Author's Notes: I've decided to redo my original fem Ichigo story, Strawberry. This is chapter 1. I'm focusing more on the anime this time.

To head off questions - Sado and Ichigo aren't friends yet because Ichigo attracted sexual harassment, not gangsters, and she was saved by Tatsuki and Orihime, not Sado.

Don't worry. Sado got the parakeet.

Strawberry Remix

1.

I woke up to the bloody face of a dead little girl hanging over me.

"AAAH!" I shrieked, sitting upright too quickly and slamming my head against the headboard. I hissed and grabbed my head, my eyes squinted half-closed as I glared up at her.

"Ichigo?!" more than one family member called up to my bedroom. "You okay?!"

"Yeah…" I moaned, straightening and clutching my head. "Just another fucking ghost!"

"We do not say fuck in this house!" shouted my Dad.

"We say whatever the fuck we want to in this house!" I shouted back. "We do all the cooking and cleaning!" My mother had died years ago and I was the oldest daughter. Lucky me.

"This house is not a democracy!" my father boomed from his bedroom.

"Hell yes it is!" I yelled. "Don't make me come down there and punch some sense into you, Goat-Chin!" Refusing to call such a childish man by the more formal title of "father", my sisters and I instead referred to him as "Goat-Chin" because of his black beard.

The neighbors could probably hear us. Whatever. What was new?

"Masaki, our daughters are being mean to me again…" Dad whined.

"She can't hear you, Dad, she didn't become a ghost!" I shouted back in exasperation. Finally I turned to the ghost of the little girl. "Yes?" I snapped, and she jumped a little. "What do you want?"

I'd been able to see ghosts since before I could remember. My sisters could, too. Our Dad couldn't. We'd always kind of figured it was because we'd grown up one floor above our father's local hospital clinic. You help a doctor with nursing duties enough, you see a few people die. Growing up in that kind of environment can do things to a person. From there, it's not a huge jump to seeing the imprints of the dead souls that their bodies leave behind.

I took a closer look at this little girl. She seemed innocent enough. Pigtailed, in a striped tank top. Looked about ten. Had all the usual hallmarks of the dead: transparent, floating, chain hanging from her chest, obvious signs of death (it looked like she'd been shot in the eyeball; I'll spare you the gory details).

"W-well…" Her hands were twisting nervously around themselves, her shoulders hunched. "W-well, I just wanted… maybe…"

I sighed irritably. "Look," I said. "It is 4:45 in the morning. I'm not even very diplomatic when I'm fully awake and have had my morning tea. Just say what you came to say. I'm used to it. Let me guess: you need a way to find peace and all the other ghosts around here told you to come to me because I can see the dead better than anyone else in Tokyo, including my sisters. Am I right?"

The little girl nodded hopefully.

"So what do you need?"

"Th-there are some skateboarders bothering my final resting place," she stammered out. "They keep breaking things and leaving graffiti and old beer bottles and cigarette butts. They're really loud and crass and they swear a lot. Sometimes they smoke pot there. And I just thought… maybe…"

"You want me to get rid of them without killing them," I guessed.

She nodded so fast it looked like her blood-stained little head was about to bob off.

"Okay." I got up, shuffled over to my desk, and checked my calendar. "I am free today from exactly 4:30 to 6:30. You think they'll be there during those times?"

"Well, yes, but… What will you do?" The little girl looked up at me tentatively.

I stared down at her, reserved, wondering what to say. I'd been a real wimp as a little girl, shy and daydreamy and friendless. It didn't help that I had weirdly colored hair (it was this coppery orange red color, quite unnatural for Japan) and it also didn't help that I'd had trouble telling the difference between the living and the dead as a little kid, making it look like I was sometimes talking to people who "weren't really there." I'd been called into the school therapist's office a couple of times. No joke.

Then my Mom had died and I'd actually needed a therapist and I wasn't called in to see one once. I felt like my mother's death was my fault - I still felt like that, actually, and it had been six years. But by now, I'd accepted myself as an essentially selfish person, not fit for the heroic-for-strangers role, so that didn't bother me as much as it used to. At the time, I'd struggled with this new concept of myself and my part in my mother's death had bothered me a lot. I don't think anyone knew what to do with me. By the time I'd hit middle school and started experiencing sexual harassment because of my exotic hair color, I'd been a chronic cutter and about ready to blow my own head off and no way in hell was I sticking around here in this world when it happened.

