The Gatekeeper's Son (4 page)

His mouth dropped open. “You gotta be kidding. She’s a total babe!”

I beamed. “She said she wanted to be the first woman to kiss me now that I’m a man.”

Mack looked dumbfounded. “Are you sure you didn’t dream this?”

“Positive.”

“Well, that sure beats my present.” He paused to catch his breath. “What else you been up to, lover boy?”

“Helping my dad after school.” I ran my hand along the iron bars of someone’s fence, my lungs not feeling the hill yet. “He’s almost finished that heritage renovation up in The Heights. I’m tired, but the money’s nice.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He watched a white Mercedes climb the hill past us. “That’s how you bought your new laptop, right?”

“Well, some of it was birthday money, but yeah.” My dad paid me well, way more than I’d make flipping burgers. I’d been working with him since I was a kid, even helped him when we built our new house a few years ago.

We passed the old red fire box on the corner, turned onto Sacramento Street, and walked past three-story apartments with shops on the bottom floor.

“So what happened with you and Tyler on Thursday?” Mack said. “He nailed you pretty good.”

“Just the usual crap,” I said as we passed a bus shelter with
The Thompson Media Group
spelled out below a perfume advertisement.

Mack sighed. “Use your stuff, man.” He threw a few punches in the air. “Like you did in elementary school. No one messed with you then. Everybody thinks you’re a wimp. It’s embarrassing.”

I shook my head. “My mom would kill me if I got into a fight again.”

“Just don’t break any bones this time,” he said. “And who’s going to tell your mom anyway?”

“She’d find out.” When it came to me getting in trouble, I’d swear Okaasan was psychic—and she had a great imagination when it came to punishments. “Anyway, I don’t need to kick his ass. I changed his Facebook page last night—he looks great in a bikini top.”

Mack burst out laughing. “How’d you do that?”

“I found a picture on his hard drive of him posing by some lake in his sister’s bathing suit.”

“Oh man, I’ve gotta check that out.” He was laughing so hard he had to stop walking. “Is it still up?”

“Yup, and
he
messaged all his contacts about it.” I was feeling better now. “And he can’t take it down—I changed his password.”

“Man, remind me not to piss you off.”

“You’re doing it right now.” I laughed. “Anyway, I’ll change it back in a few days. That’s more fun than hitting him, right?”

“Yeah, except no one knows
you
did it, so it doesn’t count.”

It was cool and dim inside the library when we burst through the doors, both of us laughing. The librarian hissed at us to be quiet as we dropped our stuff onto an empty table.

I hadn’t even looked at our assignment, and when I did, I rolled my eyes.
Describe how settlement affected the American Revolution.
Mack was already scribbling in his notebook, but I didn’t know where to start, especially without my laptop.

I glanced around, searching for inspiration.

A girl was sitting a few tables away with a thick book open in front of her. Two long braids fell over her shoulders. She was Asian, about our age, and wore a school uniform—a short gray plaid skirt and a blue blazer with a crest on the front that I couldn’t make out. She had an odd-looking black leather backpack and tennis-racket case at her feet.

Our eyes met. She smiled.

The girl from the bench!

Mack noticed my reaction. “What?”

“See that girl?” I whispered as I tilted my head toward her. “I think I saw her earlier today, and she just smiled at me.”

Mack turned to look while I hid behind my book.

“Don’t be so obvious,” I hissed, but the girl was busy reading and didn’t even look up.

“I don’t think she’s from around here—I don’t recognize the uniform.” Then he gave me a skeptical look. “And cute girls don’t smile at geeky guys like you.” He went back to his work.

Mack left just after three-thirty. He’d finished his homework, but somehow, between doodling and stealing glances at that girl, I wasn’t even close to being done. Not that it mattered. I had nothing planned for the rest of the day.

I must have drifted into a daydream, but a beeping noise snapped me out of it. I looked up and saw the girl standing by the door, the red security light flashing above her head. The librarian waved her away from the doors. Their voices rose, which didn’t help, since the girl was speaking Japanese.

I glanced down at the table, then back up toward the girl. I sighed. Go on, Junya, be a hero for once in your mediocre life.

I walked over. “Excuse me,” I said to the girl in Japanese. “You didn’t check out those books.”

She turned. Her eyes were cold—she looked at me as if I were blocking her view.

“What does that mean? Check out?”

I noticed she had very long eyelashes and the cutest little freckle below her right eye. It took a moment to gather my words.

“You can’t
take
the books.” I glanced at the librarian. She shook her head in frustration and went back to work.

