RECORDING
Chapter Fifteen
Écrives-Tu avec la Man Gauche?
Everything is A-okay, Ritsu thought cheerily, her head still buzzing pleasantly from the tequila sunset. A similarly pleasant sunset looked upon the drummer, her girlfriend, Yui, and Azusa as they stumbled along the quiet streets of their hometown. Against the laws of biology, Ritsu had sobered up before Mio, who leaned against the brunette tipsily. The two of them held hands and walked ahead of Yui and Azusa.
Azusa was in quite a state. Upon waking up the kouhai was immediately slammed with a mind-numbing headache. And her mind wasn't the only thing that was numb. Her tongue lolled heavily in her mouth, senseless but useable for speaking. Azusa, however, didn't feel like speaking. Everyone's voices — even Mio's — felt like a rusty spike in the base of her skull.
A curse on all tequila, the kouhai thought miserably. She wished she could lay down.
"Mio-chan," Yui called, and Azusa flinched. "Can I see your camera?"
The bassist gripped the cord attached to her digital camera and pulled it out of her pocket. She passed it to Yui.
The elder guitarist scrolled through the blurry, poorly-focused pictures Mio had taken in Hair. At last she came upon the one she was looking for. She showed it to Azusa.
It was a decent photograph of the kouhai in her drunken stupor. Her tiny hands were balled into fists, her wrists crossed cat-like on the table, and her face was mashed against them. Azusa found the picture genuinely funny, but she couldn't work up the energy to laugh. "'S funny," she whispered, dropping her head against Yui's arm. No wonder I've no recollection of this afternoon.
Yui returned the camera to Mio and put her arm around Azusa. "You okay?"
Azusa closed her eyes. "Just exhausted."
"How can you be exhausted?...Sorry," she whispered as the pigtailed girl covered her ears.
"She's got a hangover," Ritsu told Yui over her shoulder. "That's what happens after you go to sleep drunk."
The four of them continued down the sleepy subdivision. The streets were empty for a time until parked cars clustered more and more on the curbs. Mio couldn't help but feel a little déjà vu. She had been here before. She had. Ahead of her she could see the sycamore tree which blocked her everyday destination as a child which was….
"Oh, my," she gasped, lifting her head off Ritsu's shoulder.
"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" the drummer grinned.
"What does?" Yui queried.
"Torimizu Primary. Where Mio and I went to primary school."
The elder guitarist squinted and shielded her eyes. An enormous tree blocked her view of Torimizu.
Ritsu smirked. "We should head over there for old times' sake, Mio."
"It's 17:00. School's out," the bassist said flatly.
"N'uh-uh. Mite." The drummer jabbed a finger at Torimizu's glowing announcement sign. A bulletin posted next to the likeness of a smiling apple read: PARENTS' NIGHT TONIGHT. "I wonder if Abe-sensei still works there…"
"I think she retired," said Mio.
"More like you hope she retired! Let's go say hi."
They were at a street corner. Across the street stood Torimizu like an everlasting sprite sentinel over pencils, books, and teachers' dirty looks. Ritsu and Mio's arms pulled as they walked in opposite directions: the drummer across the street toward Torimizu, the bassist around the corner away from Torimizu.
"Come on, Mio!" Ritsu laughed. "Not scared, are you?"
"Yes."
"What do you think's gonna happen if we say hi to Abe-sensei?"
"I don't know…"
"Well then, let's go!"
"No! Abe-sensei hated me!"
"Ne? She hated me, too."
Azusa squeezed her eyes shut, her brain stinging and spinning with every ear-splitting word that was exchanged betwixt the two lovers. Closing her eyes, however, made her feel like she was spinning, and the infinite blackness created by her eyelids as well.
She finally spoke up. "I don't care where we go, so long as you both stop screaming."
"Then it's decided," Ritsu crowed, punching the air. "To Torimizu-gakuen we go!"
Mio still adamantly refused to go. In the end she settled for waiting at the corneruntil the three of them would return. Just as their silhouettes disappeared behind the sycamore, Mio heard the slow, heavy slaps of shoe soles on the sidewalk. She turned and, squeaking in shock, found herself face-to-face with a strong-looking man old enough to be her father.
"Are you looking for a job, miss?" he rumbled. He smelled like bad cologne and cigarettes.
"No…!" Shell-shocked, Mio scurried off toward Torimizu, screaming, "Ricchan, wait for meee!"
