1.3 TWO-FOUR-D, (or: My First Black and Mild)
 
Mutou’s running the projector again. He has been for most of the class. He’s wearing a bowl-shaped helmet that’s pulled low onto his forehead, blocking my ability to tell whether or not he’s been sleeping. Scribbled on the helmet are the words “born to kill”. I genuinely wonder how he can get away with this stuff sometimes. Today, we’re watching a documentary on 2-4-D, otherwise known as “Agent Orange”. Apparently it was some sort of herbicide that the United States used in South Asia against the Vietnamese. It makes me wonder what’s worse -- a slow death or a quick one.
 
While yesterday’s screening of Fight Club managed to keep everyone’s attention, today is another story entirely. It’s baking-oven hot in 3-3. Half the class has fallen asleep, possibly including Mutou. The other half, an unfortunate dirty dozen, includes me, Shizune, Misha, and oddly enough, Miki, who looks entranced by what’s happening on the screen. She, like the rest of us, is sitting in a puddle of her own sweat, and it’s seeped through her clothes. I can see her black spats and black sports bra under her boys’ uniform. Her uniformly brown skin is visible, too.
 
Yes, I’m looking at her. I think she’s cute. Get over it.
 
I said the same thing to Kenji in the dorm-room hall yesterday, after an “informant” told him that I had been seen with Miki in the hallway by the nurses’s office. It was probably the nurse, that piece of work. I don’t particularly care for the nurse. Something just strikes me wrong about him. He’s always got that shit-eating, know-it-all grin. That’s not even taking into account the deadpan way he informed me that I was “going to end up dead” if I didn’t start focusing on my physique... Well let’s just say I wasn’t thrilled by the whole deal. I would’ve regretted the destination if Miki wasn’t part of the journey. I think she and I can get along. Maybe.
 
“Nakai, get it together. The screen’s that way.”
 
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mutou’s outstretched hand pointing towards the projection screen. I quickly avert my line of sight back towards the documentary. Miki turns around, smirking. What the hell? Did she know I was looking at her?
 
After being subjected to some photographs and short films-within-in-a-film primarily concerning emaciated, starved Vietnamese children, the documentary ends with some sort of heavy-handed anti-war message. All in all, it was a brutal affair to watch. Mutou’s got some weird taste.
 
Can you really blame me for wanting to catch a look at Miki?
 
“All right, to review, does anyone remember the makeup of 2-4-D?”
 
The bell rings. Mutou sighs, and then yawns.
 
“Well then, consider that homework. I want a detailed explanation of 2-4-D tomorrow. That includes elements, effects, and history of use.”
 
Mutou quickly takes his leave of class 3-3 still wearing the Born-To-Kill helmet.
 
We have a rotating schedule here at Yamaku, so Mutou’s class was the last of the day. Many students leave right after the bell rings. Only myself, Misha, Shizune, and Miki are left in the room after about a minute or so. The Dynamic Duo happen to catch me first.
 
“So, Hisao, have you thought about our offer yet?” Misha asks, expectantly.
 
“Um, Mutou’s having me do some peer tutoring.” I reply.
 
“Oh, you need peer tutoring, Hisao?” Misha inquires as she signs my answer back to Shizune.
 
“No, no, I’m doing the tutoring.” I say, not wanting to get into much detail.
 
“WAHAHAHA~~ I was kidding Hisao, we knew already!”
 
“Oh?”
 
“Yes! Shizune just wanted to make sure, you know! We didn’t want you slacking off!”
 
“Alright then.”
 
“We’re gonna go and do student council stuff. Fun stuff. Fun stuff that you’re gonna miss out on!”
 
“I had fun once, it was awful.”
 
“WAHAHAHA~~~”
 
I back off a bit. Her laugh is downright unsettling.
 
Persephone and Hades head off to their corner of hell, the student council room. I can only imagine how hot it is in the student council room -- the door has probably been locked all day, and the air is probably all uncirculated. I dare not think about it further. Why the hell is springtime so sweltering here?
 
I turn over to Miki, still in her seat, who I guess had been watching the conversation.
 
“Don’t tell me you were hitting on those two just now?”
 
“Not really, no.”
 
“Well class-rep looked like a dog in heat.”
 
“How am I supposed to respond to that?”
 
“Don’t bother.”
 
I sit down in the chair behind Miki’s front-row desk. She turns to face me. She’s smirking again. I’m afraid of that.
 
“Don’t get comfortable, Hisao.”
 
“Huh?”
 
“If you’re gonna tutor me, it’s not gonna be here.”
 
“Why not?”
 
“I think I just sweat-off a cup size in here today. We should go on the roof, it’s cooler.” Miki’s has this way of putting things...
 
“Wouldn’t we be in direct sunlight?”
 
“There’s shade up there, genius, and there’s a breeze, too.”
 
“Yeah, sure, why not.” I shrug deferentially.  I’m not really in a mood to fight it out over where she wants to study.
 
We arrive on the roof a few minutes later. She was right. There’s a storage shed on top of the roof, and the two of us sit down in the shade it provides. We’re a few stories up, and there is actually a breeze up here. Two-for-two, not bad, Miki. I grab the chemistry book out of my backpack as Miki goes through what looks like an Army-surplus satchel-bag.
 
“So, do you want to start with today’s lesson, or--”
 
“Gimme a Minute, Hisao--” She says as she places what looks like a long, thin cigar to her lips.
 
“What’s that?” I ask, surprised.
 
