I grip my suitcase handle tightly and bolt in the opposite direction, making the people around me yelp. Someone shouts my name in irritation, one of the bulky men, most likely, but I don’t turn around to check. If they are here to take me, they sure as hell are going to have to work for it.
People frown and grunt as I push past them, letting me through with dejection written on their faces. I’m almost at the exit when I trip and fall face-first on the tiled floor. My nose burns with sharp pain, but I can scrunch it when I try, so I don’t think it’s broken. A chorus of laughs explodes around me and more than a few phones snap photos.
Oh boy, this is so embarrassing. But the attention I have on me should discourage anyone from threateningme with a hidden gun to my back to follow them to some secluded place so they could torture me.
Mission accomplished then. I should be relatively safe.
Groaning quietly, I push myself up and scowl at the people still taking pictures of me. I peek at the way I came from, searching the crowd for my pursuers. They’ve just made it to the taxi service and are currently… at the front of the queue, talking to the man behind the desk.
Warmth seeps into my neck and cheeks. I blink in disbelief as my lungs try to pump enough air. Those men were rushing to get themselves a taxi and not because they are agents sent from NY to hunt me down.
I shudder, scoffing at myself. Okay… I might have overreacted.
“What are you looking at?” I snap at a grinning kid who’s pointing her phone and finger at me while on a call with someone.
Her mom glares daggers at me. I glare back, throwing in a bit of a snarl, too. My stupidity is not their fault, but they don’t need to rub it in like this.
Someone suddenly grabs me by the shoulder. I shriek, twisting around and stumbling over my suitcase, but this time I manage to keep my balance and not hug the floor face-first. People stare at me anyway, just when they were starting to move on from my embarrassing fall. Even the intimidating sunglasses-wearing James Bond wannabe-s at the taxi service turn their heads in my direction.
“Are you Leon Caruso?” A girl my age with a long tawny ponytail holds up a sign with my name. She’s panting, sweat beading her forehead. “I’m Remi, and these twoare Yasu and Ken. Why were you running from us? The bus stop is at the other exit!”
The two guys standing behind her chuckle as our eyes meet, tossing greetings at me. They look friendly like her and are no older than my twenty-one.
“Oh. Um. I got a little confused…” When she raises a questioning eyebrow at me, I flash her one of my signature smiles. “And you startled me. I’m a bit jumpy when I’m underslept.”
She nods in understanding. “We’ve been waiting for you for over an hour. Everyone else is already on the bus. Let’s go!”
I feel bad making people wait for me. “Sorry. Got held up at passport control.”
Following after my guides, I glance at the intimidating men when we pass the taxi place. They pay me no mind, going about their business as if I don’t even exist. Relief floods me, urging my pulse to normalize.
I’m usually not this paranoid. I’m fun and laid-back. A total party animal with a killer smile and a swoon-worthy fit body. I also don’t lack self-confidence. But because of past Leo’s dumb decision to take on a job he should’ve never taken, I’m possibly in a bit of trouble. Or a lot of it, depending on how you look at it. That’s all, no biggie.
I try to convince myself that it’s all behind me now as we get to the bus and load my suitcase. It takes me until I’ve enjoyed a few glares from the other exchange students and found an empty row of seats to truly calm down. Honestly, it’s all my wild imagination’s fault that I’m so on edge, what with all those shanking, strangling and torture scenarios it’s been replaying nonstop since I decided I’ve had enough of doing shitty jobs for shitty people. I’d have gone and told them I wanted out instead of taking suchdrastic measures, but Johny turned up dead a week after quitting that way, so I don’t think it was a realistic option.
Either way. I’m in Japan now, about to start a new life. A year is enough time so I can figure out what I will do once it’s over, but as the bus leaves the parking lot and I plug my earphones in, I realize that whatever I settle on, it will never be safe for me to go back to the States.
Chapter 2
The bus parks behinda concrete two-story building about an hour and a half later. I waste no time getting off and collecting my suitcase. There is a fancy-looking sushi restaurant opposite the International Students Halls—or IS-Halls as Remi was referring to them—and a huge supermarket when you cross the busy street on the left.
A set of stairs, and the twenty of us enter IS Halls via a passcode-controlled entrance. The spacious reception area is sectioned into an office, a leisure corner and a glassed-off inner garden with tables and a barbeque set. At least twenty more people my age are meandering in the lobby, where boxes of pizza are set up on foldable tables.
“Mina-san, yokoso.Welcome everyone,” a woman with thick-rimmed glasses and a fashionable navy pantsuit greets us with a smile as we crowd the shoe lockers. “I’m Ayaka Nakamura, the exchange program lead. I came to say hi. We’ll have an official introduction on Monday, so please use today and tomorrow to get some rest and acclimate to the time zone change.”
She leaves after that, clearly too cool to hang out with kids. The girl with braided red/blonde hair from the seat in front of me is the first to head to the pizza tables, but Remi halts her before she’s taken more than a few steps.
“Please take off your shoes. In Japan, we don’t wear them indoors.”
I snap my attention to the feet of the other students. Just like Remi said, half of them are barefoot while the rest are wearing slippers, so I toe my sneakers off and place them inside the locker with the number that matches my keycard. When I join the buffet, I jump into a few conversations, but they are cut short soon enough as the IS-Halls assistants inform us of the house rules and the welcoming party. The IS Nagoya University is throwing that for us so we can meet a bunch of Japanese students studying English.
I scan the faces of the people around me, realizing that we are a good mix of nationalities. A pale goth guy with a nose piercing quirks a smile my way, and a girl with a layered bob cut, colorful bead bracelets and dark skin nudges her chin at my pizza slice to warn me about the toppings about to slide off.
“The curfew is 11:30 p.m. You are also not allowed visitors, unless you check them in with Mrs. Nikami at the reception office. They can stay for up to three nights.”
I stare at Yasu, the one who just delivered that particular set of rules. I’ve never had a curfew. I don’t imagine anyone over the age of eighteen does, and all of us most definitely satisfy the criteria.
“Ok, so what do we do if we miss the curfew? Sleep on the bench outside? It didn’t look very comfortable,” I ask with a raised hand, earning myself a few snorts.
