Kana

I know I'm gonna kill it on the dance floor. I can do pretty much anything I want, and this is no exception. I just hope whoever winds up my partner doesn't drag me down. If only they had, like, hip hop dance or something that doesn't involve two people. But hey, I've been learning these moves for a solid few weeks now. It'll be fan-fuckin'-tastic!

The instructors go through, sorting everyone and trying out various pairs. Each one is boring and I steamroll right over them personality-wise. Apparently, it shows in our dance, and as people get paired with their (semi-permanent? Permanent? I don't know) partners, I find it mildly alarming that I still haven't found anyone even remotely compatible.

I-It's me, isn't it? I'm too abrasive. But I— I can't turn it down a notch, I need to look self-assured.

The class has thirty participants, fifteen boys and fifteen girls. There are currently six boys and six girls left unpaired. I pinch into my palms with my nails as I await my next try.

"Alright. Let's try this," one instructor notes, grabbing my wrist softly and guiding me to someone. I gulp. Why him? He's the one I least want to dance with! This guy... well, this guy goes to my school. And he's not viewed particularly favorably. I guess that's one thing we sort of have in common, but at least I'm in with the popular kids.

I grab his shoulder and snag his hand— I can't show that he intimidates me a little. Despite my forcefulness, he gently sets his other hand on my waist, nowhere even close to my hip. I don't know whether it's supposed to be gentlemanly or if he's just too tall. A shiver violently runs up my spine. "What, are you an ice pack or something?! You're fucking freezing!"

His blank expression remains unmoved. "...Sorry," he murmurs lightly.

"Holy shit! So you CAN talk!" I blurt out. I consider saying sorry, but close my mouth before an apology escapes from it. "Nobody I know has heard you say a WORD the entire school year! You know who I am, right?" His eyes narrow slightly and he hesitantly nods as the music starts up. "W-Well, just in case you need a refresher... My name is Kana Omori." He nods once again, a little quicker this time. "Sooo...?" I ask expectantly. He quirks up a confused eyebrow. "I'm asking what your name is, w-weirdo."

He sighs lightly. "Monterio Mukai. I'm guessing you didn't remember." The disappointment in his tone is so obvious despite his stoic expression, and it makes me feel something akin to guilt.

"S-Sorry." Crap, I couldn't stop it this time.

"Holy shit. So you CAN apologize," he mocks lightly as I slowly twirl into his chest. I cringe a bit. It's just... so much more effective coming from someone who never expresses his opinions. I unfurl and dramatically flair my arm. Despite the tension in the air, our dance is going relatively seamlessly.

"Y'know, I barely know you, but lemme try to predict something about you." He glares before giving my hand a little squeeze. I don't know if it's a squeeze or warning or permission. But since when do I bother getting people's permission for anything? "You're a callus."

"I'm callous?"

"No, you're a callus. You're the type to just keep gradually scraping away at a person, but instead of blistering them, it just makes them sturdier."

He seems to soak up that information, pondering it in a studious manner before shrugging. The "I don't know" type of shrug, not the "I don't care" type.

"No friends to test it, huh?" He bites his lip. "I'm guessing that means yes." His glare is even harsher than before.

Not wanting to poke him in a place that might make him even scarier, I change the subject. "So. That paper due on Friday. The one about Yokai. I'm planning on writing about the Jubokko. I don't know, the idea of parasitizing and killing people to stay fresh and youthful is just really interesting. And it really points out how war affects later generations." From that point on, he just kind of lets me talk. His obvious distaste for me seems— well, it doesn't seem to subside. It just seems like he pushes it to some far corner of his brain as he listens attentively.

Our dance progresses almost effortlessly. We stay in rhythm subconsciously, and our footsteps are about the same distance so we don't step on each other's toes. I find that, to my dismay (or maybe more like worry), he's managed to maintain the leadership position. I'm letting him guide me. Or maybe he's making me let him. I don't even know at this point.

The song ends. "Right, I thought that would work! You two will make excellent partners," the instructor beams. Holy shit. Hoooolllly shit. That's scary.

Despite my terror, I swing around to face him. "You'd better not be thinking of ditching me, now! We're stuck together whether we like it or not!"

He stares at me for a moment with an expression I can't quite decipher. "Okay."

"We're really doing this?"

He nods.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monterio

It's an odd dynamic, that's to be sure. A popular girl who's one of the grade's most infamous bullies being sorta-kinda-maybe friends with the "intimidating" quiet guy. Lemme tell you, it's a wild experience finding out that the reason people ignore me is cause I scare them.

But anyway, we've started to walk together to dance class after school. It's just most convenient. We've gotten some weird looks before, and it gives me mild anxiety, but she's so headstrong and stubborn that, when she notices someone staring, she stands up straighter and speaks louder, daring people to say anything about it. They always back down.

