The Thief (8 page)

“
Alright, I think that’s
everyone, let’s get started,” Ms. Miller said, shutting the door.
“Ladies, face the front of the room please.” Hayley and Amity
turned their chairs around reluctantly. “Boys, put down your
pencils, I can see you writing notes.” Mac and Destin sat up
straighter. “Jacques, give me your phone. You can have it back
after class is over.” She held out her hand. A boy across the room
with bleached hair trudged up to her desk, handed her a sleek phone
with a sour look on his face, and returned to his chair muttering
in what I assumed was French.

“
That’s better. Today we’re
going to be testing the pH of various substances,” Ms. Miller said.
“I’ve already dosed out the solid ingredients you’ll be using, and
I’ll bring around the liquids in a minute. Do not play with the
materials - I’m looking at you, Brandon.” A boy at one of the front
tables sat back in his chair, trying to look innocent. “You’re all
going to want to pay attention, because this will be on the test
next week, in some form or other. First, let’s go over some basic
stuff. Who remembers what pH actually means?”

She held a sort of an interactive
mini-lecture, covering what I assumed everyone else had already
read. Having no textbook to speak of, I was about to follow
Camille’s example and start doodling on my workpapers. Though I’m
not sure the flowers I would draw would have teeth. I was trying
not to stare, but she drew some weird things, and she was actually
really good.

But then Ms. Miller announced that it was
time to start the experiment, and I went to collect our little test
tubes of liquid in their rack. I had learned about this stuff last
year, but we’d never gotten to do this experiment.

I was getting kind of wrapped up in it - the
careful measuring, sifting the powders into the liquid, soaking the
strips, waiting for them to change color, marking them off a chart.
It was soothing. Measurable. Predictable. I smiled down at my
worksheet, feeling accomplished. One last sample to test. I picked
up the final strip of pH paper and bent over the tubes, holding up
the plate we were drying the paper on.

“
You’re pretty good at
that,” said a calm voice at my shoulder.

It was Him.

My nerves exploded. I dropped the plate and
it shattered on the floor. My hand swung out reflexively as I
stepped away from the breaking glass. I knocked over the beaker and
the contents poured all over the table.

“
Nan da -
?
” Camille exclaimed, standing up as the
liquid soaked through her worksheet.

My face flamed. Ms. Miller stood, grabbing a
broom and a dustpan from the corner.

“
I’m so sorry!” I babbled.
“I was just startled, I didn’t, I-I...”

“
Accidents happen,” Ms.
Miller said to me, with an understanding smile. “I’ve learned to
expect them. Kei, go back to your table and focus on your own work,
please?”

He merely looked mildly amused. “I got
bored,” he said, and returned to his seat.

From the corner of my eye I caught a glare
from Hayley in my direction. Looked like I had officially lost her
sympathies. When class was over, she promptly snatched Kei’s arm
and the four of them left together.

So that’s how things were.

Camille was still gathering up her stuff. If
we were going to be sitting together for the rest of the year, I
should probably try to smooth things over.

“
I’m um, I’m really sorry
about the, you know, getting all your stuff wet,” I
said.

She shrugged.

“
The drawings
especially.”

Her cheeks colored slightly. “It’s ok. I’ll
make more.” Again I was struck by her unusual accent.

“
So, um, where are you
from?” I blurted.

“
Tokyo.”

I laughed. “No, seriously. Where are you
from? I can’t place your accent at all.”

Her brow creased. “Tokyo.”

I gaped. “What, you’re serious? I mean, not
that you don’t, um, seem like a serious person.”

She snorted; I think it was a laugh. “I’m
serious.”

I let that sink in a second. I’d thought I
had it bad. Half a country away was nothing like half a world away.
“So this must be like, some major culture shock, I bet.”

She considered that, and gave a nod.

Maybe I had been right after all. Maybe she
really was like me. Heartened, I went on, “I’m definitely not any
kind of expert about the area...or the school...or anything,
really...but if you um, ever need help with anything...”

