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Aya Oosawa was perched in the driver’s seat of her mom’s gray Toyota Aqua, adjusting and then readjusting her hands on the wheel. Clench, unclench. What was it again—9 and 3 o’clock or 10 and 2? Did it really matter? It wasn’t like the paramedics would find her sprawled out on the street after she crashed and say, well at least she was following proper steering procedure!
She rested her forehead on the dash and sighed.
She really really really hated driving. Which annoyed her to an inordinate degree, because it should be the exact type of thing that would please her. Freedom to go anywhere! Wind in her face! Radio on full blast! But, no. That wasn’t how it turned out at all.
Her mom had been the one to teach her. She’d shown Aya all the controls (which she promptly forgot), took her around an empty parking lot (only 1.5 trash cans were run over), then patted her on the back and declared: you’re ready for the exam!
And Aya had truly, fully, honest-to-Godly, believed her. And—here’s the shocker—she actually did pass. Everyone agreed that it was a miracle, a fluke, but it didn’t matter, right? She’d done it. License obtained. The world was her oyster! Woohoo.
…Until, that one fateful day, when she drove on an actual road for the first time, and she realized it was all a terrible mistake.
Curbs were hit (their fault), pedestrians were left ducking for cover (dramatic much), horns blared, and the local police felt a shift in the wind that sounded a bit like detain that nuisance on the street immediately…
Before it could get to that point, Aya had pulled off into an empty lot—a full circle moment, really—and bawled. It’s a disheartening thing to learn that every skill you’ve obtained over the past few weeks was actually at the level of an 8th grader with a blindfold on. Plus that nobody had the heart to mention it to you.
She’d accepted then that the passenger seat was forever her throne, and waited until all the roads were empty before shakily pulling out and going home.
The last time, she told herself. I’m never doing that again.
Yet, here she was.
Because, as it went, the thoughts of freedom and radio and wind had creeped back into her mind. She just needed practice, that was the truth. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t get herself to start the car after that day. The humiliation always came back to her in a wave. She could actually injure someone, you know, maybe even herself.
She took her head off the dash. Stared at the numbers. Adjusted her hands. Readjusted her hands.
Dammit! She just couldn’t do it.
She stomped out of the car and slammed the door behind her. She threw the keys on the counter. Then went to her room, put on her headphones, and drowned out the sound of failure with that of music.
Screw driving! Who needed to do that anyway?
***
It came up the next day at the CD shop. She and Koga were discussing an upcoming concert they were going to see together, when Koga asked: “Do you want me to pick you up, or are you good to get there yourself?”
Aya was about to decline the offer, but she remembered something. “Ah…actually, could you take me? My mom’s out, so she can’t drive me.”
“She left you stranded?” Koga teased. She looked the best she ever had (as she did every day), in her rumpled Foo Fighters tee and baggy pants. Her hair was tied back but several strands had fallen into her face anyway. Was Aya seeing things, or did her eyes actually sparkle in this lighting?
“Nah,” Aya said, crushing that train of thought before it got out of hand. “Not technically. I mean, she left her car in case.”
Koga appeared puzzled for a moment. “Oh. You don’t have your license yet. Didn’t mean to assume, it’s just…” She trailed off. The we’re already 17, stupid, what have you been doing all this time? went unsaid.
“I have my license,” Aya defended. “I’ve had it for a month, thank you very much.”
“I see,” Koga said, walking closer. Too close. “You just use it for decoration, then. Classy. I like it.”
“That’s not—“ Aya turned red from hair to heels. “Back up, won’t you?” She gave Koga a light shove, eliciting a laugh. (God, she was so beautiful…)
“That’s alright,” Koga said, surrendering. “We all have different strengths. I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay.” Aya looked down. There was a beat of silence. “But, for the record, It’s not that I can’t drive at all...”
“Mm. I never said you couldn’t.”
“It’s just, sometimes people don’t even put their signal on, you know?”
“True.”
“And the squirrels, they just scurry right out, begging to be hit!”
“…You didn’t actually squish any, did you?”
“And—and the curbs! God, why are there so many?”
“Well, I think there’s a valid reason for that…”
“And—“
Koga put a finger to Aya’s lips. “Shush. No more beating yourself up, alright? I’ll drive, and there’s nothing to worry about past that. I’ll even give you some pointers if you want.”
