I’m My Own High School Rival: Nakamura’s Arc: Heritage

  The chopsticks trembled in my fingers as a clump of noodles unraveled and slipped back onto the white, nicely decorated plate with a damp thud. My wrists were aching from holding up Kito’s weight—I slowed my breathing, closed my eyes, and visualized gripping the slippery noodles in my chopsticks. When I opened my eyes, I found Kito glaring at me from across the kitchen table.

  Kito’s dark eyes carried the stove’s leftover heat. He scowled, gnashing his teeth while stabbing his chopsticks into his rice bowl, sticking straight up. My face grew warm in recognition of his anger. Emiko sat to Kito’s right, across from Tiffany, who was to my right—a dangerous double date.

  The window shutters were closed, rejecting the afternoon’s light, and the menacing glow of the stove had subsided.

  I didn’t understand why we had to eat dinner by candlelight.

  ”Kito!” Emiko said, “Knock it off already.” Emiko pulled the chopsticks out of Kito’s rice; her warmth radiated ?across the wooden table. Her soft, burgundy eyes and slightly darker, red hair complemented her smile, reminding me of Tiffany; it offset Kito’s ire, who sat to her right.

  A soft hand caressed my shoulder.

  ”Antwon,” Tiffany said with Emiko’s softness, “let me help you.” She reached over, gently wrestling my chopsticks from my fingers.

  My face grew warm as I tracked her hand up to her shoulder.

  ”Don’t you dare, Tiffany!” Kito said, leaning in. Kito’s words cut the growing tension between Tiffany and me, causing Tiffany’s hand to hesitate, hovering over my stir-fry, still grasping my chopsticks.

  “Knock it off, Kito! If Tiff has to feed Antwon, it’s your fault!” Emiko’s growling interjection warmed my rattled core, but the air felt colder now.

  They stared at each other—her with resolve—him with indignation; I could feel cracks sprouting in their house’s foundation. The weight of my head grew heavy. I didn’t want to mess up the Nakamura household, turning their dinner into a battlefield and their home into a war zone. Tiffany had grasped some stir-fry with beef on my chopsticks, and I started to salivate as she raised them into the air.

  She had brought the food to my lips. The flavors danced on my tongue before I knew their taste—I didn’t know if I should—if Kito was watching me. “Go ahead,” she whispered. Seconds felt like minutes, and it felt like hours before I took a bite.

  Thunk! The table shook in defiance. I choked, dropping the food from my mouth, and found myself staring across the table once again. Kito had hit the table. “I refuse to sit here and suffer this, Emiko,” he said, rising from the table. “Antwon, you are no longer welcome in this house,” he said, bowing to Emiko. “I’m going to bed, don’t bother joining me.” Emiko didn’t acknowledge Kito and continued eating. He snarled and waited for a response as his gaze swept over us.

  Kito walked painfully slowly to the hall, looking back expectantly. The only one to move during this grueling event was Emiko, unfazed by her husband. “He did it to himself,” Kito said, his voice echoing in the hallway and kitchen, making him sound unnaturally large, like the walls were condoning us. “I gave him the option of leaving or suffering, Emiko,” Kito said before vanishing into the darkness of the hall.

  I closed my eyes, wanting this day to end—wanting the end of so many things. “Kito, you should get some sleep,” Emiko said, still chewing and moaning with every bite as if nothing had happened; her calm was unusual. After all, he had just expelled me from their house.

  My back stiffened and popped as I straightened myself, groaning in the process, closing my eyes to bear the pain.

  “Whoa there, son-in-law. Don’t move too much,” Emiko said, reaching across the table.

  I felt Tiffany’s hand press against my back and heaved a heavy sigh. “I think it’s best I leave before I cause any more damage.” I opened my eyes to a surprised Emiko—her wide eyes and gaping expression told me that I said the wrong thing.

  I glanced at Tiffany from the corner of my eye, and her hair bathed her face in shadow. Had I done wrong again?

  “Son-in-law, are you really going to call it quits because of Kito’s disapproval?”

  I could feel the pressure from Tiffany’s hand fade as silence filled the air.

  “Okay, just tell me what really happened, and I will work things out with Kito.” Emiko pushed a bowl of rice toward me—it scraped its way into position.

