her 'ruptured spleen.'"
Kagome paused. Then she whispered, "Pashibaru thinks Tamao-oneesama and Shizuma-sama got into a fight."
"A fight?" Chiyo couldn't help laughing. "Is Pashibaru sure?"
Kagome turned her emerald eyes up toward Chiyo. "Does Chiyo-chan think it's mere coincidence that the two of them turn up with injuries at the same time?"
"A good point you make, my friend," Chiyo nodded. "Those scratches on Shizuma-sama's face were no accident. Let's go, let's hurry."
She and little Kagome ran off toward the dorms.
---
Nagisa was shocked at how many people had cramped into the little dorm to see Tamao. There was Shion and Chikaru - the former running her hands through her blonde hair, the latter worriedly rubbing her pencil eraser against her neck. Remon and Kizuna, trying to tend to Tamao's bruises. Yaya and Tsubomi bickering. Amane with her arm around Hikari, the two of them monitoring the Lulim students' healing efforts.
Nagisa tried to push her way through the crowd to her Tamao. It was difficult in the compact room, and the summer certainly didn't help matters much. The redhead found her fuse running very short very fast.
"This won't do," said Shion. "The festival is tomorrow! We need Tom Buchanan."
"If she can't make it tomorrow, I could fill her part if you want," Chikaru offered.
"I suppose…"
Nagisa managed to reach the bed Tamao lay upon. Her heart broke at the sight of her. The poet lay on her side, curled up in a fetal position. Her left cheek was swollen and reddish-purple. Her eyes were shut tight.
Nagisa grabbed her hand. "Tamao-chan?"
Tamao's eyes snapped open. She turned her head upwards to look at the redhead.
"Are you okay?" Nagisa asked. "Do… Do you need anything?"
The poet stared at her for a moment, her opalescent eyes swimming. Then she closed them in annoyance and muttered, "Make all these people leave, please."
Nagisa stood a moment, listening to the flurry of voices. One big competition - each girl trying to make herself be heard. It was giving her a headache. And to think Tamao had to deal with this on top of her injuries. Nodding resolutely, Nagisa placed a hand on Kizuna and Remon, guiding them towards the door, yelling, "Okay! Everybody out now! Show's over!"
"It sure is," Shion moaned, "if we don't have a Tom Buchanan…"
Amane and Hikari immediately left, as did Yaya and Tsubomi as soon as their dispute was settled. The only one who wasn't so willing to leave was Shion.
"Come on, sweetness," said Chikaru, pulling her girl toward the exit. "We've stayed long enough."
"But I have to make sure she'll be okay!" Shion protested. "It's not The Great Gatsby without Tom Buchanan!"
"I said I'd fill in the role if Tamao-chan can't make it. Now, Shion-chan, if you don't come with me, there'll be no sex tonight."
Tamao grinned. "Does that line really work?"
"It depends on the circumstances," Chikaru giggled, blushing slightly, "but for the most part it does. Hope you feel better, Tamao-chan!" And they left.
Nagisa shut the door behind them and, sighing, leaned against it.
"You know," mumbled Tamao, "you're the first person to ask if I was okay out of concern for me, not the play." She pitched her voice up in imitation of the others. "'Tamao-chan,'" she whined, "'get well soon because we need Tom Buchanan for the play.'" She scowled. "Go find him, then, bitches, because my name is Suzumi Tamao. Not Tom, not Tommy, and certainly not old sport!"
Nagisa pulled a chair up to her bedside and sat in it. She stroked the poet's head. "It pains me greatly to see you like this. Chiyo-chan said your spleen is ruptured."
Tamao shook her head. "I panicked. My stomach got hit really hard, and it hurt, and I was scared. Now, realistically speaking, I think I'll be okay. It's just a bruise, no real harm done."
The redhead raised an eyebrow. "Who did this not-so-real harm?"
The poet's face darkened.
"Shizuma…?" Nagisa asked.
Tamao nodded. Nagisa sighed, sat up in her chair, and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. Her auburn eyebrows now slanted low over her garnet eyes that she had turned upward toward the ceiling. Her hand balled into a fist that was so tight, her knuckles had turned white.
"I'm sorry, Nagisa-chan," Tamao apologized. "It's my fault. I started it when I punched her in the face. But she was saying all these terrible things about me, about us-"
"Then you didn't start it. She did. Why would she do that?"