The three of them were just at the primary school's double door entrance when Mio ran up to them. Ritsu joined her hand with her girlfriend's and inquired, "What changed your mind?"
The bassist shuddered. "Let's say it was more of a push factor than a pull factor."
Ritsu smiled softly, knowing something had scared Mio like always. It was either that or being back at Torimizu that made the drummer feel extra nostalgic and affectionate toward her girlfriend. She hugged Mio's arm, running her hand up and down the sleeve, and the raven-haired girl ceased shaking.
The clatter of the double doors felt like a flashback to Mio and Ritsu as the four of them entered the fluorescent-lighted main hallway. The extracurricular classrooms existed in this hallway. If one kept going down this hall and turned left, he or she would be heading towards the bathrooms, drinking fountains, headmaster's office, nurse's office, gym, and cafeteria. Right would take him or her to the actual classrooms. Ritsu could smell crayons and glue as they passed grouchy old Kimino-sensei's art room and turned right.
Mio hesitated. "Abe-sensei's room was at the very end of this hallway, right?"
Ritsu nodded. "Ah-yup." She flicked a thumb over her shoulder. "Headmaster-sensei's office was down at the very opposite end. Long walk from Abe-sensei's room to there."
Mio grinned. "Which you had to make frequently."
Yui gaped at the drummer in amazement. "Ricchan got sent to the headmaster's office a lot?"
"That surprises you?" the bassist laughed. "She was awful, the bane of all teachers and staff. She talked nonstop in class, threw spitballs, and started food fights in lunch."
All was quiet for a moment as Ritsu's (apologetic) input was awaited. When they heard nought, they turned to see the drummer simpering, eyes glazed, a shimmer of sparkles dancing about her. She had the aura of I'm Reliving the Glory Days.
"And," Mio continued bitterly, "she doesn't seem to feel one bit bad about it." Agitated, she pulled a Sharpie from her blazer pocket, uncapped it, and scrawled something on her girlfriend's forehead.
"What did you write?" the drummer demanded to know. She vaguely traced her hand about her brow.
"'Stormy petrel,'" Mio grinned, capping her marker. "Abe-sensei used to call you that, remember?"
"What's a stormy petrel?" Yui asked.
"A class clown," Ritsu replied. "Abe-sensei had all sorts of words for the most basic things. She called Mio 'sinistromanuel,' which means lefty."
Azusa said, "It sounds like she reads the thesaurus in her spare time."
They headed down the long, narrow hallway, Ritsu anxiously protesting that she couldn't face Mrs. Abe with 'stormy petrel' written on her forehead. Mio dragged her along by her cheek, refusing to take her to the girls' room and wash the Kanji off. Their prediction proved correct: Mrs. Abe's room was the very last one, as the sign by her door revealed. Before they could enter Yui pointed at the doorframe. "What's that?"
"Ah!" Mio crouched on the floor. On the lower half of the doorframe were some etches made with a permanent marker. Half the etches had the initials "TR" written next to them; the other half said "AM." Mio explained, "These were mine and Ricchan's height comparison charts."
"Oh! Ui and I had the same thing when we were little."
"Hmph," Ritsu grunted. "I never was taller…but I will be someday."
Readjusting her skirt, Mio stood up. The knotty woodwork of Mrs. Abe's door silently confronted her. Sighing deeply, the bassist raised her fist to knock, then lowered it. She ran her hand through her bangs, tugged at the tie about her neck. Groaning impatiently, Ritsu opened the door and shoved Mio in.
Mio stumbled, nearly tripping over that desk in the back corner confined for insubordinate students (namely one Tainaka-san). The bassist's slate eyes widened and darted frantically. It was both a flashback and a nightmare all rolled into one. It was there, all there. The thirty-one desks arranged into rows with that one seat by itself. The chalkboard. Mio's heart pounded volcanically as she stiffly turned her head toward the back. She gasped. Yes…That was there, too. The table. The wobbly round table li'l Akiyama Mio, age six, was remanded to during penmanship lessons.
On its own accord, Mio's left hand drifted to settle in her pocket. When she was little she habitually stuck it in her pocket to keep herself from using it. Her chest felt stiff and tight; she hadn't been breathing. With an effort, Mio drew in a ragged little breath.
"Hello…?"
The raven-haired girl squealed and jumped three feet into the air. She knew that voice: deep, and with the texture of rocks crunching under a tire. Mio turned, forcing herself to face the malice of her existence. Her first grade teacher!