  Emiko nodded expectantly. I sighed. “Well, I—,” I closed my eyes: no lies or subversions. “I—tried to kiss Tiffany—I may have…forced it…a bit. I’m sorry.”

  I watched as her cool, calm demeanor returned to one of pure shock. “Ms. Nakamura, I—”

  “How dare you, Antwon!” Emiko said, shaking. She lowered her head, covering her face in shadows, too. “How dare you make me stand up to my husband?” Emiko raised her head slightly, bearing her red sapphires, scorching me.

  I waited for her indignation, too.

  “I stood up to Kito…without the promise of grandkids!”

  She can’t be serious!

  I studied her serious face, afraid of what she might do.

  I lowered my head and focused on the stir-fry, examining the tangled mess, finding my answer through sharp pains. “Well, I tried, but Tiffany wouldn’t let me.”

  A sharp gasp from my right, and I could feel Emiko’s ire shift. But when I looked up, expecting to see Emiko’s devilish grin, I gazed into concerned, parental eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mom.” Tiffany’s voice was shaky. “What I want doesn’t matter because…”

  I turned to look at Tiffany, who was red-faced, but it wasn’t shame that filled her cheeks. “Tetsusen claimed him,” she wailed, still holding back the tide. She buried her face in her hands.

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  The air around me soured, killing my appetite.

  I turned to Emiko; her face was pale. “I-I told her no and rejected her. There is no—”

  “That’s not how it works, C-Carter.” Tiffany peeked between her fingers. “Tetsusen is a sprout. The only thing you can do is tell Sakura.” Tiffany’s words rang in my ears.

  Sakura—Why does my life revolve around her?

  “Who’s Sakura?” Emiko asked. It never occurred to me that I hadn’t mentioned my sister once in her house.

  “She’s my sister,” I tried to declare, but it emerged in whispers.

  Emiko rubbed her chin, returning her color.

  “Is your sister strong?”

  I waited for the punchline, but it never hit. Instead, I oscillated between crimson eyes that carried different intentions.

  “Did she claim wardship?” Emiko’s statement burned in my chest.

  I didn’t belong to anyone.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but images of Sakura—her defensiveness—played in my head like an old-school movie reel.

  “She is,” Tiffany said. “When he fed me the first day I brought him…here, Sakura rushed over to fight me.”

  There's no way. She didn’t run over to hurt you…Did she?

  “Sakura wouldn’t—but she is okay with me being here; I asked her.” I dug my finger into the dent, forged by Kito’s knife, and the candles flickered, forcing the shadows to dance.

  “Sakura doesn’t see me as a threat, Carter. I didn’t stand up when she approached us; she knows I’d back down… regardless of my feelings,” Tiffany whimpered, but I couldn’t look because my body felt still.

  “But…Tetsusen—”

  “Yes, Tetsusen will have to fight Sakura for wardship,” Emiko whispered.

  I’ve done everything to avoid involving myself with clan politics, so why am I being swept back into their conflicts?

  “No,” is all I could whisper before softly placing my head on the table’s cool surface next to the knife indent, serving myself up to Kito’s phantom, wishing I could leave the room, too.

  I closed my eyes to escape and felt Tiffany’s hand stroking my head.

  Kito was right to cast me out because all I do is cause issues for those around me; I can’t come over here anymore. Hold on.

  I snapped upright, followed by a series of clicks and pops. Tiffany and Emiko both jumped, letting out fantastic screams.

  “I never agreed to be Sakura’s stupid ward.” Thud! I slammed my hand against the table with every ounce of strength I could muster. “Nobody controls me!” I lived leashed once, never again!

  They stared, wide-eyed, unsure of what to say.

  “There is the son-in-law I know!” Emiko smiled with a wicked grin, and Tiffany wiped her eyes.

  “Stop it, Mom. You know that wardship is established through familial relations.” Tiffany’s words were still shaky, but I could feel the firmness in her voice as she leaned, reclaiming the chopsticks.

  “So, just because she’s my sister, I’m her ward?” The smell of stir-fry taunted my nose. Tiffany’s hand was shaking.

  “What does wardship mean?”

  “Well,” Emiko started, leaning on the table. “It means that Sakura has the right to choose your partner, unless.” Emiko’s grin transcended wickedness into something I couldn’t name. “You’re not bound by blood, so she might bind you by body—”

  “Knock it off, Mom. That’s…sick!”

