Notes from Juilliard

Chapter 3

“What’s that, Akane?” Kasumi leaned in from the hallway, an oven mitt on one hand.

Akane looked up from the papers she was reading at the dining table in the family room. She’d just finished setting the places for dinner and was going through the computer printout again. “Oh, I just got an e-mail from Ranko, and I thought I’d read it aloud to everyone.” She smiled. “That way, it’ll be a little bit like she’s here with us.”

Kasumi brightened. “What a nice idea!” Her brow furrowed momentarily. “Don’t you usually get her e-mails in the morning?”

Akane nodded. “She usually writes at her bedtime, but she says that she was too upset last night, and wrote in the morning instead.” Akane frowned. “It was that obnoxious French student again. Apparently he doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Kasumi tsked. “He doesn’t sound very polite to me.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Nabiki should be home from work any minute now. Would you go call Father and Uncle Saotome? Dinner’s almost ready.” Akane nodded and lay down the printout at her place at the table.

As if on cue, the front door opened and slammed shut violently, and a sullen voice called out “Tadaima.”

Akane and Kasumi exchanged a nervous glance, and called out “O-kaeri!” Nabiki appeared in the hallway, wearing her usual charcoal business suit. Akane winced; her sister’s face was like a typhoon warning.

Kasumi eyed her carefully, and hesitated a moment before asking, “How was your day, Nabiki?”

Nabiki clapped her hands together under her chin. “Oh, it was wonderful. Today I got to make tea for a Vice President.” She snorted. “I’m going to go get out of this monkey suit.” She turned and stomped upstairs.

Kasumi and Akane looked at each other for a long moment, and sighed. Akane left to go look for the fathers, and Kasumi ducked back into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, when Nabiki reentered the family room, she found four pairs of eyes peering anxiously at her from around the table.

She rolled her eyes as she sat down. “Would you please all stop looking at me like that? I’m not about to go up on the roof and start shooting, you know.”

Kasumi winced slightly. “We’re just worried about you, little sister.” She started to serve.

Akane asked tentatively, “Is it really that bad?”

Nabiki snorted. “Let’s just say I could have skipped the four years of college for what they have me doing. I’m not too sure about high school, either. And do they put me in a department where I can use my talents, like Purchasing, or Finance, or even Operations?” Kasumi motioned, and Nabiki handed over her rice bowl to be filled. “No, of course not. They put me in Human Resources Administration. And the department chief is some kind of evolutionary throwback; to him, ‘female’ means ‘O.L.’” Kasumi handed the bowl back. “Thanks, Oneechan. How on Earth did someone like him wind up in charge of H.R.?” She put her hand over her eyes. “God, why did I ever go to work for a big company?”

Souun folded his arms and smiled sadly. “I recall one of my daughters saying something about not wanting to be a big fish in a small pond.”

“Yeah, but right now I’m not even a fish. I think I’m some kind of invertebrate.” Everyone chuckled. Nabiki sighed, and sagged slightly. “It’ll get better. It has to get better.” Kasumi finished serving, and they started to eat.

“You can always come keep the books for the Dojo, Oneechan.” Akane grinned. “When I get done with this place, I expect that to be a full time job.” If you looked closely, you might have imagined you saw little pink hearts in Genma’s and Souun’s eyes. “I can’t promise you wouldn’t have to make tea, though.” She winked.

Nabiki laughed. “That’s the spirit, kiddo. I feel the same way; that’s why I want to try something bigger first. But thanks.” Her eyes strayed to the computer printout by Akane’s side. “What’s that? Trying to rifle my files? I keep all the good stuff encrypted, you know.”

Akane rolled her eyes. “Ha ha. No, it’s an e-mail from Ranko. She wrote this morning—umm, her morning, that is—instead of last night. I just got it and I thought I’d read it aloud over dinner. That way, it’ll be a little bit like she’s here with us.” Everyone paused from their eating, and the room grew quiet for a moment. Their eyes went to the empty spot at the table.

Nabiki smiled quietly, her boss forgotten for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be nice.” Genma had a faraway look in his eyes.

Kasumi added, “Why don’t you finish dinner first, Akane?” Akane nodded, and everyone resumed eating. Kasumi’s cooking had slid somewhat due to the heavy demands on her time—she tended to use more convenience items and prepared foods these days, something she’d avoided when she was a full time homemaker—but it was still something to be savored.

Nabiki seemed to be recovering from her stressful day at the office. “How was registration for the fall semester, Oneechan?”

Kasumi tilted her head. “There weren’t any problems. Classes start on Monday, so I’ll have a little break until then.”

Souun glanced over at his eldest daughter. “What are you taking this term?”

“Umm, Western Poetry, Advanced Conversational English, and Art History.” The eldest Tendou daughter blushed slightly. “Oh, and third-year Biology, and Organic Chemistry.”

Nabiki raised an eyebrow. “Biology and Chemistry again? Why?”

“I just like living things.” Kasumi smiled and turned to Akane. “How about you, Dear?” Akane and Kasumi were both attending Musashi University in Nerima; it was just a short train ride away. They still lived at home, to save on expenses.

“I managed to get into one of the Business School classes, on running a small business. That ought to help. I’m taking Conversational English, too, and a couple of final requirements for my Phys. Ed. degree.” She smiled ruefully. “And I signed up for the Drama club again.”

Kasumi shifted instantly into her role as surrogate mother. “Are you having regrets about your decision, Dear?”

Akane shook her head. “No, not really. I wish I could have done both, but I really want to run the Dojo.” Souun and Genma let out the breath they’d each been holding. “I think I’ll try to get involved with a community theatre group or something. I can’t give it up entirely.” She grinned. “I guess I know how Ranko feels, now. It’s hard when you have more things you love than you have time for.” Kasumi, having raised two of her three little sisters single-handedly, could do nothing but nod in agreement.

Nabiki smiled. “Everyone’s taking English. Is it because we have a jet-setter in the family now?”

Akane laughed. “Maybe. She’ll be traveling all around the world, and I want to be able to understand that part of her life.” Kasumi nodded as well. “And when I tag along on one of her world tours, I don’t want to come across as a rube.” They all laughed.

In due time everyone finished eating, and Akane looked around the table. “Shall I read Ranko’s letter now?” Everyone nodded. Akane picked up the printout, cleared her throat, and began to read.

“Dear Sis,

“Sorry to be late! I was too upset last night, and I had to wait until this morning to be able to write about it.

“What got me so upset? One guess: Jean-Pierre. We had a little get-acquainted party for the Music department last night, and I was having such a good time, until he started hitting on me—again. He drove away the guy I was talking to — OK, so the first guy was hitting on me too, but he was at least polite about it. Jean-Pierre didn’t even stop when I reminded him I was engaged! He was joking about us becoming a couple. They could put this guy in the dictionary as the definition for ‘jerk.’”

Akane paused, blushing slightly. “She’s written about him before. He’s a real pest.”

She resumed reading. “I always thought Kunou kept after us just because he was an idiot, but I guess some guys are just like that. Jean-Pierre is no idiot, I’ll grant him that, but he doesn’t understand ‘no’ any better than Kunou did.” Nabiki snickered.

“Anyway, more than enough about him; I have much more interesting news. I found out from Professor Vasilev yesterday that I’m a graduate student! Professor Murata wrote a letter to Juilliard saying I had already met the requirements for graduation. I was kind of surprised, but I think it’s wonderful; it gives me a lot more flexibility. I’ll be able to spend all my time working on what I need to instead of repeating coursework I’ve already done.

“I spent a lot of time with Professor Vasilev yesterday, and he has a very busy year lined up for me. I’ll be working with the most advanced students at Juilliard, and he also said that I’d get a chance to work with some of the top performers in the world when they come to visit. I’m really excited! I just know I’ll be able to lick my problem here. I’m still homesick, but I’m so glad I came.

