The Monster on the Road Is Me Page 9

“At his uncle’s house. The night of the festival.”

  “Haru’s house burned down?”

  “Not down. Just burned. They never did find the cause of it. Smoke can still damage your things, though.”

  “I haven’t seen Haru since we were supposed to meet up outside the matsuri,” I said. “I’ll ask him, though.”

  Wait, Moya wouldn’t set a house on fire just to get me alone, right? No. I mean, what kind of a person would do that?

  A person who is not a person, my brain said.

  After my mother finished with the groceries, I picked up my helmet and walked to the front door. I stopped with my hand on the glass and then ran back to my mother. I gave her a hug.

  “That’s nice,” she said.

  My mother is old, but she’s happy. There’s no trauma or cold-dreaming at all when I hug her. I’m going to go ahead and say it—that’s how hugs should always be.

  I turned back to the front door.

  “Don’t forget your Milky,” she said, holding out the bag of candy. “It’s the flavor of mom. That’s me!”

  Oh wait, there’s the trauma.

  * * *

  Wing flaps up. Increasing throttle to 2,000 rpm. Increasing back pressure. Here we go. Gaining speed. Going full throttle now. Lifting the nose. Carefully. Carefully. Climbing. Hold on to the stick. A little crosswind, but that’s no problem for Fly-Boy of Kusaka Town. Seventy-five knots. Got it now. Cruising. We are cruising.

  Fly-Boy, everything look all right up there?

  “Smooth sailing, Ground Control, smooth sailing over Kusaka Town.”

  You going to be up there for a while, Fly-Boy? Over.

  “That’s a negative, Ground Control. Don’t have time for sightseeing today. Got a shipment to make.”

  Shiitake mushrooms again?

  “That’s another negative, Ground Control. Boys on bicycles deliver mushrooms. My shipment is top secret. Comes straight from the emperor.”

  So you’re flying to the Imperial Palace, then?

  “First off, Ground Control, don’t ever assume you know where I’m flying.”

  That’s kind of our job, Fly-Boy. Over.

  “Second of all, no. This shipment needs to arrive at Lawson’s.”

  Your top secret delivery from the emperor is to a convenience store?

  “Umm.”

  We need a confirmation on that, Fly-Boy. Over.

  “Yes. To the most important convenience store in—”

  That’s a roger, Fly-Boy. Make sure to pick up a top secret box of strawberry Pocky for the emperor. Over.

  “Real funny, Ground Control. Guess that’s why I’m flying this plane and you’re stuck down there cracking jokes like some … uh…”

  Like some narcoleptic loser?

  “I’m not really narcoleptic.”

  Insult received. Over.

  “Fly-Boy out.”

  Did I just lose a fight with my own imagination?

  Checking my air-speed indicator and carburetor heat. Green lights on both. Lawson’s coming into view now. Ease the stick. There we go. Circle a few times, and then go in for a smooth landing. Wave to Haru.

  “Koda.”

  Slowing down to seventy knots. Flaps down thirty degrees.

  “You are so weird, man.”

  Making the final turn. Keeping it straight, keeping it straight. Turn the rudder just a bit.

  “You’re making me dizzy. Stop.”

  Ignoring Haru. Floating. Lift the nose. Floating some more. Elevator to the back and … touchdown.

  “Where have you been lately?” Haru asked.

  I took my foot off the pedal and kicked my bike stand down.

  “Permission to exit the plane, Ground Control.”

  “Permission to be an idiot, granted,” Haru said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked.

  “I’m on break. What are you doing out here?”

  “I always ride out here.”

  “I haven’t seen you for almost two weeks. I thought maybe you’d crashed your imaginary plane into a very real semi truck.”

  “I’ve had a lot to deal with,” I said, sitting down next to him.

  “Yeah.” Haru snuffed his cigarette on the sidewalk.

  “You didn’t fall asleep with one of those and burn your house down, did you?” I asked.

  “Nope. For your information it was electrical. Probably. Nobody knows.”

  “Huh.” I picked up a pebble and tossed it into the parking lot. “Are you okay from the whole fire thing?”

