The next day, when Aya arrived at school, Yuki was already at her seat, chatting with friends.
It was a seat by the corridor at the front of the classroom. Around her sat three girls and two boys, all of them conspicuously good-looking. It wasn’t the kind of close-knit class where a word like “class caste” really fit, but if you had to apply it, this would be the top tier — generally attractive, either academically excellent or active in club sports, and vocal enough to be heard.
Aya didn’t have much overlap with them, but after a full term together, she’d come to understand they were good-natured, harmless people.
“Ahh — ahh, I just remembered something awful! Midterms are coming up!”
One of them, Endo, a small, endlessly energetic girl who didn’t belong to any club, shouted this while leaning back against Yuki’s desk from behind. Loud as ever.
Aya shot her a half-lidded look as she headed to her own seat; Yuki, laughing wryly, was already dealing with it.
“Good a chance as any — why not actually study? Otherwise you’re going to have a rough time with university or a job, you know?”
“I’m fine, I’m gonna be a YouTuber! Live off being an influencer.”
“I think that path comes with its own share of hardship.”
“Stooop with the wise-adult lecture. Ahh, man, must be nice being top of the year. You don’t have to worry about your future at all. This time too, right, you’re gonna ace every subject?”
Yuki chopped the head leaning against her from in front and admonished her.
“Even I can’t get a perfect score in everything. Everyone messes something up. That’s why I study, and worry.”
At that, the boy in the seat beside Endo, who’d been fiddling with his phone, crossed his legs and glanced over.
“But Kayano, didn’t you get a perfect score in every subject last term? It was the talk of the staff room — first time since the school opened, apparently.”
The boy’s name was Shinozaki — tall and lean, glasses, handsome enough to have a fan following on the soccer team. As he said it, dredging it up from memory, Yuki made a sour face and brushed it off with “just a coincidence.”
But Shinozaki countered flatly, “if coincidence got you a perfect score, nobody would struggle,” and Yuki fell silent.
“Wasn’t it a family of doctors or something? Amazing. Must be nice.”
Endo murmured this with something between admiration and envy in her eyes, and Shinozaki folded his arms, closing his eyes.
“No use being jealous. There’s no getting around it — Kayano’s just built differently from the rest of us.”
“Yeah, I know, but still — must be nice, being able to casually top the rankings and get to look smug about it.”
Yuki listened to this talk of her as if she were some being from another plane, her expression complicated, saying nothing.
Watching all this from a distance, Aya reached her own seat by the window at the back of the room, set down her bag, and let out a sigh. She’d never paid it much mind before, but — it was true, that atmosphere of being expected to always perform well, and the pressure that came with it, could easily turn into a daily stress if you were constantly exposed to it.
Everyone’s carrying something, she thought, watching Yuki’s profile.
“Morning. Whatcha looking at?”
The girl in the seat in front of her, Takagi, turned around, phone still in hand. A friend since they’d moved up a grade together. Medium height, wavy bob. Plenty of piercing holes in her ears, though she apparently had the sense not to wear anything to school.
Aya quietly looked away from Yuki and murmured, as if nothing had happened.
“Morning. Just thinking midterms are coming up soon.”
“Ah, right. But it’s not like it matters to you, since you don’t study anyway.”
“Not dread, just an observation.”
“Awfully composed about it.”
“I actually pay attention in class. Fundamentally different build from you, Takagi.”
“Say that once you’ve actually got a real gap between our scores. It’s basically a rounding error.”
“If I actually had a real gap, saying that wouldn’t be a jab, it’d just be cruel.”
“Fair,” Takagi said, sounding impressed. Aya yawned and started getting her things out for first period.
Then the girl sitting one seat ahead of Takagi noticed Aya had arrived, cut off her own conversation with friends, and came hurrying over. Small, wearing a cardigan regardless of season.
“Morning, Aya! Look at me!”
Morishita said this in a sweet voice, spreading her arms wide in front of Aya to show herself off. Sociable, charming, harmless — one half of the class’s two resident “small animals,” so to speak.
Aya stopped what she was doing and eyed Morishita warily. Takagi, meanwhile, put a hand to her forehead as if exasperated and muttered something like “yeah, that’s not gonna work.” When Aya asked what was going on, Morishita answered.
“Today I’m different from how I was yesterday. What’s changed?”
Aya watched her wearily, faintly amused at the sheer effort of being Morishita. She glanced at Takagi, who shrugged and said, “I already got it wrong.”
“Figures,” Aya murmured.
She hadn’t exactly been in the habit of closely observing this particular person, and on the surface, nothing looked especially different. It felt like being asked to play a Saizeriya spot-the-difference puzzle.
Aya briefly considered guessing wrong on purpose and apologizing just to end it there, but that felt too cruel to Morishita, so she reluctantly propped her elbows on the desk and studied her properly. Head to toe — no visible alterations to the uniform, no change to the hairstyle. Maybe a small trim, she wondered, but she wasn’t confident enough to say so. Besides, that was exactly the kind of safe guess Takagi would have made — and Takagi had already gotten it wrong, so it probably wasn’t that.
After a moment studying Morishita’s beaming, expectant face, Aya let out an “ah” and went back to preparing for class.
“Your lip color. You changed it. Cute.”
Takagi’s eyes went wide enough to nearly pop out, and Morishita practically stamped her feet in excitement.
“No way!”
“See, see! Aya gets it! She actually pays attention!”
“You’re hopeless if you can’t even tell that much, Takagi.”
Having secured her win, Morishita gave a smug, drawn-out laugh like she’d claimed some great victory, and Takagi’s brow twitched with a muttered “ugh, annoying.” Morishita then touched her soft-looking lips happily and went back to her own seat; the two of them watched her go, then spoke again without quite looking at each other.
“You’re surprisingly observant about people, huh.”
“If Takagi says so, I guess it’s true. …Though normally, nobody would’ve noticed that.”
“Right? Glad I’m not dating her. She’d be exhausting as a girlfriend.”
“Most people would be. The closer you get to someone, the more of their flaws you start to see.”
“Resolution problem, huh.” “Yeah. Resolution problem.”
Aya set her math textbook, notebook, and pencil case on her desk and stuck her hands in her blazer pockets; Takagi followed suit, pulling out her own supplies from her bag. Then, as if remembering something, Takagi turned around.
“We’re going to karaoke today, you coming? You quit track, so you’re free, right? Morishita and Watanabe are coming too.”
At the mention of their names, Morishita and Watanabe — two seats up — noticed and peeked around Takagi to wave. Aya gave a small wave back, then made an awkward face.
“I mean, yeah, I’m basically free, but it’s because I’m free that I keep filling it up with shifts at the family shop.”
“Again? You’re always working. Are you secretly some struggling scholarship kid?”
“Money’s not an issue, it’s just, exactly like you said, I’m free. I quit the club too. Though I’m pretty much wide open late at night, and if you give me at least two days’ notice I can clear a weekday too.”
Takagi shrugged and turned back around.
“High schoolers are supposed to just decide same-day. That makes it hard to invite you.”
“Weekends you usually plan ahead anyway. Just ask me again, don’t give up. It’s lonely, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe, if I feel like it.”
Aya knew that Takagi’s “if I feel like it” usually meant “I’ll do my best,” so she said “thanks” and took out her phone, giving a small yawn.