Deceptions, Truths, Honesty: part one
By Uozumi
Author’s Note:
Okay, don't kill me, but I've been musing over this story a while, also I think
it will help me with a few things I've discovered over the years. Why do you think I can relate with BF? AU. Eiji
just moved into a school district that's more than it seems. Set in high school. Typical couplings. A new look at the darker side of upper class America. I own nothing.
----
The teenager
followed a pace behind a man, his brown eyes gazing about, taking everything
in. The man murmured something in
Japanese to the boy, addressing him as Ei-chan, and then he approached a table
bustling with activity. "Hello,"
his voice was shaky as though unsure of his words, "I am Shunichi
Ibé," he motioned to the boy, who snapped to attention, "and this is
Eiji Okumura," the boy nodded at the lady behind the table, "he is
new, and -"
"Fill out
these forms," the woman shuffled a mound of papers into Shunichi's hands,
then spoke loudly, "NEXT!"
Blinking, the man
wandered over to one of the lunch tables set up, and sat down, Eiji sitting
close to his right. The man again spoke
in Japanese to the boy, indicating the papers.
Eiji nodded, and then took Shuichi's pen, saying something in Japanese
as a reply.
Quietly, he
filled out the paper, giving the pen to Shuichi periodically for a signature,
then he inspected their work before nodding and the two returned to the rude
lady's table.
Some students
were looking at the pair oddly, and a tall boy elbowed a younger, nodding his
head towards the pair, "Look, I don't think they're Chinks."
"They're
speaking Japanese," the younger spoke, and then smiled at a woman at
another table, "Hey, Ms. Brandish."
The woman
narrowed his eyes, rummaging through some cards, then handed one to him,
"This you?"
The boy glanced
over it, and then nodded, "Of course."
The woman
simply took the card back, and then looked to the other boy, "Wong?"
"Yes,"
he nodded, then took the card, glanced at it, then handed it back, "It's
me."
The woman eyed
him, "Are you sure?"
"Yeah,
take my hair, make it black, and don't put it in a Mohawk," he smiled.
"Whatever,
I should know by now," she sighed, "Go to the next table."
The boy named
Wong simply proceeded, but the shorter grinned at her, winking impishly, then
they went to the next table, both having forgotten the Japanese student and the
adult accompanying him.
Shunichi asked
Eiji something in Japanese as they approached Ms. Brandish. The woman watched carefully, noting that she
had never seen either before, and knew precisely what to do next. "Ano . . . ma'am, I am Shu
-"
"Is he
new?" she interrupted.
"H -
Yes."
"Okay,
take this card, and write your name next to this number on this sheet,"
Mrs. Brandish handed Eiji a white card like she had handed Wong and the other
boy who hassled her, "then I'll take it back and we'll get this card fixed
up for you for this coming year."
"Thank
you," Eiji paused, carefully wrote his name in romanji, then straightened,
looking around, "Ano . . . where -"
"Over
there . . . where that kid with the Mohawk is, get your picture taken, then get
your schedule, and then you can check your locker."
"Thank
you."
"No
problem - now go," and she shooed the Japanese men away so she could take care
of the line behind them.
Eiji slipped
into the line, and soon found three other students behind him, the line growing
as the slowest station made its way through the motions. If you were a senior, they took four
different shots of you for various publications, and so far five seniors had
come together, and the line was taking longer and longer with each person.
Finally, it was
Wong's turn. Slipping into the seat, he
ran a hand through his purple-tinted Mohawk, and sat back. He was a junior, so this would be quick . .
. .
Then his friend
went . . . .
Then, finally,
Eiji got his picture taken, and he headed over to the schedule table. Getting there, they went through similar
motions, and then Eiji had a generic junior schedule, and was reading it
carefully as he and Shunichi exited into the hall.
He was speaking
in Japanese as he navigated the building with numbers, trying to find locker
1946. Running a finger along the
lockers, he paid close attention to the lockers, and then heard a, "Watch
out!"
"Eh?"
looking up, Eiji blinked. "Oh,
sorry, I was not looking."
"I
noticed," Wong spoke, then smirked, "You're new, aren't you?"
Eiji nodded,
"I am trying to find locker one nine four six, do you know where it
is?"
Wong rapped on
the locker to his right; the one Eiji was standing by, "Right here, I'm
1948," he spoke the sequence like the year.
"Thank
you," Eiji nodded. "I am new,
not only here, but America too."
Shuichi stood
off away. He watched as Eiji exchanged
words with the tall Chinese youth. This
was good. Watching the Wong and Eiji
interact, the journalist nodded to himself.
