-November 2008-

"Get ready. I'm not going easy."

"Give me your worst. I've got it."

Yami was crouched on the ground, a catcher's mitt on his hand. He was also wearing a protective mask, because he knew I wasn't kidding around. My throws could knock the wind out of him if they hit his chest, it was unthinkable about what they'd do to his nose.

He hit his fist into it twice and really got himself ready, wiggling into position and opening up. His teeth went over his bottom lip, his brow furrowing. All this song and dance, trying to humor me, maybe. Well, he was in for it.

"Crazy ball!" I shouted as my arm arched through the air, my leg going up as my back leaned forward in the pitch, my wrist turning as the baseball left my hand, my fingers rolling it as it rocketed into the abyss.

"Oh, shit!" Yami yelled as it collided with his glove. It folded over it, and he was shaking his hand out the next moment, a real expression of pain screwed up on his face. He collapsed into the dirt, the hip of his jeans getting dirty as the dust went up in sudden motion. "I have to play drums, you know!" He started laughing. "That was a good one! What the hell was that?!"

"Something I've been working on. Trying to turn the ball different ways."

"I don't think it needs any more work. That thing's actually crazy. It has the right name."

My throwing hand fluffed my hair behind my shoulder in pride. "Why, thank you."

"Okay, I'm throwing it back. Let's toss it around."

I leaned down, listening to him. It would be fun to toss it around casually. My hands cradled my glove as I straightened back up, putting it on my hand. I nodded my head, and he threw the ball at me from his position on the ground.

I loved throwing a baseball around with him. We were doing it more and more, finding it to be good exercise. What's more, it strengthened our arms, shoulders, and cores, something so vital to playing our instruments. It was the perfect workout. It was fun to figure out new ways to throw the ball to each other. He had some weird inventions, too. I wanted to see more.

He threw the ball almost straight up, emulating a pop fly ball, and I took some steps backwards as I followed it in the air. My arms went out.

The gate to the backyard opened, and I caught the ball just in time to turn my head to see who it was. A grin spread on my cheeks as I saw Shizue enter. She had a piece of cake in a bowl, a dish I recognized. Obviously, Yami's mom had given her a piece of my birthday cake. We'd celebrated it just yesterday.

Shizue took a bite as she plopped into a plastic lawn chair. The spoon lingered in her mouth as she slowly slipped it out, savoring the taste of the strawberry shortcake chiffon.

"Is that Sana's birthday cake?" Yami asked, his face falling. "Give me some."

"What? Get your own, dweeb." She took another spoonful, her chin jutting to him in defiance.

My hand was already over my mouth, trying not to laugh. The leather smell of the ball was on my hand, such a gorgeous smell.

"You're supposed to be my senpai, and you're talking to me like that?"

"Who's your senpai?" Her fist went on her hip, the spoon tightly in it, as her head tilted in mockery.

Yami gestured to her at me, his eyebrows going up behind his catcher's mask. A giggle escaped me and I pressed my lips together, trying to stop more. Before they could unleash any more insults, another familiar head came into the yard. Tadashi stopped at my herbs that were growing in pots on racks, taking time to smell them. He always appreciated little things like this.

"Is that basil?" He asked, turning to me. He touched it gently with his fingertips. "That's new. It's so tiny."

I nodded vigorously, impressed that he recognized it. By smell or by sight, or both? Knowing him, it was probably by both. His knowledge was limitless. I smiled at him. "I want to start cooking more Italian food. I thought basil was a good start. I have to wait, and I have to bring them in soon, though. My herbs won't get a lot of sunlight inside, but they'll be ready for spring."

"Yeah, you don't want them to get frost. Better bring them in soon." He made his way over to Shizue. He patted her on the head and then sat down next to her in another lawn chair. Yami had taken off his glove and was clapping the dust away from his hands. I realized I'd better do that, too, and my glove wiggled off my hand and dropped.

We brought more lawn chairs over and sat down opposite the rest of Lyra, and immediately Yami was digging in his pockets. He was clearly looking for something frantically.

"So, why did you gather us? It isn't Wednesday," Tadashi said, looking at his watch and then back up at us.

