Starting the Transition
0
Jericho Antares
FAKKU Writer
The beginning of a short-story I started around a month ago to practice school life styles of writing. Critiques (especially negative ones) are welcome.
Everyone was excited when the Tanseele government annexed the region of the country. At the time, eighty-two percent of the population was below the poverty line. Now, we’ve broken ninety-five. I was saved, though. My father defected. My mother was killed in the riots that followed the sealing of the slums ten years ago. My family was granted passage to the Tanseele capital city, where we were provided with a home and my father gained a stable job in counter-intelligence. Everything was great for me, a six-year-old moving to a faraway place full of new people. †˜Mommy’ was supposedly making sure everyone was still safe back home, like a superhero, and †˜Daddy’ was at work defending our new home. I had the coolest parents ever. I never noticed that everyone around me hated me, at least not until that summer when everything changed. It was . . . normal at first. Boring,like every other summer I knew. I had no friends, and my father was off doing something at work. Now I know it was back-dealing and espionage. Back then, it was †˜spy stuff’. It was surreal, unreal. It was . . .
“Sour.” Joshua Ackerson commented on the drink he held in his hand. His face puckered involuntarily and he held the can at arm’s length. The machine had made a mistake. He had wanted orange juice, simple orange juice. Instead, he held this bitter, nasty adult drink. Fit for a more mature taste. “I hate sour stuff.”
“You’re still a kid. It’s way too obvious that you were home-schooled. It’s sad.”
I didn’t lie about having no friends. The definition of friend is quite distinct. She bends the line to its fracturing point. A more concise definition of our relationship is †˜symbiotic’. She was the shark. I was the pilot fish swimming in her wake. I was the person she used to be alone when she wanted to be. I still liked it though. After all, the pilot fish still gets scraps. In this case, social scraps, but scraps all the same.
“Well, at least when I’m thirty I’ll act like a sixteen-year-old, then.”
“I feel sorry for your wife. Wait, never mind.”
Joshua smiled wryly at the girl’s joke, and turned toward her. “You’re an adult, right? Why don’t you drink this stuff?”
Her expression hardened and she took the can from his hand, then put it to her mouth and tipped her head back sharply, dumping the contents down her throat. In front of her, Joshua stood frozen. “I-indirect kiss.” He stammered. Her face flushed slightly and she began walking briskly past him.
“You really are a kid.” She sighed, the wind almost carrying away her words.
“Hey, you think it’s weird, too, Haruko! I saw that!”
Haruko Masaki. She’s the daughter of General Hideaki Masaki. She was forcefully put into the public school system by her father to experience the upbringing he did, but she always stood out anyway, thanks to private tutors and physical trainers. Always at top marks for the standardized tests and a national track and field qualifier, she was a true †˜All Tanseele Prodigy’, and I was the †˜Traitor’s Kid’. Maybe she knew the irony and intentionally stayed close to me. I don’t know.
“First rule of public schools in Tanseele is to walk fast. The train to the academy is as punctual as my father.” Haruko said over her shoulder, smoothly transitioning the subject, and Joshua was at a disadvantage. After all, this was his first day in a public school.
“Uh, right. Why don’t you have a private driver or something?”
“Dad always made it clear that I wasn’t a trophy. He would give me the tools I would need to succeed, but nothing more. Every time I asked for something ostentatious, he shot me down quickly and calmly. I got used to it.”
“So no, then. You’re really long-winded sometimes. You call me weird.”
“I had to attend a formal dinner last night. All bureaucrats talk like that. It becomes habit at those long, boorish dinners.”
“Becoming what you hate, then?”
“More than I’d like to admit.”
The walk to Mishima Station was two miles from our houses, which were everything just short of adjoined. Add that to a thirty-minute train ride and a school that starts at 7:30 and the only logical outcome would be . . . mobs, y’know.
“It’s pandemonium!” Joshua yelled over the bustling confusion at the train station. Haruko had insisted on arriving early, and they were caught in the battle royale of club students rushing to get to school early for one reason or the other.