"She wants to get back together with you."
Nagisa grunted and folded her arms across her chest. "Humph! Fat chance! I wouldn't take her back for a billion yen!"
Hearing that combined with remembering what Shizuma said about the price of her engagement ring made Tamao laugh heartily. Helpless giggles racked her frame until she winced. "Aaaooww, it hurts to laugh!"
Bemused as to why the poet was laughing, Nagisa inquired, "How bad is the bruise? May I see it?"
Hesitantly, Tamao straightened her torso and rolled onto her back. She couldn't help but feel the warming sensations of arousal as Nagisa pulled her T shirt up just high enough to expose her midriff. The redhead gasped and Tamao herself drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the swollen bluish-red bruise on her tummy, just above her belly button.
"Jesus, Tamao-chan," Nagisa whispered. Sorry, Jesus, she added reflexively. "What did you do to make her so mad?"
"Just put my nails in her face, that's all," the poet said innocently.
Nagisa recalled the scabs on Shizuma's face and grimaced. "You put those scratches on her face?"
"Mm-hmm."
The redhead hissed painfully just thinking about the scabs. "Yeesh. Remind me to never make you angry."
"You already did once, and it wasn't so bad, was it?"
"No, it wasn't," Nagisa smiled, recalling the night at the lake. Tamao's violet eyes glittering in the light of the blue moon, her arms around her, the poet's face pressed full into hers as they kissed for the first time. "In the end it wasn't bad at all."
She looked back at the bruise and winced. "That's rough. Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?"
Tamao's hand twitched. "I-if you want to…"
The poet laid her head back on the pillow, half-closed eyes focused on the ceiling. She shuddered as she felt Nagisa's soft lips brush gently on her tummy. She saw the redhead hesitate over her, unsure of whether to keep going. Her scarlet eyes were filled with such heat, such intensity, and at that moment Tamao knew how badly she wanted this.
"Don't stop," the poet whispered. She closed her eyes and sighed pleasantly as the redhead complied, hesitantly at first, but then with more gusto. Nagisa brought her hands to Tamao's waist and led her trail of kisses upwards until her mouth came in contact with that of the poet.
Tamao never gave much thought to how her first time would go, and she certainly never thought that it would come along in the wake of a beat down.
Nagisa was sitting upon Tamao, supporting her weight lest she should disturb the bruises. She eventually lowered herself full onto the poet's body, laying on top of her. Nagisa slid her hands up Tamao's arms until she was pressing their palms together. Tamao found the palm stimulation oddly titillating as jolts of erotic sensation shot through her arms to her chest. She began to buck toward her girl in need. The pain from the bruises quickly melted away as Nagisa pinned Tamao's hands over her head and attacked her mouth with passionate, full kisses, slipping her tongue in. The poet whimpered as the sensations that had built up in her chest plummeted within her, taking her stomach with it.
She kisses you, she hugs you, she holds your hand. That's not love.
Tamao froze.
Has she said, "I love you, Tamao?"
Any warm sensations she had within her cooled over almost instantly.
You are nothing but a little idiot who thinks attention equals eternal love.
"Mm, what's wrong, Tamao-chan?" Nagisa panted as she pulled back.
The poet's eyes, which sparkled romantically not a minute ago, were now dim with distraction. She looked back at Nagisa and the warmth left them. She slipped out from under the redhead and rolled onto her side.
"Gomen nasai. I guess… Maybe I'm just not ready."
Feeling slightly embarrassed, fearing that maybe she had been a bit too forward, Nagisa offered up a smile. "It's okay. You don't have to do it now if you don't want to."
---
Nagisa had never had so many people fuss over her appearance at the same time. Lulim crew members clustered around her, making sure of several things. Did her hair look okay? Did her costume fit? Did a certain application of makeup do her role justice? The show was going to start in less than two hours.
And where in the world was Tamao?
The redhead had woken up that morning to find the poet's bed empty. She had not seen Tamao all day and was seriously starting to worry. Was Tamao sick or something? Was she in the infirmary? Nagisa's apprehension passed through the threshold of panic when she considered the very real possibility that the poet's spleen had ruptured and was now starting to overtake her.
