November 1996

*

        The bartender didn’t suspect a thing when Claire Kang ordered four gin and tonics. She looked like a gaijin and spoke Japanese with a thick accent.

        “Gin and tonic yonko onegai shimasu?”

        The bartender, who looked like a young boy himself, was clearly smitten by her attempt. He held up four fingers to confirm.

        “Hai.” She smiled and handed him the cash. She placed the tall glasses on a tray and carefully brought them back to the table in the far corner where the boys were waiting, all of them trying a little too hard not to be noticed in the dark. One of them still had braces.

        “CK!” Keizo cheered. That’s what he’d called her from the moment they met in AP Bio.  “You’ve done it again!”

        Henry, the tall one, placed a glass in front of Claire and distributed the others around the table. Len, the one with braces, took a nervous sip. Claire flipped her long, silky, brunette hair over her shoulder, feeling triumphant. She had dreaded moving to Tokyo at the beginning of her junior year when everything was going so well for her back in Palo Alto, but she’d found something new here that she never thought was possible. Boys. She was surrounded by them, and for some reason, she was comfortable around them, more so than the girls who were friendly enough, but hadn’t bonded with her in the same way. And these boys weren’t like the boys back in California. They seemed older than they were (despite Len’s braces). They didn’t need to drive in order to go out. It was easier to sneak out at night, especially with Claire’s parents always gone at night for corporate events or expat parties. They trusted that she would stay put doing her homework like the introverted nerd she’d been all her life. Until now.

        “Kanpai!” Keizo said, and they all clinked their glasses before diving back into their usual conversations. They rotated between the best songs to sing at karaoke, rumors about their classmates and “how far they’ve gone,” their upcoming school trip, and a few rounds of Would You Rather. They still managed to circle back to stories they’d already told each other before, usually about the grossest things they’ve ever done or witnessed.

        “It was pouring out of him!”

        “Ew!”

        “We don’t need all the details!”

        “Liar! Last time you said it was trickling.”

        “It’s true! Ask anyone who was in PE with me fourth period.”

This was the fourth—or fifth?—time they’d gone out as a foursome, and the second time they made Claire get the drinks. Keizo winked and called her their “good luck charm.” Before bringing Claire into the group, the boys would have trouble even getting through the doors before being asked for ID. Tokyo was relatively lenient with teen drinking, but they were especially kind to young girls. Young foreign girls.

        Claire was half-Korean on her dad’s side, half-white on her mom’s. She didn’t know what to expect from international school, but she was surprised to find many others like her, mixed Asians of all varieties. Len was half-Japanese on his mom’s side. There were those who looked entirely Asian. And others, like Claire, who could easily pass as white, if not just vaguely ethnic.

        Keizo was entirely Japanese, but because he’d attended this international school all his life, he spoke both languages fluently. Henry was Taiwanese-American, and like Claire, had grown up in the U.S. (on the east coast) before moving to Tokyo because of his dad’s job, just a few years prior. Back in Palo Alto, most of Claire’s friends had been white—and mostly girls. She was still a few months into immersing herself in Tokyo and this new school life, but Claire was managing to navigate the place like she’d been here all her life. Or maybe it felt good to pretend like she’d been here forever. A confident woman who could order all the gin and tonics she’d wanted. At 16 going on 17.

        The bar played “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls for the umpteenth time. Keizo lip synched to the song with exaggerated faces. Everyone laughed.

        “So sick of this song.” Len was already done with his drink with his face glowing red. “Why can’t they put on real music? Like Tupac? Or Biggie Smalls?”

        “Don’t listen to him, he’s a philistine,” Henry said.

        Claire took another sip and decided to challenge him, already knowing what he was going to say. “What, like you have better taste in music?”

        “There’s no one, and I mean no one,” Henry paused, “who’s above Kurt Cobain.”

        “Oh come on!”

        “Seriously, dude?”

        “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

        “We’ve been over this! You need to expand your horizons, man. Nirvana is dead.”

        “Philistines! All of you!”