Aya calmed down. Her heart veered back on course. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “Okay. Thanks.” She gave a slight smile.
Koga returned it. Suddenly, Aya’s problems didn’t seem quite as large. (And no, she hadn’t been mistaken, that was a sparkle.)
“No problem. I’ll see you then.”
That was that.
***
The walk back from a concert often made Aya feel she had fifty-pound sand bags tied to each of her legs. She was sore, delirious, and the adrenaline was draining from her system at a concerning rate. Her two braids were scraggly messes, her makeup was smudged, and her voice had the quality of a raven with smoker’s cough. She was pretty sure one of her heels was chipped, but maybe the unevenness was another symptom of the delirium.
“Man, that was so cool,” Koga said from her side, more chatty than usual. “The venue’s really upped their speaker game.” She still looked good, somehow. It broke every law of the Post Concert Hideousness Axiom, and ticked Aya off to no end. How could someone possibly look so put together with ruffled hair and chipped nail polish and under the stark light of incandescent street lamps at witching hour o’clock?
“I know,” Aya replied. “Wish we could do this every night.” And despite the state she was in, she meant it. There was no greater high than getting your eardrums wrecked by a 105-decibel electric guitar while trying to avoid bumping into sweaty men for 2 hours. That was living.
“If we were richer,” Koga said.
“If we didn’t have school,” Aya added.
They both basked in the glorious, unattainable reality.
As they got closer to the (painfully overpriced) lot, the volume of people going the same way multiplied tenfold. Some were drunk, others were screaming, the rest were doing both at the same time. The two girls slowed, slowed more, and eventually halted at the edge of the crowd to gauge the situation better.
“Damn,” said Koga. Wise words.
“I think we’re going to have to go through,” Aya noted. “I don’t see a way around...” But before Koga could get a word in, her view had already shifted. She stuck a braid in her mouth, a nervous habit. “Then again, what if we get separated? I’ll die out here.” (it came out more like: “Fhen afen, whaf if we gef sphepaphared? I’ll fie out fhere.”)
“I think the chemicals in your shampoo might take you out first.” Koga said, then frowned. “It’s the only way?” she asked to verify, disturbed by any cluster of people larger than 3.
“Unless we fly overhead. But I sort of forgot my helicopter at home.”
Koga ignored this, and did something that nearly made Aya fall to her knees—grabbed her by the hand and began to pull her along. The press of silver rings was a welcoming chill, and the softness of skin-to-skin contact presented itself as a slight tingle. Not entirely softness. There were a few rough calluses from playing the guitar, which only added to the charm.
Aya’s brain quickly drowned all of that out with logical explanations to prevent spontaneous combustion. Obviously, this is just so we stay together, It said. Duh. Don’t be getting all excited now.
But she could swear there was a red tinge to Koga’s cheeks. Perhaps Aya wasn’t the only one who trembled at the thought of getting closer, yet reached for it all the same. One of them was just better at concealing it—
Whack!
A shoulder, a splash of beer.
Aya was shoved forward in a blur. She stumbled, and only Koga’s grip kept her upright. She whirled around. “Hey!” But the perpetrator was already lost in the mob.
The world spun for a second, then righted itself.
“That asshole,” Koga hissed, and guided Aya to the side, near the wall of a building, where there were less people. It was darker, too; only a thin sliver of Koga’s face was visible; the rest was a silhouette.
“You okay?” she asked, brows pulled together.
Aya was a little taken aback by the overt concern. And the proximity. She shrugged. “What else can you expect out here?”
Koga’s lips pulled into a thin line. She was not pleased with that answer. Her eyes trailed down. “Oh, your shirt.”
Aya followed her gaze. There was a sizable alcohol stain on the hem of her top, ruining the nice peach color of it. She wasn’t particularly attached to it, but it was disappointing to have it soiled in such a dumb way.
“Awh.” She huffed. “How annoying! I should have punched that guy, huh?”
Koga brushed her finger over it with a complicated expression. Aya couldn’t quite place why she was so torn up. She almost wanted to reassure Koga, but it didn’t seem appropriate when Aya was the one who’d gotten jostled around. So they lapsed into silence for a few moments.
Aya broke first. “Shouldn’t we keep going?”
Koga shook her head, staring at some point in the distance. “I don’t know. Let’s wait it out, maybe.”
