Chapter Text
I guess… This is how things are always meant to be…
Ken sighs as he sinks into his chair, folding in on himself in an effort to hide behind his book. He ignores the paper balls being tossed his way, the associated laughter and teasing from his classmates, and the faint snickering from the rest of the class and continues to read.
The teacher hasn’t even been gone for five minutes, and it’s already started. The laughing. The whispers. It’s nothing that he’s not used to, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt him. Somehow, Ken has become a person that is easier to hate than love, and it’s left him without someone to call a friend.
Maybe it could have been different.
He really wishes that it was.
“He’s always reading weird stuff.”
“No one believes in that crap anymore.”
“Only a freak likes that kind of thing.”
Ken has long since given up on trying to make friends with his classmates. No one is interested, and they’re not worth it. If they don’t want him, then he can turn to someone—or something—that does. Plenty of other kids believe in things like Santa Claus and myths and legends. It’s not a crime to be eleven years old and into the occult.
But apparently it is.
No one goes to school thinking that they’ll make zero friends, but after so many years, Ken has learned that that’s just how things are. He’s never been the outgoing type, and when he first entered this school, it had felt like everyone already had their friends. Groups were formed, and pacts were made.
Then there was Ken Takakura—sitting alone at a desk, at a table at lunch, and on the bus during field trips.
He had told himself that he would finally make a friend this year. Something as simple as sitting next to a stranger during break or asking someone if they wanted to be partners on a worksheet. Before he got to junior high, he would make just one friend, and that would have been enough.
Another paper ball hits his forehead and lands on the desk. More laughter.
Or not.
When the bell rings, he can take his things and leave.
In the meantime, Ken simply adjusts his glasses and lets the teasing continue. He knows that trying to say or do anything about it will just invite the other kids to do it more. Or worse. They might try to pick a fight over it, and the last thing that he needs is to return home with a broken pair of glasses and a black eye or a bloody nose.
Instead, he drowns himself in his reading, soaking in as much information as he can in order to drown out the world around him. His eyes jump over the page. Paragraph to paragraph. Diagram to diagram. There are pictures and articles and interviews—everything that he could ever hope to read about. Cryptids, aliens, sightings, retellings, abductions, disappearances, and anything else that falls under the category of “The Unexplained.”
As Ken begins to turn to another page, he realizes that the room is quieter than before. The laughter has died down, and—now that he thinks about it—there hasn’t been another paper ball thrown his way. Did the bell ring already?
He looks up and sees the back of a girl’s head.
The girl is sitting at the desk in front of Ken, but it’s not the girl that usually sits there during class. She’s got short brown hair that flips out at the shoulders, and he can see pieces of her bangs sticking up from her forehead. Her chin is propped up by her hand, with her elbow resting lazily against his desk, and she’s just staring at the other kids who were laughing and throwing things his way.
And all he can do is just stare at her.
The room is still. Not silent. Still. The light from the windows barely shifts, because there are no clouds in the sky; the classroom door is ajar, peeking into an empty hall where the teacher stands outside; and every single other person is staring back at the girl in front of Ken.
No pencil moves, no kid speaks, and no paper flutters.
Just still.
Then, slowly, the girl turns around, smiling so widely that Ken can see she’s missing a tooth. One of her canines. Her eyes twinkle in the light—a rich brown so warm that it nearly looks red—and it leaves Ken feeling speechless, unable to even say hi.
Is she smiling at me?
“What are you reading?” she asks, leaning forward. Her gaze shifts to the book in his hands.
“Oh, um…” Ken blinks. He looks down at his book, then back up at her, trying to speak, but the words die on his tongue. No one’s ever approached him—not unless it’s to make fun of him—but she’s smiling at him, and it feels genuine, and…
This has never happened before.
His mind flails, willing him to think, Ken!, and he slowly manages, “I, uh, I was reading about—”
The bell rings, and chairs begin to scrape against the floor as kids stand to gather their things and leave.
The girl looks at him one more time, then shrugs.
