Bird-Dogging: an Academy Fan Fiction [on hold indefinitely]

Chapter Two

          I had to hustle across campus from the science building to the English building. I found it funny that my Japanese Calligraphy class was held there. I wondered how that choice had been made. Dart board? Rock Paper Scissors? Anyway, even after sharing a coffee with Kota, I was dragging. My own untouched coffee had cooled, and I debated on whether I was desperate enough for a kick to drink it. I took a exploratory sip and gagged. Nope, it's not worth it, I thought as I dropped it in the closest bin.

         Japanese Calligraphy was the one class I was actually worried about. I could speak Japanese well enough, but calligraphy was like art. I mean, I could draw stick figures like no one's business, but this was on a whole different level. Last week, we had just worked on basic brush strokes, not even attempting characters yet, but the syllabus stated that we'd start covering characters this week. After all, there were 2,136 characters that we would be learning, only a small fraction of the over 50,000 that were actually in existence. While I could speak Japanese, and read it, writing it artistically would be a challenge.

         The professor, a small, formal woman, was patient with me; less so with the handful of students who couldn't speak a word of Japanese. They were there to learn this for tattooing purposes, and mainstream Japanese culture did not find tattoos socially acceptable. She also taught the rest of the Japanese classes on campus, and I'd taken a class from her almost every semester. She was one of the reasons I had decided to make linguistics my second major. She'd worked as a translator for several years and was impressed with my linguistic repertoire. Languages just seemed to come easily for me.

         I spent the hour creating what looked more like ink blot tests than Japanese characters.

          After class was dismissed, I stayed behind, desperately trying to successfully copy just one character correctly.

         "Sang-chan." I smiled at the term. My professor had refused to call me Sorenson-san, using the same honorific as the rest of the girls in class, since I had been so young when I'd taken my first class. I wondered if my mentor thought of me as a little girl still.

          Referring to me as she did was the only obvious indicator that Professor Midori had any affection for me. She seemed cold and distant, but I was used to the lack of warmth. Professor Midori pushed me to excel. "This class is not for you." Her voice was stern.

          I looked up from my mess of ink and paper and met her eyes. They were hard, but I could see the kindness hidden behind her blunt words.

         I bowed my head and replied, "Yes, Sensei. I seem to have more ink on me than on the paper."

        "I am dropping you from this class. Your GPA cannot withstand a failing grade."

          I released a relieved sigh, my shoulders relaxing from having the burden removed. I didn't correct her on my GPA. As far as I knew, I was the only junior with a cumulative 3.98 GPA. But I knew if I brought it up, she'd tell me it could be a 4.0 if I worked harder.

         "Doumo arigatou gozaimasu, Midori-san," I thanked her.

         "You can not need anymore language credits, surely. Why take an artistic class when you have no artistic talent? It was sentimental foolishness," Midori-san scolded in Japanese. I knew she was right. This had been the only Japanese class left that I had not yet taken. I had been clinging to familiarity and using it as a crutch. "You have too much potential to waste." Her voice softened as she continued in her native tongue, "You cannot be good at everything. Then you would be too good for my son, and I would never convince you to meet him."