CANDY GIRL

. . .

1

. . .

Kikuchii Tomoe was Class I-C's 'Candy Girl.'

Of all possible nicknames, it perturbed her how her classmates settled with something embarrassing, particularly one that had suggestive connotations. But she could understand why they referred to her as such, because if anyone cared to look inside her school bag, she always had a stash of sweets hidden underneath her notebooks. It was a small act of rebellion on her part, to be sucking on hard candy during class hours, but it was a habit she picked up over the year.

It can all be attributed to her anxiety over entrance examinations. She distinctly remembered the halls were fraught with tension, and the sounds of pen on paper and flipped pages were the only things that permeated the quiet. The explosion of peppermint in her mouth had helped ease her nerves as she read through long passages and computed for the value of x. When she passed Rikkaidai, the exam she was so sure she was going to flunk out of all the high school entrance examinations she took, the aisle of sweets in the convenience store wasn't just another aisle anymore.

It was salvation.

From then on, candy had its desired calming effect. Fortunately, its usefulness in her everyday school life was not limited to its ability to alleviate her anxiety: it was the key in her attempts to connect with others.

Every morning she would make a point to greet everyone she happened to pass on the way to her seat. The habit eventually paved the way for small talk about the weather ("It's so hot today, isn't it?") and homework ("Can I take a peek at your History essay, Kikuchii?") which she had been more than happy to entertain. Her first few lunch breaks didn't turn out as arduous as she thought they would be as soon she realized she could hold small conversations. The slow but notable build-up in confidence dwindled, however, when a couple of classmates had veered harmless exchanges about schoolwork and club activities into foreign territory—pop culture. They had been chattering about Beyonce's latest music video, and Kikuchii, who initially had no reason whatsoever to check out western music, had unwittingly asked, "What's a Beyonce?"

She had been the laughing stock of the class for a week.

Smiling it off had eased the brunt of the teasing; more so when she had casually cited a couple of Beyonce's song titles, alongside an acceptable commentary for each single, the next time they brought her up.

Despite her limited knowledge of pop culture, she would like to believe that she was still companionable in moments of silence, or when a classmate simply needed someone to talk to. And in instances when she had absolutely nothing to contribute to a conversation which was, sad to say, often, popping candy in her mouth usually kept her from spouting any more brainless comments, "Oh, Hunger Games. Is that the new segment on the food channel?" that were hilariously offensive to her peers.

Over time, she had come to accept that she would always be the girl unwillingly pushed into the periphery—simply watching, listening, and biding her time in conversations. But if she were patient enough, and she usually was, the conversation would eventually lull into a state of awkwardness, and her golden opportunity would arise.

"Want some?" she would ask, brandishing packets of bite-sized matcha-flavored Kitkat.

It was a tedious process. Making friends, that is.

Having a university professor teaching Japanese History for a father, her childhood pretty much consisted of thick textbooks about the very foundations that brought Japan to its present greatness, as well as documentaries on prominent historical figures—like Tomoe Gozen, her famous namesake—on loop in the living room plasma. Conversations over meals were usually about the upcoming elections or a financial crisis in some distant part of the world.

Her mother, on her part, was a tad too protective and had restricted her play with neighborhood kids because of an episode of hand-foot-mouth disease when she was a toddler. She remembered watching her neighbors play hide-and-seek from her bedroom window, an ugly mixture of jealousy and resentment churning at the pit of her stomach. Her mother's refusal to get her a cellphone or a laptop until high school didn't help either.

She had honored her mother's request, because truthfully, she didn't have the guts to go against her word. Had her attempts at rebellion been discovered, she wouldn't have had the stamina to endure long-winding diatribes, and it was just so much of a hassle. Just like her peers, she wanted to ogle boy bands and gush over the latest superhero movies, but instead she pored over any available source of entertainment at home. There really wasn't much to begin with, except the stacks of scholarly references that was nirvana to her father's university students working on their dissertations.

Which explained a lot about her utter lack of success in her pursuit to belong.

But through sheer effort and persistence, her classmates eventually warmed up to her. With her stash of candy ready, she was the perfect go-to when someone had lapses of hypoglycemia, or when a boost of glucose was necessary to sustain oneself during stressful examinations. Class I-C didn't have to worry about shelling out a portion of their allowance to get high on sugar. Need something sweet to get rid of the aftertaste of bitter gourd? Or perhaps something to satisfy your craving? For free?

She was your girl. Your 'Candy Girl'.

. . .

Kikuchii's mind was almost always on overdrive, as if to compensate for the rarity of words that came out of her mouth.