“I’m sorry this is so short, but I have to run off now. The professor said he wants me to start working on the violin sonata repertoire with the top piano student here, and I’m meeting with them in ten minutes. I’ll get back to my usual schedule and write to you tonight.

“Love you Sis, lots. Give my love to everyone. Your sister, Ranko.” Akane gently lay the printout back on the table; everyone gazed at it for a moment.

Nabiki shook herself out of the melancholy mood that had descended. “She seems happy and excited about her studies. I’m glad she’s not letting this creep get to her.”

Genma snorted, his arms folded. “It would take a lot more than that to slow down my daughter.”

Ranko pushed open the door to practice room 3C, and stopped short. She closed her eyes briefly.

Jean-Pierre gave a cheery wave. “Bonjour, babe.”

Ranko opened her eyes. “Professor? What is happening?”

Peter had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Jean-Pierre is the student I’d like you to work with, Ranko-chan. He is one our most talented pianists, if not our most talented.” Jean-Pierre smiled and took a bow, as Ranko rolled her eyes. “I think you two will learn a lot from each other.” He noted Ranko’s suspicious expression. “If you want to stretch yourself, you need to work with the best.”

Jean-Pierre, the best? She had to admit that in the short time she had known him, she hadn’t really thought about him as an artist, just as an overbearing Lothario. She’d known he was a pianist, but nothing beyond that. If Professor Vasilev said he was Juilliard’s top piano student, then she knew he must be talented indeed. It did make sense; his father was one of the top cellists in the world.

Her mind drifted back to her studies in Tokyo, and some of the people she’d known there. It wasn’t as if Jean-Pierre was the first artist she’d worked with who was difficult to get along with. She shivered slightly as a memory floated up: if she could work with that girl she’d bested for first violin soloist back in Tokyo, she could work with anyone. She hoped that he’d at least refrain from hitting on her when they were working.

She nodded slowly. “Yes… Of course, Professor.”

“Don’t worry, babe. Like I said, we will make beautiful music together.”

Ranko said nothing, but put down her backpack and got out her violin. She went over to stand next to the piano, while Jean-Pierre sat down on the bench. Jean-Pierre struck chords on the piano repeatedly, and Ranko tuned her violin to match. After that they each ran through a few scales to warm up. When they were done, they turned to face Peter with an expectant air.

The older man reached into his portfolio and pulled out some sheet music. “I thought we’d start with an early Beethoven sonata. You know the number 2, don’t you, Ranko-chan?”

Ranko bit her lip and nodded. It had been one of the first violin sonatas she’d learned. Her rendition of it was pretty good—the problem was, she expected more from herself than “pretty good.”

“Do you need the sheet music?”

She shook her head. “No, I know this one.”

“It has been a little while,” admitted Jean-Pierre; Peter handed him the sheaf of papers. The young Frenchman read through it carefully, then nodded and put the score up on the piano. Jean-Pierre looked up at Ranko, and she nodded her head. They nodded four beats to each other, and began.

Within a few measures it was very clear why Jean-Pierre was considered the most talented pianist at Juilliard. He might be a pest, he might be a womanizer, he might be an arrogant jerk… but he was most definitely an artist, and God, could he play. He skipped effortlessly through the demanding passages of the first movement, playing as flawlessly as if it were something he practiced every day. The music flowing from the piano was vibrant and alive. Their playing was synchronized in an intricate dance of perfect harmony.

Ranko felt like she was floating on clouds made of music; Jean-Pierre easily had the best technique of any pianist she’d worked with yet, and it was exhilarating. He seemed to be enjoying himself, too: now and then he looked up and flashed that smile of his, and it didn’t seem lascivious at all. Peter listened and watched carefully as he turned pages for Jean-Pierre.

However, as they began to make their way through the second, Andante movement, with its sad, emotional air, Ranko’s glow faded. Jean-Pierre was catching the mood perfectly, but while Ranko’s playing was technically flawless as always, she could tell she was not keeping up her end of their teamwork. As was so often the case with expressive music, her playing was too dispassionate: perfect, but dull. Jean-Pierre’s smiles disappeared.

Things improved somewhat for the final Allegro, but Ranko knew she was not playing as well as she wanted to. Why do I have such trouble with this? He makes it look easy!

When they were done, Jean-Pierre and Peter sat back, and Ranko sighed. Jean-Pierre looked her over with a very penetrating gaze, and Ranko found herself flushing slightly. He shook his head slowly. “You need to let go, to let your heart fly.”

Ranko shook her own head. “That is not the problem. I hear what you play, and I feel ‘Yes, I am feeling same things in my heart.’” Her blush deepened. “I want to let them out, but they get lost somewhere on the way. I don’t know why. I don’t understand.” She drooped slightly.

Jean-Pierre seemed to be filled with nervous energy, like a pacing tiger. His hands gestured impatiently. “You are too uptight, too strict. You must let your feelings go.” He flung his arms wide, like a bird taking flight.

Ranko felt her temper start to simmer. “I don’t think I hold tight on my feelings. Somehow, they just don’t come out.”

Peter noticed the rising tension and jumped in. “She’s right, Jean-Pierre. Here, let me play while you watch her.” The two changed places. “The Andante again, Ranko-chan, just for a minute or so.” She nodded, a little embarrassed at being dissected in this way. Still, that’s why she’d come halfway around the world.

As they played, she was aware of Jean-Pierre’s gaze on her; it was intense. She found herself starting to blush again, and focused her attention on the music.

Despite his instructions, Peter continued to the end of the movement, and Ranko followed his lead. Jean-Pierre sat back heavily in his seat. “Yes… yes… I see your heart. But I don’t hear it. A mystery, truly.” He leaned forward. “We need to find out what is keeping your heart behind bars, and set it free.”

Ranko eyed him doubtfully; she was never sure whether he was talking about music or romance, and it had long since begun to get on her nerves.

Peter looked between the two of them. “All right, you two, from the beginning.” He and Jean-Pierre traded places, and Ranko raised her bow again.

The heat of Indian summer beat down as Ranko crossed the plaza on the way back to her room. The plaza was thick with people, but she hardly noticed. She was distracted, trying to work out a puzzle—a puzzle with blue eyes, a rakish grin, an obnoxious manner, and the soul of an artist. A difficult puzzle indeed.

She entered the Rose building and headed for the elevators. She lucked out: one was waiting, and she got in and pushed the button for the seventeenth floor, still lost in thought.

She’d been working with Jean-Pierre on and off for a couple of weeks now. Aside from the non-stop flirting, he’d been completely professional, and he’d worked as hard as Professor Vasilev in trying to help her overcome her problem—to no avail, so far. His playing showed him to be an artist of the highest caliber, and she ached as she watched him bring deeply-felt emotion to his playing even as she struggled to do so herself.

He was an arrogant jerk… but he played beautifully and was very solicitous about her own work, even if he came across as a know-it-all. Jean-Pierre seemed far more complex than the simple playboy she’d taken him for at first. No, this was no Kunou, even if his romantic skills seemed to be on the same inept level.

The door slid open with a chime, and she let herself in the front door of her suite. She looked around; the place was unusually quiet. Did everyone go to dinner early?

Flora Ho poked her head out of the room she shared with Anne Raffo. The two of them and Hannah Bennett were the last three members of their suite of eight, and had arrived just before classes started. Flora was a violist from Hong Kong, a junior, and Anne a sophomore from Pittsburgh and a flutist. Hannah was a dance junior from Grand Rapids, Michigan. “Oh, Hi. You little late today, no?”

Ranko nodded. “My practice session was long today, and I stopped at the Student Employment Office again. Where is everyone?”

