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Seira's opinion of Yoko seemed to improve once Yoko got serious about baseball. There were fewer comments about useless idols, at least. This didn't mean Seira stopped needling her; while Yoko was making a real effort at practice, improvement took time. If Yoko dropped a ball or missed one completely, Seira would bellow, "Maybe if you stopped playing with your hair you would've gotten it!" Yoko would scowl and shout something back about what a bully Seira was.
After neatly snapping a fly ball out of the air one afternoon, Yoko relayed it back -- her throw gauged well both in terms of distance and force -- and waited. Seira threw home. Yoko waited another second before sticking out her tongue and yelling, "You're always so quick to insult me! But when I do something good, why don't you say anything?" Her eyebrows knitted in a frown, until she shook her head and made a conscious effort to smooth her brow; no use in encouraging wrinkles.
Arms on hips, Seira turned back towards Yoko and said, "Nice catch. There, are you happy?" Yoko pantomimed throwing her mitt at Seira's head.
At dinner that night, however, Seira seemed a little friendlier than usual, a little more patient. Yoko watched her go upstairs to her room and kept staring long after Seira vanished, until Koharu asked her if she was all right.
The next morning, Yoko trotted to catch up with the long-legged Seira on their walk from the dorm to school. "Wait'll you see me today," she bragged. "I'm sure I'll do something even better during practice." She looked up at Seira through her eyelashes and added, "And I'll look like a real star doing it."
This earned her a slap on the top of her head, as Seira grumped, "I don't care how you look when you're out there, as long as you manage to get on base and hit some balls! Looking pretty isn't going to get us to Koshien!"
Yoko's eyes widened in surprise; she tried to make it exaggerated and sarcastic, tried to hide that her heart was racing. "Oh, do you think I'm pretty, then? That's so kind of you, Seira!" She reached up and snaked her arm around the other girl's shoulder, planting a loud, overdone kiss on her cheek.
Seira shoved her away, scrubbing at her face and shouting, "Salt! I need salt!" She stalked off ahead. Yoko smiled at Seira's outraged denials, audible the rest of the way to the clubhouse.
Later, leaping for a ball, Yoko scraped her knee. It made her feel like a real baseball player at last -- something she hadn't imagined she'd want to feel like. She showed off the abraded skin to anyone who would look.
"The rest of us have been breaking skin for weeks," Seira snapped. "Just because you've finally decided to join us doesn't mean you deserve a medal."
Yoko scrambled for a cutting comeback, but a surprising well of hurt feeling distracted her. Were those genuine tears she felt? No way.
Seira rolled her eyes. "You'll never make it as an idol if you've got such sensitive skin," she said. "Both mentally and physically," she amended with a rough laugh. But she reached out a hand to muss Yoko's hair. Yoko darted back. A tart comment about how Seira better keep away, even if she was jealous at how much shinier Yoko's hair was, spilled from her lips automatically.
This provoked the expected response: Seira had more important things to worry about, and anyway, her hair was beautiful without her having to spend as much effort on it as Yoko, and didn't that mean her hair was actually better?
Back in familiar territory, the two were able to squabble until dinner.
Later that night, doing homework, Yoko thought that maybe something had changed that day. For the better. And not just her athletic skill, although progress in that area was pleasing as well.
Yoko was used to a lot of attention. She was pretty, and knew it. Knew how to make herself prettier, was patient with makeup, blow dryers and brushes. She'd schooled her face to default to the most flattering expressions, and when there was a camera nearby, she was expert at looking coy, innocent, vivacious -- whatever the occasion called for.
She worked hard -- really hard -- on making herself desirable. Attracting men wasn't her goal, more like a side effect. She wanted to be alluring. The flowers, phone numbers on scraps of paper pushed into her hand, declarations of love: they all flowed from that. The phone numbers she threw out right away; the words of love made her roll her eyes (discreetly, when no one could see). The flowers she liked, although keeping them around sometimes was construed as a promise, one she had no intention of giving. She'd passed on a lot of bouquets to her friends, back at home; they'd been slightly jealous but gratified.
She'd never had a man not fall into her hand as soon as she decided he should.
She'd never tried to catch a girl.
It made things interesting. As much as she felt like she needed the attention of men -- sex appeal, for men, to men, was crucial to launching her career -- it bored her a little. It was rote. They were simple.
This was something new: the way she suddenly couldn't craft a sly phrase or witty retort for anything, once Seira so much as cast an eye in her direction. She was reduced to childish noises of fury, pouting in a way that didn't feel natural. Or maybe it was natural. Maybe it felt strange because it was unfeigned.
Yoko was honestly swept up in the fervor for baseball that found its source in Ryo and had engulfed the rest of the team. She never thought she'd find a sport so fascinating. She'd like it, she thought, even without Seira.
But there was Seira. The way she was so effortless at base-running, long legs pumping and suddenly she was safe before anyone had a chance to even think about throwing her out. Seira was still honing her fielding, but she was never late to the ball, even if she bobbled it trying to get it into her glove.
She was loud and obnoxious and definitely unrefined, and plus she didn't take care of that wealth of red hair at all. If Yoko had distinctive hair like that, she'd spend even more money and time grooming it.
But Seira wouldn't. She yelled at Yoko for suggesting it, for leaving precious bottles of styling products in front of her door as polite hints.
Yes, Seira was rude. Mean, even. Yoko couldn't even remember the last time someone else had dared to put her in a headlock or rumple her hair.
Yoko couldn't get enough of it, the insults and the physical contact -- much as she protested it -- and felt like a 6-year-old, unable to express affection except through yelling and hitting.
"Listen," Yoko said to Seira as they left school after practice. "I'm going shopping. I need some more shampoo. The place I go is really great -- they could definitely recommend something for your hair!"
Seira scowled, but Yoko hurried on. "Nothing complicated! Just a different shampoo, maybe, might help a lot." She tugged on Seira's arm, then cringed for doing such a childish motion. "Come on, it'll be fun!"
Seira shook her head. "What could be fun about that? You've got some stupid ideas of fun."
"We can stop and play pool afterwards," Yoko said. Oh, good move, she thought. I haven't forgotten how to be sneaky.
Seira's eyes lit up, then narrowed. "You know we're not allowed to do that anymore while we're on the team."
Yoko resisted a triumphant smile. "No one will see us! We'll just play one game, quick, and go." She thought she ruined it by then blurting, "As long as you don't start any fights, no one will notice!"
But Seira grabbed her shoulder and said, "What do you mean, starting fights? I can play pool without a fight, you jerk! Let's go get your stupid shampoo and then I'll show you!"
Yoko did let her smile out, then.