Mrs. Abe looked…well, the same mostly. She was chubbier, had more wrinkles; and her eyes were smaller, beadier. The old woman's thin — almost nonexistent — eyebrows knitted as she queried, "Are you perhaps connatural to Saotome Tadashi? You compass sufficient physical similarity."
"N-no…Um, hello." Mio stood up straight, lifting her chin. She realized it was crude to stand with one hand in her pocket. She clasped them in front of her hips. "It's me."
Mrs. Abe seemed to be under stress. She huffed in annoyance. "Yes, it's me, too. Now that we're in accordance that we're ourselves, why not you to me do state your appellation and the business which you with me bear?"
She hasn't changed a bit. That was a relief in its own weird way. Mio smiled. "I'm here because an old classmate of mine and I were in the neighborhood, and we thought we'd drop by." At the mention of an old classmate, Mrs. Abe set down her pencil and stared intently at Mio, trying to put a name to her face. The raven-haired girl continued, "In fact, I know this other classmate was SO EAGER to see you…" Mio leaned an arm out the door. Mrs. Abe could hear a very familiar voice, but with a deeper timber: "Chotto, chotto, Miooo!" and with a squawk, the stormy petrel was dragged in.
The old woman's jaw fell. She slumped in her chair, as if knocked back by the raw force of memory. "Akiyama-san and Tainaka-san…" She closed her eyes. It couldn't be. Akiyama-san to Mrs. Abe was still a shy sinistromanuel, reticent and easily spooked. Tainaka-san had been a disorderly upstart, always outraged, always questioning, never raising her hand first.
One of them seemingly hadn't changed at all.
"Tainaka-san," Mrs. Abe snapped, "the state of your uniform is abominable! Fix it now!"
"Hai!" Ritsu shoved her shirttails in her skirt and buttoned her blazer. She hated the suffocating, enclosed feeling it gave her.
"And your stature! Plumb your backside! Akiyama-san bears a higher height — she is absolutely Junoesque — and she does not angle her spine with the manner which you do. Are you aware of the amount of beanstalk women who slouch? You, Tainaka-san, being knee-high to an ant, bear no excuse!"
"Hai!" Ritsu threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She felt like a giraffe.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Mrs. Abe squawked, jabbing a finger. "Your pretty visage, Tainaka-san, vandalized! I have knowledge that you favored scribing notes on your appendage, but now your sinciput? An all-out tribulation it will be for you to read that."
"She did it!" Ritsu cried, pointing at Mio.
"Tattletale!" Mio protested.
Once Mrs. Abe was through chastising her former students for their various misdoings, from Ritsu's hair to Mio's socks, she resumed working at her desk and caught up with them.
"More years it has been from the last instant we exchanged sentences than this old educator can fathom. How many years do the duo of you have?"
"Eighteen," said Ritsu.
"Seventeen," said Mio.
"By St. Peter, is that so?" As eccentric as Mrs. Abe was, she still had that well-aren't-you-the-cleverst-little-boy-or-girl-in-the-world voice that all primary teachers had. "The cognitive weight of university must be heavy on your brains. To where will you go come April?"
Their answer was one and simultaneous: "Japan Women's University."
"Superb university," Mrs. Abe acclaimed. "My daughter went there, and my granddaughter is now a sophomore there." It chilled Mio and Ritsu's blood to think of Mrs. Abe raising a child. "What will your majors be?"
Again, a synchronous answer: "Undeclared." Mio added, "I'm leaning towards rhetoric."
"And with that major you will do what?" the old woman exclaimed. "Creative writing is a most impractical and decadent course of study! Rhetoric majors only end up working check-out aisles at Wal-Mart! And you, Tainaka-san, undeclared? Ridiculous!" She was yelling so loud that Mio could see poor hungover Azusa wincing in the hallway. "Compass you not the foggiest suggestion of a major? Decide! Decide!"
"Right now?" Ritsu peeped.
"Yes!" When the drummer's immediate response was not forthcoming, Mrs. Abe made a revolving motion with her hand and barked, "C'mon, c'mon, declare something! To become more green we all cannot do, and still the evening moves forward!"
"Zoological anthropology!"
"What?" Mio laughed.
Her breathing hard and fast with a panic similar to that of a cornered animal, Ritsu looked at her girlfriend and shrugged. It was the first thing that popped into her head. Once she thought about it, she added, "Actually, maybe I'll study music or something."
