That Funny Girl

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Tokyo Mew Mew

Copyright: Mia Ikumi

When Momomiya Ichigo first walked up to me after school, I admit my first reaction was dismay. I guessed correctly that she was one of my female admirers; if her blush hadn't tipped me off, her invitation to a date would have. Fangirls are something of an occupational hazard when one is reasonably good-looking, agreeable, and a kendo champion. I'd always made a point of letting them down gently; none of them, attractive as they sometimes were, had ever managed to hold my interest for long. There is something so alike in their behavior – the squeals, the blushes, the homemade sweets tied with ribbons; sometimes I can barely tell them apart.

Ichigo was different. Her idea of a date was not a visit to a teashop, a walk in the park or a romantic comedy at the movie theatre. Instead she asked me to the Red Data Animal Exhibition, the same show I'd been wanting to see for weeks ever since its opening. I surprised myself by saying "Sure!" – which definitely surprised her, since she turned bright red. With her hair on top, she looked just like her name – a strawberry. It made me smile.

We had a decent time. She listened patiently to my explanations about various animal species, the threats to their habitats and what the likes of us might do to help. I'd seen girls pretend to be environmental activists to impress me before, but her enthusiasm was bubbly and sincere. I remember she went into raptures about the iriomote wildcats, which does not surprise me considering what happened later that day. I was not to find out until months later that Ichigo, that clumsy little girl who could barely speak to me for shynesss, had been selected as champion of the Earth.

Later I left her on the sloping hillside of the park lawn to get some juice. When I came back (slightly shaken from what I believed was an earthquake knocking over the vending machine), I found Ichigo asleep on the grass. A serene smile was on her face, all the nervous energy drained out of her for the moment. The sun was picking up golden highlights in her scarlet hair. I covered her up with my jacket and sat down to wait.

I was not bored. As long as I remember, I have always had the ability to sit still, unfocus my eyes and immerse myself in my own thoughts. I watched the clouds blow by, changing their shapes above me. I watched the shadows gradually lengthen as the sunlight deepened to gold. And I watched the sleeping girl next to me, wondering what she could be dreaming about to bring that smile to her face.

I had been living my life, so to speak, in shades of gray. I held people at arms' length – my fangirls, my fellow kendo club members, my teachers, even my adoptive parents. They have never been what you might call affectionate; I know they are proud of my high test scores and tournament trophies, and that Father considers me a worthy heir to his company. But they aren't the sort of parents who hug and kiss you. Part of that may be my fault; people who get too close to me often find me strange, uncanny. A perfect imitation rather than a real human boy.

But when I saw that funny girl with the strawberry hair, when I saw her smiling in her sleep and holding my jacket close like a talisman of protection, it was like a splash of red in a monochrome existence.