1.4 Saltpeter (Or, Mutou and the Multicolored Dream Coat)
 
Mutou lined up the front row of desks together upon entering the classroom for today’s lesson. Today’s a half day, in preparation for the school festival, so Mutou’s class is the last of the day. Mutou probably realizes that our attention spans are at an all-time low and he’s probably going to do something wild. Mutou’s wearing a loud burgundy sport coat and a pink-green-and-orange hawaiian shirt, with a solid white tie. If anything, he’s caught me. I’ve been doing nothing but staring at the absurdity of the color coordination He looks like the art teacher, Nomiya. No, wait. At least Nomiya matches. At least Nomiya’s not topping the whole deal off with sky blue pants.
 
In any event, Mutou’s lined up all the desks now, and rendered the students sitting in the first row homeless. Miki makes her way over to me, and opts to seat herself squarely on my desk, giving me a lovely view of her shapely rear end. I catch glances from most of the class, including daggers I can feel emanating from Shizune and Misha’s corner. Whatever, I know what I’m going to be focusing in on now--
 
That is until Mutou sets the desks on fire.
 
Well, I’m exaggerating there. Mutou simply spread some fine powder on them and set them ablaze for a fleeting moment. Whatever was there managed to burn itself out pretty quickly, leaving a plume of smoke and horrible stench in it’s wake. Everyone in the class is reeling from it, and Miki’s rear end shifts on the desk, affording me a view of her spats.
 
“Nakai!” Mutou yells, his voice slightly muffled because of the handkerchief he has applied to his nose.
 
“What?” I shout back nasally, because, you know, I’m pinching my nose.
 
In fact everyone is.
 
“Why does saltpeter smell?”
 
What. I’m supposed to know that or something?
 
“What--”
 
“Get it together. Answer it right and I end class early.”
 
WHAT.
 
“Er, umm..”
 
Miki turns to look at me with a face that borders between excitement and nausea. In fact, all eyes are on me. How the hell--
 
“Because... It’s made from --- crap” I’m stammering I have no idea, “-- it’s made from--”
 
“Correct. Saltpeter is made from animal dung.”
 
“What.”
 
Before I regain my senses, the entire class is clapping and Mutou’s already taken his leave. I’m beginning to think the man’s gradually losing control.
 
But, none of the students leave, of course, because we’ve got to prepare for the festival. In reality, Mutou’s given us an extra thirty minutes or so to prepare. Apparently, planning’s been going poorly. Lilly Satou from 3-2 hasn’t handed in her materials yet, and 3-1 hasn’t done anything major, either.
 
Which, in Shizune’s warped mind, means that we have to do three classes’ worth of work to make the festival presentable. Oh, to be a power-hungry megalomaniac. Misha narrates Shizune’s orders, which pairs up different students to work on building festivals stalls. Because it’s helpful for the plot, I get paired up with Miki to work on a target-shooting stall. My old school wasn’t particularly festival-friendly, so this is an entirely new experience for me. I’m almost excited.
 
I would be actually excited if the smell of room 3-3 wasn’t slowly draining the life from me. Shizune starts to lead everyone out of the room and onto the campus quadrangle. The parts are already there -- they must have been already delivered this morning. Plywood, toolboxes, and first-aid kits. Shizune starts rationing out equipment, trying her best to make sure we all get an equal share. I pick up a hammer, exactly twelve nails, three bandaids, and approximately twenty centimeters of tape from Shizune. Perhaps this is why communism just doesn’t work.
 
I walk over to Miki, who’s already at a pile of plywood that’s apparently “ours”. And by ours, I mean that are names are indiscriminately scribbled on the wood-boards. The people at the lumber company must have gotten a few shits and giggles from spray-painting the names on the boards, because there’s “Hisao&Miki” painted with a heart around it. Miki notices that I’m noticing it and starts to laugh.
 
“So,” I say, preempting whatever Miki was going to say about the wood, “where do you wanna start?”
 
“Do we have, like, directions or whatever?” Miki asked deferentially.
 
“Err, no.”
 
“So we just wing it?”
 
“I guess so.”
 
The two of us stare at the motley crew of plywood and tools before Miki speaks up again.
 
“I think I can hammer if you wanna hold the pieces together.”
 
“You sure about that?”
 
“Are you saying I can’t?”
 
“Well, no...” I concede and hand her the toolbox. I decide to grab two pieces of plywood, the left base of the stand, and one of the three leafs meant to go across the table, and sloppily balance them on each other. I’m no handyman.
 
I turn to Miki, who’s busy unwrapping the bandages on the stump of her arm.
 
“Miki--”
 
“Just watch, Hisao.” Miki says calmly as she holds the hammer against her stump. She then proceeds to re-wrap the hammer with her own bandages, knotting it together. In effect, the hammer becomes the hand she doesn’t have. She looks up at me after she finishes
 
“Real fuckin’ neato, don’tcha think?”
 
“Oh, alright then.” I’m not sure what to say, really.
 
I brace the two hunks of wood against each other as miki lines up a nail with her good hand. After carefully lining up her hammer-hand with the nail, she rears back and starts nailing it in. Her movements aren’t exactly as precise as I hoped, and she’s causing the two boards to shake violently. I exert more strength to try to keep them steady.
 
“Having trouble with the boards?” Miki says as she grits her teeth on a nail.
 