Suddenly, with Koga’s declining mood, and that ugly man, and her exhaustion, Aya wanted to scream. She’d been having such a good time only a few minutes earlier. Now everything bugged her. She kicked a pebble with her chipped heel. She wanted to go home.
“It’s fine, Koga,” she insisted. “We can’t stay here forever.”
“Yeah, but...”
Aya made a noise of frustration. “I’m cold.”
“Have my jacket,” Koga said, already unzipping it.
“No!” Aya stopped her. “It’s not that…I just. I don’t know. I’m leaving.”
Which meant that Koga was also leaving, seeing as she’d driven Aya there. Koga clearly recognized this, and was not happy about it. Which half made Aya more angry—she hadn’t been the one to switch all icy!—and made her feel guilty—if she could have gotten here herself, it wouldn’t be an issue.
The crowd had thinned out, so they didn’t have any problems this time around. How couldn’t Koga understand that it wasn’t a big deal? Yeah, the shove was irritating, but it wasn’t as if she had to be coddled like a little kid!
That was essentially her train of thought the entire walk (stomp) back to Koga’s (Joe’s) car, except with a few more stupids, idiots, and dumb morons thrown in as embellishments.
She opened the passenger door and threw herself inside, arms crossed.
Koga followed on her side, less brashly.
She set her hands on the wheel, but didn’t turn the car on.
Outside, a leaf fluttered down onto the windshield.
“Well?” Aya prompted amidst the silence.
Koga finally looked at her. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to get all weird back there.”
“Well, you did,” Aya said. She realized she was probably rubbing it in now, but she still sounded like a strep patient and felt like a plague patient, so she figured her actions were excused.
“I know.” Koga made a deep, I’m-about-to-get-vulnerable-and-it’s-paining-me sort of exhale. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But it kinda feels like sometimes that…I don’t know, every move I take ends up hurting you somehow. It sounds dumb out loud.”
Instead of being mean and agreeing (she very nearly considered it), Aya said, “C’mon, there’s no way you could have known.”
“I could have been more careful, though.”
Aya made a face. “I don’t like you because you’re careful. I like you because you’re unapologetic—I mean, usually—and you’re always… yourself.”
Something in Koga’s expression shifted, but it was impossible to tell what. She pondered Aya’s borderline nonsensical declaration. “…Very deep.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious, though. I’ll do better next time.”
Aya took a long look at Koga, memorizing the curves of her features. “I know a way you can make it up to me.”
That elicited an eyebrow raise. She hadn’t meant it to come out so…uh…
“Driving,” she explained quickly. “Could you help me practice?” She added: “Then you won’t have to work so hard being my chauffeur anymore.”
Koga nodded. “I never mind, you know. But sure. I’ll be glad to. We should probably have a schedule, though. Maybe Tuesdays and Thursdays? My shift ends early on those days.”
Aya tried not to get her hopes up, and failed. “Okay,” she said. “Sounds good. But I have to warn you. It’s worse than you think.”
Koga smiled thinly. “Oh, Oosawa, you’re always downplaying your abilities.”
***
“Good God, Oosawa! I thought that was a person you just ran over.”
“I think it was a trash can.”
“For the third time? How many trash cans are out here? And why?”
“They’re my mortal enemies. They appear out of thin air solely to hinder me.”
“Watch out!”
Aya swerved to the side and barely avoided colliding with the base of a stop sign. How she had gotten that close and didn’t notice was beyond even the cosmos’ understanding.
Koga, in the passenger seat, was gripping on to the grab handle for dear life. She had held way too much faith in Aya’s skills, that much was obvious. Nobody could blame her for it. Aya having her license implied a certain level of competency that she simply did not possess.
As she did her best to navigate the empty backroads Koga had assigned her to, she mused on the fact that a few days ago, she would have been mortified to demonstrate her dreadful driving in front of anyone—let alone her crush. But somehow, she’d managed to cross the threshold from embarrassment to straight-up fascination. Hitting 3 trash cans? She was a statistical wonder. They should study her for science.
At that instant, something made a crunch sound under her tire. Case in point!
Koga’s face turned green. “I don’t even want to know.” She studied their surroundings for a second. “Hey, this is a good place to stop.”
Aya did so. The break was one of the few things she could locate, to the general relief of the human race.
