Ink by Amanda Sun

Author:Amanda Sun [Sun, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Speculative Fiction
ISBN: 9780373210718
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

I awoke to Tomohiro knocking on the door and racing back down the stairs. I rubbed my eyes at first, then jolted up when I saw the alarm. I dashed downstairs and found him in the kitchen, grinning at me. I paused and thought about my hair, my face and my unbrushed teeth. My cheeks went red.

“Ohayo,” he said, waving his hand up in the air, a fresh skin-colored bandage wound tightly around his wrist. He was already dressed for school and frying up sausages in a pan.

“You’re going to school with your wrist like that?” I said.

“I don’t really have a choice. It’s kind of suspicious if I don’t show up,” he said. “My school blazer will cover it.

Don’t worry.”

I was nothing but worried. “It’s kind of warm to wear your blazer all day.”

He smiled. “I’ll manage. I left your seifuku outside the door.”

“Ah, thanks!” I shouted, running up the stairs. I saw him roll his eyes and turn back to cooking. I grabbed my seifuku and flipped the skirt back and forth. It was not only clean, but pressed, too—embarrassment spread through me as I realized how early he must have gotten up to iron the pleats, especially with his wrist chewed open. There was a bloodstain running along the hem, but it didn’t show up well unless you were looking for it. Thank god our school used dark navy skirts.

The blouse wasn’t in quite as good shape. The bleach had helped, but it looked pretty battered. The stains weren’t no-ticeably blood, though—mostly ink or mud. It’s not like I had a choice anyway, so I buttoned it up and tied the satin handkerchief around my neck. At least the long ends of the ribbon covered some of the shirt. I combed my hands through my hair and pulled on my kneesocks, practically brown with stains. Then I hurried back downstairs, where Tomohiro rolled two sausages out of the pan and onto my plate.

“Thanks,” I said, pressing my palms together. “Itadakimasu.” He nodded and put the pan back in the kitchen. There were two bowls of miso soup, two sausages each, a piece of lettuce, and a cut-up tomato.

We ate in silence, but between bites I peeked at him, dressed sharply in a clean uniform. His bangs fell into his eyes as he leaned down to scoop tofu out of the soup, the motion a little sloppy with his left hand.

“Um, so you cook,” I said, after the silence became awkward. He looked at me, a smile curving onto his lips. I hated him for being so cool and collected again when I was still a mess. I couldn’t even look him in the eye without feeling his lips against mine.

“My dad’s cooking is pretty bad,” he said. “So I thought I’d better learn before we starved to death.” I hesitated, not sure how to react to that. But then Tomohiro laughed so hard the tofu fell off his spoon back into the bowl. “You always look ready to pick a fight,” he grinned.

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