Or Tamao had no intention of showing up, period. She seemed pretty angry at everyone about the play, Nagisa thought as the hair stylist tried to put her auburn locks up in a bun. Maybe she just decided, f- them, and ditched the play to spite them. That would be really rotten, though, too rotten for sweet little Tamao-chan to do.
"Chikaru-san!" the hair stylist, a spunky Lulim fourth year with pixie-short brown hair, called. "How does this look? Is this Daisy?" She roughlu hauled Nagisa onto her feet and brought her over to the Lulim President.
Chikaru studied the redhead, pacing circles around her to get the full view. She finally shook her head. "This won't do. Daisy Buchanan is a woman of class, but she's not an elitist snob like you've made Nagisa-chan to look. Lose the bun."
The hair stylist huffed and pulled the hairnet out.
Just a couple mirrors down, Shizuma was getting her hair styled as well. She said, "Chikaru-chan, don't you think it should be up to the script writer to decide how the characters should look?"
"That's the problem," Shion said with venom in her voice. "Our script writer isn't here." She glowered at Nagisa as if it was her fault Tamao had not shown up.
Chikaru sighed and checked her watch. "If she's not here in five minutes, I'll go in for hair and makeup and play Tom Buchanan."
Now Shion was going on a rant over Shizuma. "What the hell happened to your face?" she demanded.
Shizuma ran her fingers along her scratches. "I got in an awesome fight."
"Did you win?" asked the spunky Lulim hair stylist.
"Uhh... We'll call it a draw."
Nagisa found herself staring at the scratches. Today they seemed sorer, angrier, and seemed to have swollen to cover more of Shizuma's face. "They're not healing right," she said at last.
Shizuma noticed her and smirked. "No, they're not," she said ruefully.
"That's... Ah, that's impetigo," the hair stylist diagnosed.
"What?"
"When a cut becomes mildly infected. My sister gets that quite a bit in the winter. It's highly contagious - you should avoid touching those scratches so you don't spread it."
Shion grimaced at Shizuma in disgust. "Maybe you should wash your hands," she said and stalked off.
Chikaru checked her watch again. She sighed and sat in front of the mirror labeled Tom Buchanan. "I guess I'll be playing-"
"Wait!"
Everyone present turned en masse toward the backstage entrance. Nagisa gasped delightedly for there, in the doorway, stood Tamao. The poet was clad in her costume (a simple black suit, blue tie, and men's dress shoes), her chest heaving with every exhausted breath she gasped. She dropped her arms and hastily approached the mirror. Chikaru jumped up and proceeded to style Tamao's hair in accordance to her role.
"Tamao-chan..." Nagisa sighed with relief and held out her hand to the poet.
She took the redhead's hand, squeezed it, and smiled weakly.
"Where were you?" Nagisa was a bit put off by the sorrow swimming in her amethyst eyes.
Tamao couldn't shake her head, so instead she closed her eyes. "Around. Had to sort some stuff out. I'm here."
"So, Suzumi-san," Shion snarled as she entered the powder room, hands on her hips. "You finally decided to show up."
"Had to sort some stuff out..."
"Well, hopefully it was worth being an hour late for. Okay, Shizuma, these scratches won't do. Gatsby's face isn't scratched." Shion held up a container of silver-colored stick-on hair. "So his face will have to go bearded to hide that impetigo. Have the makeup artist slap this on your pretty little mug." And she tossed the container to Shizuma, as if she wasn't worth the reach.
"Same for you, scriptwriter," Shion growled, turning back on Tamao. "I don't know where Tom got that handsome bruise, but it won't do. Chikaru-chan, when you do her makeup, put on some five o'clock shadow."
"Yes, ma'am."
Shion, who was going to play George Wilson, had her blond hair done up in the severest bun. She had her bangs loose and styled in such a way to make her look more masculine. She wore glasses, an oily white shirt and even oilier blue overalls (she fixed cars, after all). Her pessimistic attitude toward the show only made her a better person to play a man whom Nick described in the novel as being "spiritless" and "anemic."
"Here we go!" the Lulim hair stylist cried. "Tell me what you think of this, Chikaru-san!" She brought Nagisa up to the Lulim President.
The hair stylist had curled Nagisa's hair into springy coils, much like Kagome's, that bounced with every movement the redhead made. The finishing touch was the flower pinned on the right side of her head.
"I like it," Chikaru said slowly, her hand cupped around her chin. "What do you think, Tamao-chan?"