They rested there for a while in a companionable quiet, enjoying the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, the light breeze of early spring.
Overall, it hadn’t been her worst performance. No living creatures murdered. No dents in the car. Koga not going into cardiac arrest even once. Aya was…warm. It was like when you got home, and put on your favorite song, and it sounded somehow better than the past 200 listens. That’s what it was like hanging out with Koga.
“I see NASCAR in my future,” Aya said for her own amusement, leaning playfully to the left.
Koga snorted and leaned to the right so they were almost touching. “You would look cute in the uniform, I’ll give you that. But the mechanics would be working overtime.”
Cute…How could she say things like that so casually? Did she know what it did to Aya? If yes, what did it mean that she kept up with it? And if not, how?
“They should be honored,” Aya asserted, trying to regain her footing. Based on Koga’s expression, it seemed to be a failure. The more haughty Aya acted, the more obvious she was putting on a front. And Koga could see right through her. It was almost more discomfiting than running over 6 curbs in 3 minutes.
“Yes they should.”
“Oh,” Aya said, remembering something. “Speaking of overtime—or, the opposite, I guess, why’s the shop closed on Friday?” She’d seen a PSA tacked onto the store’s front window when she and Koga met up, but got, well, a little distracted, and hadn’t asked.
“New music coming in,” Koga said with a dreamy smile. “Lots. It’ll take all day to shelve.”
Aya giggled. “How much music can you possibly own? Or even listen to?”
Koga leaned back and shrugged. “Haven’t found the limit yet. Don’t see a reason to give up now. What was it Shakespeare said? If music be the food of love, play on?”
“Not sure, never met the guy,” Aya said, and prayed to every God of every denomination that it wasn’t noticeable how the word love made her voice catch.
Koga’s smile broadened. If all Aya could do for the rest of her life was make Mitsuki Koga’s smile broaden, it would be a life well spent. “Well, I think what he meant is that we can listen to all the damn music we want.”
“Cheers to that,” Aya concurred. And they tapped their imaginary glasses together with a whoop!
Aya was warm.
***
But only a few days later, Koga fell into a bad, no-good, terrible mood, and Aya could not, for the life of her, figure out why. She’d noticed right when they’d arrived at school; it was impossible to miss. And the worst part about it was, Koga didn’t whine or throw things like Aya did when she was mad. She just kind of…folded into herself. It was a sorrowful sight.
Nagging Narita was at Aya’s side, routinely ‘whispering,’ “hey, what’s up with her,” which Koga could certainly hear, and was also not helpful.
“Shut it, will you?” Aya hissed at him.
He did not. “You should try to, y’ know, cheer her up,” he suggested, and the promise of prison was very nearly not enough to stop Aya from javelin-throwing him out the window.
Aya had been trying to cheer her up, excuse you, and didn’t need her failure rubbed in her face. All morning she’d been perky, patient, pleasing, the pinnacle of Oosawa Obligingness. And got zilch out of it. Not even a half-smile or pretend laugh. So, to reiterate, Narita needed to shut it.
“Class!” the teacher clapped her hands together, snapping Aya from her thoughts. There was a chorus of groans in response. The teacher explained their assignment for the day, adding that they could work alone or in small groups. As soon as she had stopped talking, the classroom erupted in mayhem. A few kids actually crawled over the desks to reach their friends. Others brandished freshly sharpened pencils to stab their competitors. (“Ow! Not up the nose!”)
And as for Aya’s end, three things happened at the exact same time: 1) Chizuru and Mao turned to her, 2) she turned to Koga, 3) Koga’s hand shot up, and she mumbled a bit of nonsense that included the word “bathroom,” and she darted out of the room.
Aya’s head spun for a good few seconds, trying to catch up with it all. She’d blinked, and the world had flipped on its head. The unnatural fluorescent light that builders added into schools to give children migraines burned away her corneas. Someone was tapping her shoulder. She would have been more grounded hurling off the side of a cliff than she was now.
“Return to earth, Aya,” Chizuru deadpanned, continuing to jab her. “Please.
Aya returned to right around the International Space Station level of earthliness. It was enough to respond, anyhow. “Yeah?”
“Are you going to, I dunno, be a part of our group? Or stare at the paint on the walls?”