The girl stared at me. I began to feel awkward as the silence stretched out. I noticed that the books in her arms were visitor guides to San Francisco.

“Are you on a school trip or something?”

She frowned for a moment. “I am visiting here.” Then she tilted her head and looked at me from under those long lashes. “My name is Shoko … Murakami.”

“I’m Junya.”

I ended up getting her a temporary library card, with me as the guarantor. I don’t know what I was thinking. She could have run back to Japan with those books in her backpack and I’d be stuck with the bill.

Afterward, we stood outside on the library steps. Late-afternoon sun slanted through the tree branches above. I had my hands stuffed in my pockets, feeling like an idiot. A shiver ran up my spine. I was nervous, and that always made me feel cold.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” I said. “You seem familiar.”

She shrugged. “Thank you for helping me. I get myself into trouble sometimes. My mother says I am not too bright.”

What was I supposed to say to that?

“I am glad I met you,” she said.

I knew she was waiting for me to say something, but I froze. The more I tried to think of something, the hotter my face got.

She looked away. “I guess I should go.”

“Oh … OK. Maybe I’ll see you around.” I tried to drink in every part of her—I seriously doubted I’d be seeing her again—and, of course, I stumbled on the steps. At least I managed to catch the handrail before I face-planted.

I walked away fast, cursing myself. What an idiot! Nothing was waiting at home except Okaasan and my old computer. If I had any balls at all, I would have turned around right then and gone back to her instead of walking home alone.

I decided I wouldn’t mention this to Mack. He’d smack me in the head.

CHAPTER

4

That night I had the weirdest dream. I’m halfway up a wooden staircase as wide as a country lane and taller than the trees around me. High above, supported by huge columns, sits a simple wood building topped with a massive X-shaped roof, like scissors pointed at the sky. It’s a Japanese Shinto shrine, a place to worship the ancient gods. In the dream, it’s both old and familiar, like something I’ve seen before.

I rest my hand on the thick railing and turn to look over the land. Beyond the forest lies the ocean, gray and foreboding. To the south and east, the distant hills are green with trees. A wide and fertile valley lies between, thick with crops and fruit trees. Tiny thatched huts dot the landscape, most of them clustered in what looks like a village. One house sits on the edge of a meadow, away from the others. I’m sure there’s a girl standing in the doorway, looking at me.

I wave. She doesn’t wave back.

People begin gathering outside their houses, pointing up at me. I hear a shout. At the bottom of the stairs, several old men in long black robes and tall pointed hats have gathered. Behind the men stand two women. On their waists they carry a katana, a long curved sword. I look closer. They’re young, fierce, and beautiful.

One of the men waves his hand, motioning for me to keep going. I resume my ascent toward the shrine. My heart pounds and I take a deep breath. As I reach the top, the shrine door bursts open and a man walks out into the sunlight, standing straight and tall. He doesn’t smile. In his wrinkled face, etched deeply, I see only sorrow. There’s goodness in him, too, but it’s faint, like a distant memory. It’s Grandpa.

“James. It is time for you to follow your destiny.”

I feel a tingle of dread in my neck that turns into a shiver. Before my eyes, Grandpa’s shoulders sag and his face grows haggard. His eyes lose their shine. Then he fades away.

In his place stands a much older man. His body begins to shudder and it takes me a minute to realize he’s laughing, his breath wheezing through drooping lips.

A snake-like tongue flicks out of his mouth. I stumble back against the railing, the tingle in my neck growing stronger. Suddenly the old man’s head leaps off his shoulders and tumbles down the staircase, bouncing higher and higher with each step. There’s a blur of movement as it hits the ground below—one of the women stabs her katana into the earth, piercing the head through the eye.

A hand touches my shoulder.

I spin around and bump into Ms. Lin. We’re in Grandpa’s foyer. She grabs me, crushing her lips into mine, her tongue exploring my mouth. When she finally breaks away, she puts her lips to my ear. “God, I’ve waited so long for this!” she whispers as her hand slips inside my shirt.

“I don’t think so, old lady!” It’s that Shoko girl from the library.

I turn and run.

When I opened my eyes, the clock on my nightstand read 6:42. I heard a rhythmic banging coming from the kitchen—Okaasan preparing breakfast—but it was Sunday. Didn’t that woman ever sleep in?

I pulled the pillow over my head and tried to shut out the noise while I replayed the dream in my head. I usually don’t remember my dreams. The beginning made no sense, but the last part with Ms. Lin was worth remembering. Of course, seeing that Shoko girl just reminded me I’d let the perfect opportunity slide.