miyako and hikari (platonic) for 133?
Number 133: “Slushies aren’t just for kids. Fuck society!”
Characters: Miyako & Hikari. Finally, one of my 02 babies! This is set while the girls are maybe around 15 and 16.
I wrote this in first person as Hikari, just to give it a more casual, carefree feel! I hope you enjoy these teenager-y, summer vibes. The ending kind of sucks, but please ignore it. (Minor swearing)
As a certified teenager, it’s safe to assume that I love summer. Why wouldn’t I? It’s the time of the year when you can pretty much do whatever you like. Summer is the grand time where the months-long prep and countdown for family vacations actually come in fruition.
But there’s danger that lurks during summer. It’s the trap of monotony where sleeping late, waking up at noon, watching endless TV, and playing video games for hours become a routine. Well, not if you are friends with Miyako.
Despite chatting with friends into the wee hours of the morning, the girl is an early riser. She’s the “get up and go” type, only grabbing a banana for breakfast as she sprints out the front door. Afterall, an object in motion in stays in motion.
It was the first Saturday of summer vacation when she barged into my room, a flurry of purple hair and lipgloss. “Hika!” she screeched. Miyako was one of the only people that called me by a nickname, and never failed to abuse this privilege. “What are you still doing in bed? If you want to go scope out hot guys on the beach with me, you have to get up. We’re burning daylight!”
I didn’t even have to glance at the clock to know that it was inhumanly early. The coffee machine in the kitchen was silent, and the sound of my brother snoring permeated the apartment. Somehow, I managed to pull myself away from the warmth of a slept-in comforter, yawning all the while. Before my feet hit the floor, Miyako was rummaging through my wardrobe, clicking her tongue in disapproval at my large collection of borrowed basketball t-shirts. “Hmm, where do all these come from, I wonder?” she asked pointedly. She laughed airily, flashing me a wink.
“Ha, ha, Miya, very funny. You know me and him are just friends,” I offered, attempting to stretch the sleep out of my joints. She shook her head in disapproval, purple ponytail swinging behind her.
A note about Miyako: she fancies herself a matchmaker, and believed I was her perfect target.
For years, she has tried everything to pair me up with my best friend. A few summers ago, she locked us both in the hall closet, smushing us between the extra linens and a scratchy, wool blanket. Takeru and I are pretty close, so we weren’t particularly bothered by our close proximity. We might have been able to enjoy our time together had Miyako not forgotten about us. It wasn’t until my brother came home from soccer practice that someone heard our desperate pleas for freedom. Ever since then, she has stayed out of it.
With a hum of approval, she tossed a sundress in my direction. I barely had time to catch the flimsy, yellow fabric before she barked out another order. “Go to the bathroom and put that on, we need to hurry.”
Another note about Miyako: Never argue with her when she gets in one of her Moods.
My socked feet padded their way silently to the bathroom, pausing only to check the time displayed in the hall: 7:45 in the morning. Changing quickly, I slipped the sundress over last season’s bathing suit, adjusting the straps as the material settled around my hips. Miyako, being a full year older than me, had taken puberty gracefully, filling out gradually and evenly. My body, it seemed, had other plans. The hips seemed to be its first priority, leaving the top of my dress little to fill itself out.
I made my way back towards my room, careful to avoid any creaky floorboards. Miyako sat atop my bed, flicking through a stray magazine. She hadn’t noticed my arrival, and I took my few extra moments of silence to study her.
This past semester, she had shot up several inches, giving her legs the slender look of a model. Her cut-off shorts only emphasized this fact. Her Hawaiian-esque button down should have been tacky, but she left the buttons undone, showing off her camisole underneath. A bathing suit top poked out from underneath it, accentuated her new curves. Compared to her, I felt like a little girl playing dress up.
While I struggled to coax the tangles out of my horrendous bedhead, Miyako gave me the rundown of the day. “Okay, so I was thinking we hit up Starbucks first. They have some new fruity lemonade that I’ve been dying to try, and I’m also kind of hungry.” As if to punctuate her statement, my own stomach growled, and I grinned sheepishly up at her. “Make that two of us,” I laughed.
She rambled on about sunbathing and beach volleyball, the metallic jingle of her bracelets accentuating every point. Miyako talked with her hands, making gestures large and small as if it would help the listener understand her better. Spoiler alert: it never did, but it was fun to watch all the same.
My hair finally tamed, I applied some light concealer, desperate to rid myself of the dark circles clinging underneath my eyes. “You know,” her jingling stops, “You really don’t need any makeup, Hika.”
I only snort in response; taking compliments has never been my forte. Grabbing my purse and phone, I slipped on a pair of sandals. “Okay, I’m ready.”
