A Firefly's Glow

Chapter One: Part Four

“Ho—ta—ru!!” a deadly, familiar voice droned from behind the counter as I entered the café. The round, bright orange tables that were set around the room were currently deserted, except for a few senior citizens sitting in the far corners alone, or the few quiet couples that sat throughout the room. Otherwise, the place seemed silent and quiet. Soft, instrumentals were whispering from the speakers concealed within the ceiling.

I paused in place, expecting Sora to attack me brutally, shouting and ordering justice in about five-four-three-two—

“YOU EVIL SCUM!” Sora shrieked. I felt her sharp fingernails dig into my shoulders as she shook me back and forth. I felt a hint of dizziness cross my head. “I DEMAND JUSTICE!”

She released my shoulders and straightened her back. Her arms were firmly folded in front of her chest, and her mouth curved into an upside-down V.

She was dressed in a flared outfit. A thin, orange ribbon was knotted into a bow that sat below her neck. The short, cuffed sleeves were puffed. A thin, white apron was tightly secured above the front of her frilly dress, and the rest of the outfit was covered in orange and white stripes. Sora was clearly already in uniform.

“Did you figure out his name?” I asked with my voice tinted in hope as I stepped further into the restaurant.

“No!”

Oh yes, I was so, so close.

“Did he figure out your name?”

“Yes!”

I released the exhale I had held in. “Well that’s good, isn’t it?”

“No!”

So . . . so close.

“The other guy that was there was Hachimitsu!” Sora cried in bitter disgust.

“Hachimitsu?” I felt a flashbacked image appear in my mind, remembering the second figure in that classroom. “Do you mean Yoru?”

Yoru Hachimitsu was a slim boy that dated as far back as my second year in the junior high division. His hair was always untamable and messy. When anyone ran a comb through it, it would stay in place for about three short seconds. Then, following those three short seconds, it would shift back into place like stubborn jelly.

I could faintly remember that Sora had fallen for him seconds after meeting him. She maintained that crush until the second he said “How did that bird’s nest get into your hair?” Sora had ended the crush three minutes after she started it (because there was obviously no bird’s nest in her hair).

Ever since then, she had called him by his surname, and she claimed him to be her worst enemy. Though Yoru was very kind, and I always thought he was better than all of the boys Sora has “fallen” for combined.

I never said anything about that thought though—she would have slugged me right then and there.

“So?” I murmured nervously, bending back into the present. I flinched backwards when Sora whipped a clutched fist into the air.

“So?!” Sora repeated bitterly. She narrowed her eyes and recited her life’s story. “Hachimitsu pointed at me and said “Hey, Hinamori”! And that’s how the bleached-haired prince learned my name!”

I nodded, expecting the other half of Sora’s replay.

However, Sora had silenced herself and glared at me. She pursed her lips together and I suspected that it was my turn to continue.

“Um . . . is that all?”

“Yes!”

“What are you being mad about?”