Chapter 4: Sleepover
The air in Hiromi’s bedroom smelled of strawberry fabric softener and the faint, greasy aroma of the potato croquettes they’d eaten for dinner. Clothes were strewn over every surface—a tornado of trying on outfits for an event still a week away. Emily sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the bed, sketching in a small notebook. She was trying to capture the way Hiromi’s socked foot tapped an anxious rhythm against her desk chair.
“The striped top or the solid color?” Hiromi demanded, holding two nearly identical blouses in front of her. “Stripes say ‘fun, approachable, but maybe a little nautical.’ Solid says ‘sophisticated, but possibly boring.’ Which is less likely to make me vomit from nerves?”
“Solid,” Emily said without looking up, shading the curl of a fallen thread on the rug. “Stripes might make him motion sick if the Ferris wheel spins.”
“It doesn’t spin, it just goes around! And oh god, you’re right, what if he’s afraid of heights? What if he gets queasy and I’m sitting there in busy horizontal lines?” Hiromi flung the striped top into the ‘no’ pile, which was significantly larger than the ‘maybe.’ She slumped onto the floor beside Emily. “My brain is a hamster on a wheel. A scared, fashion-conscious hamster.”
“The hamster looks good in blue,” Emily said, offering a small smile.
Hiromi bumped her shoulder against Emily’s. “You’re distracted. More than usual. Is it the portfolio? Mr. Sato said it was amazing.”
“It’s done. I submitted it yesterday.” Saying it aloud felt surreal. The stack of drawings, all those observed hands and haunted shadows, were out of her hands. A door had closed.
“Then what?” Hiromi pressed, her voice softening. “Is it… him?”
Emily’s pencil stopped. She looked at the sketch of the tapping foot. It was easier than looking at Hiromi. “He told me to forget he exists.”
“Well, that’s dramatically rude. And impossible, since he’s, like, six feet of brooding presence in every room.” Hiromi pulled her knees to her chest. “Did he say why?”
“His mother calls to check.” Emily repeated the fractured sentences from the hallway. A phone that rings. A rule I can’t break. “It’s not just a memory for him. It’s a… live wire. Every day.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant drone of a TV from downstairs. Hiromi picked at the rug. “Families are the worst sometimes. Mine just nags me about test scores. His sounds like a prison.”
The word echoed in the cozy room. It fit.
“You know,” Hiromi said, her tone shifting to deliberately casual, “Yuto mentioned something once. About Jay moving back in with his dad. Said his dad’s place is super sterile, like a model home. And that Jay’s mom calls him at, like, exactly nine PM every Sunday. Yuto heard it once when they were gaming. Jay just left the voice chat, didn’t come back for an hour.”
A weekly check-in. A curfew on his past. Emily pictured it: the sterile apartment, the phone ringing with monastic regularity, Jay steeling himself to report that he’d followed the rules. That he’d remained a stranger.
“Why are you telling me this?” Emily asked.
“Because you draw the truth of people. And the truth about this is… it sucks.” Hiromi shrugged. “Also, I’m a stellar friend who listens to boring boy-chat for valuable intel. Now come on, let’s get some air. I’m suffocating in potential outfits.”
The evening was cool, the sky a deep watercolor wash of indigo and bruised rose. They walked without direction, following the winding streets of Hiromi’s quiet neighborhood. The houses were close together, gardens neatly compartmentalized. It was a world away from the tiny apartment above the izakaya, with its perpetual scent of frying oil and stale beer.
“Okay, full confession,” Hiromi said, swinging her arms. “The walk isn’t just for air. Yuto lives on the next street over. There’s a non-zero chance we might see him taking out trash or something. A casual, fateful encounter.”
“Hiromi.”
“What? It’s strategic! I need a pre-carnival confidence boost. A sighting. A nod. Anything.”
Emily shook her head, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. Her friend’s singular, obsessive focus was a weirdly comforting counterpoint to the formless dread in her own life. They turned the corner.
The street was identical to the last: modest two-stories, trimmed hedges, parked kei cars. Halfway down, a figure was bent over a recycling bin, stuffing cardboard boxes into it.
“Oh,” Hiromi breathed, freezing. “That’s him. That’s his house. That’s him.”
It was Yuto. He wore sweatpants and a faded hoodie, his hair messy. He looked utterly, ordinarily real.
Hiromi was paralyzed, a deer in the headlights of her own design. “Act natural,” she whispered, her voice strangled.
Before Emily could suggest literally anything, the front door of the house opened again. Another figure stepped out, holding a blue plastic bag of burnable trash.
Jay.
Emily’s breath caught. He was in similar casual clothes, a grey t-shirt and dark track pants. He was saying something to Yuto, a laugh on his face that seemed easier, more genuine than any she’d seen at school. This was the version of him that existed outside the walls, in the sanctuary of a friend’s house. He looked… relaxed.
