The Charity Project

Disclaimer: I don’t own Escaflowne, so don’t sue me. Suckers.

Chapter One

Getting Too Emotional

(Hitomi)

January 7

7:06 p.m.

Dear Idiotic Notebook,

I was given this “diary” by my mother, obviously in the hopes that, by venting out all of my pent-up anger in a peaceful medium, I will become the Perfect Daughter, a being she has dreamt of since before she even got knocked up with me: A polite girl with model features and an abundance of golden curls, a mind like a steel trap, and breasts big enough to fill my mother’s tiny chest with maternal pride.

I hope she goes to Hell.

Oops, that was quite angry, wasn’t it? Let me know when I become too emotional in my entries – Lord knows I would never want to embarrass my future great-grandchildren with entries that speak of a girl who is – gasp! – less than perfect.

After owning this journal for two weeks without writing anything in it except “Diaries Should Burn”, I have decided that if I don’t write in it, it will be a horrible waste of paper (think of the trees, my dear, think of the trees!), and I will go insane from the nagging of my oh-so-eloquent conscience.

That, and I am monstrously bored. Which is absolutely despicable for a depressed lunatic like me.

I know I’m insane because my past psychiatrist (one Dr. Cowen) told me so. As I recall, that was right before he groped me. But let’s not go into that.

So, let’s talk about me. I’m sure an inanimate object like yourself is extremely interested in my personal life. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you’re a nosy git.

My God, I am talking to a notebook. Dr. Cowen would be so proud.

Anyway… Me. I’m…a girl. Really, how am I supposed to describe myself without stabbing themselves in the head?

Let’s start with the basics. Maybe it’ll get more comfortable that way.

My name is Hitomi Kanzaki. I have a stupid mother who’s stuck in the cheerleader world that was her high school, a father who’s too busy trying to stop his hairline from receding to pay any attention to his children, and a delinquent little brother who’s been kicked out of two schools. He is not yet twelve.

Oh, yeah. One big happy family, that’s us.

I’m sixteen years old, and in my eleventh year of high school. My birthday’s in December, so I am one of the youngest girls in my grade. Apparently, that also makes me the most naïve and “easy”. I was leered at a total of nine times today, and a few fingers came perilously close to my ass before I twisted them all backwards.

Me, violent? Oh, no, not at all! How can you suggest such a thing?

I am not exactly what you would call a “popular” girl. I am not well-liked. I do not have blonde hair. I do not have balloon-like boobs that I can thrust at people when I want something. I am not a model (by any means). Despite the fact that I get hit on approximately five times a day, it is not because I am attractive. In fact, I might be a little scary. I always wear black. I have no colour in my wardrobe whatsoever. Even my underwear is black. It is not a fashion statement. I am simply expressing my feelings about the world by dressing this way. That’s all. Plus, I figured guys would be intimidated by the wardrobe.

Not so. In fact, in my combat boots, I have been mistaken for a hooker about three times. Can I do nothing right?

I have been groped by strangers since I was about eleven years old. Do you have any idea what that does to a child’s mentality? No wonder I’m so fucked up.

In order to defend myself from overly-excitable men who “just can’t get any”, I enrolled myself in a self-defense class about four years ago. I am well on my way to becoming a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and I have been able to stop most perverted attacks with ease ever since.

I’m rather proud of that, actually.

I have no best friend. In fact, I have no friends at all. That is how disliked I am at school. No one will approach me, except for the occasional attempt to feel me up.

Why do I always get hit on? Good question. It’s certainly not because I’m beautiful, or even particularly attractive. Mother once told me that I exude a sexual tension, but I think that’s complete B.S. Personally, I think it’s because I was born under an unlucky star. I was cursed at birth. All evil men are drawn to me because they sense that curse, and that I’m susceptible to their, uh, evilness.

Bastards.

Anyway. My hobbies? I listen to music. Mostly bands, stuff kids at my school haven’t even heard of – The Knights Caeli, Zaibach, The Dragonslayers, etc. Writing in this journal is definitely my new hobby. And…I have a penpal.

I know, I know. I’m utterly ashamed of myself. What kind of anti-social loon am I, anyway? But it’s true.