But then a girl named Tatsuki had seen me being picked on and defended me - her friend Orihime had pointed me out to Tatsuki, recognizing me from the scene at the hospital the day her brother had died. I'd comforted her that day, and she must have felt a certain fondness toward the memory. Tatsuki was a black belt in karate, and after I became friends with her nobody picked on me. Wanting that kind of strength for myself and my little sisters, I'd gotten her to teach me some karate moves, and from there I'd gone on to becoming a black belt myself. I was currently a black belt in my karate club at Karakura High School, and around mid-rank in kendo club (which had no belts) under the instruction of older girl Asano Mizuho, who'd taken me under her wing as the first other female who'd shown an interest in the sport.

I wasn't suicidal or a cutter anymore. I had several friends in Tatsuki, Orihime, and their friends Chizuru, Ryou, Mahana, and Michiru. I had another friend in Mizuho. I was successful in school and at karate and kendo clubs and I'd gained some much needed self confidence.

But how to explain all that to a little girl?

"I'll take care of it," was all I said at last. "Now give me the address and then shoo."

My bedroom was eccentric, reflecting the two sides of me. It was colored in neutrals, light greens, yellows, and greys. There was a jute rug by my bed, and most of my furniture was reclaimed wood. A lot of natural elements, such as woven grasses, dried woods, and living plants (including some lavender, my favorite flower) added a bit of life to the space, and there was a comfy nook with a sleek modern chair near the bookcase where I could read, listen to music, and watch film.

But in the bookcase were classic bluesy and punk rocker vinyls for my record player, horror novels and films, big classical dog-eared old books, and volumes of poetry. Splashed across the light green and yellow walls were bold red and black posters, one of whom featured Megara, another of whom featured The Shining, another of whom featured The Others; Paramore and Amy Winehouse made their appearance too, along with Lana Del Rey, Adele, Beyonce, Elle King, Gin Wigmore, and ZZ Ward. A guitar leaned in another corner, and littered across the vast desk nearby were notebooks full of doodles and poetry, mingled with highlighting pens and countless little post-it notes scribbled on in large letters, and a positively alarming amount of electronics. (My electronics were literally my life. One day I was going to be someone important, like a lawyer or an internationally traveling businesswoman, who clutched her electronics like they were her children and who took vacations to Italy, biking through vineyards, or backpacked through Europe and South Asia. I'd promised it to myself.) A collage of photographs of myself with my friends and family was taped to the wall above the desk. A tall body length desk light, its stem-like stand looping in fantastic swirl patterns, hung above the desk, currently unused.

My bed was covered with a checkered flannel quilt, the warm sheets flecked with crumbs and entirely cozy, the pillows extra-fluffed. I'd sewn my pillowcases myself, along with my window curtains. I'd stenciled all my favorite quotes to the walls, most of them having to do with self confidence.

I grabbed my jogging clothes from off the back of the comfy desk chair, next to the oversized leather boho-inspired bag hanging in the same place. And I went off to do my morning run.

We lived in a calm, quiet residential neighborhood. Usually my iPod was my connection to the outside world, but on early-morning jogs I simply liked to enjoy the silence. As I was running, the sky was just turning pink, the air dewy and delicate in the fresh dawn, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. I came back feeling restored, and took a shower complete with body wash and shampoo, being extra careful with the scars on my wrists. I was tall and slim, with long legs and a tight little ass, on the plus side; on the minus side, I was shaped like a long rectangular box. I had a warm gold skin tone.

Back in my bedroom, I opened my dresser drawers and began thumbing through clothes. Aside from my school uniforms, my more casual clothes mainly consisted of skinny jeans and huge graphic tees, in Autumn shades; I'd mastered four hairstyles and they all started with "messy," my favorite of which was "messy bun." (I cut my hair myself; it was long, straight, and naturally copper colored, not hard to manage, and I didn't like people commenting over my hair color.) Littered on top of the dresser were DIY bracelets, dangling bone and wood earrings, warm spice and flame red lipsticks, almond blush, cocoa eyeliner to go with my warm brown eyes, and a peppery, orange blossomy perfume called Black Opium that was hella expensive but whatever YOLO you know what I mean? Each of my nails was painted a different color.