Then his gaze flicked past Yuto, scanning the street. It landed on the two girls standing at the corner.
The laugh died. The ease evaporated, stiffening his spine. His hand tightened on the plastic bag, the crinkle loud in the still evening. Yuto, noticing the change, turned.
“Oh! Hey!” Yuto called, waving with a friendly, open grin. “Hiromi! Emily! What’s up?”
Hiromi made a sound like a mouse being stepped on, then managed a wobbly wave back. “H-hi! Just walking! You know. Air.”
Emily couldn’t speak. She was locked in a silent exchange with Jay, who stood ten meters away like a statue. The streetlight above him flickered on, casting his face in sharp relief. His expression wasn’t cold or angry. It was stark, unguarded panic. This was his sanctuary, and she had invaded it. The walls were down here, and he’d been seen without them.
Yuto, blissfully unaware, jogged a few steps toward them. “Cool, cool. You guys live around here?”
“Hiromi does,” Emily heard herself say, her voice surprisingly steady. “I’m just visiting.”
“Awesome. We’re just doing chores. Exciting Saturday, right?” Yuto laughed. Jay hadn’t moved. He was a still life of tension.
“Super exciting,” Hiromi chirped, finding her voice. “We won’t interrupt. See you Monday!”
“Yeah, see you!” Yuto said. “Carnival next weekend, right? Our class is running the ring toss. Gonna be rigged, of course.” He grinned again, then turned back to Jay. “Dude, you gonna stand there all night? The bugs are coming out.”
That seemed to break Jay’s paralysis. He gave a single, stiff nod in their general direction, not meeting Emily’s eyes, and turned to follow Yuto back inside. He didn’t look back. The door closed, leaving the quiet street feeling emptier than before.
Hiromi exhaled a long, shuddering breath. “Oh my god. Oh my god. He was in sweatpants. He looked so… normal. And he waved! He was friendly!”
“Yuto was friendly,” Emily corrected softly, her eyes still on the closed door.
“Right. Yes. But Jay… he looked like he saw a ghost.” Hiromi hooked her arm through Emily’s, pulling her back the way they came. “You’re the ghost, Emily. You haunt him. That’s not nothing.”
They walked in silence for a block. The encounter played on a loop in Emily’s mind. The genuine laugh. The panic. The sterile apartment, the Sunday phone calls. The frog on his backpack. The lie he had to live, and the truth that kept leaking out.
“It’s not enough,” Emily said finally, the words tasting like a decision.
“What isn’t?”
“Being a ghost. Being a leak. Being a problem he has to manage.” She looked up at the darkening sky. “He’s waiting for permission to stop. But the person who gave the order isn’t here.”
Hiromi slowed, studying her friend’s face. “What are you going to do?”
Emily didn’t know. Not exactly. But the carnival was no longer just about Hiromi’s Ferris wheel plan or a school tradition. It was a crowd. It was noise. It was a place where rules frayed and ghosts could, for one night, step into the light.
“I’m going to the carnival,” Emily said.
“I’m going to the carnival,” Emily said, “and I’m not going to be a ghost in the crowd.”
Carnival day arrived on a crisp, clear evening that smelled of powdered sugar and diesel from the generator trucks. The athletic field was transformed into a grid of glowing stalls and screaming rides, the Ferris wheel a slow-turning jewel against the plum-colored sky. Emily stood with Hiromi at the edge of the chaos, the noise a physical wall of pop music, laughter, and the mechanical grind of gears.
Hiromi was vibrating in a pink sweater, her eyes already scanning for Yuto. “Operation Gondola is a go. I feel sick. Do I look green?”
“You look pink. And determined,” Emily said. She felt strangely calm, a still point in the swirling energy. Her eyes moved past the crowds, seeking a specific stall.
“He said their class was running the ring toss,” Hiromi said, pointing a trembling finger toward the far left corner. “There. I see the ugly banner. Oh god. There he is. He’s wearing a headband. It’s adorable. I’m going to die.”
“Don’t die,” Emily said, starting to walk. “Not until after the Ferris wheel.”
At the ring toss stall, business was slow. Three milk bottles sat smugly on a podium, nearly impossible to topple. Jay leaned against the counter’s side panel, arms crossed, looking at the carnival like it was a required detention. The flashing lights from the nearby shooter game painted his face in alternating red and blue.
Yuto counted tickets, grinning. “Almost shift change. Then I’m a free man. I’m gonna find Hiromi. Walk around, maybe get a candied apple.”
“Smooth,” Ren said, sorting rings. He was a lanky guy with glasses. “Just walk around? That’s your big move?”
“What’s wrong with walking? It’s classic.” Yuto elbowed Jay, who didn’t react. “Right?”
