They nod but still murmur to each other in Japanese. Something along the lines of “Can she speak Japanese? Did you know that? No, I didn’t. Amazing. Mmm.” And then they retreat into awkward silence when they see I’m listening. Or, trying to listen. It’s loud as balls in here. Hang on … didn’t we all have dinner three days ago? What do they mean, ‘Can she speak Japanese?’ I’m really getting tired of this Twilight Zone–language thing going on with my co-workers.

“I’ve never been to this part of the Bay Area before,” I say instead. “How about you?”

“Sorry, Cybelle-sensei,” Jun speaks in English this time. “We have never been to this part of Osaka before, either. But I am sure we are safe! We are in a group. Besides, it is not late at night.”

“Of course, we’re safe. We’re all here together, right?”

Lieko gives me a dirty look, the first she’s given me since we left the school. “Yoshino should have checked before bringing us here,” Lieko scolds. “But I am sure nothing will happen as long as we are not separated.” The others nod in agreement, even though they don’t look too convinced.

“What’s everyone drinking?” I ask. I’m desperate, now. They make little kanpai gestures with their glasses; even through all the smoke, I can tell it’s all oolong tea. All right, one more attempt and I’m out of ideas.

“How have your lessons been going?”

“Um … good …”

They turn to Lieko. She concentrates hard on stirring the ice in her glass with a straw. “The oolong tea here is very good, isn’t it?” she says in Japanese.

The others nod eagerly. “Oh, yes, very good! I agree.” They start up a conversation in Japanese about how healthy oolong tea is for women. My co-workers believe in sticking together, all right — to themselves. Screw it. Why did I leave the snack table in the first place? Hell, why did I come here in the first place?

“Well,” I stand up. “I think I better get another drink.”

“But …” Jun exchanges glances with the others. “Lieko says, we must not be separated.”

Obviously, no one noticed that I was at the snack table without a place to sit up until now. “Um, well … I won’t take long. See you all later!” We wave to each other (except for Lieko, naturally) and I squeeze through the crowd. I’m getting the hell up out of here, with or without Yoshino. This sucks.

Luckily, I find her at the bar, lighting up a cigarette. “Yoshino, thank God I found you. Oh. Oops.” I’ve just waded into a whole group of young men with dark- to pale-blond hair and a mix of British and Australian accents. They’ve all stopped dead in their conversations to stare at me.

“Hi, Cybelle!” Yoshino says. “Come, join us!”

The guy who has his arm around Yoshino’s shoulders notices me for the first time. He recoils in horror. “AUGH! You’re not American, are you?!”