Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

in washes of noise as lush, sultry and tangible as the warm slide of water down along his tired body every morning during his post dance showers.
    "Hinata. Come. Time to exercise body is over. Now is time to strengthen mind." The rapid patter of his mother's terse speech chopped holes into the fabric woven by the music. The steel framework beneath the petal soft tones of her voice drew all warmth from the room, leaving a sudden silence in its wake to splash in icy virulence across Hinata's naked soul.
    Hinata bit back the hot words burning on his tongue. "Yes, Mother." He inclined his head to her, crossing the wide expanse of polished wooden planks with delicate steps and accepting the cup of specially blended tea she handed him on his way out of the room. "Thank you, Mother, I will shower and then join you for breakfast." His mother's mouth remained in a straight line, but her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was pleased.
    "Very good, Hinata. I see on your school calendar that you have testing in two months, so we must begin to prepare you to excel on these measurements." After Hinata stepped past his mother where she waited in the entryway to his dance studio, he allowed himself one eye roll. The birds were still singing at the tops of the trees in the corner of the yard, making him wish to linger in the garden, but his mother had decided it was time to begin prepping for his quarterly exams. She would need only a handful of weeks to master the material, but Hinata struggled to grasp the flat facts he learned from the pages of a book. His skills were those of an entertainer or a geisha, and he must therefore work very hard to approach an acceptable level of knowledge in his coursework.
    Toshiko, or clever child, was a very appropriate name for his mother, however. Hinata sometimes wished she had been blessed with a far cleverer youngest son. For him to see the look she had worn just now on her face was rare. As the day of testing approached, the expression would become as unimaginable as riding a unicorn through the streets of Fresno. "Hai, Okasan."
    "English, Hinata, English please. Your first exam will be in reading and comprehension. You must use every moment to prepare." A hard note of censure crept into her tone.
    Hinata's shoulders tensed. "Yes, Mother." He hurried through the garden toward the back door of the house with a burning behind his eyes. His mother lingered in the garden. Hinata turned to pull the door shut behind him. The first rays of sun reached over the garden wall to fall on his mother's neatly styled black hair and light one side of her face. She sat upon the single stone bench set in the center of the garden, and pulled her electronic notepad from the pocket of her jacket. Before she began to write, she lifted the hand holding the stylus and using the back of her delicate wrist, brushed something he could not see from the far side of her face.
    "Go to your shower, Hinata. You are wasting precious time." Hinata hastily stepped backward until he stood fully inside the house, closed the door softly, and walked with purpose down the hallway and up the stairs. Even as he set the temperature of the shower in his bathroom and shed his dance clothes the image lingered, and as he studied it, the slight droop in the line of his mother's shoulders and the down-turned curve of her neck made one thing very clear. No matter what sacrifice became necessary, he must not continue to disappoint his mother.
    ****
    Peter stood at the bathroom mirror gazing at the mountainous protuberance nestled in angry red glory between the left side of his nose and his cheek. No, no, no, no. This could not be happening, not today of all days. Today was the first day at his new school, and while not a freshman he was still going to be the new guy. The pimple faced new guy. He cautiously raised his hand and poked the enormous thing with one finger.
    "Oh crap!" The resulting jolt of pain earned him instant respect for Randy Markums, who suffered chronically from volcanic eruptions like the one now adorning the side of Peter's face. Randy never complained, not even when the wrestling coach paired them and Peter pinned Randy, grinding the other boy's face into the practice mats. He didn't have time now, but tonight he'd send Randy a text telling him he'd had a giant pimple on his first day at his new school. Maybe that would make up a little for his insensitivity about the other boy's trials, or at least give the poor guy some