Chapter 10
10
Haruki - 18 years old
B ryce hasn’t said a word. Neither have I. I don’t think either of us wants to have this conversation in front of the taxi driver. Are we really boyfriend and girlfriend? Did something get lost in translation? Did I miss something? Did he just say that to piss off Ms. Lee?
I have no clue what we are. I’ve never done this before—a no-strings-attached type of arrangement—although something tells me that Bryce and I are tied with nothing but strings. We’ve been spending every single second together since the day we met. Maybe we are a couple. I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes, hoping to get some rest before we arrive at the airport, but my mind starts to wander off.
Somehow the sound of it feels right: Bryce’s girlfriend . It sounds like I belong to him. I’ve never belonged to anybody. Not since my mom died. I’m too disappointing for my father to proudly claim me as a daughter, too annoying for my brother to let me hang out with him and his friends, and too weird for my school friends to ever really relate to. But Bryce doesn’t care about all of those things. He likes that my hair is partly green, he finds my Doraemon tattoo cute, he supports me wanting to take photography seriously, and most importantly, he cares about what I have to say.
A deep ache develops in my chest. It’s going to hurt once the time comes and I have to leave him. Although I wish I could stay with him forever, Bryce is going to start university soon and I have to go back to Japan at some point. The more time I spend here, the louder my conscience is nagging at me. I have to face the consequences of what I’ve done. I can’t run away forever.
I open my eyes the moment the taxi comes to a stop and the sound of Bryce’s voice fills the vehicle. “Haruki, we’re here,” he says as he gently touches my forearm. “And I hate to say this, but we kind of have to hurry.”
The second Bryce is done paying our driver, we both sprint as fast as we can to the check-in counter. The number of people standing in line like a snake is enough to give me anxiety. We’re going to miss our flight.
“What are you doing?” I call out to Bryce when he continues walking. “If we don’t stand in line now we’ll never make it.”
Bryce looks back at me and gives me a sly smile. “Oh, we are standing in line. Just not that one.” That’s when I realize where he’s going. He’s heading to the much less crowded counter with the words CHECK-IN FOR BUSINESS CLASS PASSENGERS shown on the screen on top of it.
I run-walk toward him. “Bryce,” I say, still catching my breath from trying to match his footsteps. He slows down his pace. “Did you get us business class tickets?”
“It’s a twelve-hour flight.”
A panicked laughter escapes my body. “Bryce…I can’t afford this. I can’t afford to pay you back! I don’t have the money.” I should have known better than to let him arrange everything. With how big his house is and how sleek and fancy his car looks, Bryce Randall Simmons has probably never flown in economy before. He is the type of person who can pay for a round-trip flight with his pocket money.
“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “I got this.”
There is only one other person in front of us, a man in a suit swiping through a document on his iPad. Once he goes over the line on the floor, I answer Bryce. “I can’t let you pay for this. This is a lot.”
He looks at me like he’s about to say something, but then the man from before walks away and the ground staff calls out to us, motioning with her hand for us to move forward. Bryce puts my big backpack on the belt first, as if he is making sure I’ll get on the flight.
“You can and you will,” he says. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? You’re my girlfriend. This is what boyfriends do for their girlfriends.”
I glare at him. “What? Fly them in business class after knowing them for two months? You told me you got a good deal on the tickets, Bryce.”
“I did.” He shrugs. Something tells me his definition of a good deal differs from mine. “Besides, why are you so upset? I’m literally saving you from having to break your neck sleeping in coach. And have you seen how long my legs are?” In any other situation, the smug smile he’s sporting would melt me into a puddle. Not today. Now it just makes me want to throttle him.
The lady checking our documents and booking details is glancing at us, but makes the wise decision to ignore the debate we’re having. Once I’m sure she’s not eavesdropping anymore, I answer him in a hushed tone. “It makes it seem like I’m using you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to be the girl that’s using some rich white dude for his money.” I fidget in my position uncomfortably.
Bryce flashes a smile, and I don’t miss the ground staff not being able to take her eyes off of him the moment he does. “It’s honestly nothing. I do things like this all the time.” And there it is. We might be similar—both lonely and aching for a mother we can’t have—but that’s where the similarities end.
This boy and I are worlds apart. He’s loaded and I’m broke. He gets invited to bonfire parties and I don’t have any friends—I’m the odd one out. He is charming and I’m weird. People respect Bryce Simmons. No matter how much his story and mine are alike, I bet people didn’t whisper nasty things about him when his mom was sick. I know for sure nobody talked about his ethnicity behind his back.
Why is her mom bald? What color do you think her hair was before she got sick?
“Hey,” he says in a tone much softer than the playful one he used before. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He touches my cheeks and I finally feel the wetness on them.
I quickly wipe the tears away and grab our tickets from the counter. “Come, we’re going to miss our flight, otherwise. It’s too late to cancel now.”