But today was a school day, so on came the uniform, then the aforementioned "messy bun," the makeup, and the perfume. I went downstairs into the kitchen to stuff my newly-charged smartphone and iPod into my bookbag and make breakfast - always green tea, sweet natto, and fruit. I loved spicy food and chocolate, but I was a health nut and I only allowed myself such things on special occasions. In a reflection of my interests, my kitchen was completely eco-friendly, filled with lots of stainless steel and coastal colors and round edges, a bowl of fresh fruit sitting on the countertop.

As I was making breakfast, I fed my cat. I'd adopted him from a shelter. He slept at my feet, but I kept my bedroom door open and he was always awake even before me. I wasn't sure what kind of life he'd had before I'd adopted him, but he was ever alert and wary, preferred the outdoors, and always made sure he was up before everybody else in the house. He was a Russian Blue named Daisuke, and he was very calm, quiet, and independent, good with kids like my sisters. Those were my biggest four qualifications. His native dignity was both amusing and an added bonus. He was one of those cats who knew he was born to be a king.

I was actually pretty sure cats could see ghosts, on an added side note. Or at least, this cat could. He kind of meowed at dead people I was talking to a lot.

My sisters eventually shuffled into the kitchen, yawning, in pajamas with rumpled hair. I set their plates down in front of them. "Eat up," I said. "I might be home a little late," I added, bustling around in the kitchen. "Another ghost needs my help."

"Another one?" Yuzu asked disbelievingly. "That's the third one this week!"

"Yeah. More of them have been coming to me than ever. They say I 'have a good feel to me.' Whatever that means." I frowned, troubled, gazing unseeingly into one of the kitchen cabinets.

"Man, that bites," said Karin casually, taking her seat at the table. "So how did that art project you were working on turnout?"

I worked hard at all my classes, to hit back at the school rumor that I was a Yankee - a female gangster with dyed hair - but my sisters knew art class was my favorite.

"It ended up being a small-town scifi mural complete with people being eaten by giant creatures," I replied.

"Awesome!" said Karin brightly. "Can I see it?"

I pulled it out of my bookbag and showed it to her. Just then, Dad strolled in and peeked over her shoulder. "And my cute little girl made - ugh." He paused, staring. I smiled proudly at all the blood and gore. "I think my cute little girl needs therapy sessions," he muttered, grabbing his tea and heading into his office in the clinic, which occupied the bottom and front part of the house.

"Don't forget your food!" I called after him.

"My sweet, concerned child, I know you secretly adore your manly father -!" He flew at me, arms wide open for a suffocating "Daddy-style" embrace.

I put my fist right where his face was about to be and he fell over.

"Just get your damn breakfast," I said, irritated.

My sisters and I parted outside the house, walking our separate ways to school.

I stopped by the alleyway the ghost of the little girl had told me about, leaving an offering of a bouquet of white lilies in an empty milk bottle. I wanted to check something. Then I hurried back to my usual route to school, and I fell into step with Orihime and Tatsuki on our way toward Karakura High School.

"Where were you?" Tatsuki asked curiously.

"I had to meet somebody about something," I said vaguely. "So what's up?"

"Nothing much. We were just talking about a new show coming up on Comedy Central." It was Orihime's favorite channel. "So are you going to Harajuku again this weekend, Ichigo?" Orihime asked.

"I've been afraid to show my face as a Goth Lolita since you two glued paper strawberries all over my black parasol," I said.

Tatsuki snickered. "But your name is so cute!" said Orihime in protest. "And Chizuru always says you look super hot in that outfit!"

"An excellent reason not to wear it," I returned flatly. Chizuru was a flaming lesbian and was a part of the local LGBT sector. Usually she flirted with Orihime, but she made a special exception for me when I was in my Goth Lolita getup.

"But if you don't dress up, we don't get to go to the Alcatraz ER themed restaurant anymore!" Orihime said, pouting.

"Oh, geez, Orihime," said Tatsuki in exasperation. "We can still go to the restaurant. You don't have to look all sad about it. Be sad instead about Ichigo no longer being able to express her goth side."

