It hardly needs saying now, but I didn't have many friends back in high school. Actually, there is no need to limit it to just those years. Since the day I was born, I have been a bit more cynical than most, which forced me into a life of solitude. Surprisingly, I never really minded. Having friends around means you can’t always do what you want; your actions are restricted. There were even times I cynically told myself I didn't need anyone I could truly open up to if it meant sacrificing my freedom.
Of course, that temperament could turn into a disaster depending on the time and place, and I’ve suffered for it more times than I can count on both hands.
Specifically, my friction with Hayashi was a prime example. But being stubborn by nature, I never once considered changing who I was, regardless of the consequences.
This was back in the winter of my second year of high school.
The high school I attended was an ordinary public school, the kind you could find in any rural town. In my class, garbage duty was assigned once a week, and those responsible had to take out the trash after school. It was always a two-person job, one boy and one girl.
It was a task loathed by the student body. There was Hayashi, who was disgusted by the mere thought of touching trash thrown away by god-knows-who, and then there was Hayashi, who would fly into a rage at the slightest scent of food waste. Naturally, the rest of the class followed the lead of The Queen, and skipping duty became a common occurrence. About once a month, our homeroom teacher would lose their temper and scold everyone during short homeroom.
Surprisingly, for all her complaining, Hayashi never actually skipped. She’d grumble the whole time, but she always got the job done... but that’s a story for another time.
Anyway, in our class during my second year, the general consensus was that skipping garbage duty was no problem at all. That’s all the context you really need.
Then came the day in question.
The duty fell to me and Kasahara. But Kasahara, apparently having forgotten all about it, had already left the classroom and gone home.
I wasn't particularly angry about my partner ditching me. It might sound like I'm making excuses, but I didn't have any special feelings for Kasahara back then. To me, she was just a sycophant sticking to the side of the loudmouthed Hayashi—one of The Queen’s many hype-men.
The reason I could overlook her skipping—despite not liking her—was simply because it had become so normalized. The atmosphere was such that you were the weird one for complaining.
Still, it gave me the impression that Kasahara was someone who didn't take things seriously. Not that it mattered. I have few friends, so even if I give someone a negative rating, it rarely affects them. They wouldn't even have a way of knowing what I thought of them.
"Might as well get it over with," I muttered, standing up to fulfill my duty.
A week’s worth of trash from thirty classmates—burnables, non-burnables, plastics, and paper—was heavy work. Carrying four overflowing bags was a chore, but since I was into muscle training at the time, I found myself strangely motivated to treat it as a workout.
I carried the bags toward the outdoor collection area. Just before I reached it, I passed a male student. I don’t remember his face clearly, but I recall him being quite handsome. As he walked by, I watched his back for a moment, feeling a prickle of unease. It wasn't strange to see students in the halls, but the way he was walking bothered me—he was moving fast, as if he were trying to escape.
I tilted my head in confusion and kept walking. When I reached the garbage area, I found a girl standing there with her head bowed. It was Kasahara. The one I thought had gone home. She stood there, wrapped in an aura of melancholy.
"...Kasahara."
"...Oh, Yamamoto-kun."
"I'm surprised. You actually know my name."
"Huh? Of course I do. We're classmates, aren't we?"
"Even so, there are plenty of people in class who don't know who I am."
"...I see."
The mood around her, and the boy who had just rushed past... I was starting to understand why she’d "skipped" her duty.
"Oh, sorry," she said. "I forgot I was supposed to do the trash today."
"Don't sweat it," I replied. "It was a good workout. To be honest, I feel more of a sense of accomplishment having done it by myself."
"...Ahaha. Really, I’m sorry."
"Forget about it."
I walked past the stationary Kasahara and tossed the bags into the bin.
"Yamamoto-kun... did you pass a boy just now?" she asked.
"Hmm? Yeah, I did. A guy who looked like he was running for his life?"
"That was Sekine-senpai. He’s a third-year—the Tennis Club Captain. He even went to the Kanto Tournament. He’s incredibly popular with the girls."
"Huh," I grunted.
It was a half-hearted response, but internally, I was debating whether I should ask the obvious question.
"Did you turn him down?" I finally asked.
Honestly, it was mostly just morbid curiosity. It seemed like a natural conclusion. Kasahara was popular among the second-years—more popular than the abrasive Hayashi, even. They seemed like a perfect match: the golden boy and the pretty girl. I assumed he’d confessed, she’d rejected him, and he’d fled in embarrassment.
"No," Kasahara said, her words catching me off guard. I turned back to look at her, speechless. "He turned me down. Sekine-senpai rejected me."
Looking back, that was likely the very first real conversation Kasahara and I ever had.