“What’s the matter, Omachi?” Yuko asked. I was staring straight at her. Our eyes met. Before I knew it, I was telling her about the tengu.

“WHAT KIND OF VOICE DID THIS YUKO have?” Sensei asked.

I couldn’t recall much about what Yuko sounded like. I think she may have had a soft voice. I remembered that the tengu had loud voices, but when I tried to summon other details, I couldn’t really remember what the tengu sounded like either.

I MAY HAVE SAID THAT I STARTED TELLING Yuko about the tengu, but I didn’t really go into detail. Though when I mentioned that the one with the pale red face had been sick ever since this stuff with her had been going on, Yuko seemed startled. Then she let out several deep sighs.

“I appreciate that, even if it’s from the tengu,” Yuko murmured, as her breathing grew regular again.

I didn’t know how to respond. Up until then, all I had done was pretend not to notice. I couldn’t honestly reply with something like “I know, right?” Of course, I told little white lies every so often, but I was aware that now was definitely not a time for dishonesty. And I didn’t mean “definitely” in a generic, conversational way—this was absolutely definitely not the time.

We walked along in silence. When we were about to part ways, I said, “The tengu—they’re still here behind me.” Yuko waved to them and said, in English, “Goodbye.” Her wave was slightly in the wrong direction, but both of the tengu still waved back at her.

AROUND THE TIME OF THE SECOND-TERM closing ceremony—as we were preparing to head into the third term—the girls seemed to forget about ostracizing Yuko. After that, they did a bit of the same to Nishida, but it didn’t really amount to much. This kind of thing tended to ebb and flow. It was a cruel game, administered according to sheer whim.

There were still plenty of times when Yuko was alone, but the others seemed to pretend that what had been going on during the previous term had never happened. From time to time I would notice Yuko sitting quietly in a corner of the classroom, either reading a book or daydreaming. I hardly ever spoke to her at school. It wasn’t as if we had been friends with each other in the first place.

OCCASIONALLY, I’D SEE YUKO TALKING TO another girl. Even when I could hear the other girl’s voice, I couldn’t hear Yuko’s at all. Although she was right there, it seemed as if she wasn’t. I couldn’t be sure whether she actually existed.

ONCE A DAY, EVERY DAY, BOTH OF the tengu would go over to Yuko and touch her. When they did so, the spot on Yuko’s body where they had touched her would sparkle. Like a nighttime parade. Those flashes of light were pretty, but there was something terribly sad about them too.