Susan Burnes poked her head out as well. “The Americans have gone off to supper a wee bit early. There seems to be some kind of debate for this year’s presidential election on the telly tonight, and they wanted to go watch in the lounge downstairs.” Flora nodded in agreement.

“‘Debate’? I don’t know this word.”

“Well, normally it means to have a formal argument about a topic, with one side arguing one position and the other arguing the opposing position.” Susan grinned. “However, presidential debates seem quite another thing. As near as I can tell, it’s reporters asking questions which the candidates don’t answer. Instead they talk about whatever they wish.” She shook her head. “Very odd.”

Ranko was totally bewildered, but then again, she found Japanese politics nearly as impenetrable. There hadn’t been an election since she had attained her majority, so she hadn’t dealt with that yet.

Susan continued, “Shall we all go off in a half hour or so? It’s too early for me.” Flora and Ranko echoed agreement, and everyone headed for their rooms.

Tish looked up from reading at her desk as Ranko came in. “O-kaeri nasai.”

Ranko smiled. It was nice to have someone who understood Japanese family life, someone to share the everyday rituals with. “Tadaima.” She blinked. “Wait a minute… aren’t you going to go watch this debate?”

Tish shrugged. “I already know who I’m going to vote for. Besides, I have to study. This part is making me crazy.” Her eyes took on a glassy quality, and Ranko was again unpleasantly reminded of Kunou Kodachi. “Ah have always depended on the kindness of strangers…”

Ranko blinked. “Huh?” Tish had the odd tendency to abruptly metamorphose into someone else, which Ranko supposed was a useful quality in an actress. Sometimes she wondered if she knew who the real Tish Williams was.

Tish laughed. “A Streetcar Named Desire, Tennessee Williams—no relation. I’m Blanche Dubois next week. How was your day?”

Ranko’s head spun a little from the conversational and linguistic pinball. “All right. I worked on a Haydn string quartet this morning. That went well. I worked with Jean-Pierre on a Dvořák violin sonata this afternoon.” She paused. “That did not go as well. And I stopped by the employment office again.” She sagged.

Tish clucked in sympathy. “Still no luck?” Ranko nodded glumly. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get another chance.” Ranko nodded, and Tish turned back to her studying. The redhead went to put away her violin and backpack, then sat down heavily at her own desk.

The sad thing was, she’d had a job lined up. There had been an opening for a kitchen assistant in the cafeteria, and she’d gone to interview. It had looked very promising, until the head chef had asked her to demonstrate her kitchen skills. Without thinking, she’d proceeded to slice some vegetables the way she always did—namely, with a healthy dose of Anything-Goes Martial Arts.

The sight of vegetables flying through the air and knives spinning at high speed had unnerved the man, and that had been the end of that. What’s more, word must have gotten around, because job leads at the school had mysteriously vanished. Since her visa restricted her to working on campus for her first (and only) year, she was out of luck unless the office managed to convince someone to give her a chance.

She wasn’t in dire straits, as Nabiki-neechan was keeping her bank account back home from drying up. But she wanted to pull her own weight, and refused to spend money on non-essentials until she could pay for them from her own wages. Which might be never, at this rate. She was starting to suffer acute hot fudge sundae withdrawal, and she needed to buy some clothes to supplement the rather minimal set she’d brought with her.

She wasn’t having much luck finding a sparring partner, either. Her ad had drawn nothing, and a visit to a nearby dojo had been a waste—even the master had been no challenge for her. He hadn’t even had any experience in aerial combat! He’d offered her a job as an instructor, but her visa didn’t allow that, and she’d had to turn him down.

A perusal of the telephone book had turned up a few other dojos close enough to be practical for daily practice, and she needed to go check them out. She wasn’t terribly hopeful. At this rate, her martial arts skills would deteriorate further by the time she went home.

She idly opened her notebook computer’s lid, waking it up, and checked for new e-mail, not really expecting anything. She was surprised to hear the signal for a new message. As she scanned the screen, her eyes lit up. She hurriedly opened the e-mail.

To: Ranko Saotome <rsaotome@juilliard.edu>

From: Ryouga Hibiki <rhibiki@neriinko.ne.jp>

Date: Thursday, September 23, 2004 10:53 PM

Subject: Got a computer

Hey there, Nabiki finally dragged me out shopping. Got the same kind as you. Still figuring it out. She also found me a cheap ISP, Nerima Internet Coop. I’ll talk to you Sunday.

Love,

Ryouga

Ranko smiled; Ryouga wasn’t much of a correspondent, and it looked like the computer wasn’t going to change that. Still, it was nice to have a way to send him little notes all through the week. Assuming he remembered to check his e-mail regularly…

She noticed the message light blinking on her answering machine, and pushed the button, curious. “Saotome-san, this is Taneoka Eimi. I had a short vacation back home, and I just now got back to New York and picked up your voicemail; this phone number only works in America.

“This time I already had plans, but I’ll be back in town next Thursday night, a week from today, and I have a break through the weekend then; my return flight is Monday noon. I’d love to get together with you if you’re free. I can come meet you at Lincoln Center, that’s no problem. Call me or leave me voicemail and let me know when would be good. Maybe Friday night, after school? I’m looking forward to hearing from you. Bye.” The message ended.

Ranko felt eyes on her back, and turned around to find Tish smiling at her. She smiled back.

“Hello, Hibiki residence.”

Ranko smiled at Ryouga’s photograph in her collage. “Hi, it’s me.”

There was a short pause, then, “Hi.” It was amazing how much could be conveyed by one short word: the smile in the photo seemed to grow a little brighter. “Good morning… well, good evening, I guess. It’s Saturday night there, right?”

“Mm hmm.”

“How was school this week?”

“OK. It’s the same old story, though. I seem to be going around in circles on expressing emotions. Other than that, it’s great. I’m having a wonderful time working on chamber music this term with the other students. Even Mr. Jerk.” She heard a laugh. “How about you?”

“School’s fine. The computer’s kinda handy for writing papers. I’m gonna start looking for a dojo in a few weeks. I really want to open my own place and teach my own style, but Nabiki says I can’t swing it financially on my own, at least not at first.”

Ranko bit her tongue. Naturally, the first time they’d discussed this she’d thought of Ryouga teaching with Akane, and had suggested that. Uncle Souun had said that the Tendou Dojo had to remain a family business, though, and Ryouga wasn’t all that interested in teaching another family’s school. Ranko thought they were both being stubborn idiots, but she’d decided to let it lie. “I’m sure you’ll find something. You’re the best.”

He laughed. “Your sister might have something to say about that. But thanks.” There was a short pause. “Of course, you could still cream both of us if you trained like you used to. You were in a class by yourself.”

She laughed; to Ryouga it always sounded like bells ringing. “Ryouga, you don’t have to worry about my ego. I made my decisions, and I’m very, very happy. I have my music, I still have the Art, and… and I have you.” She was blushing. “And Akane. And… I have me; I’m myself. I couldn’t ask for a better life. I’m quite content to leave the title of top martial artist to you two.” An impish grin came over her face. “Are you guys going to have a duel to see who’s the best?”

She heard a snort. “I’ve outgrown that kind of thing too, y’know.”

“I know. We’re all responsible adults now.” She stuck her tongue out. “How boring.” They both laughed. “But I like it boring. I’ve had enough craziness to last a lifetime.”

“Did you talk to your family yet?”

Ranko nodded, though she was alone. “Yes, I called them first. Everyone is doing fine. Akane is starting to work on a budget for the Dojo. Nabiki-neechan still hates her job; actually, I think she hates it even worse.”

“I could tell when we went computer shopping. Touchy. I think it inspired her; she got an even better deal than she did with yours. Man, she can be bloodthirsty when she negotiates.”

