The school bell rings, signifying the end of the school day. I want to say “my first day back was a success”, but that’s unfortunately not the case. After Kikyo’s concerning look, in class, the only thing that’s been on my mind is talking with Yue. Again, speaking to females isn’t normally an issue, for me. But somehow, it’s different with Yue. Initially, I planned to talk to her during lunch time, but Kikyo told me it’s better to wait until the end of the day. So all I’ve done, since then, is consistently find myself staring at our class’s most beautiful loner. Maybe, it's because I’m not used to being worried about someone else’s feelings, or it’s because of my own feeling of familiarity and guilt from three years ago. What I do know, is that this is starting to become a drag. 

“So brother,” Kikyo comments, leaning on my desk. “What do you think our homeroom teacher wants to talk to you about?”

Rising from my desk, I sneer at her and say, “Probably just to give a nice ‘welcome back’ scolding. If I’m taking too long, I’ll just meet you at home.”

“Wait,” Kikyo utters softly, placing her hand on my shoulder, stopping me from walking. “What about Yue? Don’t you still want to talk to her? I told you to wait until the end of the day because I knew you had to stay a little later.”

Giving her a grim look, I respond, “Right. Because you’re going to have her stick around until I’m done.” Not saying anything, Kikyo gives me a smirk while lifting an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘duh’. My face now changing to a smile, I say, “Should I thank you again?”

“No,” she answers resolutely, “Thank me when she actually forgives you. We’ll see you later.” 

—

Now at the entrance of the counselor’s office, I reluctantly raise my hand and gently knock, or more like tap, on the door, to let them know I’m there.

I spot our homeroom teacher, across the room, lifting his head from his cubicle. He smiles when he sees it’s me and says, “Ah! Mr. Takahashi, come in!” Not giving any reaction I trudge my way over to him, hands in my pockets. Arriving at his desk, he pulls a chair next to his cubicle, slaps it a couple times, and says, “Here! Have a seat. I’m glad you decided to meet with me before you left for the day.”

‘He says that like I had a choice, in the matter. Anyway, I just hope whatever he has to say, he says it quickly,’ I think to myself, silently sitting down like he proposed.  

Peering at my hands that are still in my pockets, he starts to speak, as he pushes his glasses up his nose, “You can relax. I didn’t ask you to come here to give you a lecture or anything of the sort.”

‘ “Didn’t ask me to come here”,’ I repeat to myself, in my head. ‘He’s still saying it like he gave me an option.’

Still keeping my impassive composure, he continues, “I actually want to talk about quite the opposite. You see, I transferred here after you left, so I’m one of the only teachers in the school who is impartial to your return.” His eyes widening, he adds, “Impartial meaning-,”

“I know what impartial means,” I interrupt, bluntly. Finally making eye contact with our homeroom teacher, the stunning look on his face is so obvious. I look down at the floor as I have a separate thought, ‘Figures he would think little of me.’

“I-I apologize. I didn’t-“, he starts.

Cutting him off again, I face him head on and say, “You didn't mean to assume I didn’t know what that word meant? I have another word for you. I’m not as inarticulate as you might think. I get that you’re new here, Teach. And that short stick is the only reason why you’re having to be my counselor. And because none of the other teachers want to,” I take my hands out of my pocket for a moment to gesture quotation marks, as I say, “ ‘deal with me’. But I want to make it clear that I’m not the same person I was 3 years ago, so you don’t have to worry about me causing any problems for the school. ‘Life is all about fresh starts’, I know. Now, may I go? And look at that. I can also use proper grammar.”

The homeroom teacher is at a complete loss for words, as I wait for him to let me leave. After both of us being as still and silent as a mouse, he says, “Yeah. Uh. You may go.”

“Have a good night, sir,” I respond, rising from the chair, finally removing my hands from my pockets. 

“A-And you as well, Mr. Takahashi.”

“Well! He sure told you,” says another teacher, as I leave the room. 

“Shut up,” shouts our homeroom teacher. 

Walking further down the hall, looking at my phone, I see I received a message from Kikyo that reads, <Meet us at the school entrance>

<On my way now>, I answer, as I have a separate thought to myself. ‘It’s been one thing after another today.’