Here's a quick list of names and nicknames for reference, recorded in the Japanese fashion of Last Name, First Name.

Ayase Chihaya

Mashima Taichi

Yamashiro Rion aka Yama-chan

Nishida Yusei aka Porky

Komano Tsutomu aka Desktomu

Oe Kanade aka Kana-chan

Wakamiya Shinobu aka Shinubu-chan, the Queen

Wataya Arata

Hanano Sumire

Tsukuba Akihiro

CHIHAYA

"You!" The amber eyes that met mine widened in surprise. "And you!" The redhead pointed a finger at Taichi. "What are you doing here?"

"Yama-chan!" I greeted her warmly. Her small mouth dropped open. Under his breath Taichi took issue with my familiarity. "Yama?...chan?" he muttered skeptically.

"Coach Sakurazawa invited us," I answered her easily. "I'm glad you were walking by…I didn't know how we were going to find everyone!" My eyes flitted over the campus of Fujisaki High School; its blocky buildings and branching sidewalks appeared completely deserted.

The girl stood frozen in disbelief. Taichi tried his luck. "It's Yamashiro-san, isn't it?" he asked smoothly. "I'm Mashima Taichi and this is Ayase Chihaya. We're from the Misuzawa karuta club. Your coach invited us to come and join you for your training camp. We don't have an actual coach, you see?" he added by way of explanation.

It's so sad! Our club has no coach!

Yama-chan's wide eyes never left Taichi's face even as she nodded slowly in acknowledgement. She looked as though she were seeing a ghost. "Well," she visibly shook it off, voiding her face of emotion. "I'll take you to Coach Sakurazawa then." Pivoting sharply, she set off at a brisk pace along one of the walkways.

Taichi and I shared a look, silently communicating our unease with the cool reception. "Last chance to bail," he said, keeping his voice low. That little furrow in his brow told me he was worried.

"Come on," I urged him. I strode forward, confident he would follow.

Taichi is a big worrier. He doesn't talk about it, but I can feel it. He worries about his grades and about his future. He worries about the club and about why he hasn't conquered karuta the way he easily conquered other sports. Deep down, he worries that it's because he's lacking something innately, that, no matter how much time and effort he puts in, he won't ever be good enough.

Sometimes I catch him looking at me with this pondering expression. I don't know what he's looking for, but I hope one day he'll find it.

At least he's grown out of bullying other kids to bolster his ego. Would I even have noticed Wataya Arata if Taichi hadn't picked on him back in sixth grade? The boy from Fukui was so quiet, withdrawn into himself at the time. Without Taichi's insufferable goading, I might have completely missed the most important thing ever to happen to me.

"Chihaya." Taichi's voice hinted at impatience. My head snapped up and I realized Yama-chan had turned off the path I was continuing along. Together, Taichi and I followed our tight-lipped guide as she cut across the grass toward the track arena. I sucked in a breath as I saw at least three dozen students gathered there, chatting and in various stages of stretching.

Amazing! Such a huge club! I WANT ONE!

Coach Sakurazawa stood to one side, supervising. Like the students, she was dressed comfortably in a track suit, but there was no doubt that she was in charge. Authority oozed from her, and if she hadn't been so nice to me already I'd be scared stiff about now. Yama-chan reached her before we did, delivering a thick spiral notebook into her hands and muttering something too quietly for us to hear.

"Rion," we heard the coach's answer as we approached. "No one here can help you improve as much as these two can. Learn some humility, or I'll start looking for a different captain." Yama-chan bowed her head and waited.

Coach S is tough! As she turned to us, her stern façade relaxed into a neutral expression that must have been her version of welcome. "Ayase-san, Mashima-kun. I'm glad you could make it." Her appraising eye scanned me from head to toe in an instant, returning to rest on my bandaged hand. "You mentioned an operation," she acknowledged, inviting further explanation. Rion's head snapped up, and her horrified gaze settled on my injury.

I quickly described the underlying condition and how the surgery should correct it, taking pains to reassure them both that Yama-chan was not to blame. After hearing my spiel, Coach S decided I should take part in the stretches but skip the warm-up runs each day. She allowed that I could participate in matches if I felt up to it, as long as I used my left hand. "You won't develop a whole lot of muscle memory over two days anyway," she concluded.

