I run into the building and catch the elevator just before it closes, scaring the daylights out of some sour-looking obaachan who can’t decide whether to get on or not. “Hrrngh … gaijin, kuso —” The doors shut on her cursing. Whatever. She looked familiar but I’m too freaked out to worry about it. She isn’t a Zozo client; that’s all that matters.

It’s been a while since I’ve been this pissed off with myself. How the hell did I sleep through my alarm clock? More than that, how did I manage to grab it in my sleep and not wake up from it at all? I only have a few seconds in the elevator to dab the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve and pray my makeup isn’t running all over my shirt. Droplets continue to stream down my face. I must look awful. My lungs still burn when the doors open. I prepare to apologize on all fours … with Bucho around, it’s what I have to do in this kind of situation, right?

The lights are on, but the lobby is empty. No parents, no children, not even a staff member at the reception desk. For a brief second, I wonder if Zozo is open. “Uh … hello?” I call out, taking off my shoes. “Sumimasen? Anybody home?”

I hear “Ah, shibaraku omachi itadakemasu ka?” then Manager sticks his head out of the staff room door. “Eh?!” His eyes are wide, like he wasn’t expecting me. “Oh! Cybelle? Why so early?”

“My trial lesson,” I try not to pant. “Manager, I’m so sorry. My alarm clock … I don’t know what happened …”

Manager gives me a blank stare.

“Yesterday. Just before I left. Remember? Trial lesson, three boys, kindergarten age?” Dude, come on; don’t do this to me. Not today. Not now. “Manager, you said … your exact words were —”

“Trial? Ah!” he smacks his forehead and swears. “So sorry! Trial lesson, cancelled yesterday. Ah … no trial.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” My purse, along with my dignity, hits the floor with a dull thud. “Are you serious?”

“Ah, yes, very serious. They do not trial lesson at this school anymore. They go to other school, in Osaka — ah! Wait! Don’t leave. Just a moment, please!”

He ducks back into the staff room and unleashes a muted string of super-polite Japanese to someone, presumably on the phone. Meanwhile, there are a thousand bad words running through my head all at once, all fighting to get through my mouth at the same time. This is the last straw. The only trick is to move forward without violence. When Manager steps back out into the open, my bag and shoes are already back on.

“Ah!” Manager runs toward me. “No, wait! You — ah, can’t leave.”