Katsumi dressed very smartly today.

The young gang member liked that word. It was short and sweet. It could mean so many different things, and so many of the definitions applied today.

For starters, it hurt to dress. This was, more likely than not, due to the fight that had broken out last night. Just a misunderstanding, really; the girl who had struck her apologized for it later, but it did nothing to ease the pain.

As a result of this pain, she dressed at a brisk pace, not wanting to lengthen the ordeal unnecessarily. Many would dress slowly to avoid the pain, but Katsumi was used to it, and she just wanted to get it over with.

She was a smart girl; the only way she could possibly dress would be smartly. A being of her intellectual stature had no other choice.

Whatever.

Katsumi did not want to go to Windermere Japan wearing disheveled clothes; therefore, she dressed smartly. Her long pleated dark green skirt was clean and ironed neatly (of course she had done her own ironing), and her white blouse was in likewise condition. Every single article of clothing looked its finest today; her coat was lint-free, and she even took the time out to polish her shoes. All of this was for Zaki. She wanted her to be able to attend this school (not just for Zaki's own good, either), and first impressions were vital in such a place. No friend of Zaki's could afford to dress like a rokudenashi - a bum, a good-for-nothing.

The entire ensemble looked rather stylish. Despite any extracurricular activities she may or may not have had, there wasn't a trace of anything that would indicate that she was a hoodlum.

Save for the scar.

Just chalk that up to a cooking accident if they ask, she thought. Kitchens have knives in them, too, and nice girls cook, anyway.

With that, she scooped up her bag and walked out the door to go to Zaki's apartment.

Most teenagers, despite their complaints, actually had little to worry about. After all, they had someone to take care of them; they didn't have to worry about paying the bills, or cooking, or cleaning.

Zaki wasn't a normal teenager. The gods dealt her, on this fine day, the Morning From Hell. First, her alarm clock hadn't gone off, leaving her to wake up half an hour too late, so she had to rush through everything. Then, as she was taking a quick shower, the showerhead fell off.

Three times.

Following this, she also managed to burn her breakfast, barely salvaging whatever was edible. Then, upon starting up the dishwasher, the pipes under the kitchen sink decided it'd be a lovely time to burst open, spraying water all over her floor. To temporarily fix this problem, Zaki dove under the sink, roll of duct tape in hand, and wrapped the pipes to prevent the leakage. She spent the next half hour mopping the floor.

Duct tape was indeed the greatest miracle known to mankind.

After this, she allowed herself a break; after all, she was dressed and clean, and though a bit wet, she would dry off in time.

She heard a knock at the door. Oh shit, was it eight already? Yes, it was. Shit.

Irritated, Zaki slipped on her mask (she would not be going anywhere without that), headed for the door, and unlocked it, swinging it open. This act revealed a very well-dressed Katsumi, smiling happily. Oh, there she was...

...What?!

"Katsumi, why are you dressed like that?" Good question, she thought. She had the right to know, of course.

"Because we're going to visit Windermere. It's rich. We've got to make a good first impression."

Well, that's just lovely. Zaki wasn't ready to make a good impression on anyone. She lacked nice clothes; she had no use for them.

"Our appointment's at ten," Katsumi continued. "So, are you ready?"

The pink-haired girl now felt underdressed, and there wouldn't be enough time, in the crazy traffic here, to find anything else and arrive there on time. "I guess so," she replied.

"You don't have anything nicer to wear than that, don't you?" Her question was polite in tone, as if she didn't want to offend Zaki. Which she probably didn't.

"No. Oh well. No big deal."

"How do you figure that it's no big deal?" Katsumi asked, incredulous.

"None of your business," Zaki curtly said. "Now let's go."

Nothing interesting happened on the bus ride.

Nor was anything of importance occurring on the train; as it shot its way towards the far-off school, Katsumi idly played with a small portable game machine, quite focused on it. Zaki glanced over at her, then decided to make conversation.

"What is that?"

"A Game Boy Color," came the distant, almost hypnotized reply.

"What are you playing?"

"Zelda."