“
I don’t need help,” she
said flatly, hoisting her bag over her shoulder and striding
swiftly out of the room.

“
Oh. Ok then,” I said to her
empty chair.

Chapter 5

Camille

They wanted her to stay after class. Camille
was not happy about that. She didn’t care about completing
evaluations for classes she didn’t want to take in the first
place.

If she did badly enough, would they get to
go home? She could just throw the evaluation. How mad would Gabriel
be if they had to go back to Japan? It might be worth it. He could
just start a cafe there instead. None of these people who hated him
were there.

The other students had left for the day. The
pretty, awkward girl. The boys who wanted to be near the awkward
girl. The stylish ones who ignored her. She didn’t have time for
any of them. All this social dancing seemed so pointless. And she
was sick of all this English. The teachers - all but Charlotte,
Gabriel had been right - hated her. All in all, this had not been
one of her better days.

They had penned her in Rin Umino’s office.
Awaiting the arrival of the principal, she slumped in her chair,
arms folded into her hoodie. She shouldn’t have snapped at Jul.
That had been rude. The other girl had clearly been trying to be
kind and accommodating. Guiltily, Camille had avoided her for the
rest of the day. In truth, Jul seemed like a really nice, friendly
person. But friends complicated things. She didn’t need anyone
else. She and Gabriel could handle whatever came at them on their
own. She certainly didn’t want to be responsible for getting
someone innocent like Jul hurt. She still didn’t know what had
precipitated their leaving home -

The door opened, but it was not the
principal who entered. The boy who’d startled Jul in science class
stepped in, his eyebrows rising slightly when he caught sight of
her. Kai? Kei? Something forgettable.

“
Sent to the principal’s
office already,” he intoned. “That might be a new record. What was
your name again? Chamomile Tea?”

Camille would not dignify that with an
answer, just returned to looking at the wall behind Umino’s desk.
One of the frames held a blank piece of parchment, and she was
trying to decide its significance.

“
Oh yes, you’ll go far
here,” he said. “Can’t even take a joke. I’m Kei, I’m sure you’re
dying to know. Sakamoto. Don’t mind me, I’ve just come to pick
something up.” He walked around the desk and opened a drawer. He
rifled around in the papers for a moment, closed it, then opened
another.

Camille frowned. Was he really supposed to
be in here? It didn’t seem like he knew the principal’s office very
well. He looked more like he was ransacking her desk than running
an errand. But saying something was out of the question. She didn’t
have the right words. Unless...

His name was Japanese. Maybe he spoke it?
Everything here would be so much simpler if she had someone to talk
to. She never knew she’d miss simple conversation so much.

“
Are you really supposed to
be in here?
” she asked in
Japanese.

“
Hm?” he looked up from the
drawer.

“
Your actions are
suspicious
,” she said. “
Explain yourself.
”

His mouth quirked slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry.
I don’t speak Chinese.”

What hope she had was summarily quashed.
“Japanese,” she snapped.

“
Oh, right,” he said
lightly. “Yeah, I don’t really speak that either. I mean, I know
some words here and there, like karate...ninja...kamikaze, that
sort of thing.”

He was pronouncing them all
wrong. He really was American. “
Kamikaze
,” Camille said, letting her
irritation color her correction.

He shrugged. “Over here it makes no
difference. Distinctions like that, you just have to learn to let
them go. Sorry to disappoint. Did you want to run that by me in
English?” His head tilted slightly, like a bird.

She was beginning to think that Kei Sakamoto
was not the sort of person she wanted to talk to, in any language.
“No,” she answered him, eyes firmly on the floor.

“
Don’t be shy,” he said.
“Shy never helped anyone.”

“
I’m not shy,” she growled.
“I don’t like you.”

