Noriko ran to her brother and demanded all extra hands he had available. Outside the back entrance a truck stood waiting.
A truckload of clothes, literally. You gotta be kidding me!
She didn't really have time to explain anything, because the truck blocked most of the street.
More than a few faces turned their way when she ran together with her crew past the gym, across the pool area and to the service gate which no one had found a teacher with a key to.
It was late enough in September for the last remnants of summer to have vanished, and the end of the festival would see them change into their winter uniforms. Right now she was happy they still wore their summer ones as the rush to the truck was sweatier than she had expected.
Of those most concerned with the load none were present. Kuri and Nao-sempai were busy preparing for the show. Apparently walking the catwalk entailed more than just naturally looking good.
Noriko didn't know. She'd been part of Urufu's fire brigade from the start, and things like the sudden appearance of the truck was exactly what she handled. In all fairness Ryu should have been part of it as well, but as the festival loomed closer the more occupied he became with the fashion show. It was a given that he would participate, but Kuri said you could create a fashion model 101 course based on everything he misunderstood.
Just as she saw the truck her phone signalled an incoming message. Nao-sempai, or maybe just Nao now, she thought. They were dating after all. That thought had her fingering her ear where a dazzling piece of gold and ruby adorned it. The pain from piercing it was all but gone, as were the memories of the verbal bashing she received when she first arrived home with her earrings.
She led half her crew around the gates thinking of the tall junior. Nao, her Nao. It was a cosy feeling. Not the burning longing she once felt for Urufu but rather a sense of safety.
“One bundle at a time,” she shouted. “Over the gates, stack them over there and you four start lugging it to the gym hall!”
It took them a quarter of an hour to offload the truck, and when they were finished a short line of cars with irritated drivers stood waiting for the large vehicle to get moving.
After that they carried the boxes to the gym hall, a little like a caravan of ants with their load. Another half an hour gone when they had so little time left, or so she thought when they arrived with the second set of boxes.
'An increment must comply with a definition of done', Urufu said, 'and a definition of done should always result in something practically useful', but Noriko never understood what he meant by that until now.
Inside the gymnasium Kuri already had her models clad in whatever clothes were in the first set of boxes, and Noriko heard her instruct them how to wear those clothes and how to walk.
When Noriko and her porters arrived with the third set the modelling crew received instructions in new attire. All in all the loss of time could be counted in minutes.
As the stash of boxes by the gates shrunk the hangers in the gym hall filled with clothes tried on, and by the time the last of the clothes were carried inside the models looked as if they had a pretty good idea about how to change between sets in an absurdly short time.
While the exercise served its intended means, it also became a show of its own. An audience gathered, both boys and girls, ogling the models as they changed. Noriko heard Kuri shout a choice set of Swedish words to the boys, and there was no need to understand the language to get the message across.
Hitomi-chan looked more embarrassed than beautiful, and Noriko understood her perfectly. Changing clothes as a model meant spending a lot of time half naked in front of others, and no matter how much they tried to shield her with blankets, some of the boys always managed to sneak a peek or two while she wore nothing but her underwear.
“Kuri, club room,” Noriko suggested when she understood that nothing Kuri shouted would help.
Hitomi-chan gave her a grateful look in return and stared pleadingly at Kuri. When Kuri started to shake her head Noriko grabbed one of her arms and yanked.
“What?”
“Club room. This isn't Sweden. We're not used to having boys stare at us that way.”
“If you want to work as a...”
Noriko didn't allow Kuri to finish that sentence. “This isn't work. It's a school event, and Hitomi-chan shouldn't have to go through this.”
Kuri backed down at that. Almost. “But the clothes?”
It made sense. The ones they planned to use from the start lay in the burner after someone shredded them. “I'll assign people to guard duty here, OK?”
Kuri nodded, and shortly afterwards Noriko watched her leaving the gym hall together with the models. They carried a box each. Enough to continue training, but most of the clothes were still here. Another half an hour later saw all boxes empty and the hangers filled to capacity.
Now the time had come for the more difficult part. Kyoko was bound to scream bloody murder when she found out.
***
Kyoko stared at the bulletin board. Is this a joke?
Signed by the student council the short-list for the beauty contest sat neatly nailed to the official slot only the council could use.
During the last days' worth of frantic planning she recalled voting for Kuri, and mostly out of loyalty, for Yukio as well. She felt some heat rising to her cheeks. In her world he deserved a spot among the five, but she also preferred having him to herself without any competition.