She's incredibly chatty— she can fill up all of our twenty-minute walk easily without my participation. And she has, on occasion. "So anyway, all of the choices at that store were crappy. All of the grosgrain ribbons in red and silver looked super cheap, and it was such a bummer cause the hairpin I wanted to make would've looked perfect for my competition dress," she rants idly.

"Are you nervous?" I ask.

"For our first competition? Nah, we'll own that shit." Well, if there's one thing I can praise Kana Omori on, it's her relentless confidence. Even if it's unfounded. But then I hear an uncertain breath.

"You're lying."

"Shut up! I know we're competent enough to fair well! I just... don't wanna fuck up due to last-minute nerves. You can't really prepare for those." So she's not immune to anxiety. Good, that means she's actually a human being. "What's that smug little expression for, you weirdo?" she pouts bitterly. I smile at her.

We walk in silence for a while, letting the autumn breeze whisp across our skin. It nearly gives me goosebumps. She chimes in once again. "Soooo... I don't even actually know you all that well. You've just been listening to me go off all this time."

"There's not much."

"Bullshit. Even if your life is uneventful, there are still really basic pieces of info I have no clue about. Like... do you have any siblings?"

"One younger brother. You?"

"I'm the youngest of four. But hey, this is about you. Favorite color?"

"Mmm... black, I guess. Any color is okay, though."

"Even neons? Pastels?" she wiggles her eyebrows

a little. I shrug. "Damn, you're so easygoing. Fuck black and maroon, I'm getting you a neon yellow suit," she jokes. Yeah, cause the judges will enjoy watching our performance through their temporary blindness. "You asked me if I was nervous," she points out, "so what about you?"

I take a long time before answering. "I think you will come to find that I'm generally nervous about most things."

"See, now that's interesting. You do so have things to talk about."

"I'll let you handle coming up with questions, then."

She sticks out her tongue at me. I can't help but snicker; who knew that one of our school's big bad bullies was so child-like? Her expression quickly sours though. Shit, I shouldn't have laughed. "Fine. If you're gonna make me do all the heavy work, I'll cut straight to the point. Are the rumors true?"

There it is. I was wondering when she'd start to bite at me. "Absolutely not. And the instant I hear you spread those rumors, this whole dance partner thing is done," I warn.

"Touchy. I just wanted to be sure. Trust no one. Gossip tends to have a grain of truth every now and then, so you need to be vigilant at all times," she explains.

"Have you ever come up with a rumor?"

"Do you even need to ask that? Duh," she rolls her eyes.

I cross my arms and look at her expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate. Fortunately, she gets the hint. "Keeps people in check. I'm sure people in my own group have spread gossip about ME. People outside the group, too. Cause just like everyone else, I can't get too powerful. Social power is one of the most desirable and yet terrifying things out there." I nod tersely. So that's what it's like in her world. Must be lonely. "Hey, don't you dare pity me! That's not allowed! Ugh, I just wound up talking about myself again. Let's go back to more light-hearted questions. Is dancing your first sport?"

"Hockey," I respond simply, "but not anymore."

"Why not anymore?" she shoots back. I consider telling her, but ultimately stay silent. "You're not easy to talk to, y'know that? Talk AT, sure, but not to."

"I prefer being talked at. Listening is so much better than being expected to contribute," I admit.

"I don't understand that at all! I love talking about myself!"

"I've noticed," I snark back, as if on autopilot.

"HEY! That's not fair!" she squeals, hitting me a few times on the arm. I laugh a little, and wind up surprised when she laughs, too. It's a shockingly hearty laugh. "Someday, I'll get you to let me see inside your head!" I raise an eyebrow to make fun of her. "I'm serious!"

"What would you do with that information?" I ask, abruptly feeling cautious. I try not to let it show on my face. She looks at me, trying to decipher that very same intel I'm masking.

"If you're worrying about me telling other people at school about you, I won't. No offense, but your reputation is already way worse than you deserve. Even if I wanted to 'keep you in check'— which I don't— there's really no need for me to do anything."

"That's reassuring," I roll my eyes sarcastically.

"Just being honest."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kana

The doorbell rings. "I got it!" I yell, tossing my exercise bag over my shoulder and rushing toward the door.

"Noooo, wait! Let us seeeeee him!" Emiko cries out, grabbing my arm playfully.

"Yeah! Invite him for dinner or something!" Shohei insists, physically body-blocking me.

"No! Absolutely not! This isn't allowed!" I bellow, trying to push past my brother and sister to reach the knob. To my horror, the oldest sibling, Tatsuya, grins and opens the door.