Aya found herself in a very difficult position. Because on one hand, she loved her friends, she really did. She would be happy to work with them. On any other day, that is. Today, though? Today, her mind was running around a track of worry, and Mitsuki Koga’s name was in bold letters across the pavement. What if she was crying in the bathroom right now? How could Aya sit here in the unknown without going bonkers?
“Uh,” she said to buy time, because she was graceful like that.
Her eyes darted around the room in search of something imposing that might conveniently tip onto her and cave her skull in, necessitating a nurse trip.
They instead found Narita, holding a carton of chocolate milk.
It was almost funny how the scene played out in her head seconds before it occurred. In any other circumstance, she would have declared herself a prophet—but it didn’t take a genius to see the smirk pulling at Nasty Narita’s mouth.
She had enough breath to begin: “Don’t you dare you little—!” But the battle had been lost before she knew she was participating. In a flash, cold milk spewed all over her sweater, shoes, and dignity. She was left a dripping, seething mess.
“I’ll kill you!” she said, lunging forward, but Mao held her back.
“It was just an itty bitty mistake,” Narita cooed. He had the audacity to wink at her. Unfortunately, as deplorable as the motion was, it was what it took to shake some sense back into Aya. Koga! Right! Narita may be a dingbat, but there was a goal behind his actions, one which happened to align with Aya’s this time around. (If this was not so, she truly would have punted his head off.)
She sucked in a breath and yelled: “Teachherrr!”
“Yes, yes,” the woman dismissed, “do whatever you need to do.”
“I’m sorry, Aya,” Mao said, dabbing at the stains with a tissue.
“Want me to pour my water down his uniform?” Chizuru offered, gesturing to Narita.
“Hey now,” he squeaked. “I said it was by accident, let’s not get hasty!”
“Ah, it’s not worth it,” Aya said. “I’ll just go clean up in the bathroom.”
Two thumbs up and one more wink later, Aya was out of the room and into the empty halls. Despite her urgency, she took a second to admire how still a place could get, even one filled with so many people. Quiet…peace…she could see why Koga preferred this to class in her distress.
She speed-walked down the halls, wary of hidden phone cameras that might capture her soiled clothing. For the second time in the past few weeks, too. Geez!
When she reached it, the bathroom smelled like bathroom, and was completely empty, two red marks. Aya grimaced and retreated. She should have guessed that Koga wasn’t genuinely hiding out in there.
So, where?
A memory sparked in her mind; she forced it to grow into a flame. “Sometimes I like to sit under the stairs at the end of the west wing and…” Koga had mentioned once. At the time, Aya had insensitively compared her to Harry Potter and gotten scolded for it. The recollection was fond.
Destination in mind, her walk this time was more of a jog. Her anticipation grew with every step. She reached the staircase in record time, panting, and, lo and behold, Koga was crouched beneath it. The sun grew brighter through the windows.
Koga glanced up at Aya. “Uh, hey.”
“Hey yourself.” Aya eased herself down next to Koga, hoping not to drive her away. She tried to think of something clever to say, something encouraging that would spawn rainbows in the sky in an exuberant miracle. What came out was: “Did you know, there’s a type of centaur called an onocentaur that’s part donkey instead of horse? Nobody really talks about them, because horses are more elegant, and anyway, it’s hard to admit that you’re part ass.”
Koga rewarded her with several long blinks. “Is this a roundabout way of calling me an ass…?”
“Only half. And I don’t mean it in a demeaning way. Horses may be easier to train, but donkeys are just about the most hardy rascals on the planet. They can endure…anything, I think, barring the apocalypse. And maybe lice.”
There was no good way to process that, or to respond to it. Aya felt a tad bad about brandishing her Incomprehensible Metaphors so early on; she’d done her best to leave them behind when entering highschool. Comparing people to barn animals did not often help with gaining status.
“So if I’m half…donkey, then what's the other half?” Koga asked at last. “It doesn’t feel…human.”
Aya pondered this. “Hmm. I figure it’s less of a top-half, bottom-half thing with us. More like an inner-outer situation. So, it would be your outer layer that’s the donkey, and the inner that has all the soft feelings.” She punctuated the last part with a poke at Koga’s chest. “A butterfly, vibrant and nervous, and fragile.”
Koga stared upwards, at nothing in particular. Her glasses shifted down. “You’re more the butterfly.”