  “I’m fine. Even my uncle’s fine, unfortunately. The bastard. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “So, Sports Day is Monday,” I said, changing the subject.

  “Right.” Haru flicked his cigarette butt at a trash can and missed. “Your parents aren’t going?”

  “They never go. Like, anywhere.”

  “You want me to show up and cheer your team on?” he asked.

  “Only if you dress up like one of those game show contestants.”

  “In a Speedo, covered with vegetable oil, and swinging around a plastic lobster?”

  “That was specific,” I said. “And very accurate. Yes, that’s exactly what I want.”

  “I’ll pass,” Haru laughed. “What team are you on, Red or White?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where’s your school pride, Koda?”

  “We’re a little low on that right now,” I said. “Besides, I don’t think it will matter. I have a feeling no one’s going to lose Sports Day this year.”

  Haru smiled. “Everyone’s a winner.”

  “That’s what the posters say.”

  A truck roared by on Route 33. I fiddled with the air valve on my front tire. Things were a little awkward between Haru and me. He was probably upset that I’d been ignoring him for so long.

  “Guess I should get back to work,” Haru said.

  “Um, yeah, I’ve got shiitake to deliver, so…”

  Haru pushed up from the curb and turned to the convenience store. “Hey,” he said, “you didn’t go off to that kitten graveyard, did you?”

  “The what?”

  “The address. The one that girl gave you. You didn’t actually go, did you?”

  “Oh, kind of. But it just led to an old pool.”

  “A pool graveyard?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I knew it,” Haru said, walking to the front doors. “Nothing good comes from following strange girls who lie about who they are.”

  Very good point, Haru. Very good point.

  15

  Kusaka High School had lost its unity. That’s what they told us, anyway. And what better way to bring the school together than the Annual Kusaka Sports Day Celebration of Smiling Times and Positive Thinking?

  Huh. I don’t remember the title being that long last year.

  Danketsu. Unity. The word literally means “bind one to the group.” So if we were all bound together, I guess that would prevent one of us from sneaking off to commit suicide. And hey, what better way to bind a group together than to dress them up in white shirts and blue shorts, split them into rival teams, and make them race each other for a plastic trophy?

  Ikeda-sensei blew his whistle and we formed military lines on the dirt track. I looked around for Haru. Sure enough, he’d come. Minus the Speedo, vegetable oil, and plastic lobster.

  “Attention!” Ikeda-sensei shouted. We slapped our arms to our sides. “Students of Kusaka High,” our sumō gym teacher bellowed, “welcome to the Annual Sports Day Times … of … Positive Smiling … and something else, gods, I can’t remember because I’m a normal adult.”

  A few of the students giggled.

  “The eyes of the town are now on you. Bring honor to yourself and your school by displaying the true qualities of a student of Kusaka High. Do your best! Never give up! And be polite to everyone, or I will sumō-punch you through a wall.”

  He di
dn’t say that last part, but honestly I’d stopped listening.

  “Hey, little thief.”

  “Whoa!” I twisted my head around. “Moya, what are you doing here?” I whispered.

  “Standing uncomfortably in a line. Just like you.”

  “No, I mean, why are you here at my school?”

  “I go to this school,” Moya whispered back. “I told you, I moved in down the street.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Moya shrugged.

  “Where are your parents, then?” I asked.

  “Where are yours?”

  “At home because they’re old.”

  “Well, mine are, too.”

  “They’re at home or they’re old?”

  “They’re whatever you want them to be, little thief. Turn around.”

  The metal speakers of the school popped and slowly whined to full volume. The sad notes of “Kimi Ga Yo” drifted over the school grounds.

  “The first event is the forty-meter sprint!” Ikeda-sensei shouted when the national anthem ended. “Red Team to the right! White Team to the left!”

  I glanced back to see where Moya was going. The Red Team with me? Well, that’s good. Not that I care what team she’s on.

  “Runners, take your marks,” Ikeda-sensei called.

  We all clumped together at the starting line.

  “I-I think I need my helmet,” I whispered out loud.

