The School that her mother had taken her to was called Kokoro no kyoshitsu – literally ‘Classroom for the Heart’, a sort of children’s counselling centre and alternative School. Above the entrance were the words Supporting Children’s Development.

It was situated in an old building, a former school or perhaps a hospital, and when they’d first arrived, Kokoro had heard children’s voices coming from upstairs. Elementary age kids, she thought, from the sound of them.

‘You must be a little nervous, Kokoro, but let’s go in,’ her mother had said, smiling. She looked more on edge than her daughter but nevertheless gave Kokoro’s back a tiny, encouraging push.

Kokoro had felt awkward that she and the School shared the same name – kokoro, ‘heart’.

Her mum must have noticed the coincidence, too. It wasn’t as if she’d named her that just so she could bring her here. Even thinking such a thing brought a pang of pain.

This was how Kokoro learned for the first time that the so-called non-attendee children had somewhere else to go, other than normal school. Back in elementary school, no one in her class ever refused to go to school. A few kids might fake a sick day or two, but there hadn’t been a single child who would have to go to a school like this one.

Even the teachers who greeted them all referred to the alternative School by the English word ‘school’.

Kokoro felt a bit strange in the open slippers she’d been given, and as she sat waiting, she nervously curled up her toes.

‘So Kokoro, I understand you’re a student at Yukishina No. 5 Junior High School?’ The teacher was smiling gently as she checked all her information was correct. She was young, and reminded Kokoro of those cheerful, ever-smiling older girls who danced and sang on children’s TV. The woman had a sunflower-shaped name tag on her blouse, with a tiny portrait of her, undoubtedly created by one of the children at the School, and the name Kitajima written on it.

‘Yes,’ Kokoro said. Despite her efforts, her voice came out sounding weak and muffled. She wondered why, but at that moment it was the only voice she could manage.

Ms Kitajima smiled broadly.

‘I went there too,’ she said.

‘Oh.’

Their conversation stalled.

Ms Kitajima was actually a beautiful young woman, her short hair giving her a vivacious look. And she had the kindest eyes. Kokoro immediately liked her, and she envied her no end that she had long since graduated and no longer had to attend the junior high.

It was hard to say that Kokoro herself was actually attending junior high. She had only just started school in April, when the new academic year began, had only gone to lessons for the first month, and then stopped.

‘I CALLED THEM TO LET them know.’