hen they took me in, Masami was thirty-five and Johnson was five years her junior. Masami’s sole purpose in life was to keep an eye on Johnson and ensure that he didn’t lose interest in her. Because Johnson cared about me, Masami made it her business to make sure he knew that she was looking after me. It seems she worried his love for her would cool if by any chance she might overlook something in caring for me.

If I did not agree with what Masami did, I couldn’t very well complain to Johnson. And even if I had, it was unlikely he would have gotten angry with Masami. Everyone was out for personal gratification. For Masami, without a child of her own, I was a pet. For Johnson I was a toy. That was all there was to my existence. I was born to be used.

I had to wear the clothes Masami bought me as if I loved them with all my heart—even though they were often pink and frilly or emblazoned so boldly with brand-name logos it was embarrassing, even if they were so ridiculous they made people turn around and stare. Masami enjoyed dressing me up in outlandish costumes that turned heads.

But for some reason she never once bought me underwear or socks. She felt she only needed to buy me things that Johnson would see. I had to buy those other things from my own measly allowance. Occasionally, when I got tired of trying to scrimp and save, I responded to the men who approached me in order to get money from them. Enjo ksai, dating for profit. At the time there wasn’t a term for it—as there is now.

Masami was very easy to manipulate. If others complimented her by saying, “Oh, what a pretty daughter you have,” she would slip on her maternal mask and act deliriously happy. When my teachers informed her that “Yuriko-san is not self-assertive,” she would explain—in her best martyr’s voice—“She has had a difficult time since her mother committed suicide.” When I brought friends home from Q School, she would revert to her years as a flight attendant and treat each and every one of us to first-class service. All I had to do was act submissive and all went well.

Whatever food Masami fixed I would eat, exclaiming all the while that it was delicious. This was true of the donuts, which she dusted so heavily with powdered sugar they looked as if they were covered in snow, and the cooking lessons she took once a week, which resulted in fussy French cuisine. And then there were the lunches she would make every night, in preparation for school the next day; they were ridiculously ostentatious. I’ve said it any number of times now, but it is really only in my heart that I was able to enjoy a sense of freedom, a freedom no one else could see. I suppose that is why I derived such pleasure—such a secret sense of affirmation—from deceiving Masami while I was with Johnson.

Johnson was superb at playing the part of the love-struck husband. When he was with Masami, he would pull her to him and wrap his arms around her hips. After dinner he would always help clear away the dishes. On weekend nights, he’d leave me at home and take her out for dinner. On those nights he locked their bedroom door when they returned, and they would spend the night together alone. Masami hadn’t the slightest idea of what Johnson and I were up to—until it happened.

Johnson always made love to me early in the morning. Because of Masami’s low blood pressure, she didn’t wake easily. It was Johnson’s job to make breakfast. He would slip quietly into my bed beside me as I slept. I enjoyed having my body—still half asleep—fondled by Johnson. First my fingers would awaken, and then the tips of my hair; slowly, slowly, the warmth would rise to my body itself until I would burn so brightly I could hardly stand it, and my body became suffused with heat. No sooner had he finished up than he’d nuzzle my hair and say, “Yuriko, don’t ever grow up.”

“Is it wrong for me to grow up?”

“That’s not it. It’s just that I love you best the way you are right now.”

But I did grow. By the time I advanced to Q High School, I had grown tall. My bust had filled out and my waist became willowy. I had transformed almost overnight from a little girl into a young woman. I was afraid that Johnson would tire of me, now that I was no longer childlike. But in fact, the reverse was true. He began visiting my bed as soon as night fell. He desired me so badly he could not help himself. Masami—whose diet-induced thin figure looked terrific in the latest fashions—could not satisfy his craving.

My body—now womanly to perfection—seduced young men, to say nothing of the middle-aged. While on my way to school I was approached any number of times by interested men. I refused no one. My sense of autonomy existed deep within my heart. It never ever manifested itself on the exterior.

Well, I’ve gotten ahead of myself again. Summer vacation ended and the new school year began. I entered the junior high division of the Q School system and was placed in the East group of the third-year students. The instructor in charge of my group was Kijima, the biology teacher who had conducted the admissions interviews. I assumed he was also after me; in his perfectly starched white shirt, he stared at me so intently he might have bored a hole right through me.

“I hope you’ll adapt quickly to the way we do things here so you will enjoy your time at Q School. If there’s anything you don’t understand, anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask me.”

I gazed up into his eyes as they glittered behind his metal frame glasses. Kijima looked away as if in a panic and asked, with his gaze downcast, “So you have an older sister with us as well?”

I nodded and stated my sister’s name. I suspected Kijima would immediately run off to the high school section and look her up. He would be disappointed to discover that my older sister and I looked nothing alike. Or perhaps he’d be suspicious. Perhaps he’d begin to look for faults in me as well. My sister’s face was nothing like mine, so people who learned we were sisters were always curious.

As soon as homeroom was over, the boys and girls (the Q system was coed up to high school) clustered around me with unabashed curiosity. I was taken aback by their childlike straightforwardness. They were supposed to be such elite children, yet their inquisitiveness got the better of them.

“Why are you so pretty?” one boy asked with a straight face.

“Your skin’s just like that of a porcelain doll!” a girl said, as she brushed my cheek with the palm of her hand. “You’re the same color as one of those Meissen porcelains from Germany.”

The girl overlapped her hand with mine to compare. Another girl touched my hair. Yet another shrieked out, “Oh, you’re so cute!” and tried to hug me. The boys stared and stared, pressing into a tight circle around me until I felt my skin flush with the heat. But no matter how the boys may have fancied me, they were still, after all, just boys.