“It’s a warzone, and the most important thing to remember about a warzone is to exploit . . . every . . . flank.” She explained calmly while beginning to shoulder her way through the crowd, almost savagely. Joshua watched her for a second before he felt a pressure on his hand and a tug on his arm. The tug quickly turned into a violent pull, and he stumbled forward into the fray. He felt an elbow dig into his back and even the occasional knee to his stomach. A turnstile rolled over his knee and he tripped over a slight rise in the floor. The ground rushed toward his face before a hand grabbed his collar and stopped his descent.
“The train will be departing in ten minutes. This is the final call for the 6:30 train. All students unable to depart are advised to catch the next train, which will arrive in fifteen minutes.” A pre-recorded voice boomed over the noise of the crowd. While the announcement played out, Haruko pulled him back up by his collar and positioned herself behind him. She placed a hand on each of his shoulders and pushed him forward, farther into the crowd.
“You’re trying to fit a square peg through a round hole!”
“Shut up and use force. Even if you act like a kid you’ve got the body of a sixteen-year-old guy, right? So use it!”
“Only when I’m handy that anything about me is worthy of praise, right?”
“Right!” She replied with a smile. He sighed and began forcing his way through the crowd, though with much less finesse than Haruko had.
“You’re hurting people, you know. This isn’t a kendo bout!” Haruko chastised him, and when he finally reached the train, he put a hand on the doorframe and caught his breath.
“You said this was a warzone.”
“In the right hands, war is a clean art.”
“And so is Iaijutsu, you know, in the right hands.”
“Well you obviously aren’t the right hands. What’s done is done, though, so let’s go, come on!” She pushed him once more just as she too was shoved from behind. Her body fell into his back and he tumbled forward, both of them landing in a heap.
“Whoa.”
“Who’s that?”
“I dunno. Uniform’s new, though.”
“Transfer student, then? Right at the start of the second term?”
“I think the more important matter is what this new kid is doing with Masaki-san.”
Joshua only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, but once he got his bearings, he noticed many—if not all—of the surrounding students glaring down at him. He then realized the position that he, or they, were in. He felt a weight on his back and arms wrapped around his torso. By her lack of movement, he assumed she was somehow passed out.
“Haru—“ He caught himself quickly. The Tanseele society was extremely picky about the usage of first names between people. If he used her first name as he was used to, it would be a disaster, and he would instantly both tarnish her reputation and make sure that he himself could never develop a good one. In this case, he was a lot safer just using her last name with the honorific “chan” added to the end. That was probably the best route to take.
“Uh, Masaki-chan?”
“Hm?” A strangely distant reply came from behind him and he felt something rub on his back, followed by a series of shocked reactions. Meanwhile, he felt the same rubbing sensation between his shoulder blades.
“I-I am not a body pillow, Masaki-chan!” He yelled, and felt the grip around his torso tighten, and then disappear as she woke up.
“Eh, heh.” She murmured as she sat up, her cheeks red. She looked around at the other students above her and bit her cheek in thought. “So sorry! I hit my head while I was boarding the train.” She said to everyone, bowing slightly.
“She got knocked out by that? Wow, she’s so fragile.”
“I got to see Masaki-senpai’s sleeping face!”
“Perverted idiots!” Another girl yelled at the chattering boys. She stepped to Haruko’s side with precise movements. Her wire-framed glasses added a look of authority to an already serious-looking face, and her bangs were swept to the side, a simple barrette holding them in place.
Himeko Katagiri, Haruko’s friend since grade school. I never met her personally, but I had heard her mentioned occasionally at dinner. Apparently they met in the track and field club and, according to my father, complement each other well. My dad must have been sucking up to General Masaki, though; they were an overly critical pair at first sight. Haruko was like a harsh teacher that had your best interests at heart, but Haruko immediately struck me as more of a drill instructor.