Ken stares at her as she walks off, his eyes following her trail as she turns out of the classroom and disappears behind the wall. He stares until he can no longer see the sweater wrapped around her waist or the brown bag hanging off of her shoulder, and then she’s gone for good.
But there’s still a ghost of her smile and the whisper of her voice tucked away in his mind, playing on an infinite loop.
“What are you reading?”
It was a genuine question, right? No one’s ever tried to stand up for him. No one has ever even stopped to ask Ken what he was reading before, and yet…
He looks down at his book, then back up at the door. People are starting to slowly file out, friends are hugging friends and saying goodbye to one another, and everyone tells the teacher to have a good day. Then there’s him, still glued to his seat, while the one person who’s ever tried to reach out to him leaves him behind.
Ken has never packed his things away faster. He shoves all of his school items into his bag and quickly throws it over his shoulder. The book he was reading stays in his hand, his white-knuckled grip clinging to it like he’s clinging to the image of that girl.
There’s a flash of her smile, all bright and crooked.
Real and genuine.
She must be from another class. They’ve never spoken to one another, and he’s never seen her before, but she still sat between him and those bullies. She still smiled at him and asked him what he was reading. She still treated him like a person and not like a freak.
His heart races as he weaves through halls—dodging the crowds and searching for her. He tries to look for the bright orange color of her sweater or the unmistakable wisps of her hair, but he stands at the back of a sea of people, only able to see a mix of browns, greys, whites, and blacks.
Anxiety starts to build in his stomach as he tries to push his way through, worried that he’s lost his chance. He doesn’t even know the girl’s name, and while he was sitting for who-knows-how-long after she left, he could have been having a conversation with her instead.
Ken sighs, frustrated with himself, as he slowly starts to accept defeat. There’s no sign of the girl anywhere that he can see, and he even starts to check some of the nearby classrooms, thinking that she must have come from one of them.
It's not until he finally steps outside that he spots her, standing near the school gate, looking around as groups of students slowly disperse. She seems to be hanging back for some reason—not quite ready to leave the school—like she’s waiting for someone or something.
Ken stares at her, sucking in a deep breath.
This is his chance, he thinks. This is the moment when he finally makes a friend. There had to have been some reason for her to stop in his class and defend him, and he’s going to figure it out. As the schoolyard finally starts to clear, he slowly makes his way up to her and notices that she’s looking at all of her surroundings, nervous, like she’s worried that someone is watching her, but she doesn’t seem to see him.
Ken hesitates for a moment, watching as she inhales deep through her nose and straightens her posture. Something in her demeanor shifts, and while she still looks a little scared, she also seems comfortable. As if what she’s doing is familiar.
Though Ken isn’t really sure what it is that she’s doing.
She has her hand positioned at the top of her head, with her pointer finger sticking straight up into the air, and her other hand rests flat over her stomach. It’s a strange pose, but she holds it, and—for some reason—it looks sort of familiar. It’s almost like she’s creating an antenna for herself. Ken doesn’t know why she would do something like that unless...
He smiles. She believes in aliens.
“Um, excuse me?” he calls out to her. His steps feel slow and uneven, and he can’t shake the queasy feeling in his stomach. Still, he’s buzzing with excitement, anticipating the conversation ahead.
The girl startles, her shoulders tensing, but her hand never moves from her head. When she turns around, her face is red—cheeks dusted pink—but there’s something else in her expression. She almost looks determined. Even staring at Ken, clearly flustered, her pose never wavers, and her eyes don’t leave his.
“What is it?”
It’s more of a demand than a question. Her voice is much more different than it was in the classroom. Then, it had been light and sweet. Now, she sounds defensive.
“Um, that pose that you’re doing…” Ken’s voice trembles from the unexpected confrontation. “Are you trying to communicate with aliens?”
The girl’s brows furrow, and she scowls at him. “What did you just say?”
Ken adjusts his glasses, still clinging to the book in his hands, and points at the top of her head. “The thing with your finger. It— it’s for aliens, right?”
“What are you talking about?” she asks. “What do you mean ‘aliens’?”
Ken takes a step forward, holding his book out.
She takes a step back.
