1.5 Hydrolysis (Or, Miki’s Mystery Bag)
 
I’m waiting outside the nondescript red-brick, five-story building that serves as the girls’ dorm. Miki sent me a text about a half hour ago to meet here at four-thirty. It’s five-forty-five. I’ve already skipped the better part of the festival -- activities started as early as two. The fireworks, which I’m secretly excited to see, start up at eight sharp -- or so I’m told. At the very least, it’s afforded me some time to do a little shopping...
 
I finally see Miki’s tall, brown figure walk out the main door. In her good hand, she’s holding a duffel bag. I wonder--
 
“Sup, Hisao. You’re lookin’ good.” She says, with a nod that could only be described as cute in a very “Miki” sort of way. I take her compliment for what it’s worth. I put a little effort into dressing up today. It’s a little warm for the usual argyle sweater vest, and I’ve got a feeling Miki would mock it mercilessly. It’s probably a little too “establishment” for her taste. I opt for a sky-blue oxford, untucked, and a pair of chinos. Not wanting to be too formal or anything, I throw on my usual pair of Chuck Taylors.
 
“What, no Kimono?” I ask, chiding her a bit.
 
Unlike most of the female students, Miki’s dressed down. While there’s no dress code or anything for the festival, it’s probably traditional around here for the women to wear something formal.
 
“Why would I own one of those gay things? I’m not Japanese.”
 
“Point taken.” I say, nodding. It never actually occurred to me that she was foreign. I mean, she has typical East Asian features, of course, but she’s also brown. Not dark brown, or anything. I guess tanned is the proper word. Not that it’s a bad point or anything. I like her shade of brown.
 
I’m also not gonna argue that I find the idea of her in a kimono cute -- I’d rather give her more ammo. Besides, I’ve got a great view now. Miki’s wearing a tight-fitting, pink halter-top that hugs her frame tightly giving me a wonderful view of her -- er... and she has got long legs, too, that are really complimented by the raw denim cutoffs she’s wearing, which, if turned around, would undoubtedly give me a most flattering view of her --um--
 
“So,” she asks, noticing my stare, “are you just gonna drool at me all day or are we--”
 
“What’s in the bag?” I inquire in turn, cutting her off before the inevitable insult. I think I’m getting good at this. No, not being an asshole, it’s just -- well how the hell else am I supposed to talk with her?
 
“Don’t worry about it.” She says, with the corners of her mouth turning in her traditional smirk.
 
“Is that what I didn’t need to worry about yesterday?” I ask, referencing her vagueness the day before.
 
“Maybe.” She says, starting to walk on ahead. I walk quickly to meet her pace, which slows down a bit after we reach the school’s main quad. The festival stands are all lined up on the grassy knoll, which is flanked on three sides by the main school building, the administrative hall, and the gymnasium. After hesitating for just a moment, she starts to walk towards the quadrangle.
 
We reach the hoopla of the festival. I can make out some of my peers working at the stand. Molly Kapur seems to notice me, and frowns. And then her frown turns into a glare when she sees Miki right beside me. I can only think that she’s covering our shift at the festival. Sorry, Molly.
 
We weave in and out of small crowds quickly. The students who aren’t actively staffing the festival have all broken into their little cliques -- circles and semi-circles of five or six students each, showing off the prizes they won at table games. I’ll admit, I like the idea of playing a few table games. I remember playing them as a kid, and doing quite well. I’d always win a stuffed deer or plastic toy. I imagine my luck’s toned down a bit, though. Most lucky people don’t have heart attacks at sixteen.
 
Before I know it, Miki’s led me right past the festival, and around the corner of the administrative building.
 
“What, no table games?”
 
“Why would I wanna do that lame shit?” She asks, not even bothering to look my way. She seems a little  more alert than usual. We walk towards the the main field. I guess we’re ignoring the festival or something.
 
“What I want doesn’t really factor in, huh?” I add, implying that I might just want to play a game or two.
 
“Nope!” She says a little too confidently, turning to me with a grin.
 
We make our way past the track and stop at the woodland path.
 
“What, here again?” I ask, chiding her a bit.
 