“You don’t think I have some ass in me, even after I burst in here and interrupted your peace?” Aya said.
“No. There was no peace to tamper with in the first place.” Koga took her first good look at Aya. “Though, it does look like something brown and liquidy has tampered with you.”
“I slipped into a muddy puddle. Have yet to figure out how it got past security.”
Koga let out a tiny, tiny chuckle, and said once it had dissipated, “Oh, Oosawa, why’d you come and look for me?”
“I was worried,” Aya admitted. “You were upset. I brought music. Will that make it better?”
There was silence. Then: “Music is my life, but right now…I don’t want to be near it.”
“Something happened with your song,” Aya said—stated as fact. She meant the song Koga was writing, but was too embarrassed to show anyone beyond Aya, Joe, and Kanna.
Koga lowered her head into her arms. “I dropped a bit of writing, and someone picked it up, and just sort of smiled to themselves when they read it—I don’t know, it just made me feel. Naked. I guess.”
“They probably thought it was brilliant,” Aya said earnestly.
“I don’t know how to make myself believe that,” Koga said.
“I don’t either. But maybe I can believe it for you until you do.”
Koga pondered Aya’s offer. Something swirled around the storm of her eyes, unrestrained and crackling with electricity. Koga was always off in her own realm, often missing out on parts of conversations, or misinterpreting what people said to her. Aya had come to accept this. (Was endeared by it, really.) Yet, every once in a while, clarity would surge through her with full intensity, and she seemed to be able to see through people. In those moments, goosebumps would rise on Aya’s arms, because she knew exactly what Koga would see in her, and it scared her more than anything.
“Oosawa,” Koga said, ablaze, “How do you feel about trying out a stick shift?”
***
There were bad ideas. There were terrible ideas. And then there was this.
Aya sitting in the driver’s seat of Kanna’s luxurious manual Mustang was akin to handing a baby a stick of dynamite. A baby that had already decimated several small islands.
Koga—no, Mitsuki (“If we’re going to die together, we should do it on a first-name basis” –wise words from an earlier conversation) had asked Kanna to borrow her car earlier in the day, highly exaggerating Aya’s ability to operate it. It was clear from her expression that Kanna knew the two of them were full of shit, but she let them go for it anyway, muttering about how making dumb decisions as a kid was the only way to learn. Aya wasn’t sure that rule still applied when they were fully aware they were dumbasses, yet actively chose to ignore it.
The sun was nearly down, leaving only a few streaks of orange and purple light trailing behind. Mitsuki’s shift had ended late. They could have rescheduled, but making one tiny smart decision appeared vain when weighed against the stupidity already committed. Besides, the darkness raised the stakes. Heightened the thrill.
Aya was buzzing with electricity.
“You’re going to have to be very careful with the clutch,” Mitsuki warned. She had already provided a lengthy explanation of what was meant to happen here, but they both knew it was for show. Aya wouldn’t absorb any of it. This bit, however, had an edge of realness that made her concentrate extra hard. “If you stall a bunch and wear it down, Kanna will have my head.”
“Wouldn’t want that.”
“Remember what I said. Clutch down, first gear, accelerate lightly, slowly lift the clutch until it catches, and so on. I’ll guide you on shifting up after that, if we make it that far.”
Oh, Mitsuki was so captivating when she was interested in something…
“If we’re not red splatters on the wall by then,” Aya agreed.
Mitsuki smiled at that. She was in all black, all baggy clothes, with painted nails, and jewelry galore, the pinnacle of her true, lovely self.
“You ready?” Aya said.
“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that.”
And then they were off.
For the first small stretch of empty road, Aya was rigid, terrified, and her vocabulary consisted solely of “is that right?” The good news was, she was so focused on not ending up on Kanna’s hit list that she forgot to suck at the other parts of driving.
“Good,” Mitsuki said, drawing the word out. “Very good.”
Aya’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Once was fine.”
Mitsuki made a surrendering gesture in her peripheral vision. Hah.
They rolled around the roads for a while, Aya loosening up little by little. It wasn’t so hard, without any distractions (except for, ironically, the biggest distraction of all time. It was pathetic how Aya had to put so much genuine effort into not looking over at her).
“Can I go faster?” she questioned the aforementioned distraction, determined.
