Moeka used to tell me that she thought there were little magicks in the world, small things that people could do, like stretch their fingers a little further than humanly possible, or be in just the right place at the right time. I used to tell her that her head was full of chalk, and in America we don't believe in that nonsense. She would counter back that it's because nobody paid attention, because these sorts of things were so small they'd no more likely get you banned at a race any more than being too tall or too short. In the end we tossed our laundry at each other’s heads and ultimately got distracted by other things, like making the drone sing ABBA while we cooked.

Truth be told I always knew Moeka was right, I just never bothered to tell her. And I'm sure she knew I knew, she just wanted to rub it in.

Because her little magick, as she called it, was sparks. In all four years of college we never did have to turn the gas stove on all the way. You twisted just so and Moeka flicked her finger the way you might flick someone's forehead, and POOF, there was the flame!

It was pretty useless, in a way. It was just the spark, not the flame, so without gas it could hardly do anything except give somebody a teeny tiny static shock. It also didn't work properly on candles, so every time there was a birthday cake she had to try three, four times, only to to have the birthday boy (or girl) blow it out again right away. The sort of little thing that you don't notice until it's gone, like always pressing the same floor on the elevator until one day you don't live there anymore, or ordering takeout and realizing suddenly that you didn’t select enough items to reach the minimum order. After Moeka passed away I found out that our igniter had stopped working ages ago, only neither of us knew because we had never bothered to try it.

So I found myself at the Wilson's on the corner, buying a lighter for the very first time in my life. The store smelled bitter, like coffee, and to make things worse a man accosted me with a grin at the checkout counter.

"Hey mami, can I get your number?"

I glanced sidelong at him through my lashes. "Sorry, I would, but my pregnancy test turned out positive this morning."

"That's coo' with me," he said. "I don't mind."

"I have chlamydia too. You don't mind that?"

His eyes widened. "Hoo boy," he said, and took a step back.

"Take a look in the mirror, asshole," I said, and with two fingers plucked the pack of cigarettes out of his hand before he could react. "I'll take those too, please."

"A pack of Marlboro Reds for you, miss?" said the clerk.

And I was fine up until that point, but the first thing that popped into my mind was I wonder if Moeka could spark a cigarette, because of course neither of us smoked, and the tears just started pouring out, taking my eyeliner with it. When I rubbed my eyes one of my false lashes came off, dangling like a sad caterpillar, and I couldn't stop so I let the tears soak into the receipt as I signed, leaving behind a deep mascara stain. The asshole had been about to speak, but did a double take when he saw my face. After a few moments he turned and left, muttering crazy bitch under his breath. I gave him the finger over my shoulder.

Once I got home I sat in front of the holoscreen and cried and cried because it hasn’t even been a week since my best friend died but all that remained of her were ashes in a rosewood box.

They didn't even let me see the box.

*

"Amoeba, call Echo Airlines."

Amoeba whirred into life and began pulsing with a lavender light. It was a gift from father, back when I first entered college and he still visited mom and I. He was too busy with his new family now to attend either my graduation or my best friend's funeral, so I told mother she wasn't needed at either one.

While the call idled, I ran my fingers over the silk omamori charm that Moeka carried everywhere with her on her backpack. It was pink, with three red cranes circling the gold characters in the center. 厄除御守. I never asked her what it meant. It was one of these things we didn't talk about.

"Hello, Echo Airlines. How can I help you?"

"Hi, I would like to cancel my flight please." Moeka was the kind of girl who was so unassuming, she was often overlooked. She had a row of good teeth, and if you asked her if she needed any help, she would smile and say 'it's okay' so genuinely, it made you feel good inside.

"One moment please." The voice on the other end was female, and spoke with a slight lilt. "Am I speaking to Ms. Kristen Ha- "

"Ha-eun." We met at freshman orientation, the day I threw my Oxford Mules at Dennis Bobin's head for cheating on Samantha. I had triple layered my nails with midnight blue polish for the occasion, and it left three long scratches on his face. The freshmen were variously horrified or utterly gleeful, and she alone turned away, hiding a small smile of amusement behind her hands.

"Ms. Kristen Ha-eun Fischer?" The woman sounded faintly puzzled. "A few documents here say Kim..."

"Fischer," I said firmly.

I asked straight after if she wanted to be dorm mates, and she said sure.

"Well, Ms. Fischer, I'm afraid we won't be able to refund the flight given it's already past the 48 hour period. We can, however, reimburse you in the form of credits."

"Oh - may I speak to your supervisor?" We ended up housing together for the rest of college.

"Well -" the voice was hesitant. "Please hold for a moment."

There was always something about Moeka, something behind her sweet manners and ever-helpfulness that she couldn't quite cover up. I guessed without being told that she was adopted, but we never talked about it, just as she never said anything when I told Amoeba to send all of mom's calls straight to voicemail. We went to get gelato that night, and she asked if I wanted an extra chocolate stick on mine. Afterwards we wandered campus with the taste of sweet and sour strawberry on our tongues until we ran into Samantha and got conned into helping with the student yearbook.

I was the one who suggested the graduation trip. We didn't tell anyone, not even the sweet old Italian couple that doted on her more than their own blood-related son. I met them briefly, at the funeral, and her adoptive mother grasped my hand so tightly that it hurt.

The line buzzed back to life. "Hello ma'am." A male voice. "I'm sorry to inform you, but a refund will not be possible."

A restlessness was rising inside me, one that made me angry. "And what on earth are your credits good for?"

"Other flights with our airline, ma'am."

“Other flights?”

“Yes ma’am. The credits will stay in your account for a year before they expire, and you can apply them towards any flight by Echo Airlines in that time.”

I curled my lip. I had enough to cover for one month’s rent, not counting living expenses, but certainly not Moeka’s portion. Finding another roommate was out of the question; just the thought of a “new” roommate made me nauseous. And I wasn’t shameless enough to trouble her parents with such issues in their time of grief.

“Ma’am?”

I hesitated because a thought was starting to form, a dangerous thought. About the one place that Moeka spoke fondly of, yet refused the second I brought it up.

“Hello?”

“I’m still here,” I said.

“So…” the voice was hesitant. “Would you like to go through with the cancellation?”

“Wait,” I said. “By any chance—by any chance, do you have any flights to Tokyo?”

“Of course, ma’am.” There was a slight pause. “Would you like me to look up some for you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, please.”

As the voice on the line dissolved into chirpy jazz music, I rolled onto my bed and squeezed the pillow tightly as though the soft plush could stifle the stuffy, unpleasant feeling in my chest.

It was the summer of '29, and my best friend had just died. She left me a room full of Aggretsuko plushies and a pair of polka-dotted slippers, and to escape her I bought a one-way ticket to her homeland.

And so the summer began.

Episode Notes: Aside from the beginning few paragraphs, this ep changed quite a bit! Please take a look :)