"Oh, you associate yourself with an orchestra? What do you play?"
"Drums."
"Percussion," Mrs. Abe corrected. She sat up and sighed, "Jeez Louise, but always you percussed your bureau with writing utensils! It was on Parents' Night of your juvenile days that I did to your mother and father recommend that you get evaluated for ADHD."
A look of dawning realization seeped into Ritsu's face. "And do you know, to this day, I'm still getting pamphlets in the mail?"
"You're welcome." Mrs. Abe looked at Mio. "I suppose you've regressed to this scene of yours from eleven years ago to me about your…condition confront."
The bassist's coal eyebrows knitted. "Condition?"
"You know...Your..." The old woman gestured at her left hand.
"Oh, that." Mio's eyebrows smoothed, but her mouth tightened. She was wondering if Mrs. Abe still forced lefties to write right-handed when a young couple bustled into the classroom. They looked so prim, perfect, and ordinary that the raven-haired girl thought they walked out of an eHarmony ad.
"Excuse us," the woman said. "Are you Abe-san?"
"Yes." Mrs. Abe folded her liver-spotted hands and sat up. "And you are...?"
"Tadashi's parents." The woman's response was short, sharp, with a strong note of hurt in her voice. She and her combed and shaved husband shoved past Mio and Ritsu to stand directly in front of Mrs. Abe's desk. The woman's lower lip quivered and the man gritted his teeth.
Nothing daunted, the teacher smiled. "Saotome-san is an excellent student. He—"
"Yeah, we're not here to talk about his grades," the man snarled in a nasally tenor voice.
Mrs. Abe blinked, but forced her face and voice to remain pleasant. "I'm sorry. What about, then, is this?"
The woman thrust a sheet of stationary paper at the teacher. Mio winced at the handwriting. It was absolutely horrid, even for a first grader. The woman ground out, "This is the letter he tried to write to his grandmother. She's in the hospice unit of Mercy General Hospital with dementia and leukemia!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Mrs. Abe sounded genuinely sad and sympathetic for the couple. Ritsu knew it would be impolite for the teacher to ask, What do I have to do with this? but felt it should be asked nonetheless. It was truly grievous to lose one's mother slowly to such diseases, but you don't just barge into your son's primary school and peg it on his teacher.
Mio, however, knew where this was going.
"This letter is illegible! A normal person couldn't read this, let alone a demented old woman!" The paper rattled as the woman shook it furiously. "I told him, write it with your left hand, and he broke down crying and said he couldn't because you forbade it!"
Mrs. Abe held a long, pensive silence, her eyes focused on the paper fluttering inches from her worn face. Mio sighed, thinking about how dedicated this Tadashi must have been. The bassist had only used her right hand in school. She had thought Mrs. Abe was the one who was wrong, not herself, and so she had adamantly refused to reform into a righty. This Tadashi must have believed Mrs. Abe when she told him he was diseased.
"My duty," the teacher said quietly, "is to teach my students to write well."
"Does this look like good handwriting to you?" the man roared. Ritsu had to refrain from giggling; his yelling sounded like Mio's fearful screeching. "This is discrmination! We'll file against you, so we will!" He slammed the paper on her desk, winced for he had hurt his pinky in the process, and minced out of the room with his wife.
"Tell me something," Ritsu said whimsically once the perfect couple had left. "Do you think she can satisfy him in the bedroom? I'm gonna go with 'no.'"
"As rude as they were," Mio murmured, "I have to agree with that man on this: that is not good handwriting." Her voice gained not volume so much as confidence when she addressed Mrs. Abe. "Just because it's written with your right hand doesn't automatically mean it's better." The bassist felt bad about the confrontation her former teacher had endured, but she couldn't help lashing out a bit. "You spent three school trimesters trying to pound right-handedness into me! A whole school year of being laughed at, called 'southpaw' and 'sister mantel,' and having everyone sing 'right is right and left is wrong' at me at recess! And for what?" she exclaimed. She felt close to tears as she scrolled through those tumultuous memories. Being in a relationship with a childhood friend compels one to look for their buddy in those memories. Mio glanced appreciatively at Ritsu, realizing the drummer never participated in the singing at recess, or any other lefty teasing for that matter.
"It's all been for nothing, sensei," Mio concluded with a sigh. "My right hand is as useless as it's ever been."