“Brack-n-Mird”  She says as she bites down on the filter. She turns to me and smiles, all the while biting on what looks like a wooden tip. It’s the first time I notice her teeth. They’re clean, but they’re tinted ever-so-slightly yellow. She must smoke a lot. And brush her teeth a lot. She takes a plastic lighter tho the cigarillo, and lights it after a few failed flicks of her thumb.
 
She takes a long drag throws her hair back, which spreads her bangs out over her face, and makes a monumental exhale, throwing a plume of smoke into the hot, humid air.
 
“You smoke even though you run track? Isn’t that hard?”
 
“I only smoke on days off. I took the day off.” She says noncommittally, in between her first and second drag.
 
I’ve been watching her smoke this entire time. She notices.
 
“You wanna try?”
 
“Um, what’s it like?”
 
“Tastes like chicken.”
 
“Does it really?” She could tell me it tastes like Misha’s breast-milk and I’d believe her.
 
“No, genius, it’s a Black and Mild. it’s cherry flavored.”
 
“And I’m supposed to know that?”
 
“True, true...” She says contemplatively. She puts it to her lips and inhales deeply, passing it to me.
 
“Um” I take it, but I’m not sure what to do.
 
“Put it to your lips, Princess.” Miki says, smirking and making me feel uncomfortable in my masculinity. I try to pull my self together. I try to come to grasp with the situation: a cute brown girl is figuratively hand-holding me through first experience with a cigarette.
 
But it’s not a cigarette, Hisao, it’s a cigarillo.
 
Fuck you, Other Narrator. This is my story, goddamn it.
 
“Okay now, take a big, deep, breath, Hisao-kun.” She says in a baby voice. I’m not sure how to feel about the honorific and --
 
I start coughing furiously. My head starts to feel a little dizzy.
 
“W-What the h-hell?” I stammer out, in between short, spastic coughs.
 
As I come back into reality, I hear laughing. Turning back to Miki, she’s cackling hysterically.
 
“What’s so funny?”
 
I wait for her to pull herself together, coughing once more.
 
“Don’t worry about it, man” she says, coming back to sanity, “Smokers like seeing non-smokers try to smoke, that’s all.”
 
“Is that gonna happen all the time or something?”
 
“You’ll get used to it if you do it again.”
 
“You think?”
 
“I have no idea.” She shrugs. “It worked for me.”
 
My eyes drop down to the cigarillo.
 
“You wanna to give it another go?” She asks. I look up at her. She’s smirking.
 
How can I say “no” to a face like that?
 
“Yeah, why not.” I say.
 
“Okay! You can have that one, then.” Miki says happily, and fetches another Black and Mild from her bag.
 
“You came prepared, huh?”
 
“Maybe.” She says, trying to hide a smile.
 
As she lights up hers, I put mine to my lips. Bracing myself for the next round of coughing, I inhale.
 
But nothing happens.
 
I look down the barrel of the cigarillo. It’s gone out.
 
“It’s out.” Miki said, and grabs her plastic lighter. She drops it in my lap, and goes for another long drag.
 
I copy Miki’s thumb motion on the lighter, but I can’t get a flame.
 
“Um, am I--”
 
“Don’t bother. It’s probably dead.” She says, matter-of-factly. I looked at her, she seemed really relaxed. I guess that’s what a cigarillo’s supposed to do.
 
She takes hold of her filter, and bites down on it, and leans close into me.
 
I’m not sure what’s going on. She’s really close and she’s really cute and I can see down her shirt and--
She nods at my black and mild.
 
Oh, I get it... Oh, I get it... Oh.
 
I lean into hers.
 
And that’s the story behind my first cigarillo-kiss.
 
And of course, I’ve got to fuck it up by coughing as I inhale. And then that makes her cough. We’re both coughing on each other, and we’ve got hair in our eyes and what the hell, Hisao, you blew it.
 
Miki recovers first, brushing the bangs from her face. She quickly brings her bad arm over to my face and awkwardly brushes the dust and hair off my forehead with her bandaged stump. It really didn’t do much other than feel coarse and awkward. I reel back a bit. Did she mean to do that? She immediately realizes something, and then quickly retreats, lifting her skirt, and sitting on the bad arm.
 
“M-my bad..”
 
“Um...” Is about all I can manage.
 
Did she mean to use that arm or something?
 
We’re quiet for a while. It’s not an awkward sort of silence, though. It’s more contemplative. I think. Maybe. I’m not feeling particularly awkward now, after another drag. We’re focused on the black and milds we’re smoking. The sun sets a bit. The shadows are a bit longer. I’m not coughing anymore. In fact, I think I’ve got the beginnings of a head-rush, maybe. I’m starting to figure out why people smoke these. I try not to look at Miki. I’m still kind of unsure what happened, but...
 
“Hey, Hisao.” I hear Miki’s muffled voice.
 
I look her way. She’s got her mouth to her bad arm, pressing in the bandages. Her legs are curled up. She must have finished the cigarillo while we were... doing whatever we were doing.
 
“You’ll get used to me.”
 
“Huh?” I’m not entirely sure what she meant with--
 
“Never mind.”
 
We’re both quiet again.
 
“I didn’t want to make your first drag a drag.”
 
“But, you didn’t.” I say. We’re quiet again. “Thanks, Miki.” I add.
 
Miki turns to me and perks up a bit.
 
 “You mean that?” she asks accusatively.
 
“Yeah.” I say, looking away. I take another drag. “This is pretty cool, Miki.”
 
I glance back at Miki. She curls her legs back up to her face. “Thanks, too, Hisao.”
 
“For what?”
 
“Don’t worry about it.”
--
 
We didn’t do any tutoring that day.