        Keizo continued to lip sync to “Wannabe.” “Dudes, chill out, there’s nothing wrong with girl power! Right, CK?”

        Claire took another sip and gave a smirk. She wasn’t sure she was feeling any of the alcohol. Or maybe she’d already grown used to the taste. “They’re a little childish,” she said, even though she secretly loved them and had their latest CD in her Panasonic Shockwave at the bottom of her bag.

        Henry’s leg brushed against Claire’s. “Oh, sorry.”

        “It’s cool.”

        Henry was the tallest of them all and his awkwardness seemed to have come from not knowing how to handle his own body. His height had made him useful in the school’s basketball team for a while, but a bad fall on his ankle put a sudden stop to his athletic ambitions last spring, before Claire knew any of them. That’s when his obsession with Nirvana really took off, according to Len and Keizo.  

        Len played with his straw. “What are we doing after this?”

        “Chill out man, I have a plan.” Keizo slapped the table. “Do you trust me, or do you trust me?”

        They all clinked their glasses in the affirmative. 

        “Good,” Keizo said. “’Cause I found the perfect place.”

*

        It was cold outside, but Claire had her mom’s fur coat to keep her warm. Keizo, with his sports cap tipped to the side, led the way to their mysterious next location. Len stopped at a vending machine for water, which got passed around the four of them as they kept walking. Henry kept Claire company in the back.

        It never occurred to her, in her few months of living here, to feel unsafe walking around the streets, even late at night. There were always people around. Every street was well lit. In the places she’d frequented with the boys, there was music constantly spilling out from the shops, mixed with the chatter of different friend-groups, each with their inside jokes, their go-to karaoke songs, their stories-on-repeat. In her chameleon-like ability to blend in despite her foreignness, Claire was convinced that everyone else was either their age or just slightly older, also pretending, also getting by. Claire’s father, who’d grown up in Tokyo in the Korean district before the family moved to California, had fond memories of the city but had painted a very different picture of the city to his daughter while she was sulking for months about the move. “The culture,” he kept saying. “It’s all about respect. You’ll learn so much from the Japanese.” Claire took a sip from Len’s bottle before passing it again to Henry, who finished it. Keizo stood in front of a seemingly ordinary building with his big smile, eagerly waiting for the crew. If Claire had known what Tokyo was really going to be like, she probably wouldn’t have complained so much.

        “Friends,” Keizo said. “Follow me.”

        They took a tiny elevator down to the basement, and when the doors opened, they were immediately met with foggy air from smoke machines, colorful lasers slowly piercing through them that were moving in sync to the music. Electro-pop was how Claire would have described it, but it was all so chaotic from the start, and nothing like the music she was used to hearing. There were some recognizable melodies from American hip-hop but as soon as it sounded familiar, the music would switch to high-pitched Japanese girls or some sort of techno.

        She could see Keizo waving, gesturing to come in. He wanted them to let the elevator doors close behind them and step through the fog—but Claire remained still, heart pounding with joy—yes! this! the best night of my life!—mixed with an overwhelming fear that she’d stepped too far into this world, in this foreign country she still hardly knew.

        “Claire.”

        She couldn’t hear who it was through the loud music but she could feel Henry leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Claire. You okay?”

        Maybe it was his height, but there was something about Henry that made him seem especially older, more mature, than the rest of them. He was also, according to rumors, the most experienced in the friend-group. He’d been in the basketball team, after all.

        Claire knew, in the way he was looking at her now, that he saw her as he would his little sister. Someone he needed to take care of, but not in the boyfriend-girlfriend kind of way.

        “You okay?” he asked again.

        Len had already followed Keizo through to the other side of the fog. Claire didn’t know how to answer Henry’s question. She wanted him to stop making that face. Didn’t he know? If it weren’t for her, they wouldn’t have gotten drinks at the bar that night. Didn’t he know? Play time wasn’t over yet. They were still free, they were still out, they need to see this through.

        “Let’s go!” She pinched his sleeve and pulled, conscious not to hold his hand, not to give off the wrong signals.

