a spot of ink on it. What’d you use?”
“That’s the weird thing,” Diane said. “I went to get it from your room, and it was already clean. It’s like it all just aired out or something. Maybe it wasn’t ink.”
“Um, yeah, that’s totally weird.” I hoped I was convincing.
“Well, if it was a prank like they’re saying, I’m glad it wasn’t permanent. They would’ve ruined a lot of expensive kimonos and yukatas with real ink. If they ever find who did it, he’ll be in trouble.”
“Definitely,” I said. I grabbed the kimono from her and went into my room to hang it in my closet until I could take it back to Yuki. A gleam caught my eye from the tatami floor.
A disintegrating pile of shimmering dust where the yukata had been left to dry. Kami ink powder, no doubt, like the firefly dust I’d seen glinting around Tomohiro’s sketches. More evidence he was subconsciously behind the fireworks. Thank god he’d decided to stop drawing. Maybe things would finally take a turn for the better.
I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. When did all this ink stuff become my problem? Couldn’t I have found a normal boy who didn’t have these issues? But even more than that, Jun had reminded me of my own link to the Kami. It was the ink inside me that really bothered me. Why was it happening to me? How the heck did it get there?
I had to meet Jun again soon. I wanted to know exactly what role I played in this. In the meantime, there had to be a way to help myself.
I went to my desk and lifted the lid of my laptop. Searching for Kami just brought up the expected—Shinto gods, pictures of Amaterasu, a few mangas and animes. Apparently the internet didn’t think Kami could possibly be real. Ancient myths, old stories. The Kami had done such a good job of hiding their tracks.
My keitai chimed suddenly from my book bag. I reached over and rifled through the bag’s contents for it, flipping it open to a text from Tomohiro.
You okay? Didn’t see you after school.
He’d probably freak out if I told him I’d met up with Jun. Probably better to mention it later and not over texts.
Fine, just worried about the Ishikawa thing, I typed back. Wasn’t that kind of obvious?
Another chime, seconds later.
Thought so. Everything will be okay. You want me to swing by?
I wasn’t sure what Diane thought of Tomohiro, but considering the look she’d given him when he’d shown up at the door last time, she’d probably want a little warning before he dropped in. There were enough reasons why being together was a bad idea—I didn’t need Diane breathing down my neck, too.
Maybe next time, I wrote back. Just about to have dinner.
I like food. Invite me.
I rolled my eyes, sure he was joking.
Do you also like being grilled by family members?
I closed the phone and put it on the table beside me.
How did I affect the ink? There were other Kami around, but Tomo hadn’t lost control because of them. He’d never lost control like he had since I’d arrived in Japan. Well, maybe when the dog drawing had attacked his friend Koji, and also when the sword painting had sliced his wrist open—but both of those he’d sketched on the page. The demon face he’d created when Ishikawa had threatened him with the Yakuza, and the black wings that had unfurled on his back—he hadn’t drawn those. I’d made those happen, some kind of reaction between my ink and his.
Maybe it was emotional. Maybe he was just serious about me. I flushed a little at that one.
So if it wasn’t that—then what?
“Am I a Kami?” I whispered. I twirled my hair between my fingers—no, that had been pretty much ruled out. There’s no way my absentee dad could be Japanese, not with blond hair like this.
What other options were there?
My phone chimed again.
Meet you at Shizuoka Eki tomorrow, it said. And don’t skip kendo—you need all the practice you can get.
Baka, I wrote back. Stupid.
“Katie!” Diane called, and I tossed the phone onto my bed.
I had no clue how I could have ink in me. There was no choice—I had to depend on Jun.
I headed for the table and pulled out a chair as Diane scooped the nikujaga into my bowl.
“So?” she said. “Things back to normal again?”
“Yeah,” I said, spearing a potato with my fork. I had to think of school-related things to talk about so I’d stay away from the Kami problems. “Suzuki-sensei threatened me with international school. I’m not using enough kanji in my schoolwork.”
“You’ll be fine,” Diane said. “I wouldn’t have enrolled you at Suntaba if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
“I know.”
“Have you talked to that boy yet?”
I cringed. “What boy?”
“If you don’t know who I mean, why did you wince just now?”
My fork clanked against the side of the bowl. “There are just so many boys after me. It’s hard to keep track.”
“Katie,” she warned, but her face looked a shade paler under her plum lipstick. “You know who I mean. The punk I thought was Tanaka before when he showed up here with those ripped jeans and that smirk. What was his name? Yoshida? Yu-something... Oh, what was it?”
“Yuu Tomohiro.”
“Right, Yuu. He in your class?”
“Not exactly,” I said. She looked worried enough—no need to stress that he was a senior. “He’s in kendo, remember?”
“Oh yeah. I thought he looked violent.”
I moaned. “Diane.”
“Kidding, kidding. Well, bring him around sometime so I can get to know him.”
“You mean scrutinize him and pick him apart.”
“Exactly.”
I rolled my eyes.
“There’s something a little off about him,” she added.
“You mean his fully tattooed torso that links him to every gang-related crime in Shizuoka Prefecture?”