"Do you have somewhere you need to go?" I asked.

"Yeah, I have a date."

Shizue made a disbelieving noise. "Another one? Where are you getting all these girls?"

"Around."

"That's pretty specific."

Yami was snapping a piece of paper smooth, making loud noises, drowning out Shizue a little. Her eyebrows creased in irritation. I knew she hated being interrupted.

"Okay, here it is." Yami presented the paper to us, pointing at it as he lowered it in between all of us in the middle. "I found this listing online. The Yellow Lizard concert may have sold out, but it isn't impossible to get tickets. I went into the fan forum. This person's selling six tickets for four thousand yen each more than they bought them for. That's a pretty good deal." An old habit in my head recalculated the price. It was forty American dollars more. That was pretty good.

"Yeah, what are they individually?" Shizue asked, forgetting the bowl she had in her hands now. The spoon slipped around the bowl precariously as she leaned in to see.

"Twenty-four thousand-"

"TWENTY-FOUR THOUSAND?!" Shizue yelled, falling back into her seat. The spoon fell into the grass at this, bouncing under her chair.

"Yeah, but, look-!"

"Pass," Tadashi said in English. He started standing up.

"Wait, wait, wait-"

"Come on, Sana, you want to go to karaoke?" Shizue asked, starting to get up, too.

"Wait, listen!"

Two-hundred and forty American dollars. That was a fourth of what I made in a month. It was insane. Shizue was kind of right, though I hated to admit it. I needed that money for so many things. My violin lessons, hygiene items, helping Yami's mom with groceries, bus and train fare. My main bow was due for a rehair, too. There was no way.

There was movement above us, and I looked up just in time to see Yami's mom lean over the fifth floor balcony in wonder. She had a cooking spoon in her hand, obviously in the middle of preparing dinner. Had she heard the yelling?

Yami made a frustrated noise. He held up the paper in front of his face, pointing it at us. "Did you see what the seats are?! You don't understand!"

"It's a scalper," Tadashi said, matter of fact. He sat back down, though. His arms crossed in front of him. At his interest, Shizue rolled her eyes and plopped back down, too. Tadashi extended his hand out, and Yami dropped the paper into it. He caught it and stared at it. His finger went between his eyes, adjusting his emo glasses on his nose bridge. I watched him scan the page, his perfectly manicured eyebrows raising as he read further.

"You see it, right?" Yami asked, desperate.

"It has got to be a scammer," he sighed, lowering the paper. Shizue snatched it. The bowl was delicately balanced on her thighs now. She read it also, holding it with both hands, her shoulders tense. She started shaking her head.

"This can't be right. How much were center, floor level tickets again?"

"Two hundred dollars in the back row. I went back and checked. It's all correct. There's even pictures of their original purchase screen. It's legitimate. They just can't go. That's all it is. They don't want to let it go to waste."

Tadashi seemed unsure, though. "Then why sell them for four thousand yen more than what they bought it from? The fact that they want to make a profit makes me suspicious. It isn't the usual mark up of a scalper, but if they didn't want them to go to waste, then why would they sell them for more than they bought them for?"

I didn't know the answer to that. However, if they were legitimate then we were wasting time.

"We have to make a decision." I whipped out my cellphone from my pocket. "If these are for sale now, then someone may have already bought them and this conversation doesn't even matter."

"You're definitely right about that." Shizue seemed unsure, too. It was easy to tell that she was worried about the same things I was. I recognized that expression from when she'd tell me things late at night, about her worries and fears. We both didn't make a lot of money. She was a waitress, and I worked front desk at a small hotel. In reality, only Tadashi would be able to afford this, and barely. He worked as a manager at a music store and gave music lessons on the side. But even so, he wasn't drowning in money.

I was quickly trying to get the fan site up on my phone. The light was fading quickly in the sky, making my cellphone's light brighter. It was hard to bring up on my flip phone. It would be better to go inside and look at it on the computer.

"Oh, I forgot you still had a flip. Here." Shizue dug into her purse, trying to get her smart phone.

"Thanks."

