> "They say the truth will set you free. That is a lie. The truth is a wrecking ball. It smashes through your wall, destroys your furniture, and leaves you standing in the rubble wearing nothing but your underwear. Sometimes, I prefer the lie. The lie is cozy. The lie doesn't have a boyfriend."
> — Maria's Notes, Entry #72
>
Part 1: The Convicts of Section C
Suspension, it turns out, is a bit of a letdown.
I expected handcuffs. I expected a prison montage. I expected to be exiled to a remote island where we would have to fight seagulls for survival.
Instead, we got "Community Service."
The Principal, a man who smells like hair tonic and stress, sat us down. He told us that "terrorizing the student body with bodily fluids" was a violation of the school code of conduct.
Grandma Yoda was there. She argued that we were "fostering resilience in the youth." She also threatened to sue the school for not having adequate bathroom breaks for Sato, implying the "incident" was a medical failure, not a prank.
The Principal was terrified of her. But the sentence stood.
Two weeks. Every day after school. We have to clean the School Library Archives.
The Archives.
It's the basement of the library. It's where books go to die. It smells like vanilla, dry rot, and the ghosts of encyclopedias from 1985. It is dusty, dark, and completely isolated.
In other words, it is the perfect romantic getaway.
Wait. Romantic?
I stop wiping the shelf. My hand freezes on the spine of a book titled The Economic Impact of Soybeans (1992).
Romantic.
Why did I think that word?
I shake my head. Dust motes dance around me—I can feel them tickling my nose. I am not romantic. I am Maria. I am the girl who made the Class Rep pee herself. I am a villain. Villains don't have crushes.
"Yo, Defect," Yu-ri calls out from the other end of the aisle. "You finding anything good? I found a book called Diseases of the Sheep. There are pictures. It's gross. I want to frame it."
I smile.
"NO. JUST SOYBEANS," I type on my tablet/speaker, which is hanging around my neck.
"Boring. Hey, catch."
I hear the whoosh of air. I instinctively throw my hand up.
Thwack.
A soft object hits me square in the forehead.
"Nice reflexes," Yu-ri laughs. "You catch with your face. It's a talent."
I feel the object. It's a feather duster.
"YOU ARE A CHILD."
"And you're a convict. Less typing, more dusting. If we finish this aisle, I'll let you ride on the library cart. I'll push you really fast and we can crash into the biography section."
I grip the feather duster. My chest feels tight. Not the panic-tightness. The good tightness. The rumba tightness.
I want to ride the cart. I want her to push me. I want to crash into the biographies.
Oh no.
It wasn't just the adrenaline from the haunted house.
I'm in trouble.
Part 2: The Ladders and The Logic
We spend an hour cleaning. It is rhythmic work. Wipe. Cough. Sneeze. Repeat.
Yu-ri is vibrating with energy. She hates silence. She narrates everything.
"Why are there so many books about geology? Who cares about rocks? 'Oh look, this rock is sedimentary.' Shut up, rock. You're boring."
She climbs the rolling ladder to get to the top shelf. I hear the squeak of the wheels.
"Hey, Maria. Come hold the ladder. It's wobbly. If I die, Grandma will resurrect me just to kill me again."
I walk over. I find the metal rungs of the ladder. I grip them.
"Steady," Yu-ri says from above. "I'm reaching for... The History of Concrete. Riveting stuff."
I am standing directly below her.
I can smell her.
Usually, the library smells like old paper. But right now, my world smells like strawberries, burnt tobacco, and sweat. It's Yu-ri's smell. It's sharp and aggressive and sweet.
I lean my forehead against the metal rung.
Analysis:
* I am holding a ladder for a delinquent girl.
* I am enjoying the smell of her sweat.
* I am plotting ways to extend this punishment for another month.
Conclusion:
I have feelings.
Real, sticky, inconvenient feelings.
I've never liked anyone before. I assumed I couldn't. Love in books is always visual. He saw her across the room. Their eyes met.
I can't see across the room. I can't meet eyes.
