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  “No, I don’t understand.” Mitsuru’s response was calm. She shook her head slowly. “You’re not making a bit of sense. But one thing I do understand: you won’t permit your grandfather to spend time with my mother.”

  It wasn’t a question of my permission; that was even worse. It was just that I hated people in love because people in love betray me. I fell silent. When I didn’t respond, Mitsuru continued.

  “You are a very childish person. I don’t care what my mother does. But you make it sound like my mother’s behaving despicably, and I can’t stand to hear another word from you. I will never speak to you or spend time with you again. Satisfied?”

  “I guess I have no choice in the matter.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. And so for half a year I did not have any contact with Mitsuru.

  • 3 •

  Well, I think we need to work our way back to Kazue Sat, don’t you? What’s that? Yes, I can well believe you don’t want to hear any more about my grandfather and Mitsuru’s mother and their disgusting love story. But actually there’s an interesting sequel. You see, Mitsuru passed the qualifying exam to enter Tokyo University Medical School, just as she’d intended. I know this because she contacted me after I’d matriculated into the German Language Division of Q University. At the same time, a number of problems occurred. It doesn’t have a direct connection to the Yuriko and Kazue stories, but I’d like to talk about it eventually.

  When was it that Kazue Sat’s bizarre behavior began to grow really obvious? It was probably around the time we were in our second year of high school. Yuriko was in her first year, and I heard rumors that Kazue had started following her around. To use the current lingo, I suppose you could call her a stalker. It was horrifying. Kazue would peek into Yuriko’s classroom. When she was in gym, Kazue would spy on her. If Yuriko attended a game with the cheerleaders, Kazue would be there. She was just like a dog following its master. She probably even sniffed around the Johnsons’ house as well. And whenever she ran into Yuriko, she would follow her with her eyes, watching Yuriko as if she were under some kind of spell. What would motivate Kazue to want to stalk Yuriko? Even I couldn’t figure that one out.

  Wherever Yuriko was, there was always a commotion. Once Kijima Junior advanced to the Q High School for Young Men in a different part of the city, Mokku, the daughter of the soy sauce company president, took his place and trailed after Yuriko like poop from a goldfish.

  Mokku was the manager of the cheerleaders’ squad. As such she was, in effect, Yuriko’s bodyguard, and she went wherever Yuriko went, protecting her from fans as well as from those who coveted her position and were envious of her. Yuriko was the squad mascot. Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? You couldn’t expect an uncoordinated airhead like Yuriko to master the complicated moves in the cheerleaders’ routines. All Yuriko was supposed to do was stand there like some kind of billboard, proving to the world that the Q School cheerleaders had raised their standards of beauty.

  When the statuesque Yuriko strode through the school grounds with Mokku, her presence was so overwhelming that no one could take their eyes off her. I was amazed at how conceited she looked. She walked slightly ahead of Mokku, her face impassive, as if she were some kind of queen. Mokku, for her part, followed after her like a handmaiden. And then here’d come Kazue, right behind them, panting hard to keep up. It certainly was a peculiar sight.

  Occasionally I’d notice that the minute Kazue ate her lunch, she’d run to the bathroom to throw it up. I say lunch, but there really wasn’t much to it: just a tiny rice ball and a tomato or a piece of fruit. Kazue often brought a cheap kind of cookie made from soy flour. But as soon as she’d eat it she’d be so overcome with remorse that she’d rush off to the toilet to puke. Everyone in the class knew what she was doing, so whenever Kazue would start rustling through that sack of cookies, the other students would poke one another with their elbows and titter knowingly. Yes, Kazue had an eating disorder. Of course, at the time we didn’t know there were such diseases. We just resented Kazue for her unbalanced diet and her habit of throwing up after a meal.

  I heard that her reputation in the ice skating club was really bad. No matter how many requisitions she got, she never paid the rink fees. She wore her competition uniform even during practice sessions and swished around the rink oblivious to everything. It seemed like only a matter of time before she would be asked to leave the team, and yet surprisingly that never happened. That was because Kazue was useful when it came time to borrow her notes for exams. Kazue lent her notes to club members free of charge but from other classmates she demanded payment, one hundred yen for one class day’s worth of notes. At that time Kazue was incredibly fixated on money. Most people grumbled behind her back that she was stingy.

  Kazue had completely changed by the latter half of freshman year. At first she had tried her best to meld with the affluent atmosphere of Q High School for Young Women. But in the winter she suddenly changed. After I was in the university I heard someone say that the shift in her life came about later, when her father died, but as far as I could tell, Kazue had already undergone a change in appearance by the start of our second high school year.

  I also noticed that Kazue had begun subjecting her teachers to an intense litany of questions during class. The teachers would soon grow impatient. “Okay, let’s move on to the next question,” they’d say, glancing at their watches, only to have Kazue complain, in a tear-choked voice, “But professor, I still don’t understand.” Even though the rest of the students in the class would roll their eyes in frustration, she didn’t care. I don’t think Kazue ever paid attention to the reactions of those around her. She gradually began to lose all awareness of her current reality. Whenever the teacher asked a question to which Kazue knew the answer, she would be the first to stick up her hand, a triumphant look on her face. And when she wrote down the answers to questions, she always covered her paper with her hand—just as if she’d returned to the days when she was a competitive elementary school student. Oh, yes. She was, without a doubt, such a weirdo no one wanted anything to do with her.

  But I hung out with her. You understand, don’t you? Kazue was hung up on a hopeless relationship and frustrated as a result. I’m talking about Takashi Kijima, of course. I wanted to see what I could do to ensure that the love Kazue harbored for Kijima swelled like a balloon. Kazue had taken my advice and written Kijima any number of letters. She always showed them to me first. I would make my corrections and send them back to her. And then Kazue would write them over again and again, never really certain that they were good enough to send. Would you like to see the letters? I’ll show them to you. You wonder why I have them? Well, that’s because I copied each one in my notebook before I sent it back to her.

  Please forgive the informality of this letter. I realize it must seem rude to write you out of the blue like this. Please forgive me.

  If I may, I’d like to begin with a self-introduction. My name is Kazue Sat and I’m in the B group of the first-year high school students. My goal is to advance to the economics division of the university and study economics. For that reason I apply myself to my studies every day, and if I say so myself I am a very serious student. I belong to the ice-skating club. I’m still too wet behind the ears to compete. (Or wet behind the toes, as the case may be.) But I’m practicing as hard as I can with dreams of someday competing. I fall a lot, so after practice I’m always covered in bruises. The seniors on the team tell me that’s what it takes. So I’m really enthusiastic about training.

  My hobbies are handicrafts and keeping a diary. I’ve kept a diary since I was in first grade and haven’t missed a day yet. Now if I don’t make an entry for the day, I’m so upset I can’t sleep. I heard that you weren’t in any club, Takashi. Do you have any hobbies?

  I’m now in biology class with your father, Professor Kijima. He’s a great teacher. He’s able to explain even the most difficult things in very simple language. I have such respect for his skill in