I’m My Own High School Rival: Nakamura’s Arc: Heritage

  The rising heat had scorched the side of the school building, forcing those inside to simmer under the fmes of someone else's war.

  The halls that once bustled to the brim with life and love y dormant as students scurried like frightened mice into their hiding holes.

  I quivered, approaching the source of our anguish—sealing my fate to protect life not yet bloomed.

  ***

  Doors ajar, I witnessed two of my students—whether out of bravery, love, or sheer foolishness—as they stood before bzing death.

  Yet I yielded, albeit reluctantly, my respect for her mother, who would, in time, control the rules that governed this nd.

  I bowed before Christine Tsukikage, the daughter of the Iron Fan Court, and her gijan paramour, who was but a boy of fifteen, as they stood before the Crimson Veil.

  I then hurried toward the source of so many tears. I bowed without recovery, for the end was upon me.

  “Ms. Aizawa, my name is Tiffany Nakamura, Ma’am. We spoke over the phone—”

  The blow had come quickly without hesitation or mercy—my cheek afme—the other cheek pressed against the cement floor.

  Through a swollen cheek, I glimpsed the sky before it was muddied by so many feet.

  Fear became my only company—Dad—I did as you told me, but you were never the same after Mom passed.

  Mom…

  A screeching arm had sounded in my ear, calling death to examine my broken crown as the sound of shattering bones stoked the fmes of my crimson hair.

  A cold resolve washed away the pain as I sat up in bed, eyes wide awake, yet soaked.

  I screamed, touching my soaked clothes and grabbing my uninjured head.

  You must think it’s the weekend, Tiff. Well, it ain’t!” My Mom’s voice bellowed out… but she’s dead… am I dreaming?

  My eyes widened with bewilderment as I turned my head slowly.

  “Mom?”

  She was alive, standing in the doorway, holding an empty bucket, but was this a dream—is this real?

  “Who else is going to wake you up, your arm?”

  I touched toes to the old wooden floor—it wailed under my weight.

  She stood there with baggy blue sweatpants and a rge white sweater. Her red hair was offset by her brown eyes.

  How was this possible, Mom? You left us while I was earning my teaching credential.

  I advanced to embrace her with tears and hope, but… my face was embraced by the bottom of the empty bucket.

  Pain rattled my core, causing me to freeze, creating more questions than I had answers to.

  “Yeah, right, kid. You’re not hugging me—soaked—go change!”

  The pain in my face mirrored Jade’s blow, but warm tears and cold, yet inviting water felt too real to be a dream.

  ***

  “Tiffany, what happened to your face, and why is your hair wet, hon? It’s not a shampoo day?” Dad said with concerned eyes.

  I looked down at my miso soup, egg, and pin rice before noticing that my parents weren’t eating; they were only drinking tea.

  I sighed. Would telling him matter—if this is a dream, shouldn’t he know?

  “Dad, Mom spshed me with water and spped me with an empty bucket.”

  Mom choked on her tea, from ughter, or guilt, perhaps both.

  “Tell it how it was, Tiff!” she said, hoping I would cover for her transgression.

  She gnced over, catching Dad’s deadly side eye.

  She braced herself for what was to come.

  “You—monster!”

  He removed his sandal, wielding it like an ancient warrior, delivering a pyful blow the way old lovers teased each other. His strike was deliberate, yet homely.

  My youth, reflected in the cold, green tea, was haunting, distorting reality and my understanding of the world.

  I gripped the cup of green tea, causing ripples, wishing this were all true, but I knew better than to believe in childish notions.

  “This isn’t right,” I said, trying to shatter the illusion.

  “Oh, I’m not hurting her.”

  “That’s not—what I meant.” My eyes met my mother’s, distorted by the green tea’s steam.

  The burned school. The strike from Jade. The pain… why do I feel joy when I should feel pain?

  I smmed my hands on the table, rising from my seat, and addressed them both.

  “You’re both dead—I buried both of you—I mourned for days!”

  The weight of my words drew emotions long forgotten.

  “What's your damn problem! Your dad and I are right here—stop talking nonsense.”

  I balled my fist, clutching unresolved rage, fighting back tears and fear.

  “You—liar!”

  Mom rose from her chair, matching my fury with her own.

  “What the hell did you call me?”

  The wooden table creaked in protest, but for whom?

  “You sent me to college to become a teacher—it was all the money we had.”

  “Hon, you're still in high school,” Dad said, clutching his chest. Dad’s words affirmed my questionable reflection.

  “I mean, when I graduated. You btantly ignore your tuberculosis, allowing it to exacerbate, leading to your death.”

  The river of tears became more than I could handle as sorrow cleansed my conscience.