But I can hear the way Yu-ri's breathing changes when she lifts a heavy box. I can feel the heat of her arm when she stands next to me. I know she protected me from the Vice Principal. I know she made me fake blood.
She sees me. Not the blind girl. Just me.
"Okay, coming down," Yu-ri announces.
She hops down. She lands close to me. Too close.
The air displaces. Her jacket brushes against my arm.
"Thanks for the support," she says. She doesn't move away.
My heart is hammering against my ribs like a prisoner trying to escape. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Can she hear it? It sounds like a drum solo in an empty room.
"You okay?" Yu-ri asks. Her voice drops that little bit—the tone she uses when she thinks I'm freaking out. "You look flushed. Is it the dust? Do you have asthma? Don't die on me, paperwork is a bitch."
She puts a hand on my forehead.
Her palm is rough. Calloused. Warm.
My brain short-circuits.
System failure. Rebooting.
"I AM FINE," I type quickly. "IT IS HOT IN HERE."
"It is," she agrees, taking her hand away. The loss of warmth is instant and painful. "Let's take a break. I stole two sodas from the vending machine. Don't ask how."
Part 3: The Confession
We sit on the floor, leaning against the shelf of Geography (1980-1990).
The floor is hard. The soda is lukewarm grape. It tastes like cough syrup.
Yu-ri cracks hers open. Psst.
"So," she says, gulping it down. "Sato is back in school tomorrow. I heard she bought new shoes. Rumor has it she's telling everyone she slipped on water. Water. Yeah, right. Yellow water."
I take a sip of my soda. I need liquid courage.
I have to tell her.
Why? Because I'm Maria the Vulture now. Vultures don't wait. Vultures take what they want. And if I don't say it, this feeling is going to expand inside me until I explode and turn into a pile of glitter and angst.
I put the soda down. I pick up my tablet.
"YU-RI."
"Yeah?"
"I HAVE A QUESTION."
"Shoot. If it's about math, the answer is 'C'."
"NOT MATH. US."
"Us?" She shifts. I hear the fabric of her pants scrape the floor. "Like, us the 'Defect Squad'? We're solid. Unless you want to rename us. 'The Piss Reapers'? Too aggressive?"
She's deflecting. Or she's just thick.
I take a deep breath. My hands are shaking.
"NOT THE SQUAD. I MEAN... YOU AND ME."
I pause. How do you say this without sounding like a cheesy romance novel?
"I HAD FUN AT THE FESTIVAL. I HAVE FUN HERE. I NEVER HAVE FUN."
"Me neither," Yu-ri says softly. "School usually sucks. You make it... tolerable. entertaining, even."
"YU-RI."
"Yeah?"
I type it. The words stare back at me on the screen. Simple. Direct.
I THINK I LIKE YOU.
I hit the button.
The robotic voice fills the dusty aisle.
"I THINK I LIKE YOU."
Silence.
Absolute, heavy silence.
The hum of the air conditioner seems to stop. The dust stops floating.
I wait.
I wait for the shift in the air. I wait for her to grab my hand. I wait for the movie moment where she says, "I like you too, you idiot," and we kiss in the Archives while the ghost of the librarian watches.
I hear Yu-ri chuckle.
It's a short, sharp laugh.
"I like you too, dude," she says.
Dude.
My stomach drops.
"Seriously," she continues, leaning over and punching me lightly on the shoulder. A 'bro' punch. "I haven't had a friend like you since... well, ever. Most girls are dramatic. Or they're scared of me. You? You're hardcore. You're like the little sister I never wanted but am glad I got."
Little sister.
The words are like tiny daggers. Stab. Stab.
I sit there, frozen. She misunderstood. She thinks I mean "like" as in "let's braid each other's hair and commit arson together."
I have to be clearer. I have to be brave.
I delete the text. I type again.
"NO."
"No?"
"NOT LIKE A SISTER. NOT LIKE A BRO."
I turn my face toward her. I take off my dark glasses so she can see my eyes. I want her to see the seriousness.
"I LIKE YOU. ROMANTICALLY. I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND AND NOT LET GO. I WANT TO BITE YOU."