“You wanna try not being all over the place?” I rebuke her.
 
“You wanna not sound like a prick?” Miki says, sounding annoyed.
 
“Well, if you can’t do it just--”
 
“I can, alright Hisao, I can.”
 
I peer over to the board. She can’t. I try being diplomatic.
 
“Miki, it’s not a big deal if you just--”
 
“Hisao, shut the fuck up!” Miki yells, and swings the hammer at the board. In addition to a huge THUMP, Miki lets out a squeal. People start looking at us.
 
“Fuck, Hisao, Fuck!”
 
I drop the board and squat down to see what the problem is. She’s clutching her index and middle finger on her good hand. Tears are streaming down her eyes. My chest is tightening up. There’s blood on the bandages on her stump. She’s got her two fingers in her mouth.
 
Good going Hisao, you made a girl cry.
 
Not only that, you fucking injured her, you piece of shit.
 
I know, so shut the fuck up.
 
I call Shizune and Misha over, who quickly offer to bring her over to the nurse’s office. She quietly agrees, and gets up to walk over to the nurse’s office. I’d walk her down there myself if I wasn’t sort of afraid of her at the moment. She turns to look at me before she walks off with Misha and Shizune.
 
“Hisao, if you finish without me, I’m gonna kill you.” There are daggers in her eyes.
 
Shizune turns to me and frowns. Misha WAHAHAHAs~~
 
“Alright, Miki.” I say, not altogether sure that I’ll hold to it. She quickly turns her head, whimpers a bit and walks off with the Student Council.
 
After seeing the three off, I’m left to stare vacantly at the piles of plywood and tools. Knowing that the stall isn’t going to be built any other way, I get to work.
 
--
 
In spite of me taking much longer than all the other pairs, the stall comes together. I make the most out of the limited supplies. The stall’s sturdy, cosmetically even and level, and doesn’t seem like it’s held together by misplaced nails, like some of the others. Truth be told, I got a little extra help from Shizune and Misha when they came back, but most of the hard stuff I did by myself. There was no one else here to help me. Most of the other students were “done”, and I say “done” loosely, about a half hour ago. Most of the stalls are put together decently, but I’m pretty convinced mine’s the best.
 
I wonder what Miki’s gonna think when she sees the--
 
“Why, Hisao?”
 
I turn to see Miki standing, arms crossed.
 
“Why what?”
 
She looks even more indignant at my response.
 
“The stall, jerk! You finished the stall even though I said not to!” She’s genuinely upset.
 
“No I didn’t.”
 
“Uh, then what am I looking at?”
 
“An unfinished stall.” I say, smirking as I lift up two cans of paint I had hidden out of view.
 
Miki’s arms fall to her sides, and relaxes ever so slightly. She starts grinning.
 
“You know Hisao, this is why girls fall head over heels for you.”
 
That rebuttal drained whatever swagger I had previously worked up.
 
“Wait-- w-what are you--” Am I blushing?
 
“Don’t worry about it!” She says while smirking, grabbing the can of paint from my left hand, holding it between her thumb and index finger. Thankfully, the paint cans are only half-full or--
 
“Doesn’t that hurt?”
 
“No, nurse gave me a couple of aspirin.”
 
“Are you sure that--”

“Hisao.”
 
“Huh?”
 
“Don’t ruin the moment, jerk.”
 
Oh.
 
With that in mind, I grab the paintbrush sticking out of my back pocket and hand it to her. I walk over and grab a roller from the communal toolbox. When I return to the stall not a moment later, Miki’s already hard at work painting the base of the stall with white paint.
 
We’re working together efficiently, and Miki’s able to really focus in and deliver long, even strokes on the...stall. Shit, I’ve got to get my prose out of the gutter. In any event, Miki breaks the comfortable silence with these words:
 
“So what are you doing for the festival?”
 
“I dunno yet. Help Shizune and Misha, I guess. They’ve got us working the--”
 
“How about we skip that and hang?” Miki says, looking at me, smirking again.
 
“Huh?” I tense up. Is she asking me out?
 
“Festivals are for losers. I’ve got something cooler in mind.”
 
“Oh?” I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. Miki hasn’t bored me yet, for better or for worse.
 
“Yup.” She says, not being as revealing as I’d like.
 
“Like what?”
 
“It’d be lame if I told you now.”
 
“Would it?” I say, trying to egg her on.
 
“Yup.” She says, raising an eyebrow.
 
“And what if I say no?”
 
“You’re really going to say no to the girl you INJURED today?”
 
“Wait! I didn’t injure you!” I say, tensing up.
 
“That’s not what Class Rep, Drills, and Dr. Gaylord think.” She says maniacally.
 
“That’s vicious.” It’s all I really can say.
 
Miki smiles at me as she finishes up painting the stall. She gets up.
 
“That’s leverage!”
 
I’m left sitting on the quad as she starts to walk away. She stops for a moment and turns.
 
“Meet me outside the girls dorm.”
 
“When?”
 
“When I message you.”
 
“You have my phone number?” I ask, a bit shocked.
 
“Yup.”
 
“How did--”
 
“Don’t worry about it.” She smirks, turns and walks away. I’m left with the pleasant view of her rear as she turns off and heads into the infirmary.
 
What the hell am I getting myself into?
 
Miki’s like Amatol -- oh, fuck that joke.