Mitsuki was shocked for all of one second, then shrugged. “Sure. Yeah. It’s a lot like what you did before…”
She guided Aya through the steps, which Aya completed without issue, shifting to the second gear. Then third.
She felt like she was flying. The dark silhouettes of trees blurred past outside. She grinned. She’d never done so well before, and it was an entirely new—
And then it happened.
It was bound to happen from the start, really.
She stalled.
She got too confident, too careless, let go of the clutch too fast, and it just…stopped. The entire car jerked, and the engine made a tiny, dismal groan before turning off.
Reality seemed to stop for a moment, before catching up to her in one big rush. She flinched back from the wheel. “Shit,” she whispered, and turned to Mitsuki, expecting anger or despair on her face.
Instead, Mitsuki looked concerned. “You good?”
“I stalled it,” Aya said, distressed. “I…is Kanna going to be mad?”
“Oh, no no no,” Mitsuki rushed to say. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like—you’re not going to break the whole car if you stall it once, Aya.” She turned sheepish. “Sorry, that must have been my own anxiety affecting you.”
Aya leaned back with a huge sigh of relief. “I thought I would have to flee the country. My list of trendy fake names was already being unfurled.”
“Sorry,” Mitsuki repeated.
“Not your fault!.” Aya placed her hands back on the wheel, but it was tentative. “I’m worried about going again, though. I might really screw something up this time.”
Mitsuki took a breath. Aya thought she would say, you don’t have to go again, but she said, “I’ll help you.” Which made Aya flush.
“You have been helping me.”
“I’ll be better. You just do exactly what you did before, and I’ll be there.”
Aya nodded. She restarted the car, fluctuating between nerves and excitement, the same she did the instant before a beat drop.
She eased the vehicle back into first. She got to second, then third.
This was where she’d messed up last time. The road ahead seemed imposing and endless. The same humiliation from her earlier ventures was worming into her gut.
“You can stay here if you want,” Mitsuki said.
The thing was, Aya didn’t want to. Yes, she was afraid and didn’t want to mess up again, and going forward seemed impossible, but she wanted to anyway.
Strangely, that brought to mind Mitsuki as well (though maybe her mind just connected everything to Mitsuki at this point). How Aya kept running after her, listening to her play, being her number 1 fan, even when it felt like self-torture, even when she felt so distant within their closeness.
She spared a glance at the passenger side. “I want to try.”
Mitsuki gave the thumbs up, and Aya pressed on the clutch. She shifted and went to pull back—but she could feel that her timing was off immediately. Panic pressed against her lungs. She didn’t know what to—
Mitsuki reached over and put her hand on Aya’s leg.
It succeeded in stopping her from letting out the clutch too fast, indeed, but it also nearly made her pass out right then and there.
She tapped into willpower she didn’t know existed, and finished the shift. But her mind was on other things now. Screw driving. Screw everything! She needed, she needed…
“You made it,” Mitsuki said.
I’m going to kiss you, Aya thought. Oh. Oh no. She was sinking deeper into dangerous territory. She needed to end this, quick. “I’m going to stop now!” she squeaked.
“O…kay?” Mitsuki said. She could be so oblivious! How could she not see Aya dying right in front of her?
Aya made a swift and graceless series of leaps back to neutral, then pressed on the break. She felt like she’d run a marathon.
“That was good!” Mitsuki said. Her stupid eyes were twinkling, her stupid beautiful face was soft, inviting.
Aya stared at her for three seconds, four. The shadowy outline of a dove flew by outside. “I can’t do this anymore,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Mitsuki’s happiness dimmed. “What?”
Aya rested her head on the dash, a familiar movement.
“What?” Mitsuki tried again. “Don’t worry about the stall, it was your first time. It was really very goo—“
“Not the driving. I mean…us. I can’t do this anymore.” Aya motioned to the both of them.
There was a stretch of quiet.
“This,” Mitsuki echoed. It was evident by her tone of voice that she was imagining the worst-case-scenario, maybe even thinking of Kanna and Joe.
Aya backtracked. “No, no. I’m not trying to say that… I’m mad at you, or something. It’s not your fault, it’s me. I’m all messed up in the head.”
“Please just say it plainly,” Mitsuki begged.
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Say it.”
“I suspect you already know.”
“Say it. Please.”