  My mother looked into my father's eyes, searching for something, an answer?

  “I—I didn’t tell her—I swear,” Dad said, shaking his head.

  Her eyes reflected the warm trust between them.

  “How did you find out?”

  My anger boiled over, spilling into my tea.

  “I—I was told by the doctor when you were in the hospital. You passed and left Dad—”

  “Don’t say such terrible things! Mom said, shaking the table before turning to my sobbing Dad. Look at what you’ve done. Do you like making your father cry?”

  My father buried his face in Mom’s sweater. She was his rock. He didn’t make it long after she passed, shattering under the weight of a world without her.

  “I don’t know what’s real anymore. Please let me expin.”

  ***

  I pressed my hands together, praying my expnation was enough to convince them I wasn’t loony.

  “Okay—did you guys get everything? I asked, pressing my hands together, praying it was enough. Do I need to expin or go over it—Mom?”

  She stroked her chin with closed eyes.

  I prayed her mind was open to my story.

  “I’m thinking—so—you become a Japanese history teacher, and your high school bully makes you watch over her brat?”

  “That’s one aspect of it all, and it’s Kokiri history, Mom—Dad?”

  Dad’s eyes swept over me sweetly from across the table, examining my contours as he does when I’m sick or sad.

  “I’ll make you an appointment to see a doctor, hon, don’t worry.”

  “Dad!”

  I grumbled and gave way to a solemn sigh.

  “Although I don’t bme you.”

  Mom vigorously pounded the table with an open hand.

  “I believe you, Tiff!”

  “You do—Mom?”

  She turned away from Dad, shielding her face and protecting her smug little grin. She was about to stoke his wrath.

  “Pft, you’ve expertly listed all seven of my secret stashes, my hideaway from your dad, and you told me what was in my secret lockbox. By the way, thanks for not giving away the location.”

  Dad scowled.

  “You want to be hit again?”

  Stocked and affirmed. Great job, Mom.

  I sighed in disbelief.

  “Are you telling me all I needed was that stupid lockbox location to win you, Mom?”

  “Hey, it took me years to come up with a location your dad couldn’t sniff out.”

  He struck her across the back, causing no true pain, but earning her dramatic reaction.

  She fell from her chair and screamed.

  “Ouch!”

  Dream or not, I clung to this joy as it might vanish again.

  “I’m not all in, but I believe one part of your story.”

  Dad’s eyes stared at me as I had egregiously wronged him.

  “What’s that, Dad?”

  “You didn’t give me any grandchildren. You selfish brat.”

  “Seriously, Dad!” I happily groaned, missing his warmth.

  “Go to school before I give you what I gave her!”

  Mom pretended to recover.

  I scowled, and for the first time, I found it appealing.

  “Fine!”

  “And don’t come back until you have a boyfriend!”

  “Okay, Dad.” I sighed, knowing it wouldn’t happen.

  ***

  The sun’s blinding rays and delicately warm kiss betrayed my grim future, or was it my future still?

  Students, though I’m amongst them now, ughed and joked as we trudged to css.

  I held hands with uncertainty, yet I’ve decided to reach for this shaky reality even if it outpaces me.

  I smiled, returning the sun’s warmth with my own, kissing hope while aiming for a brighter future.

  Sharp voice: “Your smile… is somewhat reassuring. I’m gd to see you are acclimating to simir yet different surroundings.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, confused.

  I turned to my right and noticed a girl following me closely. Her hair was bright orange—she was shorter by at least two centimeters. I… didn’t know her, not to mention I didn’t know everyone who went to Crimson High.

  “Your smile… is—”

  “No—I heard that, but why would you say that? And don’t walk so close to me.”

  Her expression was dull…empty even, like Joy had forgotten her invitation—her gaze sat upon me, and then she attempted to pce her hand on my forehead, earning my retreat.

  “What are you doing!?” I said, while stepping away.

  She didn’t speak, she kept pace, and examined her hand.

  “What’s wrong with transferring information through physical contact?

  I gged, trying to process what she just said. People don’t transfer information that way.

  “I—that didn’t make sense. Look, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t think it proper for girls to touch one another randomly.”

  “Why?” The confusion she wore was genuine.

  “I—I guess it’s so the boys don’t assume where… You know.”

  “I do not.”

  I sighed and pced my hand to my forehead. It’s odd for girls to touch each other, but even more so for one not to understand the social implications.

  “Okay, I don’t even know who you are, so—”

  “I am Jenie, and you are Nakamura. Now, we are acquainted.”

  I stopped, and Jenie stopped in kind.

  I blinked, waiting for a horrid punchline, but nothing came of it.