Jay shrugged, his gaze tracking a group of passing freshmen. “Sure.”
Ren piped up, a sly grin on his face. “Hey, if you’re grabbing Hiromi, what about her friend? The quiet one with the dark hair. Emily Kitsuhara?” He looked between them. “She’s in your class, right Jay? She’s really cute. Is she, like, here with anyone?”
The question hung in the air, sharp as the tinny carnival music. Jay’s posture went rigid. He uncrossed his arms, picking up a plastic ring and flexing it between his hands until the cheap plastic whitened.
“Dunno,” Jay said, his voice flat. “Don’t keep track.”
“Come on, man, you share a homeroom,” Yuto pressed, oblivious to the tension coiling in Jay’s shoulders. “Is she available or what? Ren’s been making heart eyes at her sketchbook all semester.”
Jay’s jaw tightened. He looked directly at Ren, the flashing lights making his expression unreadable. “She’s not interested.”
“How do you know?” Ren asked, undeterred.
“I just know.” The plastic ring snapped in Jay’s hand with a brittle crack. He dropped the pieces on the counter. “Forget it.”
Yuto blinked, finally noticing the severity. “Whoa, okay. Sorry, man. Touchy subject.”
It was at that exact moment Emily emerged from the stream of people, Hiromi a step behind her. She’d heard none of the conversation, but she saw the broken ring in front of Jay, the strained set of his back, the way Ren and Yuto suddenly found the milk bottles fascinating.
Her eyes met Jay’s. The carnival’ roar seemed to recede, funneling into a tunnel of silence between them. He looked cornered, caught between the question and her sudden, materializing presence.
Hiromi broke the silence, her voice bright and nervous. “Hey! Fancy meeting you guys here! How’s the, uh, rigged ring toss business?”
“Booming,” Yuto said, recovering with a forced chuckle. “Just finishing up. You guys wanna play? On the house.”
“Absolutely!” Hiromi said, too loudly.
Emily didn’t look away from Jay. She took a step toward the counter. “I’d like a ring,” she said, her voice clear. She held out a hand, not for a ring from the pile, but directly toward him, a silent challenge to hand one over.
Everyone froze. Ren watched, intrigued. Yuto’s eyes widened. Hiromi held her breath.
Jay stared at her outstretched hand. He slowly, deliberately, picked up a single, unbroken ring from the counter. He held it for a moment, his fingers just inches from hers. The air crackled.
Instead of placing it in her palm, he set it down on the scratched counter between them with a definitive tap.
“It’s not a game you win,” he said, his voice low, meant only for her.
Emily’s fingers closed around the cool plastic. She didn’t smile. “Everything’s a game. You just have to decide to play.”
She turned, aligned herself with the bottles, and threw the ring in one fluid, decisive motion. It sailed through the air, clipped the top of the center bottle, and spun off into the shadows behind the stall.
A miss.
She looked back at him. “My shift’s starting. See you around, Tanaka.”
Taking Hiromi’s arm, she turned and melted back into the crowd, leaving Jay standing behind the counter, his hands braced against the plywood, watching her go. The broken pieces of the first ring lay beside his knuckles. Ren opened his mouth to say something, but Yuto shook his head sharply, a silent warning to let it be.
Ren opened his mouth to say something, but Yuto shook his head sharply, a silent warning to let it be.
The remaining twenty minutes of their shift passed in a thick, wordless silence. Jay worked mechanically, collecting tickets and handing out rings, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the crowd. The snapped plastic piece stayed where it had fallen, a tiny, white scar on the countertop.
When their replacements arrived, Yuto practically dragged Jay away from the stall. “Okay, we’re free. Let’s go find them.” The carnival swallowed them, a river of noise and swirling light that Jay moved through like a sleepwalker. “Dude, what was that back there? You looked like you were gonna flip the table.”
“It’s nothing.” Jay’s voice was gravel. “Just drop it.”
“I can’t drop it! Ren was asking a simple question and you snapped a ring in half. And then she showed up, and you two had that whole… silent movie showdown. What is going on with you and Kitsuhara?”
Jay didn’t answer. He just kept walking, his shoulders a rigid line. The smell of frying takoyaki and spun sugar did nothing to cut the tension vibrating off him.
They found the stall near the makeshift food court. It was a simple prize game where you fished for plastic ducks with a tiny magnetic pole. Hiromi was loudly explaining the rules to a group of children, her earlier nervous energy transformed into performative cheer. Emily was in the back, restocking prizes from a cardboard box—cheap stickers, rubber balls, neon bracelets.
She looked up as they approached. Her expression was unreadable.
“Hi!” Hiromi chirped, her eyes locking onto Yuto. “You survived!”
“Barely,” Yuto laughed, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “Our shift was… eventful. This looks more fun.”