“What are you looking at, transfer student? Help her up!” Himeko commanded Joshua, who was still on his stomach. He scrambled to his feet and held a hand out to Haruko, who took it and pulled herself up.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Everyone was excited when the Tanseele government annexed the region of the country. At the time, eighty-two percent of the population was below the poverty line. Now, we’ve broken ninety-five. I was saved, though. My father defected. My mother was killed in the riots that followed the sealing of the slums ten years ago. My family was granted passage to the Tanseele capital city, where we were provided with a home and my father gained a stable job in counter-intelligence. Everything was great for me, a six-year-old moving to a faraway place full of new people. †˜Mommy’ was supposedly making sure everyone was still safe back home, like a superhero, and †˜Daddy’ was at work defending our new home. I had the coolest parents ever. I never noticed that everyone around me hated me, at least not until that summer when everything changed. It was . . . normal at first. Boring,like every other summer I knew. I had no friends, and my father was off doing something at work. Now I know it was back-dealing and espionage. Back then, it was †˜spy stuff’. It was surreal, unreal. It was . . .
“Sour.” Joshua Ackerson commented on the drink he held in his hand. His face puckered involuntarily and he held the can at arm’s length. The machine had made a mistake. He had wanted orange juice, simple orange juice. Instead, he held this bitter, nasty adult drink. Fit for a more mature taste. “I hate sour stuff.”
“You’re still a kid. It’s way too obvious that you were home-schooled. It’s sad.”
I didn’t lie about having no friends. The definition of friend is quite distinct. She bends the line to its fracturing point. A more concise definition of our relationship is †˜symbiotic’. She was the shark. I was the pilot fish swimming in her wake. I was the person she used to be alone when she wanted to be. I still liked it though. After all, the pilot fish still gets scraps. In this case, social scraps, but scraps all the same.
“Well, at least when I’m thirty I’ll act like a sixteen-year-old, then.”
“I feel sorry for your wife. Wait, never mind.”
Joshua smiled wryly at the girl’s joke, and turned toward her. “You’re an adult, right? Why don’t you drink this stuff?”
Her expression hardened and she took the can from his hand, then put it to her mouth and tipped her head back sharply, dumping the contents down her throat. In front of her, Joshua stood frozen. “I-indirect kiss.” He stammered. Her face flushed slightly and she began walking briskly past him.
“You really are a kid.” She sighed, the wind almost carrying away her words.
“Hey, you think it’s weird, too, Haruko! I saw that!”
Haruko Masaki. She’s the daughter of General Hideaki Masaki. She was forcefully put into the public school system by her father to experience the upbringing he did, but she always stood out anyway, thanks to private tutors and physical trainers. Always at top marks for the standardized tests and a national track and field qualifier, she was a true †˜All Tanseele Prodigy’, and I was the †˜Traitor’s Kid’. Maybe she knew the irony and intentionally stayed close to me. I don’t know.
“First rule of public schools in Tanseele is to walk fast. The train to the academy is as punctual as my father.” Haruko said over her shoulder, smoothly transitioning the subject, and Joshua was at a disadvantage. After all, this was his first day in a public school.
“Uh, right. Why don’t you have a private driver or something?”
“Dad always made it clear that I wasn’t a trophy. He would give me the tools I would need to succeed, but nothing more. Every time I asked for something ostentatious, he shot me down quickly and calmly. I got used to it.”
“So no, then. You’re really long-winded sometimes. You call me weird.”
“I had to attend a formal dinner last night. All bureaucrats talk like that. It becomes habit at those long, boorish dinners.”
“Becoming what you hate, then?”
“More than I’d like to admit.”
The walk to Mishima Station was two miles from our houses, which were everything just short of adjoined. Add that to a thirty-minute train ride and a school that starts at 7:30 and the only logical outcome would be . . . mobs, y’know.
“It’s pandemonium!” Joshua yelled over the bustling confusion at the train station. Haruko had insisted on arriving early, and they were caught in the battle royale of club students rushing to get to school early for one reason or the other.