As one could expect on the first weekend of summer vacation, Odaiba beach was cluttered with people. For mile it seemed the white sand was obscured by sunburnt bodies and an array of towels, but that was understandable.
The passing heat wave had been brutal. One could not go outside without sunscreen, lest risk getting sun poisoning. Within minutes, Miyako sucked her lemonade dry, settling on chewing the left-over ice. “Oh!” she squealed, bits of ice flinging about. “An empty spot, just over there!”
Years of running away from evil Digimon looked like practice as we narrowly dodged the ample bodies of beach-goers. Arms linked together; our feet kicked up sand behind us as we ran. Just as we were about to secure our small area, a blue beach towel obscured the white sand.
I was panting too hard to notice Miyako’s eyes light up or the stranger’s shadow obscure the sun’s rays.
“Hey, guys! What are you two doing here?” a familiar voice asked, humor lifting at the end of his question. My breathing stopped mid-pant, silently cursing whatever deity that would listen. Once my heartbeat was under control, I managed to stand up straight. Raising a singular eyebrow, I challenged our guest. “Well, Takeru, the last time I checked, this beach is open to the public.”
His blonde hair reflected the sunshine, a soft, golden glow haloing around him. As if I needed any more reason to fall in love with him. He laughed in good nature, smiling a boyish, toothy grin.
“You took our spot.” Miyako pointed out, arms crossed over her chest. Wrinkles formed between her brows, her effort to look more menacing. A pair of heart-shaped sunglasses shielded her hazel eyes, and I almost giggled at the thought of her trying to look domineering while wearing something so innocent.
“Who says we all can’t share?” he countered; blues eyes illuminated by mischief. Never one to back down from a challenge, Miyako stood her ground, “I don’t think so.”
Anxiety clenched at my stomach. As of late, being in a close proximity to Takeru made me nervous, especially when he was shirtless with little rivets of water trailing their way down his abs. He was no longer the cute little eight-year-old that sat with me by the campfire. Years of basketball practice had solidified his athletic figure, and two summers ago, his growth spurt had him towering over his own brother. Seeing him in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks did not help my flushed state.
“It’ll be fine, Miyako. We can just squish our towel beside his.” Rolling her eyes, she begrudgingly pulled out her Hello Kitty! themed towel, spreading it haphazardly on the ground. “Let’s just get in the water. That’s where all of the cute guys are, anyway.”
Takeru, for his part, pretended not to notice the hostility in her voice. He was as used to her moodiness as I was. Standing there awkwardly, he only made the move to leave as we began to strip down to our bikinis. “I should probably go find Ken and Daisuke. I’ll catch you both later,” he stammered, eyes intently focused on the granules of sand that had clung themselves to his hands.
Looking at each other, Miyako and I burst into a fit of giggles. She had a twinkle in her eyes as she wiggled her eyebrows in my direction. “No, absolutely not.” I deadpan, knowing exactly where this was about to go.
Her glossed bottom lip poked out, her attempt at a puppy-dog look. In my opinion, she looked more like a Kardashian, and when I told her exactly this, the lip was sucked right back in.
Though it was still pretty early, the sun was high in the sky. My cheeks were warm, and my shoulders had turned a light shade of pink. “We need to put some sunscreen on before we fry.”
“Nah, I’m good. I need to work on my tan anyway.” Miyako’s high-waisted bikini bottoms and halter bathing suit top suited her figure, the cornflower blue color complimenting the slight tan she had already developed. She raised an eyebrow at my pink one-piece, but I just shrugged. Shopping for a skimpy bathing suits had never been one of my priorities.
Neither of us felt comfortable oogling guys when our friends were here and apt to make fun of us, so the though of swimming was abandoned. I smeared sunblock on any bit exposed skin, using the technique a toddler would when icing a cake: all hands on deck.
The pair of us sprawled out, Miyako’s body covering most of the cartoon cat. My pale legs claimed Takeru’s towel as my own. His blonde hair had disappeared in the throngs of beachgoers, and considering that he wasn’t the sunbathing type, I figured he wouldn’t complain.
Rays of sunshine encapsulated me, and the muscles in my shoulders slowly unwound. Eyes closed, I only half-listened to surrounding conversation. A child begged his mother for ice cream while some teenaged girl made her move. A nearby volleyball game was in full swing, both teams shouting at one another. The summer air was stagnant, smelling of sunscreen, sweat, and salt.
We laid around, soaking in the sunshine and the freedom that came with summer vacation. Those last few weeks of school had been stressful. Between taking pictures for the school paper and studying for any upcoming exams, I had been ready to lose my mind. Takeru had also been acting strange, flip-flopping between avoiding me at all costs or never letting me out of his sight. It had all be so intense that I was grateful for Miyako’s distraction, even if it meant waking up at the ass-crack of dawn.