She read the list of girls again. Kuri-chan first with close to a third of all votes, but that was expected. That she'd end up the winner was a given. After her name Kyoko read a second year unknown to her. Hitomi-chan's name after that wasn't exactly a great surprise, and after their show of strength ending the bullying attempt, neither was Noriko's. The last name, however was a major surprise.
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Why the hell am I on that list?
There had to be something wrong, and she hoped it would be cleared up soon. As an afterthought she threw a look at the boys' list as well.
Ryu's first with over ten percent of all votes and after him, with almost as many, Nao-sempai's name looked down at her. So far no surprises. Urufu at third place would have been an impossibility a few months earlier, but given his rising fame the last weeks Kyoko wasn't really all that surprised to find his name there.
The list petered out with two third years as unfamiliar to her as the second year girl.
I just have to find the clown who put my name on that list tomorrow morning, before the real voting starts. But first she needed to join the rest of the club.
An hour of negotiation earlier that evening, between headship, student council and the club saw Urufu in charge of patrolling the school grounds in addition to his other chores.
Kyoko remembered watching the first real quarrel between Kuri-chan and Urufu before she left for home to wash and collect some clothes in a bag before returning to school.
Her parents scowled, but the signed slip from Principal Nakagawa was enough to silence their protests, and now she was back in school with the underwear and toiletry needed for two nights on a hard floor.
After making her way up the stairs she walked through the empty corridor and slid open the door to their club room.
What on earth?
The lounge area had given way to a sea of futons, air mats and closed foam pads.
“When did this happen?” she asked into the air.
“Dunno, but I know Hamarugen-san is who happened,” a voice answered. There was a tinge of awe in it.
Kyoko turned in the direction of the voice. A freshman she couldn't remember seeing before sat by a desk in their office area. An enormous freshman with spiky, orange hair, irregular school uniform and an armband in his hands. She wasn't certain but it looked like the kanji for 'security' on it.
“Who are you?” she asked, too perplex to be afraid.
He rose so quickly he almost overturned his chair. Then he gave her the most formal bow she had received in her live. “My name is Goto Daisuke. I apologise for my unseemly appearance Takeida-san.” His choice of words changed to the extreme formal as well.
He's sure got the build for it, Kyoko thought and shot the hulking frame an amused stare. Wait a minute, why does he know my name?
“You're not a club member, so why are you in our club room?” She really wanted to fish for an answer to her earlier question, but she couldn't think of a polite way to do so.
He slowly rose to his full length. “Matsumoto-san told me to lay out the beds.
Kyoko looked at the lounge turned sleeping area and nodded. Urufu placed a few phone calls and this stuff magically appeared here. She shook her head as pieces of a puzzle slowly came to place in her head. One question would confirm her theory.
“You're 9:1?”
“Yes. I'm honoured that Takeida-san knows me,” the giant said and bowed deep again.
Confirmed, but I don't really know you. I only guessed. Kyoko chose not to phrase that in spoken words. There was no point in insulting him. So the rumours about the former Red Rose thugs were true after all. She should have known, but 9:1 had their home room in the left wing and she had little to no reason visiting them during school hours.
Behind her the door slid open and a few club members arrived. They must have come with the same train. Another half an hour and she expected to see the club room alive with its usual club hours’ chaos even though it was far too late for any normal club hours.
They'd take turns patrolling the school grounds twenty four hours a day until the end of the cultural festival. For most of the club members two nights sleepover at school would be an adventure.
While she understood Urufu irritation at being saddled with yet another responsibility, she also trusted him to calm down in the end. To make sure of that she sent Kuri-chan an email ordering her to apologise to her boyfriend and make up with him.
After all Kyoko guessed she was the only one allowed to slap her tall friend around in that manner. She suspected not even Urufu dared doing so, but allowed to or not he was still the one paying with additional work for Kuri-chan's request to get the clothes provided by Uniclo secured. They couldn't afford another sabotage.
When Yukio finally returned from his father's home with a large backpack she only allowed him to dump it in the club room before she led him upstairs by his arm.
Below them almost half of 9:1 had joined the club members for the overnight stay, and three pairs with flash lights and radios were already patrolling the school.
Kyoko didn't care. She'd team up with Yukio in two hours, and she didn't plan to sleep until then. Not with the bribe in her pocket. The rooftop key she received from the student council president in return for nudging Kuri-chan to request added security. Kyoko almost felt a bit guilty on Urufu's behalf. Almost, but two blankets in one arm, Yukio in her other, and the prospect of two dark hours alone with him quickly brushed away any concerns.