She never cries. She is a good girl. When she turned three, when she was able to really begin to understand her mommy’s words, she’d realized that crying was annoying to her. So, for her mommy, she did not cry.
Takumi says it’s okay to cry. Sachi has learned that Takumi can be very smart, but he’s not always right.
.
.
Mommy is in bed again. She is making those sad noises.
In the doorway, Sachi stands and waits. And waits. And waits.
Waiting is boring.
“Mommy...” She even dares to crawl onto her mommy’s old creaky bed, listening to it groan under her small weight, “Mommy, I’m startin’ first grade soon. Y’have to sign this slip...” In reply, her mommy stares blankly at her daughter.
Sachi does not like when she’s like this. She may not understand it, but she doesn’t like it. It seems she will have to walk to school on her own.
.
.
At the elementary school, the teacher greets the children, their parents, and guardians. There are smiles and tears. Some children will not let go of their mothers’ skirt, some children are already exploring the large classroom, and some are throwing tantrums and screaming.
Sachi arrives late. Very late. Around noon.
Her teacher, a young woman, stops in the middle of her lesson when she sees a young girl, honey-colored hair messy underneath her hat, her uniform clumsily buttoned, and one sock falling around her ankle while the other held high at the knee.
Frantically, the small girl bows to her teacher, “I’m T-Takagi Sachi! Please take care of me!”
For a moment, the teacher is dumbfounded--the girl is sweaty, out of breath, and underneath her wrinkled jumper, the blouse was backwards. There are stares from the other children and a few murmurs of confusion from a few lingering parents (their clingy kids weren’t letting them leave any time soon).
“Please excuse me,” the young teacher says, taking Sachi’s hand and leading her to the girls’ bathroom. The girl gave her a puzzled look as she pulled up her sock and attempted to smooth out her skirt. “You know, that was quite an entrance.”
Nervously, Sachi glances at the shiny wall. “S-Sorry for being late...”
“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” She replies, regarding the girl with a soft look.
Sachi was quiet for a second or two , russet eyes leveling onto the ground, even as the teacher attempted to fix her sweaty face and hair. “...Yeah, it is.”
“Hm?”
“It’s my fault.”
.
.
“How’s school?” Takumi asks one day, his expression casual, but his tone sounds a bit too serious for Sachi’s liking. Maybe he notices that she did not want to talk about school.
In her hand, she holds an ice cream cone, it makes her fingers stick together. She is not hungry, but she licks at it anyway. It is a present from Takumi, after all. “I hit a kid yesterday.”
Takumi’s expression doesn’t change, but Sachi can tell that he doesn’t like this information. “For what?”
“He called me poor.”
“Poor?”
“Because of my backpack. It has holes in it so I use tape.”
Takumi stares at her for a long time, quiet. Sachi keeps her gaze on the ice cream, the hot breeze and the beam of the setting sun making it melt even faster. She probably has some chocolate on her face because next thing she knows, Takumi’s taking out little white paper towels from his pocket.
“Your mom hasn’t gotten you another one?” He asks as he swipes the towel against her cheek, smearing chocolate away. It had dried a little, so it took a few seconds for it to go away.
Sachi shakes her head, making his task even more difficult. “Not enough money.”
“Hm,” he drops his hand, “Maybe Kayato has an old book bag lying around.”
“Kayato?”
He nods, “My younger brother.”
Sachi makes a face, sticking out her tongue, “Euhg! Gross! A boy backpack is gross!” She thinks she sees amusement in Takumi’s eyes for a few seconds. His eyes remind her of trees--strong, sturdy, green. She likes climbing trees.
“Boy backpack or not, it’s still a backpack. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.” Sachi stares at him for a few seconds, face falling by a degree. He glances at her melting ice cream and then to her, frowning, “What is it?”
In reply, Sachi gives him that 100-watt mega smile, “Nothin’!”
She wonders if it’s normal to be frightened of how much Takumi cares.
.
.
No matter how late, Sachi comes to school.
Every day. By herself.
Sometimes she is earlier than the teacher even, sitting outside the locked classroom by herself. Sometimes, she arrives right before lunch and sits down at a table by herself like it’s completely normal. Sometimes, the teacher watches her. Sometimes, she gets worried.
“Sachi,” she says one day. The girl looks up from her colorful drawing. “I want you to take this slip home to your mother and father, okay?” She hands the small piece of paper over. “Have them sign it and bring it back, okay?”
Sachi slowly takes it, staring at it for a few seconds, “I don’t have a daddy.” She says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like everyone didn’t have a daddy.
The teacher blinks, “Then your mom?”
Sachi nibbles on her lip, “What if she can’t sign it?”
“Do you...have another guardian?”
Sachi seems to be in deep thought for a couple seconds, “...I guess.”
The teacher smiles at her reassuringly and Sachi just stares back.
.
.
Ichijo Ko stares blankly down at the sheet of paper for a few moments.
Please sign here.
Number of tardies. Blah. Blah. Blah. Social worker. Blah. Parent/Guardian. Blah. Blah. Nonsense.
Ichijo glances over at the small girl standing beside him. Currently, he is sitting at the table in the teacher’s lounge. As usual, Sachi was seated there as well, coloring books and small trinkets in front of her to keep her entertained. The gym teacher blows out a long sigh, “You want me to sign this?”