“Oh shut up, I think it’s a cool place.”
 
“Will we be able to see the fireworks from here?” I ask
 
“They set them off right behind the woods, genius.”
 
“No kidding?”
 
“Yup.”
 
“They don’t mind people being this close or anything?” It’s a logical question, isn’t it?
 
“Who cares?”
 
Well, I can’t argue with that logic.
 
Miki makes her way through the path first, and I make every effort to follow her closely. The memory of me getting lost here isn’t a fond one. Miki navigates her way through the path easy, hopping over the roots and stones that line the path. She could probably be starring in a Converse All-Star commercial right now. She’s giving those shoes a run for their money, and looking great doing it. I’m glad I decided to walk behind her, the view is--
 
“Try not to look at my ass too much, Hisao,” she says without even turning around, “there’s a pretty big root up ahead.”
 
I heed her advice, if only wanting to do so for a moment. After clearing the root, I look up and notice that we’ve reached the clearing where the creek is. Miki drops the duffle bag a few feet from water’s edge, trots up to the stream, and kicks her shoes off.  She wades in the water a few inches and takes a deep breath.
 
“It’s kind of cool here when the sun sets.” I say diplomatically, sitting on some flat stones near the creek.
 
“Isn’t it?” She says, turning around, smiling. She’s enjoying that I’m enjoying. She’s really a good person, I think. Like Mutou said. I’m not gonna make an Amatol reference now, godammnit.
I look to check my watch. It’s seven. The fireworks start in a half-hour. The sun’s already quite low in the sky, and it’ll start right on schedule.
 
“Nice watch. What kind is it?” Miki says. I look up, and she’s now sitting across from me on the damp grass.
 
“It’s an old Swiss Tissot. I found it an antique store back home. The strap’s just a cheap NATO--” I realize that she’s sipping from a can. But not just any can -- a can of Yebisu. Where the hell did she get beer?
 
“Is that the--”
 
“Yup, surprise!” She says, smirking.
 
“You’re planning to get me drunk and take advantage of me?” I joke.
 
“Something like that.” she says, maniacal as ever.
 
I walk over to the duffel bag by the water’s edge and grab a beer. I-It’s not like I haven’t had beer or anything. I’ve stolen a few sips when my parents weren’t looking, but this is a draft. Kinda heavy, too.
 
I sit back on the rock, open the clasp and take my first real swill of the stuff. It goes down a little easier than I thought.
 
“Well?” She asks
 
“It’s alright.” I say, trying to not encourage the babying I got with my first time smoking.
 
“Just alright?” She’s smirking
 
“It’s pretty good.” I’m not gonna lie. It’s got... I dunno, it tastes fresh and full.
 
We’re silent for a while, working on our beers. It’s kind of enjoyable, sipping beer, watching the sun go down by a cool stream.
 
“So, Hisao.” Miki gets my attention. She looks serious, a massive departure from her usual demeanor.
 
“What’s up, Miki?” I inquire pensively.
 
“What ails ya?”
 
“Huh?”
 
“I mean, like, why are you here?”
 
“That’s kind of sudden.”
 
“I mean, we’ve known each other for a few days and it’s not exactly fair.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“I mean, I’ve got, this," she points to her stump, "and you look pretty normal.”
 
“I do?”
 
“Well, I mean, I thought you might have been a head-case or something, but you’re pretty easy to get along with, I guess. Kind of a Princess, but cool, too. I mean--”
 
“Arrythmia.” I save her the monologue.
 
“Huh?”
 
“I had a heart attack a year ago.”
 
“Ah.” Miki nods, and then looks away.
 
The silence just got awkward again.
 
“Well, that’s cool I guess.” Miki says diplomatically.
 
“What?”
 
“I mean, you’re not like the rest of us -- most of Yamaku’s a walking freak show.”
 
“That’s not--”
 
“Don’t worry about it, Hisao.” Miki says, slurring just a little bit. She springs up, balances herself, and then walks over to the duffel bag, grabbing two more beers.
 
She comes back, and stands over me.
 
“What time is it?”
 