“Mmm.”

“How about Kasumi?”

Ranko frowned. “You know, she couldn’t even come to the phone. She has some big exam this week she’s cramming for. Akane says she’s been holed up in her room all week.” She paused. “Akane has been… cooking.”

“I’m sure that’s been popular. I’m glad I didn’t go over there this week.”

She giggled. “Well, at least it’s edible these days. Akane says Nabiki-neechan griped the first night, and Akane told her she was welcome to make dinner herself instead.” They both laughed. “She’s been making a lot of curry; it’s not bad at all.” Ranko’s eyes went to the family portrait and sought out her twin sister. “I’m glad she’s not so anxious to prove herself in the kitchen these days. She has so much more self-confidence now.”

“How’s your folks?”

Ranko smiled. “Oh, Father and Uncle Souun are the same as always. I’m starting to detect a note of respect in Father’s voice when he talks about Akane, though. He doesn’t disparage her skills quite as thoroughly. He only calls her an amateur every couple of minutes.” She laughed. “Mother called earlier. She’s enjoying her part-time job at the library. She’s starting to get really excited about the wedding, too. I hardly have time to think about it, but she’s knee deep in magazines and menus and things like that. She says we’re going to have to start thinking about the guest list soon, and what kind of ceremony we want. Japanese, Western, or both.”

There was a short pause from the other end. “Guest list? That’s… gonna be hard. Most everyone in my family has my sense of direction. I don’t know if we can get in touch with them all. Maybe we can put an ad in the newspaper or something. I’d better tell Dad to get started right away.”

Ranko sighed. “I don’t have a lot of family to begin with. There’s the Tendous, cousin Hiromi and her family, and my mother’s cousin and her family.” She brightened. “But we both have a lot of friends, from high school and junior high.”

“Yeah. I think our junior high friends are in for a big surprise, though. I bet they never attended the wedding of two of their classmates before.” Ranko snickered. “Too bad the Amazons are going back to China when Shampoo graduates.”

Ranko sat up straight, beaming, and bounced in her chair slightly. “Guess what? Shampoo sent me an e-mail. She told Cologne there was no way she was missing my wedding. They’re going to stick around the extra two months.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. She’s always known exactly what she wanted and gone after it.” He chuckled. “Who would have thought it, huh? Shampoo, the airhead bimbo, a Political Science major at Tokyo University. And I bet she graduates with honors, too.”

Ranko smiled. “I’m very proud of her. We’ve all changed a lot, haven’t we?”

“You’ve definitely changed for the better. You’re much more cuddly this way.”

“I expect you to prove that when I come home for New Year’s, Mister.” She was glad Ryouga couldn’t see the hot blush that covered her face.

“You can count on it.”

They spent a few seconds quietly sharing that thought, even though they were on opposite sides of the planet. Ranko leaned back in her desk chair. “I guess that’s all the news from me.”

“Not much else here. Dad’s GPS battery died and we didn’t see him for a couple days. I wish he’d remember to take a spare. He’s got another inspection coming up, so I guess he’ll be gone for a month or so.”

Ranko smiled. “How’s your mother?”

There was a pause. “I think Mom is a little jealous about your mom planning the wedding. I’ve caught her looking at me funny a couple of times when I’ve been in my girl form. I think a part of her wishes ‘Ryouko-chan’ were real.”

Ranko thought back to the parallel world where she’d met her male counterpart, Ranma, and an alternate version of her mother. “I understand how she feels. When she sees you in your girl form, she’s seeing the daughter she never had. I’m sure she’s glad you’re her son, but try to forgive her for being a little wistful when you’re a girl.”

“As long as she doesn’t want me to pick out a wedding dress, too.” They both laughed.

Ranko yawned suddenly. “Oh gosh, excuse me.”

“I should let you go, it’s late there.”

“OK.” She smiled a warm smile. “I love you, Ryouga.”

“I love you too, honey. Bye.”

“Bye.” Ranko paused a moment, then hung up. She slowly got up, then stretched. She went to the dresser and pulled out her pajamas, intending to get ready for bed. Suddenly she frowned. She’d mentioned the ceremony, but they’d gotten sidetracked. She’d have to make sure to talk to him about it next week. She wanted Western, Mother wanted Japanese, and she was pretty sure she was going to get stuck doing both. Her thoughts wandered, and an absent-minded smile came over her face as she thought about the dress she had her eye on…

The door to their room opened, and Tish made her way in. Ranko snapped out of her daydream to greet her roommate: “O-kaeri nasai.” Tish didn’t respond; she seemed preoccupied.

Ranko furrowed her brow. “How was your show?” she asked, in English.

Tish blinked. “Huh? Oh, the show.” Her attention seemed to focus. “It was fine, we all had a great time. You really should have come; it’s a great musical. I mean, it’s just people dressed up as cats, singing and dancing.”

Ranko shuddered. “N-no… no, I… umm… it’s OK.” Tish nodded slowly.

Ranko turned and started to undress. Tish regarded her intently for a few seconds, then started on her own bedtime preparations.

Standing in the wings, Ranko looked out over the audience in Alice Tully hall as she and Professor Vasilev listened to Claire Hellman and Antonio Rossi play Brahms’ Violin Sonata #2. The School gave chamber music recitals every Wednesday afternoon at 1 PM, and today was the season opener. The audience was mostly retirees and music fans taking a late lunch; the hall was about a third full, even with free tickets.

Claire was also a very talented violinist, but unlike that girl back in Tokyo she and Ranko got along fine. They were mostly competing with themselves, rather than each other, though there was a touch of friendly rivalry. Claire and Tony were both quite good, and the audience was rapt.

She and Jean-Pierre would be on stage in a few minutes, playing the Dvořák Sonatina in G major. It was an emotional piece, full of shifting moods—exactly the kind of thing that gave her the most trouble. This time wasn’t likely to be different, but she had to keep trying. At some point, she was sure, she would gain the insight she needed to lick her problem.

Jean-Pierre came up beside her, smartly dressed in his formal wear. He ran an appreciative eye over her form. “Nice gown.” His smile was somewhat more than friendly.

Ranko had learned to cope with the non-stop flirting; she merely smiled. “Thank you. I think maybe I need get a new one soon. This one is five years old.” Since she’d grown so little, she’d only had to let out the hem on her green formal gown once, but any piece of clothing worn frequently for five years had to wear out eventually. She wasn’t thrilled; the gown was kind of like a good-luck charm for her. Not that it was really working.

Just then Claire and Tony finished, and the audience applauded enthusiastically. Professor Vasilev interjected, “Remember, Ranko-chan, try to focus on expression. Your technique is fine; let your reflexes take care of that part.”

Ranko nodded, and she and Jean-Pierre watched as Claire and Tony made two curtain calls, then walked off to the opposite wings. It was their cue. Ranko strode confidently out of the wings; she had been performing for a few years now, and it was second nature for her to be on stage. Jean-Pierre followed close behind her.

The two of them walked to center stage, Ranko carrying her Lott “del Gesù” violin and her bow. They paused a moment to acknowledge the audience’s polite applause. Jean-Pierre seated himself at the piano, and struck a few chords while Ranko tuned her violin. When she was done, they looked at each other for a moment, and began.

She tried her utmost to keep focused on the wonderful, lively character of the music; as Professor Vasilev said, to leave the mechanics to her reflexes and work on bringing out the beauty. However, as they began the second movement, the Larghetto, she once again felt Jean-Pierre leaving her behind. Her playing was muted, leaden by comparison.