        Heads bobbed to the music. Arms swayed and intertwined with other arms. It was hard to see the outlines of bodies until she was up close. The fog was everywhere and she couldn’t figure out where the smoke machines were coming from, or how big the room—rooms?—were, or which direction she was heading. She wanted to look like she knew where she was going, and she was still pulling Henry by the sleeve, but then he stopped, took Claire’s hand and started pulling her in a different direction. He’d seen something. Someone. His height was a real advantage in a place like this.

        “Hey!” she said, but he couldn’t hear her. No one could hear each other speak unless they were looking directly at each other’s mouths. His hand was warm.

        Claire felt small—but she also began to feel more at home in this new space, the fog and the hyper, ever-switching music, the smell of sweat and perfumes and other people’s exhales. Just as her hand loosened some of the tension, he let go and they approached a couple of tall chairs where Keizo and Len were waiting for them with four orange shots filled to the brim, all neatly laid out on the table.

The boys high-fived each other. Claire joined in. They each took a glass and swung it back at the same time. The drink was sweet and strong and hit Claire’s entire body in layers—a harsh tingling in the throat followed by an incredible warmth and shivers all over—she’d never had anything this strong before so she closed her eyes—and when she opened them she could see better through the fog, or maybe the fog had lifted in that time, there were bodies everywhere all around them, so Keizo—their natural leader—moved them all toward the center of the dance floor to get away from the others but also to join all the others. The music sounded even louder somehow, or maybe that was the drink? Claire felt comfortable closing her eyes for several seconds at a time, letting her body guide her through this infinite pool of dancers, bumping into each other accidentally and intentionally. Before she knew she was dancing, she was dancing. And then she saw Keizo dancing. He had on his usual class-clown smile but his body was contorting and moving to the beat like he’d rehearsed all of this before. She’d never seen him like this. Never knew him as a dancer. And then it came back to Claire that she, too, had been a dancer once—forced, like many of her female friends, to take ballet by their mothers. But because of this classical training she only knew to dance on, not off, the beat, like everyone else.

        Keizo found her hand and twirled her to come closer, then unraveled her back out against the backs of other dancers. They kept moving. His eyes were half-closed, focused on the pounding beats, the swells and the hints of the next song beginning to surface. Claire imitated him, allowing herself to become his slightly delayed shadow. Her arms noodled up, then to the side. Her hips dropped and swirled. She swung her hair when he swung his. Whoa, there it was—the alcohol. She was dizzy now, but she was happy and wanted to stay in this moment for as long as possible. She couldn’t believe she’d missed out on all of this for so long. And that she would have continued to miss out on all of this had she not moved here, had Keizo never befriended her in AP Bio that day and introduced her to Len and Henry during lunch. Had she not snuck out that night. She was meant to be here, she thought, letting the music take over her, letting her arms and feet continue to move like Keizo’s, letting the effects of the orange drink take over all of her inhibitions. She had expected drinking to be fun but this was beyond that, way beyond that. Look at Keizo. Look at how free. Look at the room. All the faces, some of them looking at each other, most of them not looking at anything at all. Everyone was in a similar trance, aware and unaware. All of them probably just as drunk as she was. All of them happy. All of them thinking, I’m meant to be here.

        She felt strong with the boys dancing all around her now. She felt, again, safe. The song was catchy, it almost sounded like “Wannabe” but different, faster, sexier. They all smiled with their mouths open. They were all skilled dancers. Who knew? But it was Keizo in particular who was finally showing them who he really was, maybe for the first time ever. He was in his own world, impenetrable by the crowd of strangers around him who were also beginning to notice him with awe. The lighting would change from song to song, and sometimes Claire would only be able to see parts of their faces or their feet, sometimes nothing at all but the colorful lasers that were so close yet impossible to touch with her delicate fingertips.

