Chapter Five Ren
Chapter Five
Ren
I stagger from the unexpected impact.
I’m on my way back to our barrack after dropping off our dishes at the mess hall and taking the long way around.
This morning, when I got our breakfast, I saw some guys slithering through a hole in the fence with fishing rods cut from willows.
They’d been fishing till daybreak in the watery branches stemming from streams and lakes down through the mountains.
I thought I’d look at the fence on my way back, maybe go under it myself at midnight to breathe some free air.
But now I’m paying for my daydreams, because I’ve been nearly tackled by a tiny, flailing blur.
Pain shoots through my shoulder and I grip it tightly, grinding my teeth against the agony. Dots dance in front of my eyes. I try to blink them away. Behind the starbursts, a face lurks.
I know who it is.
It’s the girl I saw outside the bus the day we left the Santa Anita Racetrack.
The girl who came into our barrack with her mother when we first arrived.
My fox nudged me, like it wanted me to see her.
I recall the way she stared at me, like I’d personally wronged her.
What the hell had I ever done to her? There was one moment, right before she left with her mother, when her expression changed.
I thought I saw a flash of…I don’t know… something other than annoyance.
Something more like fascination.
“I’m sorry, are you all right?” she says. “I didn’t mean to run into you. I was just happy to see you.”
I blink again, trying to right my senses and hide how much my shoulder hurts.
A smile is on her lips. None of this makes sense.
We’ve never formally met or even spoken to each other.
Confusion makes me even more addled. I take a step back and she takes one forward like we’re doing an out-of-sync do-si-do.
Next thing I know, she’s slipped her arm through my good one, her fingers touching my bicep.
Her hand is as delicate as a leaf resting on water, so light it won’t sink.
My fox pendant comes alive, buzzes against my skin inside my shirt. It…seems to like her?
It’s almost alarming to see her so close. Just like at Santa Anita, she’s all motion, but this time it’s the nervous motion of a squirrel trying to escape up a park tree.
“I…” She glances over her shoulder. A figure approaches. An officer. He heads right toward us. “Sorry I’m late.”
The officer slows. He tilts his head to the side, staring hard at her before sliding his gaze to me.
I don’t want any more of the trouble that keeps finding me.
Especially when I’m trying to get Emi help.
But there’s also no way I’m abandoning this girl to him.
I find myself squaring off, my body falling naturally into an aggressive stance.
“Miss Aratani,” he says, taking us in. “I wanted to…” He hesitates. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes.” Her tone is cold and brisk. “You are.” Her hand slides down my arm. Her fingers interlace with my fingers, and suddenly her palm presses tightly into mine. While her touch on my arm was light, her grip is desperate. “Let’s go.”
I nearly break character and glance warily at her.
I’ve kissed girls amid the wreckage of Delilah’s back seat while Kai strolled around the block with his dates, but I’ve never done the whole romantic thing and held hands.
And now…I am? With this girl? The one who stood by the buses looking like the air itself, if it could be seen?
“Lead the way.” My voice sounds like I haven’t used it in a million years.
The officer’s smile disappears as he stares at our clasped hands.
The girl tugs. Yes, ma’am, I think, and I obediently follow.
The officer watches us until we round a corner.
We walk for another few feet. Come to a stop.
She releases me. My hand drops lifelessly to my side.
“Thank you,” she says in the crisp way you’d thank a bank teller for handing you your own money.
“Anytime,” I reply, because I don’t know what else to say. I hesitate. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am.” Her chin lifts and her eyes are bright, even as worry flickers behind them like a dying light bulb. She lets out a long sigh. “Or, as well as anyone can be here.”
“It isn’t exactly Buckingham Palace, is it?
” I ask. One corner of her mouth lifts in a slight smile.
It changes her face. Makes it more real somehow, like it’s her natural state.
A lump forms in my throat and I couldn’t tell you why.
She’s just so pretty. Not just in a physical way, though she’s certainly that, with everything shining, from her black hair to her green hair ribbon to her sparkling eyes.
But in an alert, alive sort of way. As though she’s been curious since the day she was born, if that makes sense.
