Days of Remedy

Part 4

The festival's planning is in full swing, and my previous attempts not to attract attention have been ruined by my professor, who has made me run errands for the whole school. This time I am supposed to deliver copied posters for the event to each class. Paperwork that buries the teacher's office and the crude scribbling of a pen while everyone is dead quiet are clear signs not to disturb for longer than necessary. I approach one of the teachers to ask where the posters could be found, but she doesn't even lift her eyes from the documents she's holding. Instead, she categorically points to the table at the back of the room with multiple packages. I pick up two of them, almost knocking down a flower pot sitting at the side of the table, and head to class 2-C.

A heated chatter can be heard at the end of the hall, irritating me as much as ever, but a girl with a short bob breaks my lack of concentration as she jumps at me by the door, snatching the packages I'm holding. She eagerly opens the box, but her nose wrinkles as soon as she picks up the poster. 

"Shiomi, you got to be kidding me; do you think this is gonna bring us any customers, hmm?" her high-pitched voice sizzles as she waves the poster in her hand. 

One of the boys at the end of the classroom turns his head, not knowing what upset her. 

 That reaction makes her face twitch slightly: "What's wrong? Can't you see that the fonts don't match? And look at that cut-out. What even is that?" 

I curiously take one of the posters with a poorly cut-out takoyaki plate on a  wood-like background. Time for takoyaki is written in giant letters with location details underneath it. 

The guy brushes off the critique: "Come on, there will only be two food stands; we will definitely sell enough even without a poster."

Losing patience, she rubs her forehead and says: "I swear to God, have you all forgotten what's on the line? The class that is voted to have the best stand gets to go to the hot springs for a day! We need to try harder! Not to mention that an art club president goes to class 3-A, so their posters for the cafe will be outstanding." 

He smiles stiffly: "Well, Nakatomi, maybe you should do the poster if you wanna boss us around." His snappy comment ends the argument, and the girl leaves the class with posters in her hands and a bitter expression.

******

After running around the school for a bit, I have only one more package to deliver. I head to the art club on the first floor and hear the high-pitched girl from before begging someone for help. 

A husky voice answers: "Yua, how many times do I have to tell you? I don't have time for that." 

The moment I slide the door open, both glue their eyes on me and the packages I'm holding. I apologize for interrupting and explain that a teacher sent me to deliver posters for the art club exhibition. 

The guy doesn't even have time to open his mouth as the girl utters: "You! You saw the poster for our food stand, right? Please tell him it was hideous." 

I am stunned by her demand, so my flimsy tongue mutters a few indecipherable words before thinking of something comprehensible: "It wasn't great." 

She turns to the guy expecting a reply, but he chuckles: "She says it wasn't great, not that the poster would make people cry, as you put it." 

So she puts her hands together while making a puppy face: "Please, I don't know who else to ask for help; I threw the posters in a recycling bin already." The guy hesitantly rubs the back of his neck, so she bows her head: "If our stand fails, I will die of the embarrassment of what a failure I am, so, please. I will owe you."

The puzzled face loosens as he signs in defeat, agreeing to help her.

The girl jumps up, busting with joy: "Morine, you are the best!!! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! I don't know what I would do without you!" 

He smiles: "Yeah, I know; you always say that when you need something, I will go to the cafeteria to think of a design; see you later." 

He turns back as he goes and asks me to leave the posters on the shelf next to the art supply. I put the box down, prepared to leave, but the girl stops me asking for my name. I pause; in my experience, peppy girls like her spit me out like a snot as soon as I have no use for them. 

"Kumiko Koyama, I go to class 2-A," I answer. 

She wiggles her eyebrows: "Wow, you have a nice name! I am Yua Nakatomi, 2-C, and that guy you saw is Morine Hirata. If you need anything, you can ask him; he is part of the school committee. I mean, not an official member, but he does help a lot." 

I don't know how to respond to that; my goal is to end this conversation quickly, so I thank her for the tip and make an excuse that a teacher must be looking for me. Her voice bubbles as she compliments my politeness, but I disappear to the hall without even letting her finish saying goodbye.