Taichi and I were dispatched to the locker rooms to change into more comfortable attire. Soon he was running laps with the others while I continued with slow stretches. My eyes absently followed his progress around the track. He was a natural athlete and moved efficiently, easily matching Fujisaki's fastest runners. He was beautiful to watch somehow, or maybe I just felt comforted by his familiar gait in the midst of so much that was unfamiliar—from the school and students to the awkward bulk of bandages weighing down my hand.

Even now my finger was beginning to throb from the heat and my heightened activity level. I held it pointing skyward for a while to ease the ache.

This weakness was incredibly frustrating, but every time the pain hit I grit my teeth and vowed that it would pay off in better karuta one day soon. Two faces fluttered before my mind's eye: Shinobu-chan, the Queen, and Arata, my…

I sighed, watching as a humid breeze riffled through the green leaves of the nearby cherry trees.

Arata. My childhood friend. The one who first believed in me. The one I missed all through middle school. I sent letters, but he was an irregular correspondent, and eventually I heard nothing from him at all. Still, his blue eyes haunted me. In them, at times, I'd seen a hunger to prove himself, to become more than the boy with a shabby apartment and a paper route and a country accent. At other times they'd been lit with absolute confidence that his hard work would lead him to Omi Jingu. Even at that young age, I never doubted he would one day become a karuta Master.

And whenever he looked at me…those blue eyes revealed first surprise, and then delight. A smile curved my lips as I remembered how my heart echoed that delight. "Let's play!" Karuta was our shared passion, a gift we opened together on many afternoons during that one short winter.

I guess it was a desire to feel that mutual delight again that kept me practicing relentlessly all through middle school. To a seventh grader, Fukui seemed as unreachable as the moon, but I knew that—if I could just get good enough—I could compete in tournaments in high school that he would also travel to compete in. It was the only way I could imagine ever being able to play him again.

Then time passed, and we lost contact, and it felt awkward to imagine meeting him for any reason other than karuta. But I missed him, so I kept working toward that day.

And then we did meet, but not in the happy way I'd imagined.

When I made Class A, it gave me an excuse to break the barrier of silence that had grown up between us. But my phone call didn't bring the delight I hoped for; it brought horror and heartbreak.

It just wasn't possible that the future Master had forsaken the cards. Even worse than thinking of playing the rest of my life without him was imagining a world deprived of his beautiful karuta. I couldn't make sense of it. And I couldn't let it go.

So I cajoled my sister into lending me money, and pleaded with Taichi to join my cause, and jumped onto a train with no thought but of getting to his house as quickly as possible and finding him and making him see reason. As I walked down the blossom-strewn road toward the shop where he was working, my mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions. I tried to imagine what the sixth grader Arata would look like now. I couldn't reconcile the deep, bitter voice I'd heard on the phone with the brave little boy I remembered.

And then as I looked up from the muddy path, I saw his eyes—just for a second—as he sped by on a bicycle. Whatever happened next is a blur; I just reacted, desperate to look into those eyes again and understand. There was a tumble of arms and legs and metal spokes, but when I opened my eyes I felt whole again. There he was, staring back at me…my Arata. Those blue eyes, still framed by glasses, held that familiar expression of surprise and amazement.

Whatever we'd had in sixth grade exploded into new dimensions of depth and color. He was still Arata. And we were connected by something powerful that I didn't understand.

He was broken and could not be quickly or easily mended. But just as before, our souls called out to one another. The love I felt for him and the love I felt for karuta echoed around the corresponding places in his own spirit, melting the icy walls around his heart beginning with that first visit and through every email and too-short meeting until the day he gave me the gift I'd been waiting for: "Next time we'll meet in a match."

We haven't had our match yet, and I want so badly to kneel across from him, smell the tatami, feel the hot, close air, and see the delight in his blue eyes as I send him a challenge.

Only I don't have a challenge worthy of him yet. He defeated Shinobu-chan, and I still haven't come close to beating her. I've got to work harder. Harder! So he will have fun when we finally play a match. I've got to be faster, more focused, more… Ow!

The insistent throbbing of my finger alerted me to the way I was tensing up. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath through my nose, and exhaled slowly through my mouth, releasing my rigid muscles.

Enough reminiscing. I'd come here to work hard and learn whatever I could from Coach S and her program. I'll be good enough to face him one day. I just have to keep working.