"Hello there!" he greets genially to my dance partner. Monterio stares, stunned, as his glance flickers between me and each of my siblings. Then he wears a smarmy smile, prompting my brothers and sister to laugh.

"Please tell me you didn't hear any of that," I plead, going limp in Shohei's arms. His smirk grows even wider. "Agh, you're all the worst!"

"Oh my gosh, Monterio, Kana has told us so much about you!" Emiko enthuses.

"I'm flattered," he finally speaks up, playing along.

"GOD, do you people WANT me to murder you?!" I squeal.

"Ah, there's our little fireball. You know we'll just murder you first. We have the numbers," Tatsuya winks.

"DAD!" I scream.

"Oh, shit," Shohei gasps, dropping me, "she's trying to pull the ultimate youngest child move: telling the parental units!" The three of them go back to looking like perfect little angels as Monterio moves to pick me up off the floor.

"What's going on here?" my father asks. But his eyes are warm, just like always.

"Nothing, Dad! No need for alarm! Kana just wanted to tell you that she's leaving to get some extra practice for her next competition," Shohei lies.

"Dad, tell them that he can't come to dinner. You don't let us do that on school nights! That's the rule!" I beg.

"Oh, my child, rules were made to be broken."

"I've been abandoned," I sigh.

"U-Um. I'm sorry for my rude behavior, sir. I'm Monterio Mukai, Kana's dance partner," he stiffens up, talking formally.

"Son, no need. You look like a deer in the headlights!"

"With all due respect, sir, I was just planning on walking with Kana to my house. I wasn't expecting to meet all of you. B-But I'm glad I have," he pipes up.

"Well, here we all are! My wife's at work, but the barn is full enough right now," Dad jokes. "First impression?"

"Entertaining, sir. Very much so, in fact," he smiles. He squishes my hand a little, and it takes me by surprise; he's never done such a thing before, and I can't tell whether it's from nerves, joy, or some combination of both.

"You can cut the 'sir' crap. I appreciate the respect, son, but that's not how we do things in this house. Call me Giichi. Mr. Omori, if you need to."

"Yes, si— Mr. Omori," he fumbles. I squish his hand back; there's really no reason to be scared of my father. In fact, it's kind of funny. Monterio is pretty tall, taller than even my dad, and he's broad-shouldered, too. So to see this absolute unit freak out around my wiry, casual father is hilarious.

Then I remember my familial obligation. "Do you wanna come to dinner?" I murmur halfheartedly.

"I would, but I have to take care of my little brother today, and my parents wouldn't approve of me dragging him here," he explains.

"It's not a problem at all! Oh well, we'll just have to plan for you to come another time! Okay bye!" I ramble, rushing out the still-open door. He follows, shutting the door behind him.

"Ugh, they're so embarrassing. Sorry about them," I sigh. He gives an earnest smile; he's been a little more expressive lately. It makes me feel like he's trying to tell me he found them charming. "Was your excuse real?"

He closes back up for a minute or two as we walk, and we move on to other conversation topics— our awful history teacher, past haircuts, little ways we can perfect our routine. After that, though, he quietly chimes in, "I won't spend time at your house until you're comfortable with it."

"Now aren't you just the perfect picture of chivalry? A true gentleman in every sense of the word," I play.

"Not for your sake. I just figure that awkward family dinners are the worst social situation I could possibly find myself in."

"I'm 99 percent sure you're joking." But that one percent makes me more upset than I wish it did.

He sets his hand on my head; that's answer enough for me. Conversation (still mostly one-sided, but he's getting better) continues to flow, on and on, until we reach his house. "I'll hop inside real quick and grab my speaker, then we can use the yard in peace."

As he whisks away, I get a text.

Heyyyyyy, you down to come to my place and hang? We can chill in the pool. I bet you'll look so freaking cute in that new swimsuit ;D

I roll my eyes. My friend group is honestly kind of annoying. Can't. Competition soon. Practice.

More time with that weird loner?

I told you, he's not a social failure or a miscreant. He's just quiet.

What are you even doing? You know you can do so much better, right? In friends AND whatever else you think of him as.

I don't have read receipts on— it's only good to have them on if you want to seriously fuck with someone mentally— so I just leave her on delivered as he comes back outside. He holds a gate open for me, and I walk into his backyard. It's cute, quaint, and it makes me feel kind of cozy. But there's enough space to move. We put on our shoes and he turns on the speaker. Tango music bumps. We get into position, and I'm surprised that I'm getting used to how cold his hands always are. His eyes are unclouded, sure, like this is all becoming so much more natural.

Well, she can just fuck right off, I determine, cause I'm having fun and there's nothing she can do about it.