It’s not like I meant to get a penpal or anything. It just…happened. We met on a message board for angsty poets, and we hit it off right away. Her name’s Yukari, and she’s not half as depressed as I am, but that’s okay, because I sorta get sick of my own moodiness sometimes. And she’s nice. She puts up with my grumblings with remarkable patience. It makes me wonder if she’s a fallen angel or something.

Still, she lives in Asturia, the evilly rich country of Gaea (I nearly had a fit when I discovered this), and so it’s a slim chance we’ll ever meet. That’s me – incapable of face-to-face human interaction.

Damn, this is depressing me (more than usual, I mean). I should’ve known that outlining my life on paper would just make me hate myself even more. Miss Hitomi Kanzaki, Idiot Supreme.

I think I’ll go read some Poe now.

(Van)

January 9

8:21 p.m.

It’s hard to believe I’m even writing in this. Allen gave me this stupid notebook as a joke for Christmas in the first place, in reference to his constant sissy jokes concerning me. He even had a note attached to it.

I hope this helps you release all those pent-up emotions. Maybe it’ll even help you stop fidgeting and gazing off into space so much.

Merry Christmas.

I’m trying to be mature about this. I’m trying not to litter my new journal with various profanities that I’ve heard Dad utter more than once. I really am.

Unfortunately, maturity doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.

I HOPE THAT FRIGGIN’ BASTARD BURNS.

Why am I friends with him? He has never been anything but an ass (even when we were toddlers, he used to hit me over the head with his bottle). So why do I put up with it?

Because I’m a sissy, that’s why. I hate to admit it, but I am. I would rather eat live beetles than play football with my hygienically-challenged peers. Not that I haven’t eaten a beetle before (it was a dare, all right? Sent me into agonies of pain for hours. Damn beetle. It certainly got its revenge, all right). As a kid, instead of playing with overly-expensive toy trucks, I used to sneak away and hide in the topmost branches of a tree in my backyard, and bury my nose in Charlotte’s Web. Damn spider always made me cry.

Ahem. Moving on…

When I received this “gift” from Allen, I smiled and thanked him like the great friend I am, instead of shoving this stupid journal down his smug throat, like I really wanted to do.

My self-restraint really amazes me sometimes.

I thought I did a great job of acting like I was pleased (I’m not in drama for nothing, y’know), but, as usual, Dilandau saw right through it. Now, Dilandau is actually a cool person, unlike Allen the girly-haired-git. He doesn’t even rub his coolness in your face, either – it’s just…there. You know?

I’m so inarticulate.

Anyway. Dilandau. He has his own problems, like an unhealthy obsession with fire, but he’s still a great guy. Unfortunately, because he’s such a great guy, he saw right through my charade, and talked to me about it as soon as Allen pranced off to break some giggly girls’ hearts.

“Don’t blow this out of proportion, dude,” he warned me in a low voice as we sat together in a corner of yet another of Allen’s favourite fast food joints.

“What are you talking about?” Have I mentioned that I can’t act innocent to save my life?

“You’re pissed off. I know how you get when you’re pissed off,” he said with an aggravating rise of his eyebrows. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like trying to get revenge on him by messing up one of his beloved projects.”

I got pretty offended when he said that. Allen’s always been the easily bored sort, and so he’s constantly making up “games” to amuse himself – and me, apparently. In third grade, it was a week-long ordeal of gathering up all the cats we could find to test whether they actually always land on their feet (we got caught before we could throw them off the little bridge near the elementary school). In sixth, it was a video project entitled “The Life of the Average Girl”, which involved us stalking one or two of the “hottest” girls in our grade, all of whom miraculously ended up as Allen’s girlfriends by the end of the month. There were other projects, of course, like the Graveyard Stakeout, but I’d rather not think about those (my left leg still aches when I do).

I’ve always gone along with his ridiculous projects, if only to spice up my life a little. I think I’ve been a priceless pal in that respect. So why would Dilandau assume that I would ever stoop so low as to ruin one of them?

…Okay, so I messed up Operation Seduce Millerna Aston in seventh grade. A little. But I had a good reason, I swear. What was the reason?

I was in love with her.

Okay, so it wasn’t love, per se. It was more like a crush. Still, when I found out that he was planning on seducing her “just for the hell of it”, I wasn’t going to just stand by and let him add her to his list of conquests. So, one day, when I knew he was off on his weekly Make-Out Session with Emily Bloom in the little copse of trees behind the school, I told Millerna I wanted to tell her something, and led her right to them.

