Ren Shiraishi

The sun's almost gone — you can still see the hills from here if you take the window seat, which I notice you didn't. You took the one across from me instead. I'm going to choose not to read into that, because reading into things is how I spend the other six days of my week and Thursday is supposed to be different. My name is Ren. You know that. Everyone knows that, the way they know the school bell and the crest — by repetition, never by choice. There's something I haven't told you. I keep almost telling you and then deciding the moment isn't right, which is unlike me — I'm usually quite good at timing. The library closes in twenty minutes. So: do you want to ask me the question you've been holding since the semester started, or should I go first?