We waited a few minutes, and Shizue thrust her hand up in the air. The light from her smart phone was shining. "They're still there, according to the post. I guess maybe because they're so expensive? Message them, Yami. This might be worth it." She handed him her phone, and he was obviously so relieved, breathing out a long held breath.

Her finger went up as soon as he took it from her, though.

"Make sure they're legitimate. I want pictures. I'll go get my money once you've figured it out."

"Me, too. Make sure they look right." Tadashi was holding his hands together so tight, eager.

"Yeah, I will. I'm going to ask them right now," Yami said hurriedly.

"I mean, if we want to be at their level some day, we have to go to one of their live concerts, right? I mean, it makes sense. Maybe this is our chance," Shizue said almost casually, but I knew there was weight to it. It was a rare acknowledgement that Yami might be right.

"Yeah, that's right. I know they're popular, but do they have to sell out every time? Can't there be a lottery or something? There needs to be a better system." Tadashi was staring intensely at Yami, watching him type.

"I agree. They need to be more fair. Not everyone can stay at home and wait to snatch them the second they come on sale," Shizue sighed.

"Okay, I sent the message. I hope we're the first." Yami breathed out. He handed Shizue back her phone. She held it with both of her hands, then hugged it to her chest. Her eyes closed for a brief moment, but I caught it.

She was praying for this. As a breeze played in the trees, and a bird made a song in the distance, I realized in our silence that we were all praying for this.

A week later, we were back in Yami's mom's apartment. Shizue's hands were splayed on the kotatsu, her brow creased as she stared at five pieces of paper spread out on the flat surface.

Tadashi was leaned back against the wall on the daybed, his arm over his eyes as he sat still as a statue, hard to even see him breathe if he was at all.

Yami was laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling fan, his expression unreadable.

His mom was already at the kitchenette across from us, mixing up batter for chocolate chip cookies. She was glancing at us every now and then, her face turning to one of anger and then she'd gaze back down at the bowl she was furiously beating with a spoon.

Every last one of them was angry. So angry, that they were dead to the world. No communication.

I wasn't sure what to do. All I knew was that my bank account was overdrawn, and there were five useless strips of paper on the table right now.

"YOU OWE ME THIRTY THOUSAND YEN!" Shizue shouted, making me jump and bringing me back. My eyes went wide as she picked up one of the papers with her long red nails and threw it in Yami's direction. It fluttered uselessly back down to the table. The back of it was blank, signaling that it was a fake. Printed at home on someone's computer, a clever dupe, but still fake. Not even the back designed to look real, just the front.

"What?! That's six thousand more than the cost!" Yami sighed deeply, exasperated out of his mind.

"EMOTIONAL DAMAGES!"

My face screwed up in a giggle. All this stress coming up. I was able to cover it with my hand just in time. This was no time for laughing. I was out twenty-four thousand yen, too. What was I going to do? I didn't even have money to get to work. I thought this would be worth it, what we'd been waiting for. A chance to study our idols, to actually be there. To see what it was physically like. But, instead...

"We'll file a police report," came Tadashi's muffled voice. His arm had slipped down his face, covering his mouth in his frustration.

"You think we'll get that money back?! Don't be ridiculous! I don't care about the crime! I want my money!"

Tadashi sighed deeply. He knew it was true, too. We all did.

I knew better than to open my mouth. It was all I could do to stay out of the frying pan. But, even though it was Yami's fault for falling for a scammer, I couldn't help but feel bad for him. I wanted to help. But, I couldn't think of any ways to do so. This was a hole that we weren't climbing out of.

"I'll pay it back." Yami's voice was weak and quiet, the opposite of usual. It surprised me. He sounded completely vulnerable. After a couple of seconds, I knew what it was. This voice. "I'll work hard, get extra hours. I'll pay all the money back, don't worry about it."

He was about to cry.

I had to intervene. I put my hands up in front of my face, trying to tamp down the flames coming from Shizue. "It's going to be fine. You know he always goes by his word. He makes mistakes, we all do, but we've never known him to lie. He'll pay you back."