  “Are you serious?” said Kenji from homeroom, whom I still hated.

  “I don’t think I can do this. I really hate running. I’m going to fall.”

  “If you do go down,” Kenji whispered, “cover your head with your arms. That’s how people survive getting trampled by mobs.”

  “Oh gods, I need my helmet. Stop the race!”

  “Don’t pick on Koda,” came a girl’s voice behind me. “If anyone’s going to have his butt dragged across the finish line, it’ll be you, fat-ass.”

  “Hey,” Kenji said.

  “Breathe,” Moya whispered in my ear. “You don’t need the helmet. When the whistle blows, run. Don’t overthink it.”

  The piercing shot of Ikeda-sensei’s whistle sent both teams stampeding down the track. Dust billowed up and swallowed me like a whale. I focused on the red tape at the end and kept my feet moving. Moya was right. This wasn’t so bad. Now if I could be flying a plane it would be even better. I would lift up off the track and soar through the sky clear as glass. I’d pull back on the stick and climb higher than any mountain in Kusaka before diving again to buzz the crowd.

  Who’s flying that plane? my classmates would shout.

  That’s Koda.

  Koda? Isn’t it dangerous for a narcoleptic kid to be flying an airplane?

  Nope. Turns out those weren’t sleep attacks after all. He’s actually a mind thief who steals traumatic memories.

  “Wait, what?”

  And that’s when I ran face-first into the back of some girl’s head.

  “Nani shiteru no!” she cried, rubbing the knot on her head.

  Was that the same girl I hit with a basketball in gym class?

  “The race is over, Koda! Gods, what is wrong with you?”

  Yep.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was thinking of something else.”

  “Get away from me.” She pulled deeper into the crowd of the celebrating White Team. My nose started to bleed. Who runs a race and ends up with a bloody nose? I wandered off to the side, tilting my head back to stop the flow.

  The next event was the three-legged race, and as luck would have it, the Red Team had an odd number of runners. Guess who ended up without a partner? Surprise, surprise—the only kid who managed to wound himself in the forty-meter sprint.

  “Does everyone have a partner?” Ikeda-sensei shouted.

  I didn’t raise my hand.

  “Does anyone not have a partner?”

  I tried to pull back into the crowd. Maybe they wouldn’t notice.

  “Anyone who can’t find a partner, please step up to the front where we can all see. Everyone take a look around. If you see someone who doesn’t have a partner, please point at them now. Nice and big. Point right at them.”

  “Koda’s alone,” Kenji shouted gleefully.

  “Who? Koda? Koda Okita? Come up to the front, Koda. Hurry, we all need to look at you.”

  “Gods and goddesses,” I breathed, and squeezed my way to the front of the line. Ikeda-sensei looked back to the teachers in the tent.

  “Look, Koda, you can just run by yourself,” Ikeda-sensei said.

  “But it’s a three-legged race.”

  “Well, you can just run with the Velcro on your leg. That’ll be fine for you.”

  “Wait a minute,” came a female voice. “Hold on just a minute, Ikeda-sensei.”

  Oh, good. Moya’s come to save me from this mortifying experience.

  “Koda, your nose is bleeding.”

  But it wasn’t Moya.

  “I think you should be wearing this.” The school counselor, Ino-sensei, jogged over and stuck my helmet on my head. She yanked on the chin straps and fastened it with a click that echoed across the track. Oh. My. Gods above.

  “Hey, I’ll be his partner.”

  I turned around to see Moya finally pushing her way through the Red Team.

  “Whatever,” Ikeda-sensei said. “I really don’t care. Runners, make your way to the starting line.”

  Moya knelt down beside me and fastened the Velcro around her leg and mine.

  “Gods, Moya, you couldn’t have stepped forward five seconds earlier?”

  “You can still run by yourself,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “I mean, if that’s what you want, I’m not going to stop you from going out there and looking like an idiot again.”

  “No, no, I’ll run with you.”

  “That’s right.” She stood up and hooked her arm around my waist. “Just do me one favor for saving you up there.”

  “Anything.”

  “Stay out of my head.”