"Oh, that is sad!" said Orihime in realization, and Tatsuki burst out laughing.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Tatsuki!" I growled, raising a fist.

"Ooh, go ahead and try it. Rematch Number Fifteen, Kurosaki Ichigo versus Arisawa Tatsuki!" Tatsuki got into a stance. We weren't serious. We play-shoved each other all the way to school.

"Look at you adorable girls, giggling and shoving each other! I should take a picture!" That squeal came from Chizuru. She had officially Arrived.

"Take a picture and I'll kill you." That was Tatsuki, who had no patience for Chizuru's squealing.

"Why do I hang around with you losers again?" Mizuho asked, hand on her hip.

"Because despite the fact that you're older, you're a loser just like us," said Michiru helpfully, clutching her latest stuffed animal.

Mahana was shouting, "Catfight! Catfight!" She just wanted something to gossip about.

Ryou had retreated into her latest mystery novel, her long track legs stretched out casually before her. This was just another day in the life for me and my friends.

I sighed and went forward to stop the oncoming catfight before Orihime could start crying.

I had tiger pictures posted up all over my binders, with the Green Day logo in pride of place. I took detailed notes in every class, snacking on trail mix in between classes.

Despite my seemingly reserved, good-girl appearance, I was seen as a bit wild by my classmates. I disliked authority, didn't follow the rules, and was purposefully and flamboyantly myself. My intention always to be genuine was usually communicated nonverbally to others, who seemed to appreciate it. Basically, I did what I wanted.

Let me add a caveat: everyone seemed to appreciate it, except for my teachers. Most of them except Ochi-sensei hated me. Ochi-sensei, however, was kind of my mentor. She met up with me frequently, offered advice, checked up on how I was doing, and was unusually lenient with me. She said I "had more potential than I gave myself credit for."

Me and my friends had our favorite lunch spot, sitting cross-legged in a circle in the grass under a tree behind the main building. We had our bentos - I always made the same bento three times for me and my sisters every day; today's bento was smoked salmon and avocado sushi and green tea frozen yogurt with sesame seed brittle shards - and we chatted. Favorite love songs were discussed, as were horoscopes.

I was reserved as I admitted, "My favorites are 'The Only Exception' by Paramore, 'Hello' by Adele, 'Wonder' by Lauren Aquilina, and by Taylor Swift - 'Last Kiss', 'All Too Well', 'Stay Stay Stay', 'You Are In Love', and 'Begin Again'." There were lots of oohs and aahs of agreement as I named different songs. Talking openly about something as gushy as romance made me uncomfortable.

"You're such a Cancer!" Mahana squealed.

My birthday was July 15th, just a few days apart from Tatsuki's, who apparently "just fit into the cusp of Leo." Whatever kind of bullshit that meant.

"For the hundredth time, astrology means nothing. It's a bunch of people making shit up to scare you into staying away from certain other people," I said, leaning forward, my eyes widening.

There were several shouts of protest.

"Astrology is my life!" Chizuru said indignantly.

"Besides, the true point of astrology isn't to scare you away from other people. It's to help you learn how to interact with them on a more meaningful and cooperative level," said Orihime, nodding wisely. She was a student mental and physical health counselor, so she knew fancy words like that.

"You are living proof astrology is worth something, Ichigo," said Tatsuki in dry amusement. "No offense, but it's true. You are, like, the classic Cancer." Tatsuki was on the student disciplinary committee, and she did not need to know fancy words. Her job was to bluntly punish people.

Irritated - I was a hardened skeptic; I did not believe in anything from God to astrology to psychics - I was about to respond, when a voice came from behind me. An unpleasantly familiar voice.

"Hey, Kurosaki. Looking hot today." A smirk in the tone. Oh, great.

I whirled around, glaring. "Ooshima, you just have the most amazing pickup lines. Like the other day when you asked me how high I was in my social media profile pictures? Classic smooth guy. It's amazing, really, that you don't have a girlfriend."

My friends snickered. Ooshima was a big, stupid lug with dyed hair and a nose ring. He seemed to enjoy sexually harassing me. It was my hair color. He was attracted to it because he, like everybody else, thought it meant I was a rebellious gangster. Most people didn't dare cross me anymore, but Ooshima was that special rare combination of strong, stupid, ugly, and completely unaware of the fact that he was ugly.