“You take care of me, Uncle Spiky-Head.”
Barely, he thinks bitterly to himself. “Yeah...” His thoughts flicker to his sister for a few seconds before shaking his head, “Yosh! Don’t worry!! Your brilliant Uncle will sign thi--”
BANG!!
Sachi and Ichijo both jump when there is a loud from the hallway and laughter. A few teenagers horsing around maybe...? Sachi blinks as her uncle rushes to his feet, throwing open the door and yelling immediately. It hurt her ears. He had left the slip there, and she sighs, plucking it up from the table.
“HIROSE! TSUKINO!!” He disappears, chasing after the students.
It is quiet.
“Sachi?”
The girl glances over at her name. Yama-sensei is there, books tucked under his arm, glasses perched on his nose. He looks very pretty.
“Yama-sensei~” She sing-songs.
In reply, his eyebrows knit a bit, “The yelling--” And then sighs. Probably best not to think about it. Quietly, he closes the teacher’s lounge door after him and steps further into the room, “How’re you?”
She beams at him so brightly he oddly wonders if he can go blind from it. At the thought, a soft smile mirrors onto his face as well. “I’m fine! It didn’t rain today, so I’m happy.”
“Ah, right.” The forecast had said it was going to rain. And he didn’t question why exactly she was watching the news instead of cartoons at home. Setting his books onto the table, he glances at the small paper in her smaller hands. “What do you have there?”
She blinks, “Oh! It’s a slip my teacher gave me. A parent or guardian is supposed to sign it.”
He raises a brow. Was she trying to get Ichijo to sign it? That probably wouldn’t happen. “And your mother?” She gets this look on her face he didn’t particularly like--a soft, fleeting look that makes her look even more vulnerable than she already is. “Sachi?” He inquires when she doesn’t reply.
“...She’s busy.”
Right.
He does not say anything. For a moment, just a moment, he can see himself. Small face, large eyes, that same look. It is frighteningly surreal. Without saying anything, he reaches over and takes the paper, pulling a pen from his pocket and swiftly signing his name on the dotted line.
“There,” he says, handing it back to her.
Owlishly, she blinks at him. “...You signed it.”
“Yes.” He almost smiles at her look.
She stares down at his signature for a long time. Her mouth is parted and she is still. Finally, she looks up at Yamamoto--her eyes are moist and there is a fragile smile there, still big and still bright. “Does this mean you’re my guardian?”
He is surprised. More than surprised. “Ah--”
Quickly, she bounds up from her seat, snatching up the odd dark green backpack with some type of tough characters on the back. It did not look like a bag a little girl would have. “Thank you, Yama-sensei!”
And with that, she is gone. Out the door, little steps pitter-pattering down the halls.
.
.
Her mommy is sad again. She is making those sad noises.
But this time, it’s different. Quietly, Sachi curls up in the funton with her mother.
Her grandmother had called it depression once or twice.
“Sounds scary,” Sachi remembered saying.
“It is.”
“Hey, mommy.”
“What, Sachi?” Her mother draws out, like she’s such an annoyance.
But, this does not damper Sachi’s mood. She smiles and pokes her mother’s thin arm. “I have guardian angels.”
.
.
When her mother screams and cries and throws stuff, Sachi does not cry.
Crying is annoying. Crying is wrong.
Even when she is hit on the face for looking like her daddy.
Mommy is just sad. Mommy is always sad.
She tells Takumi this one day, and he stares at her for a long time.
When he did speak, his voice sounded distant. “Some people are just sad.”
“Have you ever been sad?”
He frowns at the question, “Yeah.”
“And now you’re happy.”
This time, he blinks. She swears, for a minute, she sees a small smile, “Yeah.” And he reminds her of a tree, her tree. Strong and tall and green. He can be pretty too. Like Yama-sensei. For some reason, this thought makes her eyes burn and fill up. There are tears, and she wonders why. Takumi, unsure of what to do, pats her on the head with a hand. “It’s okay to cry.”
She hiccups. “I want to be happy too...” She sounds weird, like someone is crushing her throat. “I want to be happy too, Takumi...”
For a few moments, he seems at a loss of what to say. That day, he wipes her tears and tells her funny knock-knock jokes.
.
.
She dreams of sunshine and rainbows and clouds and sweets.
Sometimes she dreams of Takumi. Sometimes she dreams of Sensei. Sometimes she dreams of Yuuka.
Sometimes she dreams about being happy. And she always knows that is just a dream.
.
.
When she is leaving the school alone (Ichijo left to do whatever), Yama-sensei is there. He drops a cigarette and stomps on it before she can see the smoke, and she stares up at him, puzzled as to why he’s standing at the bus stop.
“Yama-sensei?”
“I’ll take the bus with you.” He says it quietly, leaving no room for argument.
She smiles at him, of course she does. He notices her hair is getting longer. Nodding, she skips over and takes a hold of his hand, small fingers wrapping around four of his long, thin ones. He shifts, a small frown appearing on his face. He will never grow used to that physical contact and how happily she latches onto his hand. “...My hand isn’t cold, is it?”
This time, she shakes her head. Her smile is still there.
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