She was pleased to see that Mrs. Abe was speechless for a moment. The sensei sat at her desk, staring at the calendar spread across it without seeing it. She was motionless, unblinking, which Mio and Ritsu found a little unsettling. The bassist was eager for Mrs. Abe's response, expecting her to admit she was wrong and apologize.
What Mio got instead was: "Was it that you abandoned the course of dextromanuelism following your primary year here?"
"Hai," the raven-haired girl admitted.
"So it goes. To transfer your strength and orientation from your sinister half to your dexter half is not something which in the course of a single year can be achieved. It is a life-long process." Mrs. Abe took her pencil in her right hand and jotted something on a post-it note. "And, just like any muscle in your body, so you use it less, so it becomes weaker."
Ritsu narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Abe. Something here was fitting in, scarily slow and fast at the same time. Mio shrank back a little and started to softly inquire something when the drummer shot forward and exclaimed, "Abe-sensei, are you a lefty?"
Mio looked at Mrs. Abe sharply, her silver eyes wide. She had never thought about that.
The old woman hesitated to answer, but that was enough of an answer for the two lovers. Talk about your self-loathing, Ritsu thought. She grunted in surprise as Mio seized her by her blazer.
The bassist's eyes were saucer-like. "Ricchan," she hissed, "she was like me and she changed!" Consumed by passionate outrage, she shook her girlfriend. "Why? I don't understand!"
"You know," Mrs. Abe spoke up. Mio released Ritsu and lunged forward to crouch before the desk of her newfound, albeit enigmatic, comrade. "You young people so liberal are...with everything, it seems. But when I was a mite, it was different. Teachers were demanded to teach children to write with their right hands.
"My teacher was not so direct as I was. So she said, 'To write properly, you must hold your pencil in your right hand, like so.' I tried, I really had. So hopeless I thought it was until I realized, 'Another hand I have which probably more useful is.' And so found out I, it was. Thus I was sinistromanuel. So my teacher said, and she used that very word."
Mio's eyes welled up with tears. She is just like me...
"There began that project of making myself dextromanuel. For a while I was as Yamoto-san was: ambidextrous. But using my sinister hand I did less and less, and before I knew it, its strength had slipped away from me.
"I felt a sense of accomplishment. But also, it seemed I had forsaken an immense part of my identity—"
"It's a big part of my identity, too! I can't imagine writing with my other hand! Oh, Abe-sensei!" Mio gushed, hooking herself to the old woman's leg. "We're so alike! And I thought you were evil!"
Ritsu dragged Mio off Mrs. Abe, yelling, "Get a grip, Mio! And not on her!" Once she got her girlfriend at a safe distance from the sensei, the drummer queried, "Why do you try to turn lefties into righties if you know you abandoned your identity?"
Mio stared at Mrs. Abe, hungry for an answer from her new mentor. The old woman was like a cultural relic from another era, when left-handedness was forbidden in school. The bassist saw her in a whole new light — an image of perfection.
"If forsake your identity you do, it may be better in the long run." Mrs. Abe focused her beady eyes on Mio. "Akiyama-san endured a surplus amount of grief for reason of existing in this world as a sinistromanuel," she spoke apologetically. "But if she had committed herself to becoming a dextromanuel, saving herself a lifetime of grief she could have done."
The bassist gasped. Could she have stopped it? She was still known as Southpaw, especially in Spanish class where she was also known as Izquierda. At least twice a day someone would stop her writing by asking, "Are you left-handed?" Her affirmative response would be met either with praise or scorn. Could all of that have been prevented?
Ritsu was livid. Her arms came around Mio protectively as she yelled, "She shouldn't have to change herself to make everybody else happy!" Without thinking, she cried, "I love Mio! I love that she's a left-handed crybaby! I wouldn't have her any other way!"
Mio twisted around in the drummer's arms to give her that dewy-eyed look of adoration that Ritsu loved so much. Ritsu returned the unspoken sentiment before the bassist's expression turned to one of fearful caution. Blanching, she muttered, "Uh, Ritsu..."
Realization hit Ritsu like a ton of lead. She jumped away from Mio and gave her a platonic, if not awkward, pat on the shoulder. "I love m-my best friend," she stammered in the most innocent voice she could muster, "and I love her as nothing more."
Ritsu may have been a good liar. But Mrs. Abe had seen what she had seen. Her wrinkled face hardened and she ordered: "Get out."
"What were you thinking?" Mio demanded incredulously. The soft porchlight of Ritsu's house washed and shadowed her face, revealing its harsh angles. Yui had departed long ago to take AZusa home. A biting wind kicked up, carrying with it a cool, metallic smell. It would rain soon.