I struggle to get a grip. I might not know exactly who she is, but I know who I am.
Most girls like her won’t get mixed up with guys like me.
Which is fine. It’s all fine. She just needed me to get away from the officer.
I shift, suddenly worried she can read my thoughts on my face.
But all she says is “Not quite. Though it does have guards, only ours don’t wear bearskin caps.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Buckingham Palace.” Her gaze runs over me as though she has all the time in the world.
I let her leisurely survey me, even as I tell myself that she’ll sniff the delinquency on me and run for the hills.
I’m used to not being an actual choice. Plenty of those girls I kissed in Delilah’s back seat only did so for the thrill or to piss off their fathers.
“Oh. Yeah.” I’m trying to be smooth, but she befuddles my mind and my tongue at the same time.
“What’s your name?” she suddenly asks.
“Ren.” I hesitate. “What’s yours?”
“I’m Violet.” She says the words with complete confidence, as though there’s never been a time when she didn’t know who she was.
She factors in my sling, and she holds out her left hand for a handshake.
It’s odd to take her hand again after it wrapped so tightly around mine before.
She shakes it, her touch somehow gentle and firm at once.
Her face suddenly falters as she notices something over my shoulder.
I follow her gaze to a bunch of kids and teens gathered around a woman outside one of the barracks.
A school, I realize.
It almost gives me a start. School hasn’t even crossed my mind once since the evacuation notices appeared. Who needs calculus when you’re too busy being stripped of all your rights? But Violet’s gaze lingers on the gathering, turning fretful.
“Are you okay?”
“That’s the second time.” Her eyes swiftly swivel back to me. I’m not prepared for the sudden return of her attention. My heart flutters in my chest like I’m a dumb smitten kid. My fox has calmed down a bit, but under her gaze, it buzzes again.
“The second time?” I’m lost again. At this rate, she won’t write me off for being a troublemaker—she’ll write me off for being an idiot who can’t follow a simple conversation.
“The second time you’ve asked if I’m okay.”
“You keeping track?” I mutter stiffly.
“Simply making observations. If anything, I should ask if you are okay.” Her hand flutters toward my hurt arm.
I almost wince but manage to suppress the reflexive urge.
The question brings back the sickening feeling of my shoulder popping out of its socket and the nauseating journey here, every bump in the road translating to stabs in my shoulder.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you too much when I ran into you. ”
“Naw,” I say immediately, shrugging with my good shoulder.
“What happened to your arm?” Damn, she’s persistent.
“Fell,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m…” I realize I’m about to say okay for the third time, proving that I struggle with words in addition to following conversations—and she’s been keeping a tally. I end with “fine” instead.
A doubtful expression crosses her face. Her gaze is so piercing that it almost makes me shivery in the sweltering heat.
“As am I.” Her smile returns, and this time there’s a mischievousness to it. “Considering my recent transgression.”
“Transgression?” I can’t help it. I’m intrigued.
“I’ll tell you”—the mischievousness in her smile spreads to her eyes—“but only if you promise not to think poorly of me.”
“I won’t.” I’ve never meant anything more in my life. Maybe we have more in common than I assumed. I can’t imagine what the transgression might be, but holy shit do I want to know.
“My mother thinks I’m at class right now.” The brightness in her eyes grows, turning them into twin flares. “I’ve never skipped school before. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever blatantly disobeyed my mother before, either.”
I can’t help it. My mouth twitches. I swallow down a laugh. Skipped school without her mother knowing? That’s it? Compared to me, she’d qualify for sainthood.
“What’s so funny?” Her indignant tone sobers me up real quick. I assume a serious expression.
“Nothing,” I say. “That’s…terrible.”
“It is!” she insists. Then she falters. Her head angles as she stares at me, parsing me out. “Isn’t it?”
For most in our community, skipping school would be a sign that you’re on a bad path. Trouble is, I went down that path long ago and never turned back.
“Yeah, it’s beyond reprehensible.” I can’t help it. I have to swallow down another snicker. “You might as well be running the yakuza.”
She laughs. I’ve never seen anyone laugh so easily and freely. In my family, there isn’t much to laugh about. If we do, it’s cynical.