She winced. "That's nasty."
Mikazuki Terumi had a sudden epiphany when a pigeon did a kamikaze dive into the head of a speeding train. The bloodied grey mass of feathers bounced off the metal and landed an uncomfortable distance near her shiny school loafers.
Apparently, no one saw the spectacle-no, the Tragedy happen except for her. And she couldn't un-see what she just saw, nor erase the blasted thing from her memory like she could do with movie clips on a computer.
She grimaced at the sight. Gross.
Cautiously stepping over the once…lively creature, she alighted the (murderous) train quickly, as the screams and gasps of the poor people (her fellow school mates, judging by their sad grey uniforms) behind her took notice of the grotesque tragedy lying on the platform.
So that was how birds died. She'd always wondered.
One: I need counselling
Terumi had many opinions on many things around her and the mysteries of the world. She was concerned with a number of them; actually (like how she rocked the homeless look in the mornings), the number one thing occupying her mind currently was the perpetual mass of grey blazers, grey pants and grey skirts. It was everywhere, and she could imagine that if sadness were royally presented with a certain colour it would be that disgusting shade of—
Whoops getting off track there.
(still can't understand how some people look good in the rags, but apparently being outrageously attractive helps)
She saw her reflection through some glass windows as she passed by. And she did not like what she saw.
Her skirt wasn't buttoned up.
Like, the button didn't go through the little hole it was meant to go through and it hung there on the fabric, a little bit lonely.
Mr Button was never meant to be lonely. She needed to find him a quick fix to this dysfunctional marriage…
Need to do it up. NOW.
…so where was the call girl when she needed her?
Terumi slapped herself back to reality-an awkward jerking of her arm-she really needed to tame her wild imagination, which surfaced at the most inappropriate of times.
I still need to save whatever's left of my dignity because I'm wearing hot pink undies today.
Bad choice, you stupid girl! Ah, the voice of reason. Welcome back after a sudden disappearance.
But-but they're my favourite pink panties. The voice of idiocy. Now, when you start arguing with yourself, you've reached the point of no return no matter what the psychologist says.
Pausing in front of her classroom door, she reached behind her where that lonely button sat—
The door slid open. She stopped breathing.
Wide green eyes met the powerful stare of The Teacher.
"Mikazuki," he frowned. He frowned upon her tiny existence. That evil man.
"I'm…terribly sorry, Takeuchi-sensei," she said, with as much sincerity as a stick. A very surprised stick. Her hand hovered over the lonely button, unsure of whether to move it to a less compromising position or to use her non-existent flexibility and somehow join it up…stick it in the hole.
You could stick lots of things in a hole.
If she could, Terumi would have hit herself.
The teacher (a chubby man who needed a shave) gave her that stare. That cold stare that her mum always gave her when she was caught raiding the fridge and the cupboards before dinner, or when she said something socially inappropriate in public therefore making her and her family a public embarrassment.
It was a common occurrence, being a disappointment.
"Mikazuki. It's halfway through second period. You've been late three times this week, and I know that, even though I'm not your homeroom teacher," he drawled.
Yeah, THAT stare made her uncomfortable. Just a little bit.
He continued. "You are a repeat offender."
No. NO. He was NOT going to continue and give her a detention, according to his normal speech pattern. She saw it happen to other unfortunates, but it will not happen to her.
Detention equalled a call to her mother. Death awaited those that defied that beast.
Terumi blurted out the first reason that came to her mind. "It was an act of God."
"Yeah. Destiny. Tragic thing at the train station." Time to roll with it.
The ball stopped rolling, but with a vicious mental kick she forced it to keep going again.
Her right hand joined her left hand behind her back like two best friends. The right best friend took the skin on the left best friend and bitch pinched her for kicks.
There was moisture coming into her eyes! Thank god for pain receptors!
A sniffle, and voila, tears threatened to spill. The waterworks trick always worked on male teachers (so did the awkward 'I have my period' trick), and she would milk the situation for all it was worth.
"…And, it was so sudden this morning…I was just-just standing there at the platform when suddenly splat and blood everywhere and the train shot by," she scrunched up her face, fear in every movement as if recalling a nightmare. "Living after that was so hard."
To her amazement, the teacher bought it. Kind of. Maybe.
"…Learning Japanese history helps me cope," she added for more effect. This teacher was a Japanese history teacher, so saying she liked the subject might help.
"Really." He stared down at her.
"Talking about it makes me stressed, Sensei."
The large man crossed his arms, not ruffled by her (fake) tears at all. He moved his gaze to something behind her.
"Kise, you've come back right in time. I need you to do something."
Terumi nearly died.
Kise Ryouta was standing behind her. Behind her, where she was desperately trying to cover up her wardrobe malfunction.
(hot pink undies)
She gulped. He wouldn't notice, right?
"What is it, Coach?" Kaijou's most popular boy responded.
"Escort Mikazuki to the school counsellor. Go and come back," droned Takeuchi Genta, Coach of Kaijou's well-known basketball team and Japanese History teacher.
Her feeble heart soared. Freedom! After ditching the super good-looking specimen of man standing behind her, she could have freedom!
