“I don’t have money,” she said honestly. The last guy had barely paid.
“Don’t worry about that now. Just finish your breakfast.”
Astrid put her hands on Katrina’s shoulders. Katrina tried not to flinch.
“You have a lot to do today. And when you return, we’ll have more tangerine juice. Plenty more.”
Shizuka glanced upward. Astrid shrugged.
“This morning, Mrs. Aguilar brought another bag.”
* * *
South Arroyo was a quaint and picturesque hamlet at the end of the Long Beach Freeway. South Arroyo sat at the end of said freeway because its residents had blocked further construction, declaring their town too quaint and picturesque for freeways.
The residents had also objected when the city wanted to run a light-rail through their town, until they realized they could build a quaint and picturesque plaza by the station, complete with quaint and picturesque health food stores, gastropubs, and boutiques hawking fair-trade clothing woven from all-natural fibers.
As their surroundings became ever more quaint and picturesque, Katrina grew nervous. She did not belong here, she did not belong here, she did not belong here.
Moreover, did Miss Satomi and Miss Astrid even know she was transgender? Of course they must—Miss Astrid had basically seen her naked—but there had been no mention of her gender whatsoever.
From the way they acted, Katrina could almost believe they accepted who she was. But that was in their home, behind closed doors.
Now they were in public. She and Miss Satomi had pulled into the parking lot of what looked like an especially quaint and picturesque music store. And in that store, someone would point at the weird tranny and maybe even call her a boy.
“Miss Satomi.”
“Yes?”
“We can’t go in there.”
Shizuka frowned. What was the matter now? Helvar Grunfeld’s Fine Violin Shoppe did look a little too much like it had been painted by Thomas Kinkade. But the shop did reasonably good work and would be able to repair Katrina’s student violin easily.
“Katrina?”
“I’m not what you think I am.”
Shizuka was thoroughly puzzled. The girl seemed honest—and not many entities could deceive her. Was she working with Tremon Philippe? No, Tremon had no reason to deceive her this way.
There was a far simpler explanation, wasn’t there?
Why did she not want to go into Grunfeld’s? Of course. She was most likely nervous she would be seen, perhaps by someone she knew. And since this was Grunfeld’s, that person was probably either her old teacher or another student.
Fair enough. It was not good form to take a student from an existing teacher, but Shizuka was sure she could work everything out. She was Shizuka Satomi, after all.
“Okay, then. So, who’s your teacher, really?”
Teacher? What was Miss Satomi talking about?
“No one—I mean, I watch YouTube, and I have old books. I mean, old books are good.”
“Then what do you mean about you not being really who I think you are?”
“I’m trans.”
There. She’d said it.
“What?”
“Transgender.”
Miss Satomi paused. “Yes, of course, but if you’re really someone else’s student…”
“N-no.”
“Good. It’s not a deal breaker, but I’d rather not take you from another instructor without their permission. The ensuing drama can be troublesome, even for me.”
“Miss Satomi, I said I am transgender.”
Ah. So that was the issue.
Shizuka could feel the terror in the girl’s voice. Her hand was already gripping the door handle. This would not do. Shizuka brought the car to a stop, shut off the engine, then looked at her student with her full attention.
“Transgender. Yes, Katrina. I heard you the first time. Shall we fix your violin?”
“Yes, please,” Katrina managed to say.
“Good. And, Katrina, no jumping out of moving cars. It causes a mess.”
“Yes, Miss Satomi.”
Miss Satomi pressed the buzzer to be let inside. Katrina bit her lip as she walked through the curly maple doorway onto the polished spruce floors.
Grunfeld’s smelled as if someone had blended the scent of old wood and rosin and tastefully atomized it throughout the store. Interesting historical instruments hung from the walls. In the corner, a young woman meticulously dusted a row of violas. Down the hallway, Katrina could hear a cello.
A small part of Katrina wanted to hear every instrument in the store, but much more of her was screaming, Get out, you don’t belong here!