"I mean it," said, gathering steam, "I mean, Looking hot today. How attractive is that?! Instead of complimenting me on stupid, meaningless things like my intelligence or my strength or my artistic side or my loyalty to my friends and family, you tell me I look hot! Clearly you focus on the important things. What more could a girl ask for?"

"Fuck off, Kurosaki, or I'll have to shut your damn mouth for you!" he growled, scowling. His little followers behind him were looking between us in growing fear.

"Ooh, I'm terrified," I said sarcastically. "I can't tell, Ooshima, if you think that if you sexually harass me enough one of these days I'll actually be interested, or if you just like pissing me off. Oh, and by the way? Physically threatening me? Not helping your chances."

Ooshima reared for a punch, and I went to block, but it wasn't even my hand that caught the fist. It was Tatsuki's.

"Don't get me wrong," she said flatly, glaring daggers. "Ichigo could totally take you on and win. But that doesn't mean she should have to, does it? You want Ichigo, you're gonna have to go through me first."

"And me," said Orihime, standing firmly. Tatsuki had also taught her hand to hand, though she'd never gotten seriously into it like I had.

"So what's it gonna be, Ooshima?" I said, faux casual, leaning back on my hands. "Are you gonna try beating the shit out of three teenage girls, or are you just gonna leave?"

"... One of these days you're going to be sorry, Kurosaki," said Ooshima, backing up. "One of these days you're going to be sorry you keep turning me down."

"I'm sure," I said dryly, and he left. I rolled my eyes.

I turned back to my friends. "What were we talking about again?"

Karate and kendo clubs were after school, one right after the other. Tatsuki was head of karate club, Mizuho was head of kendo club.

I started out exercising myself, something I did every day without fail, regardless of how busy I was. I did pushups and situps, punched and kicked punching bags, went on runs around the mat. I had my iPod in, and I had a whole workout playlist on it, chalk-full of strong, bitch-ass women to get me motivated. Today's menu included "6 Inch" and "Daddy Lessons" by Beyonce, "Last Damn Night" by Elle King, "Man Like that" by Gin Wigmore, "Put the Gun Down" by ZZ Ward, "Ignorance" by Paramore, "Real Girls" by Chantal Claret, "Better Than Revenge" by Taylor Swift, and a reading of Maya Angelou's poem "Phenomenal Woman." Some of them were rather cruel songs, but I had a thing for cruel women - I could be one myself.

"Kurosaki!" I pulled my earpieces out and looked up. Off the mat, I was Ichigo for Tatsuki. On the mat, I was Kurosaki - my surname. I preferred it that way. Ichigo was a cutesy name. Kurosaki was tougher, somehow. "Come over here and help me through the forms!"

I was basically a second president of the karate club. The only reason I wasn't actually a second president was because I didn't want to put in the time commitment and I had issues with putting myself in a position of authority. I hated authority figures. No way in hell was I becoming one.

I helped Tatsuki teach the other members of the club some new forms, then we got to sparring. I sparred with a few lower-ranked people, stopping periodically to teach them how to do something correctly, then I sparred with Tatsuki. She was the only one who was really a challenge for me anymore. Sometimes I won, sometimes she did.

"You know," Tatsuki said at the end, as we were standing there, sweaty and breathing hard, "you really should compete in the national tournaments like me. You're good enough."

"Eh. I ain't interested," I said, stoical.

"You're not interested in anything." Tatsuki grinned, teasing me, her eyes dancing. "That's not an excuse!"

"I'm interested in some things!" I defended myself.

"Oh, really? You get good grades to prove the people wrong who call you a Yankee. You read and write poetry, but you won't publish anywhere. You play electric guitar and like the punk look, but you're not in a band. You love gritty crime and horror movies and novels, but you're not a part of film club. And you're one of the best fighters in the nation, but you won't lead any fight clubs or compete anywhere. Have I missed something?"

"Tatsuki." I sobered. "You know why I won't allow myself those things."

"You've got to stop blaming yourself for your Mom's death eventually." I glared sideways at her, crescent-moon shaped amber brown eyes narrowing, and she held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just saying," she said, and moved past me. "Take five, Kurosaki."