“Psst.” I whispered. I rolled onto my side, doing my best to ignore the way iced coffee moved around in my belly. In our haste to get to the overcrowded seaside, we had forgone any breakfast, hoping that caffeine would be enough to fuel us throughout the day. The rumble in my stomach proved otherwise.
Miyako groaned, peeking at me through her ridiculously long lashes. Note to self: interrogate her about the brand of mascara she uses.
“Psst, Miyako.” She ignored me once again, opting to rotate like a rotisserie chicken.
“Ugh, fine, I’ll go find food on my own.” I stood up, dusting invisible debris off of my legs. Sure enough, I had my friend’s full attention. Anything that involved eating always got her going. In a flurry of purple hair and sand, she was up on her feet, eyes searching for the nearest snack source. A laugh bubbled out of my throat. Miyako tended to do all things with a theatrical flair, making even the most mundane tasks enjoyable.
Once, in middle school, we were both sentenced to lunch duty. Our job was simple: serve food to our peers. Dishing out food was easy; just ladle the mystery meat on a plate and voila! You were finished. It would have been simple enough, had we not had to wear hairnets and white smocks that made us look more like a middle-aged lunch lady than we ever wanted to. Miyako was never the type to wallow in self-pity. She ignored the looks of sympathy other girls gave us and found pleasure in the odd slurp sound the food made when hitting the trays. Soon, it became a competition of who could create the best squelch, testing out different flinging techniques until we were satisfied. By then end of lunch period, our smocks were littered with oil stain, and our cheeks were sore from smiling.
Miyako channeled her inner lunch lady food-flinging abilities as she practically pushed innocent bystanders out of her way. God help those who stood between Miyako and, well, whatever it was that she wanted. Her ponytail navigated through the crowd, giving me no choice but to follow. Her legs lead us to a slushie cart, manned by a woman who was all smiles and sticky syrup. It might not have been solid food, but I wouldn’t deny myself a sugar high.
A small line had already formed, several children tugging on their parents’ sleeves. My bathing suit clung to my skin uncomfortably. I tried to shift in place, but the air was thick with heat. Aside from seeing my childhood crush half-naked, waking up early hadn’t been the best idea. The sun was high in the sky, my morning shadow disappearing.
The line moved quickly, and before long, the pair of us stood at the front, pondering our choices. Finger resting on her lip in faux-concentration, Miyako made a show of deciding on a flavor “Could I have a mix of wild cherry and blue raspberry, please?”
“Why pretend to chose when you get the same thing every time?” As a woman of few pleasures, I found a great joy in calling Miyako out. Her flush of embarrassment was a rare sight. Turning towards the employee, I order the first flavor to have ‘strawberry’ in its name.
A few minutes later, we found ourselves walking along the shoreline. The waves lapped at our bare feet and we slurped on our slushies, rambling on about anything that came to mind.
“You know,” I said, disrupting the natural lull of conversation, “The last time I drank a slushie like this was before I even met you.”
By now, Miyako’s slushie had melted into a dark purple, the last remnants of red dye staining her lips. “But slushies are, like, a summer staple. What’s up with that?”
I twirled my straw around, savoring the last bits of pink ice that had collected on the bottom of my cup. “Well, my brother would probably make fun of me. He already gives me a hard-enough time about my ice cream addiction; he says sweet things are for children.” Switching voices, I lowered my pitch and curled my arms, much like an ape would at the zoo. In a horrible attempt at mocking my brother, I continued, “ ‘Hikari, sweets bad, protein good. Eat more meat.’”
I took a few more steps before I realized she was no longer beside me. Turning around, I barely had time to register the shocked look on her features before she cried out: “Slushies are not just for kids! Fuck him!” Apparently, my friend took summer treats very seriously.
If her passionate outburst hadn’t of attracted attention, her colorful language sure did. Quickly, I grabbed her arm, hastily pulling her towards our belongings. Embarrassment colored my cheeks as I attempted to dodge the gazes of judgmental bystanders. “Miyako, you can’t just say things like that,” I whispered to her, clenched teeth giving my tone a pinched quality.
“C’mon,” I thrusted her towel into her arms, “let’s get out of here before we get kicked out.”
Pulling on her shorts, she cast me a sideways glance. “I’m sorry, Hika, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Sighing, I held both of her hands between mine. “You said what you did because you care about me, and I can’t fault you for that.” I gathered up the rest of my own belongings before continuing. “Besides, you forgot to feed me today. I’m thinking we get some McDonald’s. Your treat?”
She laughed, hands now busying themselves with her shirt. “Isn’t McDonald’s for kids?”
Tossing my purse over my shoulder, I turned around and winked. “Fuck society.”