Allen was furious, of course. But that was the only non-sissy moment of my life, and a huge grin always spreads across my face when I think of it.

I’d like to say that Millerna and I became passionate lovers after that, but the truth is, she wanted nothing more to do with me, if only because I was too close to Allen.

I have the worst luck with women. And it doesn’t help that I always fall for the weirdos.

Like Hitomi Kanzaki.

…I didn’t write that. Goodbye.

(Hitomi)

January 12

4:04 p.m.

Dear Inanimate Object,

Something rather amusing happened today, and I wanted to write about it, so here I am.

But before I do, I should probably set out the eleventh grade hierarchy (not that you care). Look, I even made a list! This is, like, so exciting!!!!!!!!!!!

Top Honchos of Grade Eleven

Allen Schezar. He’s blond, and is so confident in his pure sexiness that he goes so far as to allow his hair to be the same length as Rapunzel’s braid. He is also a playboy, and a complete jackass. However, he has the advantage of having friends who actually seem pretty intelligent – Dilandau Albatou, Dryden Fassa, Van Fanel, etc. They’re like his advisors, or something. It’s actually pretty sad.

Millerna Aston. Blonde and Busty. Also, she’s a part-time model, and has appeared in a couple of small commercials. I wish I could say she’s a complete bitch, but she’s not. She’s charming and kind and smart, and to top it all off, she’s tough. She broke her ankle a couple of years ago in gym class, but she didn’t cry or anything. Van Fanel and Dryden Fassa helped take her to the nurse’s office (gym was co-ed in junior high), and she went so far as to thank them for their help. Her politeness amazed me (and, apparently, it amazed Van, too – he sure looked shocked enough, anyway).

Dammit, she’s perfect.

I don’t like perfect people.

Get the picture? Since Allen is lusted after by basically the entire female population of Escaflowne High, he can’t possibly date them all - not that he isn’t trying. So what do those desperate young ladies do? Why, they offer themselves to his cronies, of course.

Most of the Advisors (as I like to call them) humour those girls and date them with a trace of irony in their smiles, but Van is the exception. In the entire time I’ve known him, or at least of him (since seventh grade), he hasn’t dated one girl. Not one. And Lord knows he has the pick of the litter, considering his connections.

He must be dysfunctional.

Or gay.

However, there’s one girl who is an especially ardent admirer, and who is so persistent that I think she just may actually like him. Her name’s Merle Strategos, and she’s asked Van out so many times that you’d think she’d stop simply because she’d get tired of it – but unfortunately for Van, she’s the strong-willed type.

So anyway, I always sit off in this quiet little corner on the school grounds, where nobody ever seems to go. I’m always hidden by this big spruce tree, so it’s a great hide-out. It’s pretty cold right now, due to the snow and all, but it’s better than being stuck inside with the idiots who are my schoolmates.

I was leaning against the school wall, as usual, listening to my Dragonslayers CD, when I thought I heard something strange, like a strangled cry, so I turned down the volume on my discman.

I will now record the conversation I overheard as closely as I can remember it.

Merle: I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!

Van: What am I supposed to say? That I want to go out with you? Do you want me to lie?

Merle: No, I want you to tell me the truth!

Van: I am telling the truth!

Merle: I don’t believe you! Everyone knows you’re afraid of getting hurt, Van!

(No kidding.)

Van: What?

Merle: Admit it already! You’re a commitment-phobic!

Van: I am not afraid of getting hurt! And I’m not a commitment-phobic, either!

Merle: Oh, really? Then why haven’t you dated anyone since Allen tried to seduce Millerna Aston in seventh grade?

Van: …I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Merle: See? You’re in complete and utter denial! I don’t even know why I like you!

Van: Neither do I, actually.

Merle: Shut up! Don’t put yourself down like that, it’s unbearably sexy!

Van: What?

Merle: Why do you have to be so damn attractive? I hate you!

She then proceeded to run off, leaving Van in obvious bewilderment. The idiot pondered the lunacy of their conversation for a while before walking off himself.

…I can’t stop laughing.

God, was it ever hard to hold back. I mean, I knew that Merle had the hots for Van, but I didn’t know she was so…so…

Loopy.