And from karate club, I just changed into my kendo gear and went straight to kendo. I always brought my equipment, like my wooden sword, with me. In kendo, I was less experienced, so I went through the forms Mizuho showed us with everyone else and then sparred with Mizuho.

"My brother has the biggest crush on you, you know," she said today as we sparred.

"Keigo?" I said, raising an eyebrow, as I blocked and parried. "From my class? He's a lecherous pervert. Why hasn't he stuck his hand up my skirt or something?"

Mizuho grinned. "Because he's terrified of you. So is Mizuiro, by the way. I can never tell with Sado."

"No one can ever tell with Sado," I pointed out. "I don't think I've ever actually heard him speak. Or, like, show emotion. Ever."

Mizuho laughed.

Did guys sometimes dislike it when girls were the ones teaching them how to fight? Yeah, it happened. A guy would challenge our authority, we would beat the living shit out of him, he would be forced to eat some humble pie. That was how it worked. When it came to me and Tatsuki, the older guys complained more than the ones our age, though.

"Yeah, we're fifteen and we're better than you," Tatsuki would snap. "We should be people you aspire to."

I quit kendo early and went to go change.

"Leaving so soon, Kurosaki?" Mizuho called to me as I left.

"I've got family stuff!" I called back over my shoulder. It was sort of true. I did have family stuff - I had to be home to make dinner by 6:30. That just wasn't why I was leaving early.

I took a shower in the school gym locker rooms, changed back into my uniform, reapplied makeup and perfume, and headed out with my bookbag.

It was time to head back to that alleyway and see if the skateboarders were there. Help another ghost pass on.

I watched them from the shadows. It had to be them - the skateboarders. They were messing around with each other in the alley, which was now layered with a thin coat of grime, broken bottles, and cigarette butts. Graffiti had been splashed on the walls. As I watched, one of the skateboarders missed his friend and smashed right into the offering. It fell with a shattering of broken glass and water and ruined petals went everywhere, mingling in a puddle with the brown from the street, offending Tokyo's very reputation as one of the cleanest cities in the world, not that I cared much about Tokyo's reputation. But I did care about people littering needlessly and disrespecting the dead. Both actions, in my opinion, deserved a special level of Hell.

There were snickers and some shouts of "Oooh…" They didn't look remotely repentant. I'd been wondering if the offering would stop them - apparently, no go. The little girl floated, distressed, in the corner, her gaze wide and afraid. My eyes narrowed.

I put my book bag down and sighed, stepping into the alleyway and leaning against the far wall, my arms crossed. "I'm sorry, boys, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," I said, faux casual.

They all whirled around. There's this thing guys do when they first see a girl. Their eyes pause - and then go down, and then up. Right in the chest and hips area.

"You want a better view," I said sarcastically, "you should focus on here," I pointed to my legs, "and here," I turned around and pointed at my ass. They grinned, leering. I smirked and added, "And while you're at it, you can kiss here." I was still pointing at my ass.

Their faces flushed, their leers turning into scowls. "Bitch!" one shouted. "I'm going to teach you some manners!" He charged at me - I kicked him right across the face and he went down in a single hit. Pathetic.

"Shit! Shit!" The others were backing up, looking alarmed.

"And now here's the part where you go, Oh terrible spirit, why do you trouble me?" I sighed, stepping forward. "Okay, guys, here's the deal. A little girl died here last week. And that?" I pointed at the ruined vase of flowers. "That's my offering to her that you smashed into and ruined with your skateboards. So I'm gonna cut you a deal: you go find somewhere else to be a jackass, and I won't break your kneecaps." The little girl's eye widened as I smiled.

The rest of them were about to leave, but some moron let his testosterone and his ego get in the way. "Hey!" he said indignantly. "There are more of us! Why should we have to go anywhere?!"

And then the others realized he was right, and began a tentative chorus of, "... Yeah! Yeah!"

I smirked. I'd been hoping for this.

I ran toward them and leaped upward, bending my legs in a midair split, and I kicked two in the face; they went down in showers of blood with broken noses. I landed deftly, swept one's feet, and elbowed him in the face on the way down. I pulled out my sheathed wooden sword and hit one over the head with the handle, sinking the other end into the gut of the one behind me.

