I make a quick dash to use the washroom before any of the students can get to it. Sure enough, one towel under the sink now has “WB” written on the washing instructions label. Another says “トイレ” for the toilet, a third says “窓” for the windows. The rest are all in kanji I vaguely recognize. On a normal day I’d add this to my list of reasons not to re-contract. Good thing I’m still too buzzed with caffeine and sugar to care.

Still hungry, though.

Bucho almost bumps into me as I come out of the washroom and she tries to go in. “Oh! So sorry! Eh, ‘Shibere’-sensei, yes?”

“Cybelle,” I correct her.

“Eh? She … She-bera? Shiberia? That’s a strange name for a foreigner,” she says to herself in Japanese. “What kind of a name is that? Why would your parents name you after Siberia?” Good grief, lady.

“There’s no H. And it’s ‘bell’ … like a bell.”

“Ja … Seh-beru …” She pauses, then claps her hands to her face. “Eh, muzukashii!” She wonders why I can’t just have an easier name, and other things that I don’t need or care to hear. She also teases me, asking if I understand her, because I should by now. I hope my face looks as blank as I’m trying to keep it. Wasn’t this woman in a mad rush to go to the washroom a moment ago?

“So, how long will you be at our school?” I ask.

“Eh? Ron-gu? How wrong … ah! How long! Eh …” She counts in her head. “Yes, one week. Yoroshiku, ne?”

“Douzo yoroshiku onegai itashimasu.” I bow, ignoring her applause and praise about my Japanese pronunciation. “I have to go.”

“Okay! See you again, Shibera!”

I turn my attention to getting ready for my new Moms’ class. I start by nodding my way through the cluster of parents and children in the lobby to the peaceful quietude of the staff room. Yoshino is already there, on a stool, shoving a giant box onto the highest shelf. “Hey, Cyb!” There’s a hint of a smirk in her smile.

“Oha, Yoshino-chan,” I greet her.

“Oh, stop, you!” she hops down and playfully slaps my shoulder. “You’re one to talk! Who’d you disappear with the other night? Heh heh.”

“Meh, no one special. I just went home. Sorry I didn’t see you before I left.” Rather than disappoint her, I decide to convince her that I had a decent time. “How about you? How was your Saturday night? Fun? Did you ‘stick together’ with anyone?”