“I mean, you came into my classroom today!” he says. “You came, and you asked me what I was reading.” Flipping open his book, he shoves it towards her, pointing at the different pictures and diagrams. “You wanted to know what I thought about aliens because you believe in them, too! Right? That’s why you’re doing that pose!”
The girl’s eyes dart across the page and then to Ken’s eyes. Her mouth is curled, bowed into a frown, and her brows are pinched. She looks… Angry.
“Are you making fun of me?” she asks harshly, taking a step forward.
Her sharp tone makes Ken jump, and he pulls his book back to his chest. “What? No, I—”
“You’re making fun of me!” she accuses. Her hand drops from her head, balling into a fist at her side. Staring at her now is like staring at a fire—raging and unforgiving.
Ken swallows, confused as to why she’s so upset. He’s not making fun of her, and he doesn’t understand why she would think that. “I— I don’t…”
He thought that she wanted to know about aliens. The pose that she’s doing has to be related, right?
“Come on, say it to my face!” the girl orders, stepping even closer. She’s right in Ken’s face, and her eyes burn as she stares right at him. “Go on! Say it!”
“I’m not making fun of you!” he cries back, dropping his arms to his side. His teeth clench as he forces himself to look her in the eye.
The girl pauses—taken aback by the desperation in his voice—and blinks at him. Her eyes are narrowed, untrusting, and they flit all across Ken’s face. Skepticism dances in her expression, but he doesn’t back down.
This is his first chance at making a friend, and he’s not going to mess it up.
“I promise,” he says, a bit softer than before. “I’m not.”
The girl purses her lips. “What do you want then?”
Ken slowly exhales and takes a step back. “What was that pose for?”
Her face flushes, and she looks away. “No. I asked first. You answer.”
Chewing at his bottom lip, Ken looks at the book in his hand. The cover is a collage of alien figures, spaceship diagrams, article clips, and more. Inside, it’s filled with different stories, interviews, and theories.
He knows what it looks like.
Ken isn’t ignorant of the stares that this book brings every time he carries it through the school halls. It’s the fourth one that he’s checked out and read from the school library, but he doesn’t care if it means being some sort of outcast. This is something that he loves. One day, he’d like to have a collection of his own, because all he could ever want exists in this book—all he could ever believe in.
This girl has to feel the same. That’s why she waited until after everyone left to do her pose. That’s why she came into his class and sat in front of him. That’s why he’s going to be her friend.
“I know what you believe in,” he says, looking back at the girl. “You came to my classroom and asked what I was reading, right? It was about this.”
He holds the book back up to her, but she only looks at it with confusion. Her gaze briefly flicks over the front cover, but it’s back on him in a second. “That wasn’t…”
“Don’t you believe in aliens?” Ken asks. He stares at her, hoping.
Why else would she have done what she did?
The girl sighs. “Listen, I think you got the wrong idea,” she replies. “I don’t believe in aliens.”
The words hit Ken like a truck.
He can feel his heart sinking in his body—down towards the ground—and he swallows as his throat begins to tighten. A part of him isn’t even disappointed, because this is something that he’s used to—being told that someone doesn’t believe in aliens—but at the same time, he can’t help feeling disappointed.
“Oh,” is all he says, dropping his arms. “Okay.”
The girl stares at him and tilts her head. She looks curious—confused—but she doesn’t walk away. For a moment, it’s just the two of them, standing outside of the elementary school grounds. Neither of them moves, and they continue to stare at one another.
There’s a soft breeze that overtakes Ken, brushing his bangs across his forehead and whistling in his ears. It kind of sounds like a mock cheer. Or maybe laughter.
It could be that the entire world is cracking a joke about Kamigoe City’s biggest loser.
“I do believe in ghosts though,” she eventually says, timidly kicking her foot at the ground. “So, I guess… We sort of have something in common.”
What?
Ken feels his brows dip in confusion as he says, “Ghosts aren’t real.”
At that, the girl’s eyes lock onto his. Her expression shifts, filling with a deep-rooted anger, fueled by annoyance. Her voice is sharp, defensive, and dangerously low as she asks, “Excuse me?”