And then I was standing there calmly, surrounded by six downed, groaning thugs. I put my sword at my back again.

I walked up to the first guy, who seemed to be the leader, and kicked him in the balls. "You come around here again, you little fucker, and people will be bringing you flowers." I scowled and walked away as he lay there groaning, blood gushing from his face.

I bent over, picked up the vase of flowers, and put the ruined flowers back inside the milk bottle. Then I left the alleyway, grabbing my book bag and making to leave.

I felt more than heard the little girl run up behind me.

"I scared them and beat the crap out of them. They shouldn't be back. I'll bring fresh flowers soon and clean the place up for you," I said, expressionless, looking back over my shoulder. "D'you need anything else?"

"No. Thank you. I'm sure I'll be left in peace…" she began shyly. Then she smiled and added more boldly, "Oneechan."

Great. Another little girl who looked up to me. Wasn't two little sisters enough? It wasn't that I disliked any of them, it was just… could they not see what a horrible role model I was?

"Look," I said, backing up, "just pass on already, will ya?"

And, like a coward, I fled the alleyway.

I got home and went around the backway, slipping off shoes, wooden sword, book bag, heading into the kitchen and living room area. "I'm home!" I announced, walking toward the kitchen to make dinner.

"Thank God! I'm starving, kitchen slave!" Karin called from where was lazed on the couch, watching TV.

"What was that? You don't want me to make dinner? You can do it for yourself? Is that what you said?" I cleared my ear as if to check my hearing.

"Sorry, Ichi-nee."

"That's what I thought."

"Sweet daughter of mine, you come home later and grow farther from me every day!" my father cried dramatically. He charged toward me, his arms open. "Come, be embraced against your father's manly chest -!"

This time the fist went in his gut. "Dad, you're being weird again. If you ruin dinner and I have to start from scratch, you're not getting any," I said flatly, towering over his prone form with my hands on my hips. "And I'm not growing away from you, Dad. I'm just busy."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Yuzu. "You've had less time for us since you started high school, too, Nee-chan."

"We're all agreed! We should stage an Ichigo intervention! There should be cake!" Dad announced.

"No cake. No intervention. Busy." I glared slightly for effect.

Dad was unfazed. "I will say it again: this house is not a democracy!"

"It sure as hell is. Do you even know how to cook and clean for yourself? What if I staged a protest and stopped doing anything, huh? What then?" I put a hand on my hip, annoyed.

"Dad, stop pissing off Ichi-nee, I don't want to have to do my own laundry!" Karin exclaimed.

"My own daughters turning against me," said Dad, wounded, flinching away as if struck. He was kidding. Dad was always kidding. "It must be puberty!"

"Dad, as evidenced by how you handled my first period, you know nothing about female puberty," I said, chopping up ingredients. "Which is kind of surprising, considering the fact that you're a doctor." The twins giggled.

"I told you that you weren't dying!" Dad protested.

"Yeah, Dad. Spectacular parenting moment. Now go sit over there and wait for dinner to be done." I glared and pointed.

Dad went wailing to the memorial of Mom. He talked to it every day.

"Can I help you?" I looked around in surprise to find Karin standing there. She was dressed just like me - skinny jeans, big graphic tee, long hair tied back in a messy bun, bracelets. The only difference was she was pale and cool-skinned with black eyes and hair. Karin really admired me - wanted to be just like me.

It made me uncomfortable, because on one hand I did truly try to take care of my sisters and be a female presence for them, the kind of female presence I hadn't had when I was a preteen. (Tatsuki's Mom had had to teach me about tampons.) I'd taught my sisters basic self defense, helped them with their homework, told them about being a woman, that kind of thing.

But on the other hand, I didn't think of myself as a particularly good role model, or as a naturally heroic person - I was too cold and clinical, somewhat bizarre, hopelessly rebellious, essentially selfish and not good in the whole golden-shining-armor spotlight. The last time I'd tried to be the heroine, all it had done was kill my Mom. I wanted more than that for my sisters.

So I tried to encourage individual traits in Karin, like her caustic sense of humor, her friendships with several boys, and her love of soccer. Same with Yuzu's emotional freeness and artistic obsessions with dressing up and making dolls.