Every day, whether she was lying on her bed or listening to lectures, a dozen thoughts whirred inside her head. She had always been overly sensitive to surrounding stimuli, becoming privy to the strong odor of her History teacher's cologne when he walked past her seat during examinations ("He's still wooing Fujiwara-sensei," she thought), the high-pitched inflection in Amane's speech whenever she talked to her seatmate, Niou ("Amane likes him," she mused), or the way her said seatmate's gaze had distinctly narrowed at the mention of the Student Council. ("Hmm…" she paused, stumped with Niou, as always).

Although she was quiet as Amane tirelessly hopped from one topic to another, Kikuchii was ready even before her friend's chatter gradually slowed to a stop.

"Kikuchii."

She had her arsenal laid out on her desk—a box of Apollo strawberry chocolates, green apple-flavored bubblegum, and a packet of Kasugai lychee candy.

"No peach?" Amane whined, referring to the hard candy.

"Fujioka-san finished it all yesterday."

"Damn," was all Amane said, before she resumed her talk about this rising boy band 'B.A.P' and, "Oh my god, have you seen Daehyun's latest post? He is so hot," to a classmate, who was simultaneously perusing the artist's Instagram account.

After shoving her cellphone under her desk, typing B-A-P into Google's search engine, and browsing through some articles, Kikuchii was able to procure bits of information that permitted participation, albeit minimal.

"So they're called 'Best Absolute Perfect'?" Kikuchii mused out loud.

"Because they're the best, absolutely talented, and perfectly handsome," Amane cooed.

She appreciated Amane's thorough explanation of the k-pop group, but as the conversation continued Kikuchii's thoughts wandered. This happened a lot in spite of her sincere attempts to connect, as she pondered over the sudden boom of the so-called 'Korean Wave' and whether it was the Republic of South Korea's attempt to get back at them for the hundreds of thousands of women that were forced to serve the Imperial Japanese Army during the colonial period. Amane would have disliked the mention of anything relating to politics, which frazzled her friend because it was too "serious" and "mature" of a topic; also, it would have given away Kikuchii's disinterest, so she simply shut her mouth and ate her candy in silence.

"Uwaaa! He sat with Sanada today. What a pity." Amane grouched.

The mention of a classmate—and the promise of a conversation she could finally relate with—piqued Kikuchii's attention. Following Amane's gaze, she became aware of the small group seated a few tables away. It was raining, so a lot of their classmates had decided to eat their lunch indoors. The majority of the freshmen didn't want to engage in a full-out brawl for food with the bigger, scarier upperclassmen in the cafeteria, so she wasn't surprised to see the other members of the tennis club surrounding Sanada's table. Although the other tennis regulars were from other sections, Kikuchii had noticed that at least once a week a couple of them would drop by to eat with her tall, brooding classmate.

All thoughts about the Korean Wave and Japanese-Korean relations aside, Kikuchii watched them with mild interest. They were a popular bunch, mainly because they were associated with the highly-esteemed athletic club, the pinnacle of popularity in Rikkaidai. Had they failed to make it as tennis regulars, however, Kikuchii was certain they would still have been popular in their own right. Of particular interest was a certain red-head, who was currently talking to Amane.

Kikuchii blinked in confusion.

Looking around, she realized that the seat beside hers was now vacant. She must have been so absorbed with her thoughts that she failed to notice Amane sauntering off to the other side of the room. Watching her friend fully immersed in enthusiastic conversation with the tennis regular, Kikuchii couldn't help but feel slightly abandoned, left alone with her copy of I Am a Cat propped open on her desk.

The sentence she had highlighted before Amane had opened the topic about the k-pop group popped out from the page in all its neon orange glory:

It is painfully easy to define human beings. They are beings who for no good reason at all, create their own unnecessary suffering, the narrator of the book, a cat, had said.

She shut the book with finality, and then turned her full attention towards the small crowd that had formed around the red-head, Marui. Standing at roughly five-foot-four, Marui was noticeably smaller than his peers. Even Amane was a few inches taller than the guy, but his lack of height did nothing to diminish his lively personality.

"Yeah, I didn't think he would kill him right off the bat! But it was pretty cool, huh?" Marui agreed heartily. Amane seemed to have engaged in conversation with Marui and his friends about a foreign show that was super popular, and explosive bouts of chatter and laughter had followed suit.

Kikuchii was not ashamed to admit she was envious of people like Marui.

