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“Sensei,” Kashima says, as she stuffs papers (sheet music, Yuzuki’s spider-like handwriting all over them, little tips and notes and rude drawings) into her bag. “Do you think I’m getting any better?”
“Nah,” Yuzuki answers, hoisting her own bag on her shoulder. “You still suck.”
Kashima sighs. They go together to Yuzuki’s house, bumping hands and hips on the way, and Kashima charms five girls during the twenty-minute walk, while Yuzuki chats on and on about Wakamatsu and Chiyo-chan.
Yuzuki’s parents and brother are not home, so they go straight to her room, close the door behind them. Kashima steps over Yuzuki’s bag on the floor and hangs hers properly, then joins Yuzuki on the bed, where she is lying face down.
“Basketball practice is hard, right,” Kashima says. “That Wakamatsu must give you a lot of trouble.”
Yuzuki laughs, a warm puff of air against Kashima’s hip. She props herself up on her hands, then, licks into Kashima’s mouth. It’s warm and wet and familiar, and when Yuzuki pulls away Kashima’s lips are buzzing and her head’s spinning.
“Yuzuki,” she whispers, the name like a prayer on her tongue, when Yuzuki bites the joint where her neck meets her shoulder.
“Yeah?” Yuzuki asks. Kashima can feel her smile against her skin.
“Nothing,” she says, tangling her fingers in Yuzuki’s soft, soft hair. “Nothing at all.”