She pushed herself to match him, and as always it began to tax her. She walked a fine line between maintaining some life in the music and becoming so tense she risked losing control. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

Still, the lyricism of Jean-Pierre’s playing and the air of intense interest from the audience drove her on. She tried to draw inspiration from the people who had come to hear them perform. She latched on to her feelings for this beautiful music and forced them out, her teeth clenched. She heard a mute echo of what she was feeling coming from her violin, and counted it a success.

The piece was only about eighteen minutes long, but by the time they were done she was exhausted. She had turned in a credible performance, but she couldn’t keep playing like this. There was no way she could last through a thirty minute concerto this way.

The audience was genuinely enthusiastic; there were calls of both “Bravo!” and “Brava!” from here and there. While she had only done a fair job of bringing the music to life, as always her technique had been flawless: crisp and precise. There was always a certain segment of the audience who appreciated that. And Jean-Pierre’s performance had been wonderful. She still found him annoying, but she certainly couldn’t ask for a better piano partner. All in all, she was pleased; she smiled through her weariness. If only it weren’t so difficult. If only she could make her playing as good as she wanted it to be without feeling like she was pushing a boulder up a hill. One that was always trying to roll back down and flatten her.

When they were done with their curtain calls, she exited the stage gracefully and with a smile, headed straight for the first chair she laid eyes on, and promptly collapsed into it.

Peter and Jean-Pierre blinked and rushed to her side, their eyes widening at the perspiration dampening her hair and elegant gown. “Ranko-chan, what happened?”

“You look like you ran a marathon, babe!”

She looked up at them and smiled weakly. “I must do my part. I did not want you have to play around me.” She took a deep breath. “But it’s very hard.”

Peter was shaking his head. “That was better, no doubt about it, but I’ve never seen anything like this. I just don’t understand. The best playing comes when you’re relaxed, at ease. I’ve never seen anyone play better when they’re straining themselves.”

Ranko was gingerly turning her head from side to side, wincing as she did so. Jean-Pierre went to stand behind her, lifted his hands to her shoulders, then stopped. She looked up at him for a moment, hesitated, then nodded, and he started to massage her shoulders. He bit his lip as he felt the tight, bunched muscles under his fingertips. Ranko let out a long sigh, and started to relax.

Meanwhile, Peter stared at nothing in particular, trying to puzzle out the meaning of what he’d just witnessed. This young lady certainly seemed to break all the rules he was familiar with.

Jean-Pierre smiled as he kneaded her shoulders. “You did great, babe. Soon it won’t be so hard, eh?”

Ranko nodded drowsily, unconvinced. “Mmm.”

Jean-Pierre continued his ministrations for a minute or two, until Ranko felt herself start to nod off. She shook herself. “Umm, that is OK. You can stop now. Thank you, Jean-Pierre.”

Jean-Pierre grinned. “Are you sure? I can continue this indefinitely.”

Ranko felt warm; it must be from the great effort she had expended. “No, that will not be necessary.” She looked askance at him as he favored her with an innocent smile.

Ranko gingerly pulled the door to their room closed behind her, trying to be quiet in case Tish was already asleep. She was looking forward to being asleep herself; she was still tired from the previous day, and was looking forward to their meeting with Taneoka Eimi tomorrow. She turned off her desk light and climbed into her loft bed.

“O-yasumi nasai,” called Tish, and Ranko responded in kind.

It was quiet for a moment, then Tish asked, “What do you want to do with Taneoka-san tomorrow night?”

Ranko looked over to the dark silhouette in the other bunk. “I don’t know. Maybe dinner somewhere, then maybe we could go to one of those fancy ice cream places downtown for dessert?”

“That’ll be nice. I guess we can decide on a place for dinner when she meets us.”

“Mmm hmm.”

There was silence for a while, and Ranko was starting to feel sleepy, when Tish’s voice came again. “Ranko?”

“Mmm?”

“Your fiancé’s name is Ryouga, right?”

“Uh-huh. Hibiki Ryouga.”

There was a long pause. “What’s he like? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Ranko put her arms behind her head and smiled at the ceiling. “He’s wonderful. Kind, considerate, generous, loving. He’s great with kids. He’s even willing to take care of our kids so I can work and travel for my career.”

Tish digested that. “Does he have any… umm… hobbies?”

Ranko blinked. “No… not really. He loves martial arts; he’s going to run a dojo, and we’ll live there. I guess when he’s not practicing martial arts he likes other sports, too.” She smiled. “He’s become a big Tokyo Giants fan the last few years. He loves the ocean, too; we often go to the beach in summer. He really likes to swim.”

Tish teased, “Judging from his picture, I bet he looks real cute in a bathing suit.”

She couldn’t see the wicked grin on Ranko’s face. “Oh, even cuter than you’d imagine from the picture.” Especially in that black and yellow X-back I helped… her pick out. “Why the questions?”

“Oh, ah, just curious, I guess. You sound so happy whenever you talk about him.”

Ranko closed her eyes and smiled. “I am. I feel very lucky that we fell in love.”

“Didn’t you say you guys fought when you first met?”

Ranko’s smile dimmed. “Umm, yes. I… I used to, umm, tease him, and he didn’t take that very well.” She sighed. “I hadn’t really meant to, and… and eventually we sort of got to be friends, though neither of us would admit it.” Her eyes unfocused. “Then, things kind of, uh, changed. We, umm, saw each other differently, and we just… fell in love.”

Tish grinned. “You do realize that’s impossibly romantic, don’t you?”

Ranko smiled. “I guess.”

Tish hesitated for a moment. “So… have you… umm…”

Ranko blushed crimson. “N-no. Not yet.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

“No… it’s OK. I don’t mind.” She paused. “I guess… we both still live with our families, so we have hardly any privacy, and… we’re both really shy. I mean, we’ve gone past kissing sometimes, but not… that. We’ve talked about it a few times, but we’ve never had the opportunity. I… I didn’t want to go to a love hotel or someplace.” She blushed again. “I didn’t want our first time to be in a place like that.”

Tish’s voice was filled with mock accusation. “Ah-ha! You are a romantic!”

Ranko smiled softly. “Yeah, I guess so.” She paused for a moment, pondering. Tish had seemed pained about her romantic history… maybe it was best not to ask.

She didn’t have to. “You’re lucky. I haven’t found Mr. Right yet. I haven’t even found Mr. Maybe. These days I’m thinking of looking for Mr. Oh Well.”

“But Tish… you’re so nice!”

“Maybe. Nice… but weird.” She laughed. “I should let you get to sleep. It’s getting late.”

Ha. She think’s she’s weird. “I guess I do have to get up to practice. But if you want to talk about it some more some other time…”

Tish smiled. “Thanks. I might just take you up on that. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Ranko pounced when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Ms. Saotome?”

“Yes?”

“This is Tom Jefferson. I have a Ms. Tannyoga down here who says she’s come to visit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jefferson. You can let her come up.”

She hung up and turned to face Tish. “She has just got here. She’s coming up now.”

Tish smiled. “This should be fun.” Ranko nodded and smiled as well. “Why don’t we go out and wait in the living room?”

They both took their purses and went out to sit on the sofa that they shared with all their suitemates. Megan, on her way back to her room from the bathroom, stopped and smiled. “Y’all waitin’ for a streetcar?”

Ranko laughed. “No, a friend is coming here. I met her on the airplane on the way to New York.”

Just then the door chime sounded, and Ranko jumped up and went to the door. She opened it… and blinked. Eimi stood before her, smiling, but…

Gone was the austere flight attendant’s uniform; Eimi was wearing a rather slinky top with a sweater thrown over her shoulders, and capri pants, all of which looked expensive. Ranko’s eyebrows shot up as she recognized the Louis Vuitton handbag, and she winced inwardly as she realized how much it must cost. The hair was out of its bun and flowing freely over Eimi’s shoulders… and was dyed brown. If she’d passed Eimi on the street she would never have recognized her.