  “I … okay.”

  “I’m trusting you, Koda. Just because we’re touching doesn’t mean you can take whatever you want.”

  “I don’t even know how to do that.”

  “Put your hand over here on my hip. Whoa, not on my butt.”

  “I didn’t, I swear!”

  “Relax. I was joking, kid. Let’s get to the front of the line.”

  “Moya,” I said, “I can’t tell if you’re a nice person or a really mean one.”

  “Yeah, well, keep that hand above my panty line, Koda, or you’ll find out fast.”

  Ikeda-sensei blew his whistle for a second time, and the Red and White teams lurched off down the track. We were supposed to make it around twice, but to tell you the truth, I was more focused on making sure my hand didn’t violate Moya’s panty rule. Not an easy thing to do when you’re hopping along on one leg, trying to keep a helmet out of your eyes.

  But we crossed the finish line in one piece. Not first place or anything, but at least there weren’t any more injuries or inappropriate gropings. So I counted that as a success.

  Sports Day carried on into the late afternoon with the racing and the dust and the sweat. But for the rest of the time Moya stayed nearby and, you know, the day didn’t seem that bad. I knew she was just using me to find a memory, or whatever, but when I crossed a finish line or passed off a baton, she was always there. That was something I’d never really had before.

  “Get ready,” Moya said to me as we lined up for the Ramune race. “I’ve seen this race before. It’s brutal. Do your best to wait until after you cross the finish line to throw up all over the place.”

  Which is a pretty good way to sum up a Ramune race. Take my three favorite things in the whole world: running, spinning, and chugging soda pop. Then do all of them at the same time until liquid comes squirting out of every hole in your face. That is a Ramune race.

  “Go!” Ikeda-sensei shouted. The Red Team launched forward,
sprinting to the table on the side of the track. We each spun around in a circle ten times and then popped open a fresh bottle of Ramune soda.

  “Drink! Drink! Drink!” the teachers shouted from the tent. “Run! Run! Run!” the parents in the bleachers cried. Seriously, who sits in their dark little lair and comes up with ways of torturing high school kids like this? Don’t they have better things to do?

  The fizz of the soda pop scorched my throat. I could feel it bubbling up through my teeth and behind my eyes. “Run!” Moya shouted. I dropped the bottle and threw myself forward onto the track. I’m in first place! I screamed in my brain. Wait, nope, I’m in last place. Very last place. Kso.

  I put my head down and ran with every bit of energy I had. The Ramune sloshed around in my gut like a volcano ready to explode. I could feel the hot sting of bile rising up the back of my throat. I looked ahead of me and saw Moya’s legs. She’d waited for me, I knew it. She could have been at the front of the line, but she chose to hang back. I pushed harder. The cheer of the crowd rose in my ears.

  Sometimes in extraordinary circumstances people are capable of extraordinary feats. Maybe they lift a car off someone or kick their way through a steel door. Well, this race was my car. That track, my steel door. I’d keep the soda down and blaze across that finish line even if it killed me. My knees started to buckle beneath me, but I ignored them and pushed on. My helmet fell over my eyes. I didn’t care. I could smell the soda coming up through my nose. I swallowed hard. The finish line was right ahead of me. I belched but cupped my hands over my mouth just in time. Yes!

  “Dekita! I did it!” I yelled. Well, mostly yelled. Stopping suddenly made all that soda come rushing back up. And it splashed right across someone’s shins.

  “What the hell, Koda?” shouted the random girl I keep assaulting. “Are you kidding me? That is so gross! Why me?”

  I lifted my helmet and tried to say sorry, but soda throw-up dribbled out of my mouth. She started to cry.

  Ino-sensei took the girl by the shoulders and led her away to the girls’ bathroom.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Moya said. “Her shins looked dirty anyway.”

  The final event of the day was the masuto nobori. The mast climb. Two stories of bamboo trunk set up at the end of the track with little red or white flags on top. The object is to run as fast as you can and at some point leap into the air and grab on to the bamboo. Then you scurry up the mast, grab a flag from the top, and shimmy back to the earth below.