This would be good for Eiji, and he had a gut feeling that this Chinese
boy would be watching out for Eiji.
"I'm
second-generation," Wong shrugged, then offered a hand, "I'm Siu-Fei
Wong," he smirked, "but called me Shorter."
Eiji nodded,
and shook the hand, remembering to flip his name for the American, even though
he doubted the boy would be confused, "Eiji Okumura."
"Cool,"
Shorter nodded, then motioned to somewhere down the hall, "Well, I guess
I'll see you in class, and," he tapped the paper in Eiji's hand,
"might want to double-check that.
They might have given you freshman courses by accident," and then
he waved and left.
Exactly a week
later, Eiji was up at six in the morning, wide-awake, and cursing himself. Japan was fifteen hours off Eastern Standard
Time, and that meant it was nine in the evening, and Eiji had been up since
three in the morning. He was getting
better at the time change (he and Shunichi had come over a week ago on Monday,
August 16); however, he still wasn't exactly in tune with the New York life.
"Ei-chan,
are you up?" Shunichi knocked on
his room's door. The two had secured a
very small house with two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen/living
room. It was modest, and was like an
apartment, only different. Their
property owners lived in an upper scale neighborhood about three blocks away,
and they were glad to help the two since they were third-generation Japanese
themselves.
"Yes,
coming," the boy opened the door, "It's so weird not having a
uniform."
"I think
you'll like it - go get breakfast, we're lucky that the NYPD set us up with
this neighborhood and school system.
The streets here, they say, are some of the safest ones, so you can walk
to school."
"That's
good," Eiji nodded, rummaging through the small refrigerator, then stood,
placing a pop tart in the small toaster, and then he grabbed a glass of orange
juice and sat down, reading his schedule. "Do you think these are third-year classes,
Ibé-san?" The two had decided to
use as much English as possible whenever possible so that the transition into
living in America would be easier.
Shuichi perused
the schedule, and then nodded. "It
sounds right, they put you in English 11, Chemistry . . . they sound about
right."
"But, I
took Chemistry last year," Eiji sighed, then smirked, "Oh well, I
guess I'll just get an A, and it will be harder doing it in English."
Shuichi smiled,
and then looked at the clock, "You need to eat that quickly, and then get
going, we estimated that it's a fifteen-minute walk, right?"
Eiji nodded,
and ate his breakfast quickly before rushing to brush his teeth, make sure
everything was in his bag, and begin his walk to his new high school.
Across town, in
a large upscale house, the boy who had been with Shorter at sign-up had just
come down the stairs. Entering his
kitchen, he secured some toast and a thermos of coffee.
"If you
drink that, Aslan, you'll stunt your growth," a man's voice spoke from the
table.
The boy glanced
over, and then shrugged, "Then I'll stunt my growth."
The man
snorted.
The boy glanced
over at the man, his green eyes narrowing, and then he quickly inhaled his
breakfast, and then smirked when he heard a car horn out front, "Well, I'm
off. Shorter's here." Then, as quickly as he could, Aslan swung
his book bag over his shoulder and left as though he just had to get away from
the man.
"You need
a ride to the hospital today?" Shorter asked as they pulled out of Aslan's
driveway.
The boy stared
out the window, "Yeah. Dad would
never take me."
Shorter studied
his blonde friend, then nodded, "Your old man is weird, Ash, but you got
to admit that even if he has 'forgotten' your brother, he still likes him
enough to keep paying that medical bill."
Ash shrugged,
then inquired, "So, why are you here so early - I'm not complaining, but
-"
"Oh, I got
a call this morning; they want me to baby-sit that kid we saw yesterday. I was surprised when he showed up in the
junior hallway, but maybe he's like you . . . you know, too book smart for his
own good," Shorter explained as they drove down the block. "They call it Peer Helping, but really,
even the freshmen are doing that, and it's the blind leading the blind. Sing's got a new kid too . . . he won't admit
it, but I saw him yesterday - he has no idea what he's about in this huge ass
building."
"At least
we have some classes together," Ash read over his schedule, comparing it
with Shorter's. "What about that
new kid?"
"All the
same. You know how that works. If you
get a person to Peer Help, then you have the same schedule."
"So, that
means I'll see him in English and History?"
"Yup,"
Shorter slid the car into his parking spot. "Well, I'm not sure how he's getting here, so I'll go stake
out the bus entrance. He strikes me as
a bus kid," and then Shorter left through a side door.
Ash shrugged,
and then stuffed his hands into his pockets before raising an eyebrow.
Was it just him
or had he seen that Japanese kid walk into the building from a different door?