Marui was a frequent visitor of their class because of her seatmate, Niou. Like Marui, Niou was a magnet for attention. With his bleached hair and penchant for pulling tricks on unwilling classmates, Niou had easily set himself apart from the crowd. It didn't help that he was also a member of the famous tennis club and was pleasing to the eye. Whereas Marui was nice and affable, Niou was aloof and somewhat intimidating. The guy seemed content to be left to his own devices, which Kikuchii could not imagine for herself. He had a quiet strength to him that allowed him to do as he pleased. She only had her doubts.

In any case, in the rare times Niou would be in their classroom during lunch break, Marui would always be seen sticking around her general vicinity. In the guise of reading her favorite paperback, she would listen in on their hilarious conversations, and it would almost always take all of her willpower to suppress even the softest snort. But even during the days Niou was AWOL, Marui had other friends he would choose to talk to.

And so, Kikuchii bore witness to Marui's genius.

Unlike her, who had to use candy as means to start a conversation, all Marui had to do was show up and people would flock to him like he was the living Buddha.

At first, she thought it was his eye-catching hair color, though she could list a hundred people who were popular that didn't even dye their hair. The Tennis Club was a definite boost to his popularity, but even without it he would still be popular. Was it his vast knowledge on the latest TV shows, manga updates, and songs? His looks? He was pretty average-looking beside Niou. Or perhaps it was his general niceness?

"Oh, you can ask Kikuchii!"

She was thrown off her train of thought. Marui was suddenly standing in front of her desk, and he was looking right at her.

"Hi, Amane said you have gum." It was posed as a statement, but the question was left hanging in the air.

"Yeah, I do," she squeaked almost a little too enthusiastically, and handed him a strip of the green apple-flavored one on her desk.

"You're a lifesaver," he gushed and she noticed how the corners of his smile were notched higher than usual. His brown eyes were bright as they were fixed on her face; she could not help but squirm at the attention.

"The store ran out this morning, and I was really bummed out. I couldn't concentrate during practice," he complained.

Wordlessly, she unhooked the flap of her school bag and rummaged for something. Marui genuinely looked surprised when she handed him two more packs of the same gum.

"You're giving this all away?" He made it sound like she committed a crime.

"I have plenty more at home," was all she said.

"If you insist." He brightened. "No takebacks, okay?" He took the packs from her hand and slipped them inside his pocket. "I suppose if you hadn't bought out the entire store, these would have been mine, anyway," he added playfully.

"In my defense, there were only three packs left." She flubbed under Marui's pseudo-accusatory glare. "You can't blame me for your lack of foresight, Marui-san."

"Oh, but I do blame you," he bemoaned. "You cost me my practice match against Niou earlier."

"But—" She stared at him, looking helpless. "What does gum have to do with you winning?"

"Only everything." He sighed melodramatically.

She paused, thinking. Why would Marui need gum to win? Gum was glucose, and glucose was fuel for the body. Maybe he suffered from poor stamina, and he needed gum to sustain him in a match?

"Anyway, you must have bought these from the 7-Eleven by the train station," he said offhandedly, the corners of his mouth twitching when her eyebrows shot upward in surprise. It was a lucky guess. "If ever they run out again, don't be so shocked if I come after you."

She could only manage a small guttural sound from the back her throat, something like a protest. He burst out laughing, and she couldn't help but smile at the gesture.

. . .

Kikuchii didn't know what to make of her unlikely encounters with Marui.

It was lunchtime, and the red-head's attention was zeroed in on a YouTube video he was watching alongside several other boys from her class. It was now commonplace for Marui to drop by Class I-C several times a week, if not to eat lunch with the other tennis club members or return a borrowed CD or manga, would simply bugger the hell out of Niou, who usually would disappear without a trace once the lunch bell rang.

While Amane was out buying strawberry milk for the both of them, Kikuchii had her history book propped open on her desk and was trying to read through the passages that would serve as reference to their fast-approaching presentation. Her father's references at home were far more comprehensive than the passage in their textbook, so she was already well-versed on the Genpei War, but there was a particular one from the book she wanted to quote. She would have found it half an hour ago if only she could focus.

Despite her eyes on the text, her attention was elsewhere.

"Kikuchii."

The green apple-flavored bubblegum, which had been sitting daintily at the edges of her history book, disappeared from her line of vision.

"The store ran out again," Marui said, then returned the pack on her desk.

She merely nodded in acknowledgement before returning to the page she was reading, or rather, pretending to read. A moment of silence passed, and looking up, she was surprised to see Marui sitting on the seat right in front of Niou's and hers. He twisted on the chair, facing her general direction while nonchalantly chewing on his gum.

She could feel the telltales of a blush coming as Marui simply looked at her, scrutinizing, like she was an ancient relic in a museum.

