Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [32]
Wataru had stopped, but his heart was beating wildly. He looked around, trying to catch his breath. What about Mihashi Shrine? There’s a bench and it’s nice and bright there. Plus it’s always empty.
Wataru crossed the street and walked through the faded red torii gate. The shrine itself was a small building, with red pillars supporting a green roof. New benches flanked either side. They were always empty…
Someone was sitting on the bench to the left.
It was Mitsuru Ashikawa.
He was reading a book. It looked thick and heavy. The spine had to be at least five inches thick. Wataru gawked at him. That perfect face. That perfect hair. Just like a mannequin.
Mitsuru looked up briefly and then resumed reading. Wataru was nothing to him, a passing sparrow, a dog, a dead leaf or piece of litter drifting in the wind.
Maybe he doesn’t remember me, Wataru thought, desperately trying to put a positive spin on the situation. That must be it.
“Uh…hi,” Wataru croaked. It came out so weakly he almost laughed.
Mitsuru didn’t even notice.
Wataru’s mouth had half-formed the greeting for a second time when Mitsuru finally glanced up. His eyes flickered over Wataru’s face for the briefest of moments before returning to his book again.
Warmth began to creep up Wataru’s cheeks. It was strange. Why was he embarrassed? Mitsuru was the one being rude. Wataru was just trying to be friendly.
“Uh…We’re in cram school together,” Wataru finally managed to sputter. I’m qualified to talk to you, really. Permission to speak freely, sir? Mitsuru raised his eyes. This time, they lingered on him. It reminded Wataru of their first encounter outside the classroom. He had noticed Mitsuru’s eyelashes then—long like a fashion model’s—and now those same eyelashes fluttered over him, inspecting him.
And then Mitsuru was reading his book again. A light breeze wafted down from the temple’s roof, gently tousling both boys’ hair.
“My name’s Wataru. Wataru Mitani. I’m a friend of Miyahara’s…and, uh…”
Mitsuru slammed his book shut with a sudden clap. The cover was cobalt blue. It looked quite old.
“So?” Mitsuru asked impatiently.
“I, uh, heard that you were really smart,” Wataru continued. “Miyahara told me. And then you did really well the other day in cram school, and…” Wataru lost track of what he was saying.
Mitsuru’s perfect face regarded Wataru emotionlessly.
“So what?”
It took an eternity for Wataru to realize that he was being asked a question. But he had no idea how to answer.
“I. Said. So. What?” Mitsuru repeated himself slowly, as if speaking to a child.
Suddenly Wataru felt his embarrassment lifting. So what, indeed! It was painfully obvious that Mitsuru had no interest in talking to Wataru, let alone making friends. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Wataru’s fault. Why is he so cold?
“Look, I’m in the middle of reading.” Mitsuru sighed, his fingers indicating the cover of his book. Wataru looked but couldn’t make out the title.
“Uh…okay,” Wataru managed, sounding even weaker than before. Mitsuru rolled his eyes and resumed reading.
Wataru could have turned and walked away. He could have gotten angry. He might even have been forgiven for throwing a handful of gravel at Mitsuru—he was too far away to actually hit him, anyway. The kid certainly deserved it. Wataru was only trying to start a conversation.
But instead, he just stood there, entranced by Mitsuru Ashikawa’s strange charisma. The odd combination of adoration and insecurity he felt wouldn’t let him write the other boy off as a simple jerk.
“I heard you took a picture of a ghost here,” Wataru blurted. Mitsuru’s face slowly swiveled up, his book lying open on his lap. His expression remained impassive, but Wataru cheered inwardly. That got his attention.
“You said people shouldn’t make a fuss about it,” Wataru went on. “I think so too.” Mitsuru’s eyes twitched—a sure sign of interest. Wataru