Ranko’s nice slacks and sweater suddenly seemed like a burlap sack. She fought down the feeling; she had her own style she was comfortable with. Besides, she couldn’t afford to spend that much money on clothes and didn’t want to, though many Japanese women her age did. She put on a smile and bowed. “Good evening, Taneoka-san! I’m very glad to see you again.”

Eimi bowed. “It’s good to see you again as well, Saotome-san. I’m sorry to intrude.”

“Not at all. Won’t you come in?” Ranko gestured, and Eimi came in. Ranko closed the door behind her.

Susan and Hannah had popped out as well and were watching curiously. Ranko switched to English to be polite. “Taneoka-san, these are my roommates, Tish Williams—I told you about her on the phone—Megan Johnson, Susan Burnes, and Hannah Bennett.” She gestured at each young woman in turn with her open palm. “Everyone, this is Eimi Taneoka. She is a friend I met on the airplane to New York.”

Eimi smiled and waved. “Hi everyone! It’s nice to meet you.” Ranko’s roommates responded with a chorus of greetings.

Tish stood and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Taneoka-san. My name is Tish Williams.”

Eimi returned Tish’s bow without missing a beat. “The pleasure is mine, Tish-san.”

Ranko added, “Taneoka-san, Tish, and I will be going out to dinner together.”

“Ahh,” said Megan, nodding archly. “The Japanese contingent.” Tish blinked, a look of surprise flashing briefly across her face.

Eimi grinned. “The Japanese contingent?”

Megan grinned as well. “Yeah. The two of ’em are always yakkin’ away in Japanese. Lord knows what about; Ah can’t understand a word.”

Tish folded her arms and stamped her foot. “We do not yak in Japanese!”

Ranko giggled. “I have no idea what she’s talking about, either.”

Eimi laughed. “I see… I think.”

Megan shrugged elaborately. “See? Now we got three of ’em.” Suddenly her eyes widened and a goofy grin spread over her features. “I guess the total sum is now three little maids!” Susan burst out laughing, and the two of them started to sing:

“Three little maids from school are we, Pert as a schoolgirl well can be, Filled to the brim with girlish glee-ee, Three little maids from school!” Eimi was looking mystified, but Tish, Ranko, and Hannah were all laughing.

“One little maid is a bride, Yum-Yum,” and here Susan pointed at Ranko, who blushed very prettily indeed. “Two little maids in attendance come,” Megan and Susan gestured at Tish and Eimi, “Three little maids is the total sum, Three little maids from school!” Susan and Megan finished up, and bowed with a flourish as everyone else applauded.

“Very nice—but I don’t understand,” added Eimi.

Ranko, as a musician, was familiar with the works of Sir Arthur Sullivan. She explained as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “It is from nineteenth century operetta, The Mikado, by William Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan.” She’d found The Mikado mightily confusing, and not a little offensive, until Professor Murata had explained that, appearances notwithstanding, it was really about nineteenth-century England and not Japan.

Eimi nodded slowly; she’d heard the names, but never any of the music. “I see what you mean. Three little maids from school?” She laughed. “But I haven’t gone to school in a few years!”

Tish added, “And I’m not very little, am I?”

Ranko thought, And I wasn’t always a maid, but smiled sweetly and said nothing.

“No way!” said Tish. “You’ve got to be kidding!” She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward.

Eimi shook her head. “Way.” She leaned back, her hands in her lap.

“You can’t get a Louis Vuitton handbag at that price!” Ranko nodded her agreement with Tish. She wasn’t much of a name brand connoisseur, but even she knew that much.

Eimi grinned. “You can on the lower East side. I’ll have to take you guys down there some time. You can get all sorts of stuff as much as half off if you keep an eye open, sometimes more. I head there every two or three weeks to look around. It’s a Japanese woman’s dream.” She snickered. “I would never buy this stuff in Tokyo. The prices are outrageous.”

Tish nodded thoughtfully. “I never went down there when my family lived here. I was still in high school, and we lived on the upper West side. I was too busy taking care of my little brother then to go shopping a lot. Without my mom around, I was the woman of the house.”

Eimi looked sympathetic. “Did your mother pass away? I’m sorry.”

Tish shook her head. “No, she just… left.” Her face was grim.

Eimi’s hand shot to her mouth as she blushed deeply. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

Tish smiled. “It’s OK, Taneoka-san. I appreciate the thought.” Eimi was still blushing.

“Excuse me?” They turned to find their waitress eyeing them doubtfully. She spoke loudly and very slowly: “Are you ready to order now?” She looked hopefully at Tish. “You speak English, right?”

Tish’s face took on a panicky expression, and she waved her hands frantically. “No Engrish! No Engrish!”

Ranko and Eimi both clapped their hands over their mouths. Eimi managed to get control of herself, as Ranko continued to wheeze into her palm. “I’m afraid our friend here is Japanese. She doesn’t speak any English. We’ll interpret for her.”

The waitress nodded slowly, staring at the young black woman in question, and noting the evident lack of comprehension in her eyes. “I… see.” She shook herself. “Are you ready to order, Miss?”

Eimi nodded. “Yes, I’ll have the eggplant parmesan.”

The waitress nodded and wrote on her pad. She turned to Ranko. “And you, Miss?”

Ranko glanced at the menu again. “I would like the Cioppino, and also the spaghetti Bolognese.”

The waitress blinked. “I’m sorry… did you say the Cioppino, and the Bolognese?”

Ranko nodded happily. “That’s correct.” Eimi gave silent thanks that they were going Dutch tonight.

“That’s two big portions, Miss. Are you sure you want that much?”

Ranko frowned. “Yes, I am pretty sure. If I’m still hungry when I finish, I will just order again.”

The waitress stood perfectly still for a beat, then dutifully recorded Ranko’s order. She turned hesitantly to Tish.

Eimi asked, “What would you like to order, Tish-san?”

Tish tilted her head. “I think I’ll have the baked manicotti.”

Eimi turned to the waitress. “She’ll have the baked manicotti.” The waitress wrote the order down, excused herself, and left, shaking her head.

Eimi turned to Ranko. “You seem kind of… hungry tonight.”

Ranko blushed. “I work out for an hour every day. When I was doing it all day I ate more than this.”

Eimi shook her head. “I use up a lot of energy dancing, but if I ate like that I’d be a blimp.”

Ranko smiled. “That’s right, you said you liked to dance. What kind?”

“Mostly tap. A little ballet, too, but mostly tap.” She smiled. “It’s a great way to work off stress.”

Tish leaned forward. “Where do you go to dance?”

Eimi looked up and to the side. “If I’m in New York, there’s a little studio not far from the apartment I use. If I’m in Tokyo there’s a place in Chiba, in the city, near where I live.”

Tish brightened. “That’s right near Narita, isn’t it?”

Eimi nodded. “It’s a twenty minute train ride. It’s very convenient for me, and it’s not too far from Tokyo, either.” She paused for a moment. “I hope you won’t think me rude, but your Japanese is so flawless I just have to know why.”

Tish shook her head and waved her hand. “I’m getting rusty, actually.” She leaned back in her seat and thought for a moment. “I grew up in Japan. We lived there from when I was four until I was twelve. I went to Japanese schools, from kindergarten through my first year of junior high. My friends were all Japanese.”

“Wow,” breathed Eimi. “No wonder you speak Japanese like a native. It must have been an amazing experience!”

Tish’s eyes were looking at something else. “Yeah. I guess it was.” Her eyes focused on Eimi and seemed to say, Not yet. I don’t know you well enough.

Eimi nodded slowly. “Well, you’ll have to tell me about it some time.” She was gratified to see Tish relax ever so slightly.