"I wasn't thinking," Ritsu sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry, Mio."
"It's okay." The bassist forgave her immediately, automatically. It was difficult to hold a grudge against someone as sweet and considerate as Ritsu. I love that she's a left-handed crybaby. That made Mio's heart melt. How can she love things about me that I resent?
Ritsu looked up at Mio, her swimming hazel eyes a mix of affection and anger. "I hate it," growled she, "when people hurt you the way they do."
The bassist chuckled. "I'm fine, Ricchan—"
But Ritsu shook her head fervently. "Abe-sensei had you in the palm of her hand, Mio. If I hadn't stepped in, it would've been first grade all over again: you hating yourself for being left-handed and trying to change!" She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling with rage. Flashbacks played themselves in her eyelids: six-year-old Mio sobbing, "I'm such an idiot! I can't write left-handed and I don't feel right writing right-handed!" Ritsu had hated Mrs. Abe for hurting Mio the first time around, and she wasn't about to let the teacher subject her beloved girlfriend to a second time around.
"Oh, Ritsu," Mio sighed, taking the drummer in her arms. She could feel her trembling before Ritsu decompressed and settled her head on the bassist's chest. In her right ear she could hear the slow, steady thump of Mio's heart. She moved her hands up until her arms were hugging her girlfriend's neck. She's really...protective, Mio thought with a smile. I never knew Ritsu worried about me so much.
"I guess I really lost my temper, huh?' the drummer sighed, drained. She herself was a bit frightened by the way she had acted.
"Yeah," Mio agreed. "That was either the dumbest...or the sweetest thing you've ever done for me."
The bassist pulled away momentarily and they locked eyes, luring one another in with their stares. Mio cupped her hands around Ritsu's face — she'd always loved how soft and chubby it was — and leaned in to kiss her. But the drummer's headband, already loose on her head, was caught in the wild gale. First it knocked against Mio's face, causing knife-like pain to lance and snap through her teeth. Then it was blown all the way across the street.
"I got it," Mio yelped. She started to give chase after the headband, but Ritsu caught her by her sleeve.
"It's okay, Mio." The bassist turned to see her girlfriend grinning at her, her tawny bangs whipped to and fro in the squall. Mio had never seen Ritsu look so carefree without her headband. Her bangs didn't ripple so much as toss about. Her aurum eyes were hidden and revealed in frequent and irregular intervals. "I got a hundred of 'em in my closet, and I gotta hold up my end of the deal, ne?"
Mio's eyes shone as she stared at Ritsu in awe. She couldn't help being bewildered and charmed by the brunette when she wore her bangs down. The look was so...becoming. And cute. Mio smiled, nodded assent, and stepped closer to Ritsu. She pulled the petite drummer closer to her, holding her by her waist, and their mouths came together.
Jesus, what a kiss, Ritsu thought, her heart fluttering. It was way more intimate than the last time they kissed. The drummer could feel all of Mio's parts with her own. Her face, her arms, her breasts. The wind blew full-force, mixing Ritsu's brown hair with Mio's raven hair. Even as their lips parted the bassist kept her body close to Ritsu's, preserving their intimacy. The drummer could feel the soft skin of Mio's lips grazing the sensitive skin of her own as she whispered, "I love you, Ricchan."
"And I love you, Mio, so much." Ritsu sighed happily as the bassist eskimo kissed her, running the tip of her nose along the bridge of the brunette's. Ritsu braced herself against Mio's shoulders and bounced up for another kiss, hoping to fully communicate how very deeply she loved the coal-haired girl through that gesture.
"Ritsu?"
At the sound of her mother's voice Ritsu flew back, shoving Mio off her. This was so not the drummer's day: carelessly revealing her relationship with Mio to two people who probably should not know. How was she going to lie and cover up this time?
Mrs. Tainaka stood in the open doorway, a myriad of shadows on her anxious face created by the lights inside the house and the porchlight.
Thinking quick, Ritsu babbled out an incoherent excuse. "Oh so that's what kissing a girl's like thanks for partaking in this experiment with me Mio see you tomorrow bye!" And she darted past her mother inside.
Mio stared blankly ahead of her, chest heaving with panic and arousal. She and Mrs. Tainaka's eyes met briefly. Then Mio frantically bowed, muttered, "Excuse me, Tainaka-san, and ran off into the new rain towards her house.