“It’s a warzone, and the most important thing to remember about a warzone is to exploit . . . every . . . flank.” She explained calmly while beginning to shoulder her way through the crowd, almost savagely. Joshua watched her for a second before he felt a pressure on his hand and a tug on his arm. The tug quickly turned into a violent pull, and he stumbled forward into the fray. He felt an elbow dig into his back and even the occasional knee to his stomach. A turnstile rolled over his knee and he tripped over a slight rise in the floor. The ground rushed toward his face before a hand grabbed his collar and stopped his descent.
“The train will be departing in ten minutes. This is the final call for the 6:30 train. All students unable to depart are advised to catch the next train, which will arrive in fifteen minutes.” A pre-recorded voice boomed over the noise of the crowd. While the announcement played out, Haruko pulled him back up by his collar and positioned herself behind him. She placed a hand on each of his shoulders and pushed him forward, farther into the crowd.
“You’re trying to fit a square peg through a round hole!”
“Shut up and use force. Even if you act like a kid you’ve got the body of a sixteen-year-old guy, right? So use it!”
“Only when I’m handy that anything about me is worthy of praise, right?”
“Right!” She replied with a smile. He sighed and began forcing his way through the crowd, though with much less finesse than Haruko had.
“You’re hurting people, you know. This isn’t a kendo bout!” Haruko chastised him, and when he finally reached the train, he put a hand on the doorframe and caught his breath.
“You said this was a warzone.”
“In the right hands, war is a clean art.”
“And so is Iaijutsu, you know, in the right hands.”
“Well you obviously aren’t the right hands. What’s done is done, though, so let’s go, come on!” She pushed him once more just as she too was shoved from behind. Her body fell into his back and he tumbled forward, both of them landing in a heap.
“Whoa.”
“Who’s that?”
“I dunno. Uniform’s new, though.”
“Transfer student, then? Right at the start of the second term?”
“I think the more important matter is what this new kid is doing with Masaki-san.”
Joshua only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, but once he got his bearings, he noticed many—if not all—of the surrounding students glaring down at him. He then realized the position that he, or they, were in. He felt a weight on his back and arms wrapped around his torso. By her lack of movement, he assumed she was somehow passed out.
“Haru—“ He caught himself quickly. The Tanseele society was extremely picky about the usage of first names between people. If he used her first name as he was used to, it would be a disaster, and he would instantly both tarnish her reputation and make sure that he himself could never develop a good one. In this case, he was a lot safer just using her last name with the honorific “chan” added to the end. That was probably the best route to take.
“Uh, Masaki-chan?”
“Hm?” A strangely distant reply came from behind him and he felt something rub on his back, followed by a series of shocked reactions. Meanwhile, he felt the same rubbing sensation between his shoulder blades.
“I-I am not a body pillow, Masaki-chan!” He yelled, and felt the grip around his torso tighten, and then disappear as she woke up.
“Eh, heh.” She murmured as she sat up, her cheeks red. She looked around at the other students above her and bit her cheek in thought. “So sorry! I hit my head while I was boarding the train.” She said to everyone, bowing slightly.
“She got knocked out by that? Wow, she’s so fragile.”
“I got to see Masaki-senpai’s sleeping face!”
“Perverted idiots!” Another girl yelled at the chattering boys. She stepped to Haruko’s side with precise movements. Her wire-framed glasses added a look of authority to an already serious-looking face, and her bangs were swept to the side, a simple barrette holding them in place.
Himeko Katagiri, Haruko’s friend since grade school. I never met her personally, but I had heard her mentioned occasionally at dinner. Apparently they met in the track and field club and, according to my father, complement each other well. My dad must have been sucking up to General Masaki, though; they were an overly critical pair at first sight. Haruko was like a harsh teacher that had your best interests at heart, but Haruko immediately struck me as more of a drill instructor.
“What are you looking at, transfer student? Help her up!” Himeko commanded Joshua, who was still on his stomach. He scrambled to his feet and held a hand out to Haruko, who took it and pulled herself up.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”