Now, in the present, I was staring up at the pink school that my grandparents got me into. While I was grateful, I didn't need to go to this expensive academy. Even though the decorator matches my hair, I didn't want to blend in with the school, if you catch my drift. The uniform that I saw the females were wearing was worst than the color of the school. It was ungodly and puke-worthy. The boys had it easy, and I spoke to the chairman of this school and he said he'd make an exception to me wearing my own clothes since he knows my mom and now that we're considered "commoners".
Sighing heavily, I struggled on my crutches up the stairs that loomed before me. People gave me weird looks whispering about my hair color and about the fact that I was injured. To think that these rich people hasn't seen an injured person before.
I ignored them to the best of my ability and tried to figure out where class 3-C was. I think it was a third year class (senior), but I wasn't sure. The Japanese school system isn't the same as the American school system. It was completely different here. After roaming the halls for about an hour, I finally found the classroom I was looking for. Sliding the door open, I see that it was just the teacher in the room. He looked up at me and hurriedly ran over to my slightly sweaty form.
"ざくろ!" I blinked rapidly in confusion before his foreign words sunk into my mind. I mental thanked my mom for constantly making me study Japanese every since I could talk and read. The teacher just called my name, nothing more.
"Good morning! I'm glad that I made it. This cast was really starting to itch!" I laughed nervously as I instinctively started speaking his language.
"Ah yes! It seems that you're 30 minutes early. How about you take a seat? Anywhere you'd like!" he smiled and grabbed my bag. I thanked him and shuffled myself toward the back where the window was.
He sat down my bag near my good leg and made his way back to his desk. I brought out my sketch book and began to draw the last face that my dad gave me before he left for work. It was happy, yet he had a weary look in his eyes. The ususal light blue eyes were dull and dark with misery. I wonder what made him that way. I was never told the way he was killed, so I couldn't come up with any theories of what was going on. If I asked mom, she would try her hardest to change the subject and I learned to let it go.
As I drew, I half way noticed that some students were coming in, whispering to each other as they glanced at me in curiosity. I ducked my head down and continued to scribble all over the page.
"That's a great drawing," a somewhat creepy voice whispered beside me, making me jump. "Who is it of?"
I glanced over and saw a cloaked person, but I could see his creepy smile that seemed genuine. I sweatdropped. "It's of my dad."
"I am Umiheto Nekozawa, president of the Black Magic Club," he introduced himself.
I tilted my head and gave him a hesitant smile. "Zakuro Sagara."
Class started after our introductions and we became silent. I found the guy strange, but I can't really judge him because of what he wore to school. Whenever the teacher gave us a set of problems to do, we'd tell each other things, like our hobbies, likes, and dislikes. He didn't fancy light or dogs, but liked cats. He went as far as introducing me to his cat puppet named Belzenef!
I told him that I loved drawing and creating music. I loved any kind of animal, but hates insects that wanted to take part of my flesh or sting me.
Umiheto even told me that he liked my hair when I brushed it away from my eyes. I responded by telling him that it was a prank done by my old bullies. He muttered something about giving them a curse.
That day, I made an actual friend.