        There was so much movement it was hard to tell how many times they’d moved to their corner table to chug more of those orange shots and back to the center of the dance floor. It was unclear who was buying the shots, though Claire had a vague memory of the bartender saying, “Dynamite Kid!” thinking that was what he thought of her, so maybe she had bought one of the rounds. And then later, back at the table while a few of them drank waters, Len had clarified—“Dynamite Kid” was the name of the citrusy vodka drink they’d been having all night. “DK! DK!” Keizo had repeated. How many of those had they had? No one knew. Back at the dance floor, there seemed to be more people, new faces, new movements, new songs, probably a new DJ. “DK!” She was dancing again but she didn’t know where she was anymore. The room looked different somehow, or maybe they just changed the lighting again. Where was Keizo? She hadn’t seen Len in forever. Where was Henry?

        She dance-swam through the crowd, now moving to a slower beat—or maybe it only felt slow to Claire—and found Henry sitting on one of the two chairs in the corner, playing with the empty shot glasses. He straightened his posture when he noticed Claire and smiled.

        “Why aren’t you dancing?” Claire asked.

        “Ankle still hurts,” he said.

        She stayed with him and stacked the upside-down shot glasses in a tower. Soon the other boys found them. Len looked like he was going to pass out. Keizo was drenched in sweat. They tacitly agreed to call it a night and headed out together into the quiet night.

*

        The boys were apparently used to this routine, but it was Claire’s first time joining them on this part of the adventure. They all began walking in a direction they seemed used to, and it wasn’t until they took a break at one of the vending machines that Claire learned they were all headed to Keizo’s house, where they would sneak in to spend the night.

        “His mom’s totally cool with it.” Len chugged a water bottle. “She’s not like the other moms.”

        “She’s very…” Henry began. “Artistic.”

        “Don’t be freaked out by the flowers,” Keizo said, combing his still-wet hair with his fingers before putting his cap back on. “And be very quiet when we go in. She hates being woken up.”

        Claire shivered under her big coat. Walking outside was sobering her up. The water helped, too. But the alcohol was still swirling in her system, slowing down her blinks, the steps she took which she really had to think about: right, left, right, left. The boys were equally uncoordinated but they somehow knew where they were headed, turning this way and that on narrow roads into a calm residential area where the only other pedestrians were cats.

        Claire briefly thought about how much trouble she’ll be in the next day. Maybe she’d use Keizo’s phone when they got there. What time was it, even? Was she even able to articulate words? When was the last time she spoke? Her throat was itchy like she’d been screaming. Maybe she had been, back at the club. A part of her knew that her parents would be forgiving. They weren’t the type to get mad. Passive aggressive, at most. Best case scenario, they’d be happy she was finally socializing. But then again she’d never been out this late. Whatever time it was. Best not to think about it. There was no turning back now. She’d already done it. She wished she was more drunk than she was. Enough to not think.

        Before she knew it they were at Keizo’s, a modern-looking house with concrete walls. As soon as they entered it was warm. Someone said “Shhhhh.” As Claire took off her shoes she noticed what Keizo meant by the flowers. They were everywhere. Vases and vases of them, from the entrance to the hallways, some hanging from the ceiling. The flowers looked both familiar and exotic. Some of them were so disgustingly huge that they looked fake, like the plastic décor in one of those mall restaurants.

        “Freaky, huh?” Len chuckled.

        “It’s ikebana, idiots,” Keizo whispered back. He pointed to where his room was. The silence in the house was striking. Claire could still hear residual thumping from the club in her ears. They all tiptoed up the stairs. Claire couldn’t help feeling like the flowers had faces and were looking at her. “A girl?” they seemed to be saying. “What is she doing here?” Finally they managed to get inside Keizo’s room without his parents seeming to notice. They took their coats off. Keizo gave his bed to Claire without saying anything. The boys reassembled some of the pillows and blankets for themselves on the soft, carpeted floor. Almost instantly, the boys were asleep. Claire took a deep breath in this very comfortable bed that wasn’t hers. She could see warm, orange light coming through his window. It would be morning soon. She’d never been awake this long before. Out of all the first experiences she’d had that night, this orange light would be the thing that stayed with her even decades later. She reached toward the window with her hand, her fingertips playing with the light.

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