If Tamao wasn't so preoccupied, she would have squealed, "So cute! My Nagisa never fails to look adorable!" But yesterday's events cast a shadow over her normally happy mood, so she merely smiled, nodded, said, "You look lovely."
But Nagisa certainly did look squeal-worthy. Her costume was of simple make: a yellow dress that was fitted at the top and loose and flowy at the bottom. The color of the flower petals matched that of the dress.
When hair and makeup was done, Tamao's hair was done similarily to Shion's. Chikaru stuck some fake blue fuzz on the poet's cheeks, next to her ears, to give her sideburns. She had also added the azure five o'clock shadow, as asked, and thickened Tamao's eyebrows. Tamao was Tom Buchanan.
And Shizuma was Jay Gatsby. Her long silver hair had been packed away in a hat that she would wear throughout most of the play. She wore a beige suit, a green tie, and spats on her black shoes. A subtle silver beard graced her face and her prop was a pipe.
"I daresay, old sport," she muttered as she pretended to puff her pipe. "I do feel a wee bit ridiculous."
Shizuma was about to recant that statement for Yaya came stumbling in. The Spican was garbed in a loose-fitting black suit with exaggeratingly huge cuff links. Her eyebrows had been thickened to nearly thrice their original size. Her hair had been pulled up, shoved in a yarmulke, but her front strands had been left out and curled. A huge fake beard covered her face. She wore small round glasses.
Everything was silent and still for a moment. Yaya started to complain about what a horrible fit the suit was when everyone present broke into raucous laughter. The Lulim hair stylist leaned against Chikaru helplessly. Tamao and Nagisa hugged each other in their fit of giggles. Shizuma's pipe slipped out of her mouth as she held her sides. Yaya stood there, blinking owlishly, looking confused.
The laughter eventually subsided, but resumed when Amane and Hikari entered the room and saw Yaya.
"Oh my God, Yaya-chan," Hikari squeaked, putting a gloved hand to her mouth in an attempt to conceal laughter.
Amane's reaction was even funnier. The mouth of the normally brusque tomboy twitched. One could tell she was suppressing a smile and the resulting expression on her face was priceless. She finally put a hand to her tummy and doubled over with laughter. No one had ever seen Amane laugh so much. It loosened up the tension and everybody was feeling more chipper.
Yaya caught Hikari snapping a picture of her on her cell phone.
"Oh, no," she moaned. "Please don't send that to everybody! I'll be the laughing stock of Spica!"
Hikari pressed some buttons on her phone. "I'm not sending this to everybody." She grinned. "Just Tsubomi-chan."
"No! Not her! Hika-"
"Too late." She snapped her phone shut.
Tamao approached Yaya, shaking her head. "Whoever did your makeup should be shot. You look like a caricature of every Jewish stereotype I have ever heard of."
"I know." Yaya grinned sheepishly, awkwardly kicking at the floor. "I'm a walking cliche."
Chikaru guided her to a mirror. "Let me re-do your makeup."
"Get rid of the beard," the poet ordered. "She's a business associate, not a rabbi!"
Hikari's cell phone rang and Yaya knew who it was. She could hear Tsubomi's laughter over the phone.
"Jeez, Hikari-sama..." the Spican fourth grader moaned. Since when does she tease me?
The cadette turned to Yaya and said, "Tsubomi says she loves you, but she refuses to convert!"
The play was about to start. The first scene, as Tamao had written it, was to consist of Nick riding his boat through the Sound to the coast of East Egg to meet up with Tom and Daisy. The Buchanans would make their entrance first, chatting as married couples do, while they wait for Nick's arrival.
"You didn't write any specific lines for Tom and Daisy's small talk," Nagisa noted as she and Tamao stood before the stage entrance.
The poet shook her head. "It doesn't matter what we say until Amane-sama makes her entrance."
The redhead rubbed her chin. "Hmm. I wonder what Americans talked about in the 1920's?"
Tamao shrugged. "I dunno. Speakeasies. Al Capone. Prohibition."
They noticed that the audience had fallen silent outside. Chikaru and Shion came up behind them.
"This is it, guys!" the Lulim President whispered encouragingly. "Break a leg!"
"Not literally, of course," added Shion, giving the poet a meaningful look.
Chikaru counted in their entrance from five. At one, Tamao Buchanan led her fair Daisy out onto the stage.