Days of Remedy

Part 17

As the winter afternoon casts a soft light through the classroom windows, I can't help but steal bits of my attention to glance at Fujino. She is completely immersed in the conversation with a boy, Haruki Sato, seated next to her, brainstorming ideas for possible band names—if they ever find a singer. She hasn't mentioned she plays an instrument, but it wouldn't surprise me since no one can cave into the music like her.

As I watch her laugh at some of her own silly name suggestions, the corners of my lips curl up. Hiding my smile behind the pages of a textbook, I feel the fluttering excitement telling me that the frosty morning air holds more than just a chill. It also carries my growing fondness and admiration for the zest for life I feel every time Fujino is around.

A woman in a dark indigo blazer enters the class. Looking into the attendance list she swiftly tucks a stray hair strand back into her ponytail and calls our names one by one. Then she introduces herself as a substitute for Mr. Tanaka, our literature professor.

Her face doesn't show a single sign of aging, but her voice crackles like that of an elderly lady. I notice her red nose; it seems like the flu is raging among the teachers.

I delightfully rub my hands as she hands out copies of Natsume Soseki's book Kokoro. I have wanted to read it for ages; however, I might have to settle for excerpts from school readings for now since a psychological novel about loneliness, isolation, and depression doesn't seem like the best reading choice for someone like me.

The teacher randomly calls on the students to read individual paragraphs as usual. Then Fujino's name resonates through the quiet classroom, but she doesn't react initially, and it takes a second prompt to get her attention. Come to think of it, I haven't ever seen her being called during readings.

Fujino seems to be as surprised as the rest of our classmates, and with her best effort to sound polite, she explains she usually doesn't read aloud in Mr. Tanaka's class. 

The substitute raises one of her eyebrows in disbelief: "Mr. Tanaka is not in charge today; I am. Please read the fifth paragraph."

"Can't you just skip me?" Fujino asks reluctantly.

I don't understand why she is so desperately trying to avoid the teacher's command, but seeing her so uncomfortable, holding down her tapping foot by the knee breaks my heart. I impulsively shoot my hand in the air: "I can read inste-!"

The teacher cuts me off and tells me to sit down without taking her eyes off Fujino.

"As I said, Mr. Tanaka knows about me. If you don't believe me, you can talk to him," Fujino says.

The teacher's face turns red: "Enough! I don't care about Mr. Tanaka. I am in charge today and won't tolerate some disrespectful girl playing pranks on me!"

"I'm not trying to be disrespectful," Fujino defends herself hiding her frustration with a calm voice.

"Well then, read. What's the problem?" The substitute demands impatiently.

Hesitant, Fujino stands up, her foot still nervously tapping. She takes a deep breath and reads: "O-on the whole, all p-people are g-good, or at least they're m-normal. The f-frightening thing is that they can suddenly turn d-bad when it comes to the c-crunch."

Muffled laughter can be heard in the front rows of the class.

"Stop messing around, Fujino!"

Fujino's voice wavers as she insists she is not messing around.

The teacher snorts: "Then what was that? Haven't your parents taught you how to read?"

The taunting words stab Fujino deep as tears well up in her eyes, but she fights to hold them back, not to show her vulnerability. Then the substitute commands her to continue, returning her attention to the book, but Fujino refuses.