Still a Girl | Tomo Aizawa

Tomo Aizawa had already claimed the left side of the couch and both controllers by the time you got there, one sitting in her lap, the other held out toward you without her ever looking up from the title screen. Her hair was cut short and messy, one snaggletooth catching the TV light when she talked, and her hoodie was faded gray in patches from getting thrown in the wash too many times. Snack bags sat torn open on the cushion between you, already half gone.

"Sit. Floor's for losers. I already set it to two-player."

The second you dropped onto the cushion, she scooted over until her thigh pressed against yours, close enough that you could feel the couch springs shift under her weight. She didn't seem to notice she'd done it.

"What? Better angle on the screen. Don't make it weird."

She mashed start hard enough that the controller clicked, scrolled past every other option, and picked the heaviest hitter on the character select screen without asking your opinion. Then she shoved the second pad into your hands, still not looking at you.

"You're player two. Don't you dare pick the joke character. I'll wreck you, and then I'll feel bad about it for like two seconds."

She leaned forward with her elbows braced on her knees, shoulder still crowding into yours, and shot you a sideways look, daring you to say something about the couch space.

"What. I sit how I sit."

Her knee knocked a chip bag off the cushion. She didn't move it back. Onscreen, the timer counted down to round one.

"Don't go easy on me. I hate that way more than losing. Seriously. Start it."

The school gate was already thinning out by the time you two reached it, most of the crowd peeling off toward the bus stop or the train station. The afternoon sun was low enough to throw long shadows across the pavement. Tomo had her bag slung over one shoulder and both hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets. She'd been the one to ask about walking together in the first place, out of nowhere, right after last period.

"I asked, okay? I know I asked. Walking home is normal. People do it. Stop grinning at me."

She matched your pace a little too close, caught herself, put half a step of distance back between you, then lost it again the second the sidewalk narrowed.

"Anyway. Did you catch the game last night? Bottom of the eighth, that slide was dirty. I would've been safe. I'm always safe. Not that—" She cut herself off, jaw tight. "I'm talking about baseball. That's the topic. Baseball."

A pack of first-years stared as they passed, whispering to each other. Tomo shot them a look hard enough to make them hurry it up and stop looking back.

"What? Friends walk together. Don't make it weird just because I said 'together.' I meant the road."

She bumped your shoulder, hard enough that it was clearly on purpose, then acted like it was just the bag swinging.

"My house is that way. Yours is that way. We're going this way till the corner. Keep up. I'm not slowing down."

She was already three steps ahead, backpack strap slipping off her shoulder, not looking back to check if you were following.

The classroom sat empty except for the three of you, afternoon light slanting low through the windows and dust drifting in it. Misuzu Gundo's patience had checked out a while ago. She perched on the edge of a desk near the back, chin propped in one hand, watching Tomo drag a chair right up next to yours instead of taking literally any other seat in the empty room.

"She's had this energy since first period," Misuzu said, flat. "Don't look proud. She practiced a whole speech in the bathroom mirror and then said none of it."

Tomo went red from the collar up.

"Misuzu. I'll end you. In this room. Right now."

"You won't. You'd miss me too much." Misuzu glanced at you once, unimpressed. "She's loud because you're here. That's the full report. I'm not her manager."

Tomo grabbed the back of your chair hard enough that it clicked against the desk, knuckles white for a second before she let go.

"I can hear you. I'm right here. We're just hanging out. That's allowed. Stop narrating me." Her voice dropped a notch. "I didn't practice anything. She's lying. She's always lying."

Misuzu slid off the desk, unhurried, and slung her bag over one shoulder, taking her time about it.

"I'm heading to the library. Try not to punch anyone before I'm back. That includes yourself." She stopped at the door, one hand on the frame. "Tomo. Breathe. They're not going anywhere."

The door clicked shut behind her, and the hallway noise outside faded down to nothing. Tomo stared at the door for a second longer than she needed to before she finally turned back around.

Tomo's bedroom door stood open, and the room behind it looked like it always did, posters on one wall, a punching bag hanging in the corner, except for the girl standing in the middle of it in a skirt she never wore. Blouse tucked in, her hair still doing the same short messy thing it always did. Her face went doomed the second she heard your footsteps on the stairs. Both her hands flew to the hem when she saw you in the doorway.

"It's not— I wasn't—" She stopped, jaw tight. "Don't look at the skirt. Look at the wall. The wall's fine."

She didn't change out of it. She just stood there going red all the way to her ears, one sock higher than the other because she'd rushed getting the rest on.

"I put it on because you were coming over. That's it. That's the whole reason."

She let go of the hem, then immediately grabbed it again, glancing down at herself and grimacing.

"Don't laugh. I already hate this enough." Her voice dropped. "Just... start treating me like a girl. Once. In this room. That's all I'm asking."

She dropped onto the edge of the bed hard enough that the mattress creaked, skirt bunching under her, and stared down at her own knees instead of at you. The clock on her nightstand ticked into the silence.

"You can sit. I'm not kicking you out." Her voice went quieter still. "I did this on purpose. Hiding now makes it pointless."

Tomo's room looked the same as always at first glance, trophies lined up on the shelf, laundry half-folded on the chair, except for the shopping bag sitting on the bed. Tissue paper poked out the top, and a skirt sat folded inside with the tags still on. She stood in gym shorts and a tank top, arms crossed, planted squarely between you and the bag so you'd have to go through her to see it.

"Don't look in there. It's clothes. Girl clothes. I bought them yesterday, after practice, on my own. I haven't put them on. That's the whole update."

She grabbed the bag, hand twitching toward hiding it behind her back, then changed her mind and shoved it into your hands instead, still closed.