"Why do you let him slack off?" he asked, pertaining to Niou, her project partner, who had his head buried in arms, snoozing. "Do you want me to smack him for you?"

"No," she sputtered, alarmed, which only seemed to amuse Marui. "He made the outline for our presentation, so it's my turn to do the work now."

Marui shrugged and rested his chin atop the back of the chair. They lapsed into a companionable silence, with Marui staring blankly at the pages of her book and Kikuchii running a mental list of all the things she wanted to talk with him about, but couldn't because she didn't trust her mouth one bit and had no intentions of embarrassing herself in front of Marui, the king of pop culture, of all people.

("Hey, Marui-san," she practiced in her head. "I listened to ORANGE RANGE's latest album, and I love it.")

She's been staring at the same page, the same sentence, since lunch started.

("The Pirates of the Caribbean was on HBO last night, but my mom switched it to her drama even before Davy Jones got his heart back. Do you think you can lend me that movie you were talking about with Amane the other day?")

She was on a roll. In her head, anyway.

God, Marui must think she was an absolute bore, what with her nose buried in the pages of their history book and him just sitting there. When she finally decided to flip her book close, Amane had returned from buying strawberry milk and had already engaged Marui in conversation about a new app she downloaded on her iPhone.

Kikuchii tucked her history book away and passed on her notes to Niou's table, ignoring the heaviness at the pit of her stomach.

When third period was about to start, Marui slipped back to her seat to help himself to another strip of bubblegum. She looked up from her book, momentarily caught off-guard. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her thought process faltered when he good-naturedly winked, then grinned, as he happily chewed her gum. He then ruffled her hair in farewell. Her slight annoyance he ruined the fishtail her mother had done for her was eventually replaced with an inexplicable burst of warmth at the brief display of affection. As he finally headed for the door, Kikuchii could not help but watch as the rest of her class bid him farewell, like he was some hotshot rock star.

"He's not going to eat you alive when you talk to him."

Niou was in an upright position on his chair (their next subject was mathematics, his favorite, so of course he would be awake) and was browsing through the notes she had passed him a few minutes earlier. He suddenly held up a piece of grid paper in his left hand. Upon closer look, Kikuchii could make out Check out: Orange Range's Hana, Marvel's The Avengers, Baby Metal, Pirates of the Caribbean, and a few others written in her neat penmanship.

She must have left it in between the pages of the notebook she had just given him.

Her seatmate only smirked when she grabbed the paper, crumpled it, and stashed it inside her pocket, ignoring the warmth on her face.

.

.

.

Kikuchii received a mysterious package one afternoon.

It was a medium-sized box wrapped in newspaper, delivered at their doorstep. There was no fancy wrapping or ribbons that would indicate it was some sort of present at all, but she noticed a piece of paper attached to the side. The message read:

Bought these from the convenience store at the corner of Rikkai, as well as the one near the station. He frequents those. Use it well. – Your friendly neighbor

She immediately recognized Niou's handwriting probably penned in his favorite g-tech pen. When she unwrapped the cardboard box, about a dozen smaller boxes of a familiar brand of green apple-flavored bubblegum filled it to the brim. She sat on the floor, her mind reeling. If she were to follow Niou's line of thinking, assuming that by 'he', he meant Marui…

She grabbed her coat, put on her shoes, and screamed, "I'll be out for a while to buy something in the convenience store! Do you want anything?"

Her mother screamed right back, "I'll have Nana come with you!" from the kitchen.

"No, no! I can manage on my own!" she exclaimed, smiling sheepishly at the portly woman with greying hair, their house helper, when she appeared from the kitchen. "I won't take long! I promise!"

"Are you going to the convenience store by the station?" Nana asked softly, and Kikuchii nodded. "That's only a few blocks away. I'll tell her." She smiled, and then went back to the kitchen. A few moments later, Nana returned with something in her hand. "She said at least take your phone with you."

"Be back in twenty!" her mother yelled, as if on cue, and Nana gave her a thumbs-up.

Kikuchii did not waste another moment and headed to the two 7-Elevens indicated in the message.

The green apple-flavored bubblegum was sold out in the branches.

.

.

.

Kikuchii counted—twelve times Marui had called out to her that week.

"Kikuchii!"

She would hand him a stick.

He would take it gratefully and sit beside her in silence, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

All because of that damned green apple-flavored bubblegum.

.

.

.

"Kikuchiiiiiii!"

("Damn you, Niou-san.")

.

.

.

Kikuchii finally learned the secret to Marui's popularity.