"Sure," I said, moving aside so Karin could join me. "Finish chopping this up, okay? Be sure to curl your fingers so the ends don't get cut." I justified it to myself by saying Karin should know how to cook.

Yuzu said idly from the table, "Nee-chan, you have a new 'friend' haunting you."

I whirled around to find the ghost of an older man in a suit and tie with greying hair and square glasses floating there. The same chain hung from his chest. A red stain was just above it.

"Were you shot?" was the first thing I asked bluntly.

"Ooh, sounds juicy already!" said Yuzu enthusiastically.

"Damn, I wish I could see as well as you," Karin muttered. All Karin and Yuzu saw and heard when a ghost appeared were a blur and a faint buzzing sound, like that of a fly. They couldn't even make out distinct words.

For me, the only differences between the living and the dead were the purposeful ones.

"A - a business partner shot me. I got involved with the yakuza," the businessman admitted. To his credit, he looked ashamed of himself. "The - the other ghosts said you could help me."

I blew out a breath, pushing strands of copper hair idly back behind my ears as I thought. "Yeah, I have a reputation for helping out the dead around here," I said slowly. "As far as I know, I'm the only one who can 'see' this well. So what does an immoral businessman want with me?"

"All - all ghosts disappear after a while. Some never form in the first place," said the man. "Where do those… souls... go?" The question was tentative. "I - I mean - is there a Hell?"

"You want to know if you're going to Hell," I realized, frowning.

The businessman swallowed, nodded.

"... I'm sorry," I said at last. What else was there to say? "I don't know what happens to the souls that disappear. You want my opinion? I think we all just go back into the earth. You know, that our energy is absorbed into the fold. I don't think I believe there's anything after this, myself. I guess some people just absorb quicker than others."

Like Mom. I hadn't been sure how to feel about that. One part grief, one part relief. I'd been dreading having to face my Mom, knowing my actions were what had gotten my mother killed. But Mom never appeared. I had felt relief.

That was what I meant about being a terrible person.

No one knew outside my family; it was our guilty little secret, and I kept it that way. I was pretty sure that deep down, at least my father resented me, that my mother would resent me if she were still around, and I knew that I resented myself. I hoped my mother was at peace.

"So - oblivion?" the businessman was pondering.

"Oblivion," I agreed, nodding calmly. "No God. No afterlife. Oblivion."

I'd come to terms with the idea long ago, and it no longer really frightened me. It just gave me more incentive to live my life as fully as I could while I still had the chance. I was certain of myself.

I didn't think Death had anything left to show me.

Dinner was katsu pork with a light, spicy curry sauce and sticky sushi rice. The Kurosaki family dinner table was nothing if not lively: crazy schemes, shouts, challenges, arguments, and occasionally actions that could qualify as minor intrafamilial violence all abounded. At the same time, I could admit to myself, the cozy, close-knit atmosphere was nice. We all sat around the same small wooden table in Western-style chairs, no rank or formality. It was nice.

After dinner, it was my family's job to clean up the kitchen. (This was one of their only two chores - the other was that they had to make their own beds every morning. I cleaned the house and did the laundry on the weekends.) So I headed upstairs to my room with my book bag.

I cleared a bunch of shit off my desk and bent over it in the desk chair, turning on the light, to do my homework. And by the time I was finished with that, it was bedtime. Such was my life. I sighed, sitting back and running a hand through my orange hair tiredly. Same old, same old.

My pajamas consisted of a very big, long nightshirt and long, loose hair. Before I went to bed, I had a ritual: I had a soothing cup of warm milk or hot herbal tea, read some from my latest book, and played with Daisuke. He liked it when I dangled toys in front of him so he could claw at them. (This also meant none of his toys lasted very long.) Then he purred as I petted him to sleep.

I'd originally gotten Daisuke as an emotional support animal, one of my father's feeble, confused attempts to help me through my middle school depression.

Cereal was my go-to midnight snack, and then came bed. I slept with my body straight, my arms in front of my face, a pillow cuddled to my belly. My dreams were bizarre and surreal, almost like nightmares; my actual nightmares usually consisted of unpreparedness, failure, and sometimes Santa Claus or clowns.

But tonight, I had no nightmares - only a deep, dreamless sleep.

My body was preparing itself, I think, for tomorrow. The day when everything changed.