Zaki's knowledge of games was hardly comprehensive, but she at least had heard of Zelda. "Is it good?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

I wish I had brought my CD player or something, she groused to herself. Then maybe I could listen to something besides the hum of this little metal prison. She silently cursed herself for forgetting how monotonous train rides were; this could be temporarily cured with a good dose of Mt. Mushroom. But as it was, she would just sit and make do.

Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, she looked out towards the aisle (Katsumi had bought the tickets, and she had insisted on getting the window seat, but Zaki didn't really care, either way) to take a look at her surroundings. If the train was indeed a metal prison, this would have been the section reserved specifically for petty thieves. To be more specific, the kind of petty thieves who robbed convenience stores in broad daylight with a squirt gun while dressed in a bright neon shirt that practically screamed, "Arrest me!"

Or to be more accurate, she was trapped in the economically-challenged hell known as coach.

Zaki heard the faint, yet off-key, mumblings of a female would-be singer coming from the seat behind her. Across the aisle sat an ugly and sticky-looking little boy (Zaki guessed he was three or four years old) and his impressively tolerant (and probably at least half-American, judging from her appearance) mother, whose only objections to her crotchling's insistent howling were of the vanilla variety, such as, "Please stop that," and, "Mommy is trying to read," and maybe even, "Natto, dear, quiet down."

Wow, such discipline!

What, did she call him Natto? Indeed, she did. What the hell kind of curse of a name was that? Naming your kid after fermented soybeans?

Oh, if only she could've confirmed how it was written. Then she could possibly have a good laugh.

And people wondered why she didn't like children. Or mothers, for that matter.

Glancing at a very particular spot in front of her seat, she realized just how dirty the floor was. They probably scrubbed and everything in first class, but coach was fun like that.

What a boring ride. Zaki turned to Katsumi again. "Do you know how much longer this will take?"

"It shouldn't be much longer," she responded with. Unsatisfied with this reply, she leaned back in her seat again. She knew she should've brought a watch.

Just then, she felt a tug at her sleeve. Zaki's eyes darted to the hand attached to her shirt, which, in turn, was attached to that brat who was definitely not supposed to be here and especially wasn't supposed to be touching her sleeve, getting only gods-know-what all over it.

"Hi. You have funny hair," the spoiled child announced, much to the pleasure of everyone who liked having stupid and cloying comments thrust into their eardrums.

This situation was vexing. On one hand, she really didn't want him doing that. She didn't want to be bothered. She didn't like kids, dammit. No one could just march right up to her, yank on her sleeve like a yokel, and insult her in such a way. But on the other hand, the brat's mother was watching. She would probably not be pleased if she just smacked him across the face and scolded him, though she very much felt like doing so, and she thought he deserved it, anyway.

There would have to be a compromise.

Narrowing her eyes to mere slits, Zaki jerked her arm away from the grasp of the brat, hissing out, "I suggest you leave me alone." Her scowl was unseen under the mask, but perhaps he would notice the small muscle movements that were visible on the upper half of her face. She kept her arm raised, as if threatening to slap him.

Much to her relief, he took the hint and backed off to cry to his mommy; the breeder clutched her prized progeny protectively, glaring at the gang leader with death in her eyes. Not that Zaki really cared. She could think whatever she wanted, but the actions of stupid people would not be tolerated under any circumstances.

Hell, make that statement a part of a country's constitution, and I'll be there in an instant, Zaki thought, leaning back in her seat once more.

Someone, years ago, once told Zaki that a train took approximately two and a half kilometers to stop. She didn't know how true this claim was; she was eleven years old, and it was her grandmother's attempt to keep the girl from playing on the train tracks near their apartment.

Now she believed it. The experience of hearing the high-pitched squeal of metal on metal took some adjustment. Eventually, the train stood unmoving. Katsumi put her game machine away again, instead taking in the view out the window, now that the movement couldn't blur the sights together in a streak of blues and greens.

What a view it was.

It was so... green out there. So green and fresh and natural. Zaki had never seen so much grass in her life. Her eyes did not regularly see plants and trees; metal and concrete loomed outside her dwelling. Already, she knew this was to be nothing like her old life. Whether she chose it or not.