  I winced as if struck, and we continued walking.

  The silence was tangible enough to scoop into both hands.

  “Jenie,” I hesitated, thinking of how I wanted to frame my statement. “Are you new to Crimson High School?”

  We stopped at a crossing sign and waited for clearance to walk.

  “Though I’ve observed, this is my first time being forcefully converted into a human shell. In many ways, this is my first time attending school.” Her face was void of all emotion.

  Just when I started to accept the possibility of another go, I encountered the one student who stoked my self-doubt.

  “My apologies—it is not my intention to cause doubt. Rest easy, Nakamura, for this reality is solidified within the cosmic fabric.”

  “W—what!?”

  I gradually turned and quickly noticed that Jenie was holding my hand. I pulled away from her; I told her—

  “Wait—I didn’t say that aloud. Did…you just read my mind?”

  Her cold eyes gave no sign of mischief; however, perhaps it was a lucky guess, or perhaps she heard it from other students.

  “Yes,” she said; no grinning, smirking, or ughter.

  I heard birds chirping in the distance as the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, and somewhere in me, a series of sharp-sounding cracks could be heard against a gss pane.

  “That’s daff; people can’t read minds,” I said, tenaciously holding on to my sanity. “You’re too old to think this way.”

  The crossing sign changed in more than one way—we crossed.

  “I see—a test is in order.”

  I gritted my teeth in disapproval while giving in to specution.

  “Reading your mind should prove two major junctures—”

  “What do you mean by that, and why do you sound like one of my professors—I mean, you sound old.”

  We stared at each other for a moment as we read each other's faces.

  “I see—I’m… sorry if I’ve… upset you, okay?”

  As she begrudgingly found each word, her face warped and changed, like she didn’t know which one to wear, giving her an alien aesthetic.

  “I suppose. So, what will reading me prove?”

  She held her chin, perhaps trying to find the wording.

  “First, reading your mind will prove this world is real.”

  I brushed my hair back as I contempted a healthy retort.

  “Second, it proves that I am not… Loony.”

  A soft grimace was all I could muster.

  “Okay, Jenie, but don’t be weirder than you already are now.” Students were all about, “no inappropriate stuff.”

  “For this to work… think of… something… other may not know.”

  Jenie must be one of Crimson High’s special variety of students, so I mustn’t upset her.

  “Okay, Jenie, we can py your little game, but after that, we must hurry to css.

  She stepped close and put her hand to my forehead, gently brushing my hair aside. Any closer and we might come off as something unspeakable.

  Passing boy one: “Oh my goodness, did you see her touching the other girl?”

  Passing boy two: “It was so lovingly—maybe they’re a thing.”

  Warmth kissed my cheeks.

  Great! Now, they are going to spread rumors.

  “I doubt their stories will be validated.” I covered my face with my hands, wishing to undo what had transpired.

  Her face was as dull and unaffected as before.

  “That’s easy for you to say, and that doesn’t count. Anyone could infer my reaction to a group of chattering boys after an odd touch. Try now.”

  She sounds worse than before. Focus—Mom’s buried her lockbox next to the water pipes leading into the house—retrieving it was an evasive task requiring the aid of an expert plumber.

  “Strange and potentially dangerous, if the pipes' integrity ever erodes, it would damage the legal documents inside.”

  The air between us was stale as Jenie’s eyes invaded mine. She stepped closer, too close for comfort.

  Her ft palm against my head became an invasion of fingers examining my skull, searching for something profound.

  Spping her hand away, I found curious eyes, the first expression she’s made: pain.

  “Your actions have left an unrequited impression on my person. What was the exigency of your action?”

  I gnashed down. Was I upset that she guessed right—she knew the contents of Mom’s lockbox—the group of guys who questioned my sexual orientation, or the thing she did with her fingers?

  “S-stay away from me!”

  She focused on her hand—it was pink, like it would bruise from my blow. She touched the pink spot and winced. Her eyes started to water, as I began drowning in regret.

  “Are you… okay?

  Pain spread throughout her face, turning her cherry red.

  “Jenie, I’m sorry—I was startled.”

  Tears ced with confusion streamed down rosy cheeks.

  “What… is this terrible… sensation?

  “Calm down, Jenie; I didn’t mean to hurt you, okay?”

  The students had passed us—the bell was sure to sound soon.

  “I’m… hurt… hurt… hurt—”

  “I said I’m sorry, so stop crying.”

  The bell rang in the distance, ciming our attention. I lightly touched Jenie’s shoulder, ushering her to css, and she didn’t resist.

  Her soft whimpers echoed my inner turmoil, confirming my fear: this world, now void of warmth, may be real.

  KnoxCross116