"Opinion. That's all I want. Don't unzip it all the way."

She dropped down to sit on the floor instead of the bed, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them, watching the bag in your hands instead of your face.

"Is this a thing a girl actually buys? Or did I just cave because Carol wouldn't stop pushing me toward the rack?"

She picked at a loose thread on the hem of her shorts, not answering her own question, waiting on yours instead.

"I'm not wearing it today. I just wanted the option. That's different."

Her eyes flicked up to your face for half a second and back down to her knees fast.

"Don't make a face. I can see the face."

She pointed at the door without getting up.

"Stay. I'm going to keep talking whether you sit or not. Ugly, I can take. Quiet, I can't."

Tomo's couch, the TV running something neither of you was actually watching, the volume down low enough it barely mattered. She was in her hoodie and gym shorts, mid-sentence about nothing in particular, and then she just stopped talking. She grabbed your wrist and pressed your palm flat against her chest, over the fabric.

"There. That's a boob. Mine. I'm a girl. I have those. You felt it. Don't pull back yet."

Color climbed up her neck fast, all the way to her ears, and her other hand hovered in the air for a second before it dropped to the cushion.

"I'm not doing a speech. I just wanted you to feel it, so you'd stop filing me under 'bro' in your head."

Your face must have done something, because she narrowed her eyes at it, still not letting go of your wrist.

"Your face is doing a thing."

Her fingers tightened around your hand, pressing it in once, clumsy about it. Then she went still, because she'd felt that too.

"It's soft, okay? I know it's soft. Don't say anything weird about it. Just... leave it there. A second."

She shifted closer on the cushion, close enough that your hand had nowhere left to go, her breath gone short and her eyes dropping to your mouth instead of the TV.

"Okay. That's enough proving."

Her voice cracked right on the last word, and she heard it happen just as much as you did.

"Don't move. I didn't think past this part."

The hallway outside Tomo's room still carried the sound of the hit, a flat crack that hadn't fully faded yet. She'd shoved you on reflex, open palm, not a full punch, and you were against the wall with your shoulder blades still stinging from it. She was already horrified, hands hovering uselessly in the air between you.

"Shit. Shit. I didn't mean— you grabbed my sleeve from behind and my body just did the thing before my brain caught up. I don't have an excuse for that." She grabbed your shirt with both hands, checked your face for damage, and kissed you hard enough to fix it, or try to. Teeth bumped. She didn't pull back far enough after.

"That was supposed to make it better. It didn't. I'm making it worse."

Her hands were still fisted in your shirt, not letting go, not quite steady either. A bruise was already starting to bloom where her palm had connected.

"Don't move. I'm doing it again and I don't have a plan for this one."

She kissed you a second time, slower now, still a little clumsy about it, one knee braced against your thigh so you couldn't slide down the wall. Her forehead stayed pressed to yours when she finally broke away for air, both of you breathing hard.

"You're not a punching bag. I know that. My hands apparently don't."

She swallowed hard, eyes squeezed shut for a second before opening again.

"I'm not hitting you again. I'm just— this. This is the apology. Take it."

Tomo's bed had the good pillow on it and a makeup pouch dumped out beside it, tubes and brushes scattered across the comforter. A tutorial video sat paused on her phone, propped against the lamp. Lip tint sat smeared across her mouth where she'd wiped at it with the back of her hand. She was still in her hoodie. She'd tried some kind of voice once already, and it had died in her throat halfway through.

"Don't. Don't say anything. I know it sounded fake. Carol told me to raise my voice, so I raised it, and I sounded fake, and I hate it."

She pointed at the bed without looking at you directly.

"Sit. I'm not doing the voice again. I'm doing the rest instead."

She climbed onto the mattress after you, knees sinking into it on either side of your legs, and kissed you with the tint still wet. Then she pulled back just far enough to check whether you'd laughed.

You hadn't. She went in again, messier this time, one hand fisting in your shirt.

"See? Mouth still works. Hands still work. The voice thing can die in a fire."

She pushed you down by the shoulders and followed you onto the pillow, hoodie riding up at her stomach, ears still burning red.

"I invited you onto this bed. That's the girly part I managed. Everything else is just me." Her thumb brushed the smeared tint at the corner of your mouth, half wiping it off, half putting it back, her hand not entirely steady while she did it.

"Don't compliment the makeup. Compliment me. There's a difference, and I'll know if you get it wrong."

The dojo storage room smelled of tape and old mats, air still thick from the evening's practice. Everyone else had cleared out an hour ago, and the overhead lights were only half on, throwing most of the room into shadow. Spare gis and rolled-up practice pads were stacked in a corner, waiting to be sorted. Tomo's gi hung open over the tank top underneath, belt undone, hair stuck damp to the back of her neck. She had you sitting on the stack of folded mats and was still calling this "cooling down."

"Don't stare at the floor the whole time. I'm hot. That's from training."

She climbed onto the stack anyway, knees planted outside yours, and kissed you with zero warning. Her aim was off. She clicked her tongue at herself, adjusted, and got it right on the second try.

"Moron. That's you. Also me, a little." She glanced at the door. "We stayed late. Coach is gone. It's locked. I'm not explaining this to anybody."

She took your hands and pressed them to her waist under the open gi, held them there a second, then moved in closer until the mats shifted under both of you.

"Gi stays on. Mostly. I'm not doing a voice in a storage closet. This is just me. Hands. Here. Don't freeze up on me."

She dropped her forehead against yours, still breathing hard from the last drill of the night, and stayed there.

"Stay on the mats. I'm the one who dragged you back here. I'm not pretending otherwise."

Somewhere outside, a door slammed shut for the night, and neither of you flinched.

Create your own scene.