Not that she wanted to ditch Kise Ryouta (oh hell no) but Terumi had priorities that, sadly, superseded her need to bask in the presence of beauty.
Like sleep. And freedom. And the half eaten tuna sandwich in her bag that was meant for lunch but was begging to be eaten with that-insert suggestive tone- dishevelled appearance.
"E-excuse me, Sensei," she dramatically sniffed, as if torn at the thought of missing out on school. She walked backwards, carefully avoiding brushing against the male equivalent to a blonde bombshell.
She stopped her self from fleeing too fast.
What Takeuchi-sensei called out as she left sent foreboding shivers down her spine.
"I heard community service also helps with your problem!"
So he hadn't bought it, after all.
"Mikazuki-san? We're supposed to turn left just then for the school counsellor," the ever benevolent boy said.
Terumi looked at the floor darkly.
Ryouta grinned. She sensed that he sensed that she knew he knew what the real problem was and that he wasn't arriving to the point directly on purpose.
He held up Mr Button, who had fallen onto the floor.
"…Need a safety pin?"
That's it. That. Was. The. LAST. STRAW.
She couldn't show her face around Kise Ryouta again. Not that he'd remember her face, oh no that wasn't what he would see whenever they would cross paths in the future, he would definitely recall her jerky waddle and hot pink underwear.
Definitely making sure that they would never cross paths again.
Oh yes, she was that insane girl who cried (fake, but he wouldn't know the truth) and whose skirt was falling off and needed psychological help. Great first impression.
Drats, she ruined whatever meagre chances she had with him. Actually, she had ruined her image in front of her classmates. Now they'll think she was insane, traumatised cry baby.
Whoops. I promised Mum that I would be a good girl in high school.
"Whatever," she mumbled. If I had to categorise myself in a survey and the options were between 'Naughty' or 'Nice', I'd be naughty.
That kind of survey would be terribly indecent.
She rolled over onto her belly, avoiding sunlight and embracing the shade underneath the school's water tank. Lounging on the roof was a sure fire way to skip classes for the rest of the day.
Maybe I'll show my face after lunch, if I feel like it.
"Playing hooky for the rest of the day?" Someone had silently opened the door and hovered near her with an air of authority.
Terumi blinked away the brightness, trying to see past the shadowed face.
"Ah. Takeuchi-sensei. Good morning."
He folded his arms. "It's already the end of the day."
She stared blankly, not computing the information.
"School ended ten minutes ago—blahblahblah." Nothing else was heard as Terumi shook herself out of her sluggish processing.
Ten minutes ago?
She'd missed the whole day already? Who said 'time flies when you're having fun', that statement was totally incorrect…she'd been bored out of her mind. And then she closed her eyes because there was a nice breeze…
Comforting blackness. A long nap.
So she'd slept through the day.
"…and that's why you'll be cleaning out the clubroom this afternoon," Takeuchi-sensei sounded triumphant.
Her blank eyes widened in realisation, and she stood up in a hurry to protest his unfair decision.
It took two words to shut her up for good.
Terumi trudged behind the victorious basketball coach. When would this bad luck end?
"You're the coach of a sport's club, Sensei?"
Genta puffed out his chest proudly as he walked her back to the 'clubroom', where all important game recordings and materials were. Her job was to arrange the 'important' things in the room in the correct order, and get rid of all the dust.
"That's right. Our team is one of the best high school teams in Japan!"
"That's really cool." She was genuinely surprised that her school had such a good team.
"I know we'll do well again this year at Inter-High…that's the main basketball competition for this summer," Genta mused aloud, mostly to himself. He stopped in front of an obscure room to slide open the door.
Basketball. A bit of a disappointment.
"Basktetball? Eeeeeeeh?" she grumbled rather loudly.
She liked SOCCER better, and she liked it so much the word had to be in capitals. She loved the end of a soccer match, when team basked in victory and the other accepted defeat graciously and everyone was happy.
Her favourite part was when the players threw off their shirts and did half-naked happy laps around the arena field. Happy laps were happy laps because they made her happy.
However, if anyone cared enough to ask her why she liked soccer, she would say that the scoring a goal in the last seconds of the game was inspirational.
(Soccer players were an inspiration in itself)
"That's a sport for sissies," she said to the bunch of unfamiliar faces in the room. A group of students were watching a basketball game via a data projector.
Not anymore, obviously, because everyone was looking at her. Some were shocked, one looked annoyed, one (handsome) guy seemed like he was analysing her from head to toe and estimating her three sizes and another (handsome) guy looked way too familiar with that beautifully constructed face.
She could never forget Kise Ryouta's face. It was memorable.
"Um…Sensei. I thought the room I'm cleaning would be you know…empty," she backed away, ready to run for her life.
Genta gave her a wry look as he stepped into the nest of vipers that could potentially strike her down and kill her by insulting their sport.
"Welcome to the basketball clubroom. These boys here…are our sissy regulars."
What was left of Terumi's image disintegrated into dust and floated away.
Far, far away.
HI EVERYONE. So while my lovely readers await the complete revision and new chapters of Orange Days, I decided to put up a fun story. A humorous story with lots of dirty jokes, innuendos and embarrassing situations that will hopefully bring a smile to your face.