  I waited for clarity, unsure what to think. It was clear that our parents, not blood, bound Sakura and me. However, they didn’t say anything— “Body?” I muttered.

  Emiko nodded vigorously. “Tiffany,” I said, “What is she talking about?” Her eyes searched the kitchen before settling on me.

  “Like…a, um, merging…” She held her hands up and brought them together, interlocking fingers.

  That didn’t help. If we are siblings unbound by blood…and she chooses for me, which is dumb because if she doesn’t choose. My stomach twisted. She’s talking about sex…again.

  I turned to Emiko, who was still smiling; her mischievous grin chasing the candle's flame.

  “Dearest, mother-in-law. How could you insinuate something so bad when I spend my afternoons with your daughter—”

  Tiffany grabbed my arm, shaking me. “Why won’t you both take this seriously!?” Her grip on my jacket slipped, and I stumbled forward, falling into her and knocking her over.

  “Ouch! Antwon, your head hit my nose.”

  I rubbed the side of my head. “I would be sorry if it were my fault.”

  Emiko’s chair slid, scraping the floor, and her face appeared from beyond the table.

  “Well, screw Tetsusen,” Emiko said. “You kids are practically married.”

  “Mom!”

  I could feel the rise and fall of Tiffany’s chest against my head. Her heart was racing, but I didn’t know if it could catch what it was chasing.

  “How serious is this if I’m a foreigner?”

  Tiffany’s hand rested on my forehead. “It’s an unwritten cultural norm that even the clans abide by.” I studied the cracks in the ceiling, trying to find their root. “If Sakura weren’t herself, but a foreign girl, maybe.”

  This country and its rules were killing me.

  I closed my eyes and thought about a loophole. Nakamura can’t fight Sakura, and I refuse to let Christina hurt my sister.

  Emiko whistled, and it echoed throughout the house. Thud! The chair screeched against the wooden floor. “I’ve never considered this from a guy's perspective; I wonder if this is why Kito was so angry?”

  I imagined Tetsusen and Sakura clashing over me like a piece of property, and then I had an idea.

  “Can I just ask Sakura to, and this hurts my soul, give me to you?”

  Tiffany moved a piece of hair from my face, resting her hand on my cheek.

  “I suppose, son-in-law.” A series of footsteps, and lights burned their way through my eyelids. “Okay, it’s time to get up. I’ve got to take Antwon home before it gets too dark.”

  ****

  “Hi, my name is Emiko Nakamura; your brother is friends with my daughter. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Emiko said, sticking out her hand. The carved wooden doorframe looked smaller with Sakura standing in it. The warmth from the open door rolled over her shoulder.

  Sakura was fresh out of the shower with damp hair. Her silky white pajamas made her appear heavenly or judicial, as if she stood above us all, ignoring the height difference.

  “Um, it’s nice to meet you, Ms. Nakamura,” Sakura bowed, but it looked more casual than formal. “My name is Sakura Carter. As you already know, I hope, I am Antwon’s big sister.” By a few months, jerk!

  Sakura straightened out and stepped to the side, and she ushered me into the apartment by beckoning me with her hand.

  What’s your play now, Ms. Nakamura?

  “Wow, I think it’s awesome that you protect a foreign boy the way you would have a Japanese boy.” I couldn’t see Ms. Nakamura’s face because she was standing behind me, but her hand gestures were all over the place. “He’s lucky to have such a pretty warden like yourself to protect him.”

  The heat from the open door brushed my face after brushing Sakura’s cheeks.

  “Okay!” I turned to Ms. Nakamura, who was grinning from ear to ear, and bowed. Thank you for the safe passage home, but you should go.

  “Antwon!” Sakura's voice echoed through the hall, but nobody would care—our ballad was commonly played. “I’m sorry, he’s always like this. Would you like to come in for a drink?”

  We just had dinner, so she will say—

  “Sure, I’m parched!”

  I stepped toward the door in disbelief, and Sakura reached out, grabbing me by the jacket.

  “Are Mom and Dad home?” I asked, to which she nodded before pulling me in and smelling my clothing. “Go take a shower—a good shower.” Sakura released me and pressed her hand gently to my shoulder.

  I mumbled under my breath, but didn’t protest—her hand on my shoulder felt heavier than Kito’s weight, but safer.

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