“You are kind of being an asshole,” I said. “And also, you should shut up. They might speak English.”
“Doubt it,” David said, slinging his arm over my shoulder. The sleeve of his T-shirt brushed the back of my head, which, despite the heat and my perpetual sense of unease, was not unpleasant.
“Would you assume I didn’t speak English if you saw me on the street?” Mika asked.
“Of course not, Americano,” David said. “You’re way too obnoxious to actually be Japanese.”
Mika punched him on the arm four times. “Stop! Being! Culturally! Insensitive!”
David swerved us away from her and laughed, but I didn’t join in. The impending arrival of Jamie Foster-Collins had removed my ability to laugh. Which was a problem. I needed to calm down. I needed to focus my energy on being cool.… Oh, hello, Jamie. I almost didn’t see your big, smug face hovering right there in front of me.
Maybe not like that.
I reminded myself of Newton’s first law. I was not going to let external forces slow me down. I was not going to let Jamie get to me. After all, it had been a long time since I’d seen him. Three years and two months. Over two months, in fact. I was older, and my friends were awesome, and I’d gotten the best grades in my AP Physics class last year.
Oh, hello, Jamie. Did I mention that I got the best grades in my AP Physics class?
God, I really was pathetic. Of course I wouldn’t have friends when I started at a new school next week. Of course I would never have friends again. This was it. My final week of friendship, and I wasn’t going to get to enjoy it, because Jamie was here and I couldn’t avoid him anymore.
We exited the station and ended up in the plaza that stretched toward Shibuya Crossing. The unabashed madness of the place forced me back into the present. My senses went into overdrive as I took in the crazy scramble crossing with currents of people rushing over it, the circle of buildings stacked with billboards and television screens blasting movie trailers and advertisements and music videos all at the same time. It was a whirlpool of energy. A thunderstorm of sounds colliding and humming. It was my favorite place in Tokyo.
And soon I would be gone—and it would dim to nothing.
We waited for Jamie by Hachiko, this statue of a dog that sits between Shibuya Station and the famous crossing. It was where my friends and I always met when we hung out in Shibs. Honestly, it was where nearly every young person in Tokyo met when they hung out there. Crowds from the station would flock toward it, almost like it was calling them home.
The depressing but true story about Hachiko is that he was once a real dog who sat outside Shibuya Station every day waiting for his master to come home from work, even after his master died. And then, one day, the dog died, too.
Like I said—depressing. But there was something about that story I liked. When I was a kid, I’d make Dad tell it to me as we walked past the statue on our way to the Tower Records bookstore. (I’d e-mail him later to ask if he remembered that.) And I still liked how the statue stared longingly into the crowd, constantly waiting for someone to appear. Which was exactly how I felt about Jamie—minus the longing.
David dug a cigarette from his back pocket, so Mika grabbed my forearm and dragged me away. Her eyes were darting around. Searching, searching, searching. There were so many people. All of them searching. All of them waiting. A guy wearing enormous green headphones, a girl with a clump of brightly colored charms hanging off her cell phone, another huddle of girls waving wildly at someone across the plaza.
It made me queasy.
“You look so miserable,” Mika said. “Come on. You and Jamie used to be friends.”
I shrugged, practicing my nonchalance. “He was always better friends with you.”
She snapped her gum. Mika and I didn’t talk about Jamie, even though I knew she Skyped him a lot. And, thankfully, she still had no clue what had happened between us.
Mika and Jamie had been friends since their Play-Doh-eating days, and she’d (probably) do anything for him. As evidenced by the fact that, on top of her usual screw-you black eyeliner, she was wearing… silver eye shadow. Mika was the first friend I’d made at the Tokyo International Academy, back when I was thirteen and a lowly newbie. She was a Lifer, someone who’d been there since preschool, but for some reason, she wanted to hang out with me. By now, we’d spent so much time together I knew practically everything about her. Like the fact that she was a secret Harry Potter nerd and that she was addicted to C.C. Lemon soda and that she never—ever—wore eye shadow. Especially not the sparkly kind.
Her gaze caught on something across the plaza, and she pointed. “Hey! Look who it is.”
My chest started to constrict.
Oh God.
Oh God.
What was I going to do? I couldn’t be nonchalant. Nonchalant wasn’t even an option anymore. Neither was talking. Or breathing, apparently.
But it wasn’t Jamie.
It was Caroline, bedecked in a denim miniskirt and tank top, blond ponytail swinging behind her as she picked her way through the huddle of girls. David strode forward and started kissing her face and cheeks and neck. She squealed and kissed him back.
“Avert your eyes,” Mika said flatly. “I’m already scarred.”
The knot in my chest relaxed, then tightened in a different but familiar way. I let my arms fall by my sides and flexed my fingers until I felt the blood moving again. At least I’d found a conversational diversion. “Well. There goes David for the night.”
“Whatever,” Mika said. “If it distracts him from being a dick to Jamie, I’m all for it. Keep making out with your girlfriend, D.”
“Ugh, no, don’t.”
“Oh, sorry,” Mika said. “I forgot she was your arch nemesis.”
I felt myself blush. “Please. She is one girlfriend among many. We’re his real friends.”