Why does she like Van Fanel, anyway? Okay, granted, he’s extremely attractive, in a geeky sort of way – think Adam Brody with straight, black, shorter hair…hair that flops adorably into his unbelievably intense maroon eyes. Tanned skin. Those silent kind of muscles that are especially sexy. Big hands with long fingers – they look as though they’re really strong.

Not that I’ve been paying any particular attention to him, mind you. His hands are of no interest to me, except in a strictly attracted-from-afar way.

Despite his unbearably good looks, he is an absolute lunatic. He’s always gazing off into space, so he tends to bump into things a lot. He fidgets constantly, too. I know this because he sits behind me in History, and he’s always jiggling my chair with his foot, even though I’ve told him numerous times to “Fuck off”. And although he’s not a jock or anything, he has been in a couple of school plays, so he does participate in school events, which is an Evil thing.

Wait a minute. Why am I writing so much about Van Fanel? It’s not like I (or anyone, for that matter) actually cares about his hobbies, anyway. Why waste precious ink on an idiot who hangs out with Allen friggin’ Schezar?

Argh.

I must be coming down with something. In fact, I feel a little feverish. I should check the symptoms online. I could be dying.

(I wish.)

(Van)

January 12

9:15 p.m.

I really do wish I had better luck with girls. I always seem to attract the ones I don’t want – like Merle Strategos, for instance.

Oh, sure, she’s cute enough. I guess. It’s just…she’s like a friggin’ stalker. She sort of…scares…me.

I AM A WUSS, ALL RIGHT? I ADMIT IT! I AM A GIRL AT HEART. HAPPY NOW?

Dammit.

I just hope nobody overheard her fifth confession to date.

9:18 p.m.: I just had a horrific thought. What if Hitomi had overheard?

I’d rather be castrated than suffer that kind of humiliation.

…Or maybe not.

Haha, I sure have an overactive imagination, don’t I? Hahahaha…

9:21 p.m.: WHO AM I KIDDING? With my luck, she probably did overhear. She’s probably laughing her ass off right now.

...Her fine ass.

Oh Christ Almighty. I am a bastard.

I think I’ll go take a cold shower. Just…because. No real reason. I’m just feeling a little…dirty.

DAMMIT.

9:50 p.m.: I am never taking a cold shower again. Ever.

I think my feet are turning blue.

I never really noticed this before, but my feet are really hairy. And big. And one of my toes is sort of crooked.

I have very ugly feet.

It must be why I can’t seem to attract any of the girls I want. They sense my ugly feet, and therefore decide that I am not worth dating.

Yes, that explains everything. That’s why Dolores Kim punched me in the second grade. That’s why Sally Michaels threw that chalkboard eraser at me in fourth. That’s why Millerna ignored me after Operation Reveal Allen To Be The Bastard That He Is. And that’s why Hitomi is constantly telling me to fuck off in History class.

It all makes sense now. I am doomed to bachelorhood because I have a hairy, crooked toe.

Then again, all of those girls are pretty…eccentric. I mean, Dolores was the class bully. I distinctly remember her to have had stringy black hair, a unibrow, and the biggest muscles I’ve ever seen on a second-grader.

She had a cute nose. And I remember being ecstatic the time she called me a “weasly, snot-faced moron”.

Sally, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of Dolores. As I recall, she was so tiny she could fit into the cupboard where the teacher kept the glue. Which might explain why she was constantly muttering to herself. Allen swears he saw her wring her teddy bear’s neck once. I refuse to believe that. She loved that ratty old bear. Took it around with her everywhere. I thought that was cute.

Millerna is the only semi-normal girl I’ve ever had a crush on. She’s beautiful, yes, but I never really noticed her until that time in ninth grade when she broke her ankle in gym class. I expected her to cry or scream or do something…but she didn’t. She was really pale, but she was so polite and chatty that it amazed me. Her courage is what got to me, I think. I admired her for it.

Plus, one of her ears is slightly bigger than the other.

Hitomi is my current unrequited love. I’ll never understand how I never noticed her until last June. Then again, she’s really quiet and anti-social, and as far as I know, has no friends. But she has a reputation for being tough, probably brought about by her clothing choices. I swear, she never wears anything but black. It’s sort of morbid.

Yet unnervingly sexy at the same time.

I am not taking another cold shower, dammit!