“I want you, Mitsuki,” Aya blurted out. “Romantically! In the girlfriend sort of way. Okay? Happy? Is that what you wanted to hear? I want to kiss you. I’ve been going crazy the past half hour trying to focus on the road instead of stare at you!”
The silence that followed this announcement was stronger than silence and managed to last around fifty years in five seconds.
“You mean that?” Mitsuki asked, so, so quiet.
“Of course I do,” Aya said. Was this the part where she got out of the car and booked it? Maybe. Probably. Yes.
However, when she turned back to Mitsuki, her heart skipped a beat. There was desire in Mitsuki’s gaze. She couldn’t be making it up. She knew she wasn’t making it up, because she wasn’t an idiot—she’d been aware from the start that there was something mutual between them, but confronting it somehow made everything jumbled and uncertain.
She made an executive decision to stay in the car. “Okay,” she said. “Now it’s your turn to confess something.”
Mitsuki was suddenly very red, even in the dim lighting. She looked down. “Uh. I. I’ve thought about kissing you, too.”
“...Recently?” Wow. Aya took back all claims of not being an idiot.
“Like…now, actually.”
Jesus. Don’t faint, don’t faint.
“I can make that happen,” Aya breathed out. And she leaned toward Mitsuki, leaned in close. And before she could chicken out (what was she doing? How? Help??!), she made up her mind.
What she intended to be a bold surge to connect their lips ended up more like an amble. It was easy to imagine what you’d do before an expanse of shining treasures—but when you were actually there, your mind went sort of blank.
Luckily, there was someone on the other end. Mitsuki picked up the slack like it was ingrained in her DNA, bridging the final centimeters that lingered between them.
Warmth was the first sensation Aya made out. The second was the light, smoky scent of Mitsuki’s jacket ticking her nose. The third was a tingle, starting from where they met and spreading down her body.
She trailed her hands down Mitsuki’s cheeks to her neck and collarbone, reveling in the feeling. Mitsuki responded in kind, wrapping her arms tighter around Aya’s waist, pulling them flush together.
They were terribly inexperienced. The center console made the position awkward. Their teeth clacked together once or twice, and they both had to stop for air. But none of that mattered, none at all.
Mitsuki half-panted, half-laughed into the space between them. Aya let out a helpless giggle.
“That okay?”
“Yeah.”
They leaned forward again.
A little less hesitant now. Aya’s heart was nearly beating out of her chest; her face was burning. Mitsuki’s hands trembled. They got into a rhythm. Tilted their heads to either side, pushed a little further, and further after that.
Aya pulled back, suddenly overwhelmed. “My God,” she whispered into the darkness. “That was my first kiss.”
Mitsuki was still out of breath. “‘My God,’ as in horrified, or…happy?”
“What do you think?” Aya gave her a playful flick.
Mitsuki smiled, a lopsided, nervous thing. “Mine too. My first kiss. But I guess there’s no surprise there.”
“Not true. After a few chords on your guitar, you could have anyone you want.” Aya believed it, she truly, truly did. She couldn’t comprehend how any person in the world wouldn’t experience the same magnetism she did toward Mitsuki.
She got a sarcastic “Sure” in response. “Besides,” Mitsuki continued, “There’s nobody else that I…ah, want.”
Aya beamed. She felt like she’d jumped into one of the books she read as a kid, where the fairy princess had all her dreams come true at the end, with glitter and unicorns in abundance—an image which was quickly ruined by a buzz from Mitsuki’s pocket.
“Oh,” Mitsuki said. “It is getting late, isn’t it?” She picked up the phone and nodded, then told Aya, “Kanna wants to know how much longer we need the car.”
Aya chewed on her lip. “Hmm. Tell her we need it for a little while longer. You know, for practice…”
Mitsuki blushed. “Practice. Right.” She relayed the information to the phone, then took a few moments to listen to the response, eyes widening at the very end. The call ended.
Aya sat up straighter. “What?”
“She said she forgot to mention that Joe now thinks we’re both reckless idiots and banned us from the shop for two days.”
Aya stared at Mitsuki. Mitsuki stared at Aya. Then, they burst out laughing, the kind of laughter that made you feel loopy and slide down in your seat. And Aya was warm. And Aya’s soul strummed a pure, joyful tune.
And Mitsuki’s sang along with it.