Behind her textbook, Emi was withdrawn and quiet. The only other student in class, Naoko, kept looking worriedly across the table at her friend as we went through a list of new vocabulary words. Naoko stopped reading suddenly and I looked up to see her staring at Emi who had begun to cry silently. “What’s wrong?” Naoko’s voice was anxious. She dug in her bookbag for tissues and pushed them towards Emi. “Are you feeling OK?” I asked gently. Emi simply shook her head and let her bangs fall forward to conceal her face as pressed a tissue to her cheeks. “Do you want to talk? Can you talk to us?”

Naoko was agitated but focused on her friend, unsure of how to communicate with her, how to talk about what was happening without intruding. Realizing that maybe Emi would feel better talking privately to Naoko, I said I would leave the room so Emi could confide in Naoko if she wished. If she needed more help, I’d be outside. Something serious seemed to have happened to cause Emi’s distress but it was a featureless moment, giving no clues as to origins or events.

After a few minutes, Naoko came outside to find me where I waited in the mid-day sunshine. “It’s a girl thing,” she told me simply. “Should I get Kanna, do you think?” “Yes, maybe that’s good.”

I waited in the office space upstairs while Kanna went to see Emi in the classroom. Eventually she came back upstairs. “It’s ok, but it’s kind of serious. I need to call her mom. A man molested her as she was changing trains at Shinjuku station. No wonder she’s so upset…she thinks she did something bad.”

While Kanna called Emi’s mom, I went back to the classroom to find Naoko rubbing Emi’s back softly. The room was hushed but for the sound of her hand brushing the fabric of Emi’s school sweater. Sitting down, I simply said, “Kanna told me what happened. You are safe now. Nothing you did was wrong. That man attacked you.” Naoko looked at me over Emi’s bowed head. “It happened to me once too, when I was eight. And to a friend of mine. I think it happens to a lot of girls.” Emi began crying quietly again. Naoko continued to rub her back.

Breaktime came and we listened to the noisy cheerfulness of the other classes pushing back chairs and clattering outside to get snacks from the convenience store or to run upstairs for a cup of cold tea. Kanna slid back the door and the sounds of the children poured in. Kanna set down a tray with tea and some delicately packaged rice crackers. She bent low, bringing her head to touch Emi’s in a profound, wordless gesture of deep care. She straightened, letting her hand rest on Emi’s head briefly before silently stroking her hair. Slowly, Emi was calmed by Kanna’s soothing, reassuring presence. With a firmness edged with anger I had never heard from Kanna, she said, “That man hurt you. You are not at fault. Everything he did was wrong and you have nothing to be scared or ashamed of.” She paused as Emi wiped her face with another tissue. “What happened to you happened to me many years ago when I was a schoolgirl. You are experiencing exactly what I think most girls in Japan go through. It is not right, but women don’t talk about it. That is why I am so proud of you for telling Naoko and letting us help you. All of us care about you—Naoko, Dwayne, myself, the rest of the K.A. staff.” Soft, quick exhalations came as Emi sat up, pressing her fingertips against her closed eyes and straightening her back into a rigid posture. Her thin shoulders curled back and she breathed a single deep breath before turning to look at Kanna. The strain of holding herself together was palpable. “I don’t think I’ll cry anymore.”

Her mother came to school and together with Naoko they rode homewards.

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