At that point I decided I would pretend to be an innocent child while attending this school. I realized it would be best not to engage the other students in conversation. Glancing to the side, I let out a big sigh, realizing that no one here would ever really understand me. As I turned my gaze down, I caught the eye of a boy with short hair sitting off to the side. His forehead was wrinkled; it gave him a weathered look of experience. He seemed to be criticizing me with his eyes. He was head instructor Kijima’s son.

Young Kijima was the first male who did not feel desire for me. I sensed this immediately. He was also the second person to hate me, the first of course being my sister. Both my sister and Kijima were able to make me feel that in their presence there was no purpose to my existence. Because my sole reason for living was the fact that others desired me, I began slowly to peel Kijima’s gaze off my skin. Your father wants me, I thought. I had always lacked the strength and free will to confront another this way, but now I channeled my emotions until they had a target for the first time: young Kijima.

Lunch hour arrived. A group of students went off together somewhere for lunch and took their time coming back. I sat alone and ate the lunch Masami had packed for me. But no matter how much of it I ate, the lunch just didn’t seem to ever end. I looked around the classroom for a trash can.

I heard a voice above me. “My, my, what an elegant lunch! Were you expecting company?” A girl with tiny curls dyed a reddish brown was peering into my lunch box. She tried to pick up a portion of shrimp and olive mousse lodged in one corner, but the mousse slid through her fingers, landed on the desk, and lay glittering in the light of the mid-September sun, looking rather pathetic. She scooped up the olive.

“Kind of salty!”

“Have it all if you like.”

“No. It’s not very good.”

The girl said her name was Mokumi, an unusual name, but that everyone called her Mokku. Her father was the president of a famous soy sauce corporation, and she was more brazen and entitled than any of the other students.

“So, is your father white or something?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Well, if a half is going to turn out as gorgeous as you, I’ll just have to go and have one of my own,” Mokku said, in all seriousness. “But your older sister isn’t pretty at all, is she? Everyone in class just went over to the high school to get a look at her. Is she really your sister?”

“Yes, she is.”

Mokku snapped the lid of my lunch box shut without bothering to ask me if I minded.

“Well, it’s unbelievable. When we went to get a look at her, she made an ugly face. She’s a real dog, and creepy to boot. We were disappointed. She doesn’t look like you at all. I’ll bet she disappoints you too.”

It wasn’t unusual for me to encounter scenarios like this. When people first met me, they’d come up with all kinds of fantasies on my behalf. They’d imagine that I lived some kind of Barbie-doll life in a dream house with a handsome daddy, a pretty mama, and a good-looking older brother and gorgeous older sister protecting me. But then, when they actually saw my older sister—who looked nothing like the image they’d conjured up—their little fantasy about me disintegrated. They’d start to despise me—so I became everyone’s little plaything.

I looked around the classroom. The students who had been so excited about my appearance that morning had returned and were sitting at their desks. Everyone struggled to avoid looking in my direction. My very existence was a riddle now. I had become a suspicious creature.

Just then something landed on my desk and rolled across it. It was a small wad of paper. I picked it up and stuffed it in my uniform pocket. I wonder who’d thrown it. The girl sitting across from me had her English textbook open and was poring over it studiously. But young Kijima, who was sitting in front of her, turned to look back at me. So it was Kijima. I took the wad of paper out of my pocket and threw it back at him. I didn’t need to read it to know what it said. He’d seen my sister. He figured out that we were one and the same.

After class, Mokku came over to me and grabbed my arm.

“Come with me. I promised the seniors I’d show you to them.”

She led me out into the corridor where a senior girl with a golden-brown tan and a ponytail was standing. Her eyes were narrow, her mouth large, and her garish face exuded self-confidence.

“You’re Yuriko, right? I’m Nakanishi, the president of the cheerleader squad. I want you to join our club.”

“I have no experience.”

I’d never once even thought about joining a club and had little interest in the prospect. In the first place, I didn’t have any money. More than that, I really didn’t enjoy doing things in groups.

“It won’t take long to learn. Besides, you’ll be the main attraction. The students in the high school and university will be thrilled.”

“I don’t have any confidence.”

Nakanishi ignored me and lifted my uniform skirt to get a look at my legs.

“Your legs are long and pretty. You really are a perfect beauty. We have to show you off!”

Johnson’s words reverberated through my head. Yuriko is perfect. Perfect even down there.

Mokku spoke insistently from behind Nakanishi. “The president of the cheerleaders has personally scouted you out and invited you to join. You can’t say no.” My slowness to react irritated her and she pursed her lips. The pink lip gloss on her thick lips glistened. When I still refused to answer, Mokku snickered and said, “Maybe Yuriko’s retarded or something.”

Nakanishi gave Mokku a shove. “Mokku, you’re going too far!”

“But she’s so pretty—it wouldn’t be fair if she was smart too!”

“Give her time.” Nakanishi stepped in quickly in an effort to quiet Mokku. “It’s all so sudden she’s probably confused. We’ve got a lot of games coming up in October and we’re going to be really busy anyway.”

The president of the cheerleaders walked off with Mokku. When the other students noticed Nakanishi in the corridor, they called out to her in high squeaky voices, respectful and clearly doing their best to suck up and score points with her. I hated games like this. I thought about asking Johnson to get a doctor to write me an excuse that would keep me off the squad. But then I thought about how much Johnson would enjoy seeing me in my little uniform.

Just then I felt a dark black cloud gliding over me. It was Kijima.

“Why’d you throw my letter back without reading it?”