She turned to Ranko. “I’d love to hear about your martial arts. How long have you been practicing them?”

The exchange between Eimi and Tish hadn’t been totally lost on Ranko. “Umm… since I was four years old. My father took me on a training trip, all over Japan and China. I basically did nothing but train constantly. I became a top martial artist, but the rest of my life sort of went on the back burner.”

“So what happened? Why did you become a violinist?”

Eimi noticed as Ranko’s eyes broke contact and started to wander; her body seemed tense slightly. “I… I, umm, finally met my mother again when I was sixteen. That forced me to, umm, examine my life, and… and I decided I didn’t like the way it was going. My mother helped me figure out what I, umm, wanted to do.” Now Ranko smiled a little, and seemed to relax. “I had started going to school more regularly, and I took a music class my junior year in high school, and I happened to try the violin. I fell in love with it pretty quickly.” Eimi watched the smile broaden into a grin, and the tension vanish.

“But you still practice martial arts, right?”

Ranko nodded earnestly. “Oh, absolutely. I could never give it up completely.” She sighed. “I wish I hadn’t gone on that training trip, but I’m glad I learned the Art. It’s still a big part of my life.” She smiled.

Just then the salads arrived, and the conversation was put on hold. As the waitress bustled about serving them, Eimi thought back over the past twenty minutes or so. She considered her own life to be pretty ordinary, though many of her friends envied her her career. She had the feeling, though, that these two had had anything but ordinary lives.

Her eyes moved back and forth between the two roommates as they all put their napkins in their laps. Secrets. They both have secrets they’re too afraid to share. Maybe some day, we’ll be good enough friends they won’t be afraid any more.

The three of them rejoined the throngs on Broadway, heading south towards the nearest subway stop so they could catch a train to one of the ice cream parlors further downtown. Ranko had decided that two entrees were enough, as she wanted to save room for dessert.

It was a Friday night, the weather was not too nippy, and it seemed like there were young people everywhere, out having a good time. They weaved their way through the crowd as they strolled along the sidewalk, continuing the dinner conversation.

Tish asked, “So do you visit London a lot?”

Eimi smiled. “Well, when I was on that route I did. But I’ve been on the New York route for a year now. I haven’t been to London recently.”

Ranko interjected, “But you get to travel free, right?”

Eimi nodded. “I do, but I’ve been using my time off to go other places. I went to Thailand last spring.” Her face lit up. “It was beautiful. So lush, and all the temples and other sights. I had a great time.”

Ranko was getting interested; despite her travels, she and her father had pretty much stuck to Japan and China. She hadn’t even been to Korea. “Where have you been? It sounds exciting.”

Eimi tilted her head. “Let me see… London and Bangkok, and Beijing, New Delhi, Frankfurt, Paris, Madrid, Rome, Athens…” She frowned slightly. “Those are the ones that stick in my mind, anyway.”

Tish was rapt as well. “Rome? What was it like?”

Eimi laughed. “Noisy, smelly, crazy… wonderful. Full of history and life.” She grinned conspiratorially. “I took a taxi there, and I thought my life was going to—”

Just then a young man pushed past them, and Eimi stumbled, as if she’d lost her balance; Ranko moved to catch her and keep her from falling. She looked confused, then clutched wildly at her shoulder. “My bag!” she shrieked. “It’s gone! My passport and wallet…”

Ranko’s head whipped around, and she just spotted the man who had brushed past them; he was running now, and there was a flash of brown at his side that she was certain was Eimi’s handbag. Her expression hardened. “I’ll get it back,” she said in a grim, steely tone that neither of the other women had ever heard from her before. She handed her own bag to Tish. “Take this, and call the police.”

“What are you going to…” began Tish, then trailed off. Both their jaws fell open.

Ranko had leapt… a good twenty feet up into the air. She sailed over the heads of the astonished pedestrians, and landed on the roof of a parked automobile. She craned her neck and looked ahead, then took off, ricocheting like a human pinball between the roofs of the parked cars and the walls of the buildings. At times she seemed to be running along the sheer vertical walls. She disappeared rapidly, leaving a trail of goggling onlookers in her wake. New Yorkers were a jaded lot, but to a person they gaped like small children at the circus.

“That’s… not… possible…” whispered Tish. She shook herself and went for her cell phone as Eimi stared after the direction their friend had gone. The quiet, shy violinist who had suddenly turned into some kind of comic book superheroine.

Ranko landed on a fire escape and scouted. And I almost wore a skirt and heels tonight… “There he is,” she glowered, and took off again. She took one bounce off the pole of a streetlamp, narrowly missing the “I♥NY” banner, and somersaulted to land directly in the man’s path. He was wearing a grimy jacket, combat pants, and sure enough, he had Eimi’s bag under his arm. “You stole my friend’s bag,” she said coldly. “Give it to me.”

The pedestrians around them backed away into a circle, murmuring among themselves. The young thief looked over the tiny Asian girl who had come out of nowhere. “Outta my way, little girl. I don’t have time for games.”

“Give me the bag. It does not belong to you.”

The man scowled and turned to run. He blinked; she was still standing in front of him. Hadn’t she been on his other side a second ago? The crowd was murmuring again.

“OK,” he said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He pulled out a switchblade and popped it open; someone in the crowd shrieked, and the circle around them grew wider.

“Get lost and you won’t get hurt, little girl.”

Ranko smiled a nasty smile. “How do you think you will hurt me?”

“I got a knife, ya stupid broad!”

Ranko tilted her head. “Are you sure?” She held up his weapon, retracting the blade. Someone in the crowd snickered.

The punk gaped and looked to his hand; it was empty. How the hell had she done that?! He tossed the bag at her and tried to take off.

She was in front of him again. “I think we are going to wait here for the police.”

He tried to run again, and found himself on the ground. A moment later his hands were bound behind his back with his own belt. The crowd burst into applause, whistles, and cheers. Ranko blushed in embarrassment.

She slung Eimi’s bag over her shoulder, and stood there, waiting, while the thief just sat there, staring at her in disbelief. The crowd started to disperse, though a few people hung around for the denouement.

After a few minutes Tish, Eimi, and a policeman pushed through the crowd; the patrolman had his gun drawn. Tish and Eimi gasped at the sight of Ranko standing there calmly with Eimi’s bag, the young man who had stolen it sitting sullenly with his arms bound behind his back.

The policeman warily ran his eyes over the scene. “Drop the knife, Miss.” It was closed, but that could change in a moment.

Ranko blinked, but nodded, and slowly kneeled to place the knife on the sidewalk.

One of the hangers-on, a middle-aged man, piped up, “Officer, that punk pulled the knife on her. She disarmed him.” A couple of other people chimed in their agreement. Ranko was suddenly glad for the witnesses; she hadn’t thought this far ahead.

The policeman nodded. It seemed obvious what had happened… but he’d been trained not to jump to conclusions. He lowered his weapon. “All right. As soon as my backup gets here, we’ll take statements. The witnesses will have to stick around.” There were a couple of irritated moans.

“Are you all right?” blurted Tish.

Ranko nodded, and examined her feet. “I think I broke my nice penny loafers, though.” She sighed; she hadn’t thought to take them off and hand them to Tish with her bag.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” said Eimi promptly.

The patrolman noticed the anxious expression on the young redhead’s face. “Don’t worry, Miss. From the look of things, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. But I’m going to have to take you all in to the station.”

At 3:25 AM, the plazas in Lincoln Center were vacant of life. The traffic on Broadway had dwindled to a trickle; the streets stood deserted for minutes at a time, until a lone car or bus sped by. The traffic lights marched through their cycles, an unending rhythm without an audience.