I’m not exactly sure what caused me to start liking Hitomi Kanzaki. All I remember is catching sight of her walking out of the school late last June, her shoulders sort of hunched over and her short hair falling across her face. But as she stepped into a patch of sunlight, she seemed to glow for a second – like she was one of those angels in that show Touched By An Angel. She was…beautiful.

10:25 p.m.: What am I, a poet? I’m such a sissy.

It’s true, though. In that moment, I honestly thought she had been sent down by God or something.

Sent down by God to tell me to fuck off a lot.

Oh Lord, she hates me. She hates me.

I blame my toe.

(Hitomi)

January 14

1:35 p.m.

Dearest Glued-Together-Sheets-of-Paper,

I’m skipping Bio. Hey, I’m a whore/rebel/loner, am I not? Besides, all we ever do in Bio is wave our arms around and talk about the absolute brilliance that is dissection.

Oh, the joys of education.

1:45 p.m.: I’ve just been reading through my old entries, and I realized that I sound like a cynical, sarcastic, depressed bitch.

In the words (or word) of Napoleon Dynamite: Yessss!

2:00 p.m.: The strangest thing just happened. Allen Schezar walked by, incredibly alone for once, and took one look at this notebook and laughed.

Is it really that amusing to see me with a notebook in my lap? Do I look like I’m illiterate or something? Is that why he laughed?

Bastard. Now I’m all confused. I wonder if I should run after him and sock him in the mouth? But then I would bruise his pretty little face, and then where would we be?

2:31 p.m.: I’m sitting in the counselor’s office. Our dear counselor, Ms. Woods, has told me to wait in this uncomfortable plastic chair while she “talks” to our dear, dear principal, Mr. Jackass.

I mean, Mr. Johnson.

I really didn’t do anything wrong, you know. I just had the bad luck of catching up to Allen in front of the office. I think I was completely justified in tackling him ‘round the middle and punching him in the nose. Besides, it felt great.

Then again, maybe I shouldn’t have yelled “You friggin’ bastard!” as I tackled him. It brought too much attention to us.

But man oh man, it was worth it just to see the shocked expression on his face as blood dribbled from his Grecian nose.

I can’t stop grinning. Maybe I –

3:35 p.m.: It was Ms. Woods. She took me into her office, sat me down, and offered me an orange sucker.

I declined, since suckers are absolutely disgusting. Especially orange ones.

Anyway, she then proceeded to tell me that violence was wrong, blah-diddy-dee, and after about half an hour of lecturing, finally looked me in the eye and asked me why I’d done it.

I answered immediately.

“Because he is a bastard, ma’am.”

I swear, I saw her roll her eyes.

“No other reason? You punched him because you dislike him?”

“I don’t dislike him,” I corrected her. “I despise him.”

“Why?”

What a stupid question.

I spent the next ten minutes listing all of his flaws – his arrogance, selfishness, stupidity – but she interrupted me in the middle of a rant about his hair.

“If you hate him so much, why didn’t you punch him sooner?”

I cocked my eyebrows. “Because he didn’t laugh at me before today.”

“Ah.” She got that aggravating little smirk on her face that all counselors seem susceptible to. “I see.”

“What?” I felt like punching her in the nose. Stupid counselor.

She leaned towards me. I willed my hand not to curl into a fist.

“Isn’t it obvious, Hitomi? You have a crush on him.”

4:10 p.m.: Didn’t I tell you that counselors are stupid?

I mean, a crush on Allen? Me? Hahahahahaha…

4:18 p.m.: Although I have to admit he is sort of hot.

4:19 p.m.: ARGH!!! WHAT AM I THINKING???!!!

This is all Ms. Woods’ fault. She’s poisoned my mind with her counselor-type lies.

At least I got off relatively easy. It’s only a one-day suspension. As if missing school is a punishment.

I just can’t let Mother know, that’s all.

4:33 p.m.: I am doomed.

As doomed as Allen. As soon as I get back to school, I’m giving him a black eye to match his new nose.

Mother will be so proud.

::cough::

Special thanks to Tommi Gurrl (the evil sister) for agreeing to be my beta-reader. This is obviously a huge sacrifice on her part. ::cue eyeroll::

Tommi Gurrl: PRAISE ME!!!!!!!!!

Um…::cough:: Ignore that, please. She is an imbecile. Ta-ta, and see you when I update, which will be…sometime…soon? Ja. ::scurries away::