-0-0-0-0-

Coach S alternated discussions of strategy with rounds of matches. For the first round, she pitted me against the third-year who was narrowly defeated by Porky in the team finals (Suzuki Kanata I learned later), and Taichi against his twin. Coach S paced the room while we played, asking questions of various students that led them in analyzing which card to send or how to move their cards or to position a card they received. Her insights were thought-provoking and I wished I had time to write everything down in my notebook. But I was in the middle of my own match, and handicapped by having to use my left hand. One of their senpais read for us, which minimized my hearing advantage, but I managed to scrape out a win by two.

The twins were generous spirits, though, and swept me and Taichi along with them to the cafeteria when Coach S called for a lunch break. We joined the line that had already formed, and, in between peppering me with questions about my thought process during our match, Kanata explained how some of their parents prepared meals on-site for the camp each year.

"That's amazing!" I responded. "Taichi," I tugged his sleeve for attention, since he was in his own conversation with Manata. "Taichi, can you imagine our club being this big one day and having parents so supportive that they come and cook for us?!"

He raised his eyebrows doubtfully but allowed, "I'm sure you can."

My ponytail bobbed as I nodded enthusiastically. Taichi's mom didn't exactly fit in that picture, but parents like Oe-san would surely be supportive. I began telling our line-mates about Oe-san and how we wear traditional clothing for most matches. Several girls had joined us, and their questions continued as we collected our dishes and found a table together. They allowed me a spot by Taichi but otherwise did their best to arrange themselves around him. The twins sat across from us and were soon joined by a couple familiar faces-the long-lashed blond and the fox-eyed guy we faced in the team tournament.

"Ayase-san, right?" asked the blond as he sat next to me. At my nod he continued. "Yamai Makoto." His expression was cool but not openly hostile. We said the blessing over our food and then he continued. "It took some guts for you to come here after taking our trophy." His gaze followed the chopsticks collecting noodles from his bowl, so I wasn't sure how to take his words.

"Yamai…" one of the twins scolded under his breath.

"I – I just love karuta and I want to get better," I expressed myself sincerely. "Playing your hardest, in a close match, well, it's so much fun. And your team has so many Class A players…I- I hope I get to play every one of you this weekend!" I declared with vehemence.

The twins and Fox-eyes looked taken aback. Blondie, I mean, Yamai-kun, met my eyes and I watched a hint of a feral smile cross his face. "Alright then," he said, pleased by my challenge.

I returned my attention to wrangling the noodles in my own bowl. Eating properly had become a chore with my index finger immobilized.

Yamai must have noticed me struggling. "Rion broke your finger?"

I sighed. "No, the injury just aggravated an underlying condition." I explained yet again about my weird bone problem and the surgery. "It wasn't Yama-chan's fault," I concluded soberly. Both our eyes drifted to where the redhead sat at a table nearby. Surprisingly, she was looking our direction as well. But, no, she was actually looking past me—glaring at Taichi.

"Looks like she's pretty ticked at your boyfriend," Yamai observed.

I was puzzling over her expression, so it took a minute for his words to sink in. "My boyfriend?" I asked blankly.

Suddenly it felt like every eye at the table was scrutinizing me. Yamai spoke first. "Your teammate there," he nodded toward Taichi.

"Mashima-kun," one of the twins helpfully supplied the name.

"Yeah, Mashima-kun. He's not your boyfriend?"

Whaaaat? Where did they get that idea?! "N-n-no!" I felt my face warming.

The girls abruptly interrupted their conversation with Taichi. "You're not dating?" they chorused on a hopeful note.

Taichi looked awkward but confirmed my words. "No." The girls exchanged conspiratorial looks. He continued evenly, eyes downcast looking at his food. "We're just friends."

"But you look so good together!" Kanata's girlfriend exclaimed. I blushed again.

Taichi's laugh carried more irritation than mirth.

"Never mind that," said the girl on Taichi's other side as she laid a hand on his arm. "You were telling us about how you started your club just last year." She looked at him expectantly and he picked up the conversation again.

"I apologize," Yamai said, drawing my attention back to him. Any hint of hostility was gone from his face now, and a glint shone in his eyes. "I just assumed." He studied my face for several moments, seeming pleased by what he saw. "Still…" He turned his gaze across the room and found Rion picking at her food. Even as we watched she stole another glance at Taichi. "I wonder what's bugging her."

It seemed we might find out after lunch. Coach S lectured a bit about memorization and how to integrate it into your strategy. She allowed most players to find their own partners but purposefully matched Taichi with Yama-chan, and matched me with a second-year girl I later learned was number two in her class.