He feigned offense. “I don’t see how that’s
possible. Me, I like everyone. You’ll never get along here if you
can’t learn a few basic social skills. Here, I’ll show you. Step
one is pointless conversation. You pick out something about the
other person, and get them to talk about it. People love talking
about themselves. Pretend you’re interested and they think you’re
best friends. Like so.”

He settled into Umino’s chair, errand
apparently forgotten. What was he still doing here? He should have
left by now. She just wanted to be alone.

“
I like
that...metal...thing,” he observed, gesturing vaguely to the iron
bracer on her arm. “Where’d you get it?”

She eyed him warily. That was none of his
business. Pointless conversation or not, he’d landed on the one
thing she wouldn’t talk about. Gabriel had tricked her into putting
it on years ago, and it wouldn’t come off. She’d learned to forgive
him for it, but the hunk of metal still gave her its share of
annoyance. Just the mention of the bracer had her fighting the
impulse to scratch at it. She’d worn it forever and even though it
did no good, she still wanted to scratch at the skin beneath.

Kei Sakamoto leaned forward on the desk,
steepling his fingers, like he belonged there. “Family heirloom?”
he prompted. “Ebay? Found it in a dumpster? Ooh, I know, it was a
gift from an old boyfriend.”

Camille frowned. Maybe he hadn’t been
fishing for info on the bracer. Maybe he really was just an idiot.
Americans were all the same.

“
No?” he went on,
undeterred. “On second thought, you don’t look like the boyfriend
type. Old girlfriend?”

The bracer felt tighter and more restricting
the more he made her think about it. Her mouth formed a grim line
of disapproval.

“
Still no? I guess that look
would scare off just about anybody. You look like a mob boss. Ooh,
did you steal it from the mob? Is it some sort of treasure from the
Japanese mafia?”

She’d had enough of this. The bracer was
digging into her wrist, and her right hand twisted at it
reflexively.

“
Go away,” she
said.

“
Just when we’re getting to
know each other?” he objected. “No, I want to hear the story of how
you broke into mafia headquarters and swiped their prized metal
thing.”

She huffed. “I did not.”

“
But what other explanation
can there be?” he asked innocently.

“
You’re an idiot,” she
snapped. She could hear her own blood in her ears.

“
That explanation makes no
sense.”

She growled, “Get out.” She could hear
footsteps approaching from the hall. She hadn’t thought she would
prefer the Umino woman to someone, but Sakamoto had proved her
wrong.

“
That’s your best retort?
Come on, you can do better than that,” he said.

The door clicked open. Rin Umino surveyed
the scene, one eyebrow raised.

Sakamoto sighed and stood, pushing himself
up from the desk.

“
Well?” Umino
said.

“
Where do you find these
people?” he asked. “She can’t talk. It’s hopeless. Probably.” With
the barest smirk at Camille he made for the door.

He’d been testing her? A stealth English
evaluation?

Umino blocked his exit.

“
Sorry, super important
teenage plans, gotta go,” he told the principal.

She held out her hand, otherwise
immobile.

He shrugged and took a key
out of his pocket and handed it to her.
He’d tried to steal that from her desk?

Umino stood aside and let Sakamoto pass. She
shut the door behind him and settled herself in her chair, her
stiff posture a sharp contrast to his lazy lounging only moments
ago.

“
You are not like Miss
Graham,” she said, “in many ways. You have been the ward of Mr.
Katsura for how many years now?”

Camille licked her lips. What was she really
asking? “Six.”

“
Six? And all of that in
Japan? Very uncharacteristic of him. I’m not sure he’s ever spent
that much consecutive time with...anyone.”

Camille didn’t remember what ‘consecutive’
meant, but now seemed a bad time to mention it. She could guess
close enough.

“
I will assume that having
been in his care for so long, you have come to understand certain
truths that the general populace is uninformed of. I will assume
that because of this, you do not trust me, a human.”

Camille’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not
why.”

“
The oblivious ones are much
more pliant,” she commented. “Miss Graham, for example, could have
a bright future with us. All we ask is a little obedience, a little
loyalty.”