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The Dropout

I could recognize him from a half a kilometer away. He could dye his hair, and change his clothes, but his stature and baby face and strangely suited bad-ass vibe are a dead giveaway. Still, I check his nametag to be sure.

He is Ren, one of the banes of my first teaching year. He was among the worse students, only scoring above their pitiful scores of three or four by ten points. No matter what I did, I could not get him to like me. So, instead, I went out of my way to make him hate me. At least then, I felt, I deserved it.

I had not seen him in the hallways, but I assumed it was because I didn’t teach 2-1 Home (the only class in school that despises me). However, his bleached hair and daytime job tells me all I need to know. I was facing my first dropout, one who I had helped along his path because I failed him. I should feel guilty. I was the last step of a school system that failed him. Japan led him to that final step, but in his last act of rebelliousness, he jumped before they could push. I didn’t catch him. But then again, I don’t catch people who jump of their own volition.

He sees me, and wrinkles his nose. It’s eight in the morning, and he’s the only clerk open.

“Did you dye your hair?” I know what I’m implying.

“Yeah.” He answers only because it’s his job to be polite.

“Thanks.” I take my change and walk away, annoyed that I dislike him as strongly as he I.

Boys

I'm afraid of boys now. That is what Japan does to a girl's self esteem. Japan, a country where stating someone's wieght is as straightforward as saying the weather.

"Hello! You're fat today, aren't you?"

Indeed.

I don't even want to leave the house anymore, which, of course, only makes me fatter. Such is the way.

I blame Mr. Quiet for this, and I blame Kanae-chan for trying to set us up when clearly he wasn't interested.