A bright moon shone down on the sidewalks and plazas, trying to soften the harsh yellow of the sodium vapor lamps, with scant success. The bitter chill of the night air cut like a knife, seeming to freeze the very sound out of the air, displacing it with an immense silence that was a palpable presence. Those few pedestrians who braved the chill hurried on their way, unwilling to linger in the emptiness.

An NYPD patrol car made a U-turn in the intersection, and quietly pulled over at the corner of Broadway and 65th street, the squawk of its radio breaking the spell. A policeman got out and came around to open the rear door next to the curb. “Sorry,” he grinned, “this taxicab is a little harder to get out of than most.”

Three bleary-eyed young women piled out. One of them, a redhead, said “Thank you for the ride, Officer.”

He smiled. “No problem. We didn’t wanna send you ladies home on foot in the middle of the night.” He eyed Ranko, and gave a short laugh. “Maybe that’s kinda silly, considering Ms. Saotome here, but…”

Tish and Eimi both looked to their friend, and Ranko suddenly developed an intense interest in her feet. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “No, thank you. This has been the most entertaining night at the station in a while.” Ranko blushed. “Take care now.” The three girls waved, and he waved back as he got in the cruiser and drove off. They stood for a moment, contemplating the desolation, then turned and crossed the plaza towards the Rose building.

Eimi yawned. “Thanks for letting me crash tonight.”

Tish tsked. “Don’t be silly. It’s a long way out to Brooklyn, and you’ve already been mugged once tonight.” They all laughed.

Eimi smiled at Ranko. “And thank you for getting my bag back. I still can’t believe this whole evening. I didn’t think a human being could actually do things like that.”

Ranko blushed yet again. She had been doing a lot of that this very long evening. Despite the corroborating eyewitness accounts, the folks at the police station had flatly refused to believe her story, until she’d given a demonstration of her skills. After that, the skepticism had turned to intense curiosity.

There had been plenty of time for demonstrations while waiting for the bureaucracy to be taken care of. The police, as well as Eimi and Tish, had looked on in disbelief as Ranko had run through her repertoire of skills. When she had drawn forth her ki staff for a quick demonstration, the room had fallen into total silence. When she’d demonstrated the ki mallet it was based on, eighteen jaws had fallen open in unison.

By the time the police were done with them she had received an offer to help instruct the patrol officers in martial arts. Due to her visa restrictions, she’d had to turn it down, to everyone’s disappointment. The captain had informed her that since she was capable of deadly force in unarmed combat, she had to be registered; Ranko hadn’t known about that provision of the law. They took her fingerprints and made her fill out some forms. They had asked all three of them for contact information and their travel schedules for when the young man Ranko had captured was brought to trial. They assured Ranko that she would be able to return home on schedule next June.

Finally… finally, they were allowed to go home.

They reached the Rose building, and Ranko held her purse against the access plate; the door unlatched, and they went inside. Tom Jefferson’s shift was over; another security guard, a woman, was sitting at the desk in the lobby. She smiled. “Well, you ladies were out late carousing tonight.”

Tish snorted. “Our friend had her purse stolen. We got it back, but we had to spend the evening ‘carousing’ at the police station.”

The woman had the good grace to blush. “Sorry. That must have been awful. How did you get it back?”

Ranko blushed yet again as both her companions turned their eyes on her. Tish said, “Apparently my meek, mild-mannered roommate here is the world’s best martial artist. She caught the guy.”

Ranko exclaimed “Tish! I am not the world’s best martial artist.” She paused. “My father, my fiancé, and my sister are all better than me.” There was a moment of silence as everyone digested that.

Ranko yawned loudly. “I want to go to sleep.” The guard nodded, and they headed for the elevators.

A couple of minutes later, they quietly entered their suite. Ranko turned to Eimi. “Eimi-san, you can sleep in my bed, and I’ll sleep out here on the sofa.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Eimi. “I’ll sleep out here. I won’t have you sleeping on a sofa after what you did for me tonight.”

Ranko nodded uncertainly, and they immediately set about getting ready for bed. Tish loaned Eimi a pair of her pajamas, as Ranko’s would have been much too small. Eimi ducked back into the girls’ room after changing in the bathroom, and found Ranko seated at her desk, her chin resting on her folded arms. She was staring at her photo collage. “Is this your family?”

Ranko nodded. “I’m missing them more than usual tonight.”

“Who’s who?”

Ranko proceeded to point out the members of her family to Eimi. Tish came in from brushing her teeth in the middle of this and watched. “So your family are the best martial artists in the world?”

Ranko shook her head. “I don’t know about that. Cologne is probably better than any of us.”

“‘Cologne’?”

“She’s a one hundred fifty year old Chinese Amazon matriarch.”

“One… hundred… fifty?…”

“Uh-huh. Just a minute…” Ranko dug in her purse, and pulled out her photo wallet. She leafed through the pictures. “Here she is.”

Eimi and Tish stared at the incredibly wizened, tiny old woman in the picture. She was without doubt the oldest living person either of them had ever seen. “And this little old lady is a better martial artist than you?”

Ranko nodded. “Yes, she’s incredibly skilled. She taught me many of my techniques, most of all my speed training. That’s what I used to disarm that mugger.”

Tish and Eimi stared at the tiny figure in the photo. “Who’s the girl, with her hair dyed purple?”

“Oh, that’s Shampoo, her great-granddaughter. It’s not dyed, that’s her natural color. She’s a pretty good martial artist, too.”

Tish and Eimi considered this, as Ranko gave a huge yawn. “Guys, it’s almost 4. I need to get to bed. I’m going to have to skip practice tomorrow as it is.” She sighed. “If this keeps up my skills are going to slide even more.” She got up and climbed into her loft bed.

Tish and Eimi looked at each other and blinked. Slide… even… more?

Eimi shook herself. “Yeah. See you guys in the morning.” She headed off into the living room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Tish turned to get into bed, then turned back; Ranko had left her desk light on. She reached for the light, then stopped.

The photo wallet, still on the desk, had fallen open to another picture, taken at the beach. Ranko was in it, wearing a green and white one piece which set off her red hair very nicely.

The thing that had caught her eye, though, was the panda sitting with her. Just like that, a giant panda, sitting on the beach.

In a beach chair, actually.

Wearing a straw hat and sipping a lemonade. And reading a newspaper.

And wearing swim trunks.

Tish looked up to Ranko’s bed, but her roommate was already making soft, regular breathing sounds. She looked back to the photo wallet, and turned the page. There was another beach photo, this time of Ranko with two other girls. One was the girl Ranko had referred to as her sister… Akane, that was it. The third girl had short black hair, and was wearing a black and yellow one piece suit; she had a matching black and yellow bandanna tied around her head. She was very pretty. The three of them were sitting together and laughing about something.

Tish’s eyes moved up from the beach photo to the collage of Ranko’s family. She scanned the faces, looking for a match for the other girl. Nothing. She was about to give up when her heart nearly stopped.

There was Ranko’s fiancé, Ryouga, his arm around her. And he was wearing the same pattern bandanna in the same way.

Slowly, unwillingly, her eyes drifted back down to the beach picture, and the black-haired girl’s face. Then back up to Ryouga’s face. A shiver ran up her spine. Quickly, almost violently, she closed the photo wallet, then turned the light off and climbed into bed, her heart pounding.

She didn’t fall asleep for a while.

End Chapter 3

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Copyright Notice

No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of this work.
This work is for non-commercial use ONLY, and is produced for the enjoyment of fans only.
This work is the expression of the author and the depiction of the Ranma ½ characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of Ranma ½ as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

Mac and the Mac logo are trademarks of Apple Computer, Inc., registered in the U.S. and other countries. The Made on a Mac Badge is a trademark of Apple Computer, Inc., used with permission.