Even if the tennis team was already primed for the championship in the District Preliminaries, practice was more rigorous than usual—or rather, because practice was always rigorous, the tennis team was bound to become the champions. She was on the bleachers, her dSLR camera fit perfectly in her slender fingers, as she adjusted the lens and took the shots—she had been assigned to cover the club's preparations for the Nationals. Her eyebrows furrowed as she assessed the snaps of Marui's swings on the screen, softly admonishing herself because her pictures did not give justice to the beauty of his volleys.

There was a steady assurance in his serves, and an added flair whenever he hit his perfect volleys. His technique was topnotch and his play, breathtaking. But most notably, he was clearly enjoying himself; so much that Kikuchii could not help but lose herself a little as she cushioned her camera on her lap and enjoyed the match for what it's worth. Although Marui and Jackal lost to the seniors with a score of 7-5 in their practice match, the red-head smiled and pumped his fist in the air.

Marui radiated confidence.

Whereas most of the members fumbled through their routine, he breezed through it with practiced ease. She watched Marui assist his teammates as they did their stretches, saw how the rest of the freshmen seemed to hang onto his every word as he pitched in his two cents' about their form. She figured a wave of envy would always resurface whenever she watched him in a crowd—with him at the center—but this time, there was also a hint of something foreign, something she could not put a finger on.

"Kikuchii!"

It was the water break.

She had secretly wondered when Marui would notice her, and she reveled in the way he smiled as he ascended the bleachers. Without his prompt, she had a stick of gum ready for taking. He took it, the momentary brush of their fingers sending her heartbeat aflutter. Wordlessly, he sat beside her on the bleachers, unwrapped it with deft fingers, then began to chew in silence.

This had become routine.

"Did you come to watch me play?" He glanced at her.

"I came to watch all of you play." She tapped the camera on her lap. "It's for the paper."

"Hmph, you're no fun," he muttered, popping his gum.

She watched Marui from the corner of her eye. She liked how close he was sitting to her, and that their thighs were almost touching. Because he was leaning forward, she could see the beads of sweat trickling down his nape. She noticed his hair was much longer than it was the start of the year, the ends almost reaching his shoulders. But she said nothing—even if she wanted to comb her fingers through his silky hair and tie it in a neat ponytail—and it was only then she felt a surge of aggravation at her cowardice.

"I have to go." He turned to her. "Thanks."

The familiar sensation of heaviness pooled in her gut as she watched him stand up and prepare to go down the bleachers.

Then she noticed that something had fallen out of his pocket.

She reached for the item.

"Marui-san."

It was the same green apple-flavored bubblegum as the one she had given him moments ago, only it was completely sealed. She stared at the pack in her hand, then the pack she had just given him which was enclosed in his fist, and then to him.

Marui's face was as red as his hair.

"Ah." That must have been the only time she saw him at a loss for words.

Marui had her fooled. She didn't know what to make of it, but one thing's for sure: it made her feel like mush—like that strawberry pudding Amane got her during lunch. All jiggly and wobbly. The warmth in her cheeks was a reflection of the faint traces of red dusting Marui's face, his blush oddly uncharacteristic and discomfiting but at the same time utterly satisfying.

"Are you mad?"

This only prompted her to close the distance between them, as she brandished the gum on her palm. No, of course, she wasn't mad. Only overwhelmed with the stream of thoughts and questions running through her head. Exhaling, she resolved to shut her cloud of insecurities out. He must have seen his affect when she smiled slightly at him, and there was comfort in seeing him mirror the gesture, albeit more beatifically.

"Did you know that skeptics argue that the Flying Dutchman is but a superior mirage seen at sea?" she uttered at last.

("Wow, Tomoe. Of all things—")

"Really?" He grinned. "But where's the fun in that? A haunted ship cursed to travel the seas forever is much more exciting." Marui regained his usual confidence, as if it had never left him. Then his expression softened as his hand enclosed her open palm, and he whispered, "I have to go now or else captain will have my head. But can you hold onto this for me?"

She hesitated.

"I'll need more gum after practice," was his only explanation. "So can you hold onto this until then?" he repeated.

She looked at him searchingly.

"I'll find you," he assured, grinning, when she did not respond.

There was no hesitation this time as she boldly threaded their fingers together, the pack of gum enclosed within their joined hands.

"I'm sure you will."

TBC

. . .

A/N: Hello! This is the edited version of 'Candy Girl', which I'll refer to as 'CG' from now on. After receiving help from my wonderful beta, Whimsical Acumen, I was able to strengthen my OC's characterization and incorporate the appropriate edits. It was difficult but fun to dissect her character, haha. So how's Kikuchii? Marui? Are you enjoying the story so far? Tell me what you think! :)