"Wow," Katsumi murmured. "This is really something." Glancing over at Zaki, she bit her lip, furrowing her brow. "They said they'd have a van down here for us."

"Let's go," Zaki replied. "Everyone's unloading now."

The pair of girls stood up and left the train. The station was empty - eerily so. Katsumi didn't seem to react. But Zaki... Her instincts immediately kicked in; she couldn't trust large empty enclosed spaces.

She heard footsteps ringing out behind her - they stood in the center of the station now - and they rang dominant in her mind.

What if...

What if...

What if...

She span around, her thick ponytail (which trailed down nearly to her knees) whipping around, as she glared death at the potential threat.

The threat of a brown-haired woman, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties, clad in a semi-formal blue dress, who may or may not have been from the school.

"Are you Aoi Himezaki?" the woman asked.

"I am. Why'd you sneak up on me like that?" Zaki snapped.

The woman laughed. "Did I scare you?"

"Don't laugh at me!" The gang leader narrowed her eyes; if there was one thing that made her angry, it was being laughed at, especially as a reaction to herself being angry.

"Sorry, sorry... Please calm down."

She then noticed Katsumi giving her the strangest look... almost as if she didn't want her to blow up. Placating? Was that it?

Sighing, Zaki forced herself calm. It wouldn't do to explode like that, would it?

"So you're here to show us around Windermere, right?" she asked.

The woman smiled wanly. "That's right. Oh, and by the way, my name is Kimuko Hideyoshi. I'm a secretary at Windermere." So they didn't have anyone better onhand? Oh, this is a good sign, Zaki thought sarcastically. "It's... good to meet you."

"Same here. Oh, and this is my friend," she gestured towards Katsumi, "Katsumi Shirai."

"Pleasure to meet you," Kimuko said with a nod. "So, shall we be off?"

Three people in the front of a van was not a comfortable arrangement, Zaki soon found out. They all sat side-by-side; Kimuko in the driver's seat, Katsumi in the middle, and Zaki in the far left. The other two carried on some conversation about something.

She didn't pay attention to the other two occupants, instead eyeing the grass as they sped past the hills and fields. Folding her arms across her chest, she squinted; she was exhausted and bored and not in the mood to do this today. For all their sakes, this better be worth it...

They soon reached a gate. Beyond the gate spread more grassy fields, well-tended grassy fields. Near the fields rested a virtual mob of European-style buildings; if she had to guess, she would've said they were British in fashion. They stood there, so prim and proper. It was all so fancy.

Would she really belong in a place like this?

Could she ever belong in a place that was not of her own?

Or would the others simply keep their distance?

Either people accepted her as she was or shut her out. Either way, there would be a reaction. There was no other option.

Then the gates swung open. The van pulled forward, making its climactic approach towards their destination.

Riiiiiiight.

The three females wandered about the school in a most non-random fashion. The eldest pointed out each and every important landmark (or so Zaki was inclined to believe, but they had passed over an entire tower, and when she asked about it, Kimuko simply pretended that she hadn't asked; strange), showing the others where each hall was located, where each restroom was, and the general layout of the classrooms. She worked her hardest to make the school look good, to make them feel at ease and comfortable.

Zaki couldn't feel comfortable. Not with all those pairs of eyes watching her every move, as if she was something strange, something foreign.

But eventually, the tour ended. Eventually, the gang leader was left to her own devices, so to speak, to decide.

Decide.

Was this school right or wrong for her?

A leader needed to make her decisions swiftly, without remorse, not carelessly, but decisively.

Let the wire act commence.

So, it's do or die time. Do I stay or do I go? Do I bite or do I walk away? This could very well change the rest of my life.

Heh. How melodramatic I am. It could change my destiny! Haha, yeah right. Like there's such thing as destiny. As Katsumi would say, bull-fuckin'-shit. Destiny only exists in bad fiction and as an excuse to do something. Going here is destiny! Buying this car is destiny! Getting this job is destiny! Marrying this asshole who treats me like a mongrel is destiny! Getting raped is destiny!