Her face immediately softened. She wasn't mad at me. She sighed deeply, looking off to the side. "Why do you defend him like-" She said under her breath. "Whatever. I'm out of here. Got some place to be." She looked up at Yami's mom. "Thanks for making us cookies, but I have to go. I'll try them later, when I come to the band meeting on Wednesday."

Yami's mom nodded to her a little in appreciation. "No problem. They'll be waiting."

She nodded back and got up, gathering up her purse in the process. "Alright, I'm out of here." She waved to me and I waved back. Tadashi's arm came off his face. He took in a quick breath.

"Yeah. Me, too." He didn't even try to make an excuse. He got up just as quickly. We watched them go, and all I felt was a sourness in my belly. This sick feeling.

My hands folded into loose fists on the table. How could I make this right? I hated it when we were fighting. It wasn't Yami's fault. Those pictures had really looked real, there was a receipt, there was... But that receipt could have been faked, too. It was all there...

After a long time, Yami spoke again. Such a quiet voice. "I bet... I bet they bought the tickets for real, and that's where the receipt came from. I bet they scanned the real ones high res, and printed out copies. I bet they sold a lot of them. Made a lot of money. So, we're not the only ones... I think- I don't..."

The oven door clanked open, and I saw his mom sliding a tray of cookies into the oven. Making these for us, to try to cause us to feel better. Like we were sad little kids.

My hand went to his shoulder. Trying so hard. "It's not your fault. Really. Don't listen to Shizue, she gets upset so easily..." I didn't know what to say. I wanted to cry, too.

"Shh, let's stop talking about this," his mom said. She was observing the cookies as they baked, watching the door with the oven light on. She turned to us, wiping her hands on her apron. "When these finish, I tell you what."

We both stared at her, feeling like the sad kids she was baking cookies for.

She cleared her throat. "We'll go to the video store. I'll rent you a video game and some movies. How about that? We can get our minds off this. There isn't anything that can be done. We have to forget about it. It's over."

"But..."

She stopped speaking, hearing this tone from Yami. It wasn't one we heard often. My lower lip poked out as my eyebrows peaked, my eyes filling full of tears. Yami's face was crumpling, and a long breath came out of him. A shaking, terrible thing.

"But, I thought-" He choked a little, tears starting to stream down his face. He sniffed hard. "I thought they were real. I was sure. They had to be real. I don't understand... How did this ha- happen? What did I do wrong? I don't get it-"

In less time than it took to comprehend it, he was sobbing on the floor. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him cry. He was toughness itself, always laughing at us even when we teased him. He could take anything, and it was always a challenge to see just how much he could take. Our favorite game. Make him crack, but we never could. But now...

His body jumped up and down in his crying, his desperate emotion. "I thought- I thought I was finally going to see them, you know? I thought... I've loved them since I was a kid. I thought we were finally going to..."

"I know that," his mom said, her voice unusually gentle. She came over, sat on her legs near his head. Her hand went to his forehead, staying here. Trying to calm him as only a mother can. "You had their poster, I remember. I know you tried. You tried, and I think that's a great thing."

"I wanted to see them... I- I wanted to see them..."

He sniffled and his face scrunched up in pain. Such utter pain. He rolled over away from her, towards me. He laid on his stomach, trying to hide his face from us. Crying himself, so completely defeated. Hearing him say this, I knew what it meant to him. How much he wanted this.

All those days and nights with him, watching Yellow Lizard on TV, waiting for their videos to come on. Watching them give interviews on music shows. Waiting for news. We'd dash to Tower Records to buy their CD's as soon as the came out. We'd stare at each other open mouthed whenever we heard their songs out in the open as we shopped together in stores, as they came over the store sound systems. We'd pause, as if it were a religious experience, listening and then resuming our shopping when the song was over.

But, it was different for him. I knew that. He'd grown up with them, I hadn't. He'd heard them from the beginning, admiring them since he was a kid. I couldn't even imagine that level of devotion. How much he loved them, completely with his entire soul.

My hand was on his back, stroking there without even realizing. Trying to do something, anything. He needed more than cookies, a movie, or a video game. But, there was absolutely nothing I could give him that would solve this pain.

We were defeated, and that was plain fact. There was nothing I could do about it, and that was the worst part of it of all.