“It’s shockingly competitive. A seven-year-old just called me a fraud.” Hiromi gestured to the small pool. “You guys wanna play? I can give you the friends-and-potential-love-interests discount.”
Yuto grinned. “How can I refuse that sales pitch?” He picked up a fishing pole.
Jay hung back. He didn’t look at the pool or the prizes. He watched Emily, who had stopped restocking and now just stood there, a handful of plastic-wrapped bracelets dripping from her fingers like frozen neon tears.
The casual atmosphere Yuto and Hiromi generated felt fragile, a thin film over something much deeper. Their light chatter about rigged games and candied apples buzzed around the silent standoff at the back of the stall.
“So, Emily,” Yuto said, concentrating on snagging a duck. “Heard you’re some amazing artist. Jay said you submitted your portfolio for that big showcase.”
The air changed. Emily’s eyes cut to Jay, sharp with surprise. Jay stiffened, his own gaze fixed stubbornly on the dusty ground near his shoes.
“He did?” Emily asked.
“Yeah, earlier. When Ren was asking about you.” Yuto didn’t look up, oblivious to the landmine he’d stepped on. “Jay said you were practically a pro. Shut Ren down pretty hard, actually.”
Hiromi’s eyes went wide, her head swiveling between Jay and Emily. The unspoken confession hung there: Jay had been talking about her. He had defended her, even in his own brittle way.
Emily placed the bracelets down carefully. “He’s exaggerating. It’s just some drawings.”
“It’s not.” The words left Jay’s mouth low and rough, forced out. He finally looked at her. “Mr. Sato told my dad it could get you into any art school in the country. He’s not the exaggerating type.”
The directness of it, the fact that he knew this detail, that he’d listened, shattered the last of the performance. The carnival’s din faded to a distant roar. Here, in this pool of light by the duck pond, there was only the two of them and the truth he could no longer fully contain.
“Why do you know that?” Emily asked, taking a single step forward.
Jay’s throat worked. He glanced at Yuto and Hiromi, who were now pretending, very badly, to be enthralled by a single, elusive yellow duck. There were no walls here, no rules from a distant mother, just the terrifying exposure of being known.
“Because I asked,” he said, the admission tearing something loose inside him. His voice cracked under the weight. “I asked my dad to ask. I needed to know if you were really leaving.”
The confession landed, absolute and seismic. Emily’s breath caught. He had been tracking her future, her escape route, while pretending she was a stranger. The contradiction was finally too big to hold.
Before she could form a word, a commotion erupted at the front of the stall. A loud group of older boys, their breaths smelling faintly of stolen beer, jostled their way to the counter. “This game is for babies,” one slurred, grabbing a pole. “Just give us the big prize. Save us the time.”
Hiromi’s friendly demeanor vanished. “You have to play to win. And you’re scaring the kids.”
“Or what?” The leader, a broad-shouldered guy with a sneer, reached over the partition to snatch a large plush toy.
Jay moved.
It was fast and fluid, a reaction born of coiled frustration finding a target. He stepped between the guy and Hiromi, his hand closing around the guy’s wrist. “Put it back.”
“Get off me, pretty boy.”
The guy shoved. Jay stumbled back a step, but held his ground, his posture shifting into something athletic and ready. The calm he’d worn all night was gone, replaced by a cold, focused intensity. Yuto immediately stepped up beside him, the friendly vibe hardening.
“Not happening,” Yuto said, his voice flat. “Walk away.”
For a second, violence thickened the air. Then the guy’s friends, less drunk, pulled him back. “Whatever. Stupid game anyway.” They melted back into the crowd, leaving a charged silence behind.
Jay released a slow breath, his shoulders dropping. He turned. His eyes found Emily immediately, as if pulled by a magnet.
She was staring at him, her hand pressed to her chest. In that moment, she didn’t see the brooding transfer student or the prisoner of his mother’s rules. She saw the boy from the alley, the one who felt like her oldest friend, instinctively moving to protect what was hers. The lie was gone, completely, burned away by a single, reckless act.
The standoff was over. Something else had begun.
“You okay?” Jay asked, the question meant for everyone, but his gaze never leaving her.
“Yeah,” Emily whispered. Then, louder, “Yeah. Thank you.”
Hiromi let out a shaky laugh. “Well. That was… more exciting than the Ferris wheel. Which we should all go on. Right now. As a group. To calm our nerves.”
Yuto nodded vigorously. “Yes. Good plan. Group activity. No more solo shifts.”
They all looked at Jay and Emily. The momentum of the night, of the confession and the confrontation, was a tangible force, pushing them together, demanding a resolution.
Jay looked at the looming Ferris wheel, its lights tracing slow circles in the dark. A small, swinging cage high above everything. His personal hell. Then he looked back at Emily, at the question in her eyes.
He gave one sharp, almost imperceptible nod.