I consult my watch again.
 
“Seven --- twen...ty...”
 
I stiffen up like a board as Miki ever-so-gracefully sits on my lap. She holds another beer can over my shoulder, but doesn’t deign to look my way. I try my best to focus on it. She’s sitting on your lap. Try to relax, Hisao. She’s sitting on your lap. Grab the beer can, that’s it, I’ll grab the beer can. She’s sitting on your lap. Try to relax, goddamnit. She’s sitting on your lap. Miki's gonna think I hate this. She’s--
 
“If you don’t like this or anything, just--”
 
“No, I like it.” I say quickly, trying to address her fears to the contrary as best I can.
 
“Alright.” She settles in a bit more. This sets me into full sensory overload. I open up the beer can, because anything else will send me over the edge. I take a sip.
 
And I start to ease up. Good move with the Yebisu, Miki.
 
I shift one of my legs a bit to accommodate Miki’s generously sized rear. She leans back a bit, trying to relax. I shift back a little bit, doing my best to make her comfortable.
 
This is...pretty cool.
 
“Yeah.”
 
Shit, did I say that aloud?
 
I was about to agree with her agreement until I hear rustling coming from the woods. And suddenly, a wild Kenji appears out of the tall grass.
 
Fuck.
 
Way to kill a mood, man.
 
“Hisao?” Kenji’s groping the air, bumbling around without glasses on.
 
Miki turns around and lowers her head at me. I get what she’s asking. I shake my head.
 
“3-2?” She whispers, only audible to me because her lips are so... palpably close...
 
I nod.
 
“Who’s that?” Kenji cackles loudly.
 
“No, one, just, um--” I struggle to use words, “Just talking to myself.  A little on edge. Gotta watch out for the feminists, is all! Yeah.”
 
Jesus Christ, was that me?
 
After tumbling around the clearing for a bit, Kenji finally sits himself across from myself and Miki.
 
“Hisao, you should’ve seen it man. I was on a bike with--- um, never-mind who-- But anyway, I had to tell to tell her not to stop, it’s feminist country!”
 
“Her?”
 
“Him.”
 
“But you said--”
 
“I said him.”
 
“Ok.”
 
The three of us sit in a queer silence, the sort of silence you can only have with Kenji around. It’d probably be silent even if Miki wasn’t sitting on my lap.
 
“You gaining weight, Hisao?”
 
“Nope.”
 
“Oh. You must be blurry without--”
 
“Yup, that’s it, I’m blurry.”
 
“Yeah. So when are these fireworks gonna--”
 
And the fireworks start. I wish I could describe them. But I can’t -- I wasn’t even paying attention to them. During that brief dialog with Kenji, something wonderful, something wild happened. Miki, with her good hand, got ahold of my hand, and we did the most wonderfully lewd of things -- we held hands. And it was great and I rested my chin on her shoulder and everything was beautiful and nothing hurt anymore. And we stayed like that, in spite of Kenji, in spite of the fireworks, in spite of everything. We didn’t even stop after our hands pooled each other’s sweat between them. Her brown digits wrapped around my white ones, in a luminous embrace that outclassed even the most expensive and grandiose display.
 
And then it was over.
 
We helped Kenji find his glasses, and threw the beer cans in the woods. We walked back to the dorms in relative silence. Nothing was said.
 
Until we reached the girls’ building.
 
“That was pretty okay.” Miki sighed.
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Fuckin’ Kenji, huh?” She giggled. At least she’s a good sport.
 
“Story of my life.” I say, not at all lying.
 
A few moments of silence pass before Miki starts up.
 
“I’m gonna text you all the time, now.”
 
“Alright.”
 
“You’ve got to answer all the time.”
 
“Even in class?”
 
“Especially in class.” She smirks.
 
“Alright.” I say, smirking back. “Are we still gonna do the tutoring thing?”
 
“After tomorrow, I guess.”
 
“What’s tomorrow?”
 
“I’ll text you about it.”
 
“Alright, see you tomorrow, Miki.”
 
I watch her turn and head back to the girls dorm.
 
I return to my own, pretty satisfied.