“Ghosts aren’t real,” he repeats plainly.
She blinks at him. “Yes, they are.”
It makes Ken feel defensive, too, crossing his arms. “There’s no proof that ghosts exist.”
“There’s no proof that aliens exist,” she retorts.
Ken scoffs, opening his book back up and flipping through the pages. He lands on an article written about the U.S. and NASA, shoving it towards her for her to read.
“If aliens aren’t real, then why do we have so much proof about it?”
“That’s not proof; that’s rocks and crappy droid pictures.”
They glare at one another, neither willing to back down.
He almost feels offended, wondering how she could believe in something as ridiculous as ghosts but not aliens, which are very real. There have been studies and eyewitness accounts and recordings—years of evidence and articles being put out by scientists—but she thinks that ghosts are what exists.
It almost makes him want to laugh, and he has to cover his mouth, hiding a snicker.
The girl’s scowl deepens, and she reaches out, smacking his shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me! Ghosts are real!”
“How do you know that ghosts are real?” Ken challenges, pointing at her.
“My grandma is a real-life medium,” she declares. She crosses her arms and juts her chin out with pride in an attempt to seem taller. “She fights ghosts all the time.”
Ken’s face twists, and he hugs his book close to his chest. “Have you seen her fight one or something?”
The question makes her falter, and she stutters—hesitating—as she says, “Well, no, but—”
“Then you can’t say that they’re real!” Ken injects, smiling. “Kids believe in things like ghosts and legends, but adults and scientists are saying that aliens are real. I’m going to believe them more than you!”
“My grandma’s an adult, and she’s seen a ghost, and I believe her more than I believe words in a stupid magazine,” she shoots back, getting right in his face. “Besides, you’re a kid, too! I bet you’re the same age as me.”
Ken rolls his eyes. “So? There’s been real footage of UAPs and UMAs, but I’ve never seen ghost footage before!”
“Then why don’t you go to some place haunted and get yourself cursed?” the girl asks, stepping closer. There’s a hint of a smirk on her as she glares at him. “I know a spot that my grandma told me never to visit, but we can go there, and I’ll show you that ghosts are real.”
“Why would I want to waste my time on that?” Ken scoffs. “Why don’t you come with me to an alien site? Then we’ll talk.”
Her nose scrunches. “I’m not going anywhere with a boy I just met, even if he looks like you. I bet you’re just scared.”
Ken grits his teeth and steps closer, too.
They’re almost nose to nose, and he can see the amusement dancing in her eyes. She likes teasing him and making him feel stupid, but he’s not going to let her win this. He can go to some haunted spot. He’s not scared.
“How would we even get there? And when?” Ken asks. “I bet your grandma doesn’t want you out late.”
“My grandma is on a business trip to exorcise some ghosts right now,” the girl replies coolly, checking her nails. “I can get out, but what about you? I bet your parents don’t want their little boy gone from home.”
She pinches her cheeks, mocking a baby tone as she teases him.
Something flicks in Ken’s stomach, leaving him feeling challenged. This is different from all the other times that people have told him aliens aren’t real. This girl—whoever she is—isn’t just dismissing him for the sake of shutting him up. Ken isn’t just some otaku loser to her. He’s told her—to her face—that ghosts aren’t real, and instead of throwing insults or running off, she’s facing him head-on, daring him to do something about it.
There’s no way that he’s just going to take that lying down, so he’ll stand his own ground right here—right now.
“I can make it, if you’re not scared,” he says, provoking.
“Why would I be scared if I suggested it?” she scoffs.
“Because you didn’t think that I would take you up on your challenge, but I am,” Ken asserts. He raises his chin up and glares at the girl. “I’m not afraid of any ghost, no matter what your grandma says.”
“Fine!” she yells. “Meet me back here at nine o’clock! If you’re late, I’m telling everyone that you’re a scaredy-cat!”
“And if you’re late, then I’ll tell everyone you’re a liar!” he shouts.
There’s a split second where the girl jolts. It’s minute. A sort of flinch. But she quickly schools it, staring him down, and says, “You’re on.”