(Okay, the biting part just slipped out, but it feels accurate).
The robotic voice says it flatly. I want to bite you.
Silence again. This time, it's longer. It's awkward. It's the sound of a record scratching.
I can't see her face. Is she disgusted? Is she blushing? Is she running away?
"Oh," Yu-ri says.
Her voice is different. The playfulness is gone. It's quiet.
"Oh. Oh."
She shifts away from me slightly. Just an inch. But to a blind girl, an inch is a mile.
"Maria... look," she starts. She sounds uncomfortable. She sounds like she's trying to defuse a bomb.
"I... I'm flattered. Seriously. You're awesome. You're smart, you're funny, you're terrifying. If I was into girls, you'd be top of the list. Number one draft pick."
If.
The word hangs in the air like smoke.
"But... I don't swing that way," Yu-ri says. She tries to laugh, but it sounds forced. "I'm straight. Like, boringly straight. I like dudes. Ugly, smelly dudes."
I feel the blood draining from my face. I feel cold.
"OH," I type.
I want to crawl into a book. I want to become a bookmark and never speak again.
"It's not you!" she adds quickly, sensing my retreat. "It's me. It's my wiring. I see you as... you know. My best friend. My partner. The Robin to my Batman. The Watson to my Sherlock."
"IT IS OKAY," I type. My fingers feel numb. "I UNDERSTAND. I MISREAD THE DATA."
"Yeah," she breathes out. "Just a misread. No biggie. We're cool, right? This doesn't make it weird?"
It makes it incredibly weird, Yu-ri.
"WE ARE COOL."
"Good," she says. She sounds relieved. "Because I'd hate to lose you over something stupid like hormones. Hormones are trash."
She stands up and brushes the dust off her pants.
"Besides," she says, her voice returning to its usual casual swagger. "Even if I was into girls... I'm kinda taken."
I freeze.
Taken?
"TAKEN?"
"Yeah," she says nonchalantly. "I didn't mention it? I figured you knew. Everyone knows."
"I DON'T KNOW."
"Oh. Yeah. I have a boyfriend."
The world stops spinning.
"His name is Kaito," she continues, as if she's talking about the weather. "He goes to the Technical High School across town. He's a mechanic. Loves motorcycles. Kind of an idiot, but he's my idiot, you know?"
Kaito.
The name tastes like ash.
"We've been dating for like, six months," she says. "He's the one who gave me this leather jacket. I'll introduce you guys sometime! He'd love you. He thinks the 'haunted house piss incident' is the funniest thing he's ever heard."
I sit on the floor.
She has a boyfriend.
She is straight.
She sees me as a sister.
I feel like I've just been hit by a truck. But not a cool truck. A garbage truck.
"Maria?"
I realize I haven't moved.
I grab my cane. I stand up. My legs feel shaky, like they did when I first learned to walk.
"I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM," I type.
"Oh. Okay. Do you need help? The stairs are steep."
"NO."
The word comes out louder than I intended.
"I CAN FIND MY WAY IN THE DARK. I AM USED TO IT."
I turn around. I tap my cane. Clack. Clack.
I walk away from her. I walk away from the smell of strawberries and smoke.
"Hurry back!" Yu-ri calls out cheerfully. "We still have the fiction section to do! And I want to tell you about Kaito's motorcycle!"
I reach the heavy door of the Archives. I push it open.
I step into the hallway. It's brighter here, probably, but to me, it's all the same grey.
I lean against the wall. I slide down until I'm crouching.
I clutch the Muscular Pikachu on my cane.
Is Maria happy?
I touch my chest. It hurts. It physically hurts, like I swallowed a stone.
No.
Right now, Maria is not happy.
Maria is stupid.
And the worst part? I have to go back in there. I have to listen to her talk about Kaito. I have to be the "bro."
I take a deep breath. It shudders in my lungs.
Get up, Maria.
I stand up.
I'm the Vulture. Vultures eat dead things.
And I guess my first love is dead on arrival.
I turn back toward the door.
Time to go clean up the mess.
> End of Chapter 6