Bah. Destiny is the same copout that gods are.

But I'm not here to ponder stuff like that. I'm here to make a decision.

It is a nice-looking school, really it is, and it doesn't appear to be understaffed. It has prestige. I'll get a good education out of the bargin. No testing required. It's all-girls, which is a definite bonus - I shudder to have to think about life with horny teenage boys at every corner - but do I belong?

Let's get this straight. This is a place for nice girls who do whatever their parents say and will probably get married to some rich guy. This is a place for the good, for the beloved, for the gentle. This is not the place for embittered rejects of society who live by themselves. This is a place for the lambs, not for the black sheep.

Now, let me think for a moment.

No. No, I do not.

But that never stopped me before.

I leave the room, tell Kimuko that I've decided to attend. She sends me to the assistant headmistress - is she in charge of registering or something? - and, in effect, to her office. Her name is Ms. Takatori-Phelps, right? Sorry, none too good with names here. But I never forget a face, much to the dismay of my enemies.

Kimuko - or Ms. Hideyoshi, right, since I'm gonna go here - knocks on the door, then announces that there is a Miss Himezaki who wishes to attend. Yes, that's me. Miss Himezaki to staff, but Zaki to the students. I've never cared much for Aoi, anyway, but I'll answer to it.

The door opens. I enter, introduce myself, and fill out a prospective schedule. She acts polite enough, but I can't help but think she's staring at my mask. Maybe she wants me to take it off. Too bad, says I.

I hand her the paperwork for the schedule. She nods and tells me that she'll see what she can do. She still wants me to take that thing off. I can tell. But I won't do it, even if she asks me to. I can't do it.

Then Ms. Hideyoshi enters, directs me to the registration office, where I can pay for tuition.

After this, I receive a bundle; I am informed that this is my uniform. I'll look at it when I get home. In addition, I am told that I can start attending the school in two weeks. On that day, I shall know which hall I'll be staying in, my schedule, the whole nine yards.

It's time to go? Good. My inner monologue's done, then.

A tweed skirt.

It was a blue-gray tweed skirt.

It was also a blue blazer, a white shirt, black stockings, and black leather shoes.

This was what Zaki was supposed to wear?

It hardly could be classified in the same category as those flippy skirts that Taiyo girls wore, and it certainly wasn't those insane Pacific cheerleader uniforms - Zaki suppressed a shudder upon the thought of wearing one of those things - thankfully, but the idea of wearing this made her skin crawl. She felt nervous about it still. And it just wasn't the very idea of wearing something so conservative-looking, either.

It would require some... fine-tuning.

A week later, spent between Zaki and a sewing machine, she could consider her work to be finished. Long skirts, down to the ankles, with two slits for freedom of movement. Expose no skin.

Dark long sleeves, with the shirt's sleeves' cuffs still visible.

Ditch the blazer. Remove the emblem and sew it onto the top that covered the upper half of the dress. The dress was that dark blue-gray, the same color the skirt had been. Would've kept the skirt, only she was allergic, she found. She'd return it later. Couldn't return the blazer, though.

No stockings. She would wear black tights.

She could accept wearing the shiny black shoes. Not her style, but she could accept them, at least.

Upon trying them on, she found herself satisfied with the results.

"I see you've taken it upon yourself to modify your uniform," the assistant headmistress said, on the fringes of mild annoyance, but this was not quite audible in her voice.

"That's right," Zaki replied. She didn't feel it necessary to explain herself.

Unless asked. "May I ask why?"

"Part of it is that I'm allergic to tweed."

"We could've had a new one made. And what's the other part of it?"

Zaki's eyes widened. "I don't talk about this often. May I whisper it to you?"

"All right."

And whisper she did. She explained briefly why she had done such a thing. She hated to admit this to anyone, but it seemed to be the only way.

Ms. Takatori-Phelps blinked. "So that's why?"

The masked girl nodded. "Yes, that's why."

"Very well. We'll let you slide." The woman half-shut her eyes. "In any case, welcome to Windermere."