“You should go to class, Christine. I feel guilty when you're late,” I said, praying for time to recover my emotional state. Even though I didn’t have a class with Christine, I was haunted by thoughts of her, leaving me drained.

  “Antwon,” she said with concern in her voice. “We're in this class together.” Oh, crap, I thought, if I keep slipping up like this, she's going to start probing me.

  ”Are you alright?”

  “It's nothing,” I said in a tired voice, moving towards the door.

  I opened Miss. Nakamura's classroom door, still recovering from the genie's sabotage, was only to be greeted by Miss. Nakamura. She, too, looked concerned. Maybe there was something in the air that caused all women to suspect me.

  “Are we late?” I asked, certain the bell didn't ring.

  “Oddly, no, Mr. Carter. But I would like to speak with you in the hallway,” she said as the bell rang. I looked back at Christine, thinking she should go in. “She's fine.”

  She paused, alerting me to the potential severity of the conversation. “How are you and Ryo getting along?” I hesitated because I didn’t know what that was or how to respond to her question. The wrong answer could expose me as an impostor; being exposed would be manageable if Christine weren't here, but given the situation, it’s best to play it safe.

  I looked back at her, still holding her hand, hoping she could rescue me, but she seemed more concerned than interested.

  “I thought so,” Miss. Nakamura said.

  “I received an email, alerting me to your guys’ union.” What does she mean by union?

  “Now, I typically don’t involve myself with student unions. But you and Mr. Aizawa didn’t get along before, and I’m aware of his crush on Ms. Tsukikage,” she said, nodding toward Christine. The way Miss. Nakamura said her last name made it feel heavier than it actually was.

  She crossed her arms as if to stare Christine down. I looked back to absorb her response. She wore a grimace that wanted to be a scowl, and the same deeply rooted hurt from earlier returned, but I wasn’t the catalyst. So, he hurt her, but what’s his business with me? She looked up, just for a second, and her shaky eyes met mine. I squeezed her hand, but received no response.

  I turned back to Miss. Nakamura without insight. So, I asked the obvious question. “ What do you mean by union?” Christine replied with a firm squeeze. I wasn’t sure if it was to encourage or stop me from asking.

  “Well, Mr. Carter, Christine’s family—

  “I’ll tell him, Miss. Nakamura. I just need some time, but I’ll do it.” Christine’s voice sounded shaky, but which was she going to tell me about: Ryo or herself?

  “Okay, but you need to tell him before the period’s end.” I looked between both of them, unsure how to respond. Miss. Nakamura turned, opened the door, and gestured for us to come in.

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  “Miss. Nakamura, can Mr. Carter and I sit together?” Mr. Carter? She’s never called me by my last name until now, I thought. “So we can talk about it.”

  “Is that okay with you, Mr. Carter?” Finally, I get to decide something for myself. Sitting with Christine means I can learn more about myself, but it may drain me. Damnit. I have to sit next to her; I need the information. Thoughts of touching lips flashed in my head, worrying me.

  “Sure, I don’t mind sitting with…Ms. Tsu-ki-kage, right… sis.” After I said it, regret filled me because the look on her face wasn’t the same, as if the word “sis” struck the wrong chord. Christine—Ms. Tsk-ki-kage pain had surrendered to fear; her eyes focused on Miss. Nakamura, whom I turned to.

  “Mr. Carter, you couldn’t fathom the gravitas of that word, and to use it with such haphazard care—I’m reporting this…incident to your sister.” The words left her mouth like bullets laced with threats. Why tell her and not my parents? I wanted to fall to my knees and beg for anything but that. “If this isn’t resolved by the end of class, I’m notifying her.”

  I let go of Christine’s hand, and she let go of mine.

  Fear has a way of revealing itself. The pain in my chest swelled up as questions filled me with uncertainty. Was any of what we felt for each other real or just a product of childish delusions? Can this forty-year-old soul fall into fantasy? Why did I stop seeking control?

  Miss. Nakamura, after claiming victory or sowing the seeds of doubt, opened the door to purgatory for what was to be the most uncomfortable class yet.

  ***

  We entered the classroom. It felt empty, save for the three of us, but I knew there were more students because I felt their ghostly gaze. The only kind of gaze that could see phantoms.

  Christine—no, Ms. Tsukikage–guided my empty hands to our seats. A slight squeeze, requesting a sign of life, but lame replies were all she received.

  I sat lifeless, drained, and broken, while Miss. Nakamura stood triumphant in front of the class.

  Why was I here? I was here because I didn’t know enough about this world. I’m not here to attach to anyone. The rhythmic dissonance in my chest drummed a disagreeing tune; I reviled myself as the rivers of agony swelled within me. She’s next to me, but looking at her would flood the river banks.

  Genie. No. I can’t trust it not to worsen the situation; I can’t afford it here.

  She must have been lecturing, but my mind rejected her words; I couldn’t hear or understand anything. I closed my eyes, and terrible thoughts that couldn’t be genuine seized me: I bet the fire’s still warm. I’m so gullible. The weight of my eyes grew heavy, causing me to look down. Christine’s hand had inched toward mine, like she wanted my attention.

  I thought of moments ago when I needed her in the hall. I squeezed—prayed for help—but wasn’t acknowledged. I moved my hands from hers, feeling my decision lodge itself in my throat, rupturing the river’s banks as violent storms ravaged the shores, to the thunderous dissonance in my chest.

  Alas, she noticed my decision because her hand expressed the same tender infirmity as I. I watched as her flat, open hand lay on my desk, somewhat content that it was close.

  Was she watching me? Could she see the unheard storm, roaring inside of me? No! Her hand started to retreat, leaving me for a second time. My woe went unseen and unheard, but it would be felt—its evidence landing on her retreating hand, causing it to freeze.

  A soft gasp from Christine’s direction was almost enough to end the storm, but not quite; I seized her thumb—she relaxed her hand. I will let go when I’m ready, and not a moment sooner.