The bags had stories too.
Two Closed Bags
Ren had something in his schoolbag that he did not want Aki to see.
Aki had something in hers that she did not want Ren to see.
They discovered this before they had reached the school gate, when Ren offered to carry her bag while she tied her shoe.
“I can put it down,” Aki said.
“I won’t open it.”
“I know. But I can put it down.”
She placed the red bag carefully on the pavement, tied her lace, and lifted it by both straps. Ren watched her settle it against her back.
“What’s in it?”
“School things.”
“All of them?”
“And one other thing.”
Ren waited, but Aki began walking again.
He adjusted his own blue bag and hurried after her. Something inside knocked softly against his ruler.
Aki turned. “What was that?”
“My ruler.”
“What did it hit?”
“Another school thing.”
“All of it?”
Ren put a hand over the top of his bag. “And one other thing.”
The Sound
They walked beneath the flowering trees, stepping over petals that had gathered along the wall.
Aki had nearly forgotten the sound when it came again: a small click, followed by another.
“That wasn’t your ruler,” she said.
“It might have been.”
“Does your ruler usually click twice?”
“I’ve never asked it.”
Ren stopped and tilted his shoulders. His bag shifted, but made no sound.
Aki tilted hers. Nothing happened.
They took three steps together.
Click.
“There,” Aki said.
“I heard it.”
“Which bag?”
Ren looked at his. Aki looked at hers.
“We should walk separately,” he said.
Aki walked ahead to the next tree. Ren listened carefully. A bicycle passed, its bell ringing twice.
“Did you hear it?” she asked.
“I heard a bicycle.”
“I meant the bag.”
“I couldn’t hear the bag over the bicycle.”
Ren took his turn. Aki listened with one hand raised, though there was nobody speaking.
He reached the tree without a click.
“Maybe it only happens when we walk together,” she said.
They tried again, slowly, side by side. On the fourth step, the sound returned.
A woman carrying a shopping basket came along the path. The children stopped to let her pass. Ren had one foot in the air, and Aki was leaning towards the back of his bag.
“Are you both all right?” the woman asked.
“We’re listening,” Aki said.
The woman paused politely. Ren put his foot down.
Click.
Aki pointed. “Your bag!”
Ren twisted around, trying to see it. Aki touched the little metal pull on the zip and let it fall against the buckle.
Click.
Ren took off the bag and tried it himself. Click. He tucked the pull under the strap.
“That should do it,” he said.
They took four steps.
Nothing.
Aki looked slightly disappointed.
A Little Repair
A gust of wind came down the street, lifting petals from the pavement. One landed on Ren’s sleeve. Another caught in Aki’s hair ribbon.
“Hold still,” Ren said.
Aki stopped, and Ren reached for the petal. As she turned her head, the flap of her bag shifted. A corner of folded paper slipped out.
“Your school thing,” Ren said.
Aki caught the paper before it fell. Along one fold, it had torn.
“Oh, it’s worse.”
“Was it torn already?”
“A little. My brother made it.”
She opened the fold just enough to show Ren the tear. Blue pencil marks crossed the paper, but he could not tell what the picture showed.
“He gave it to me this morning,” Aki said. “I put it in my bag, and my books bent it. I was going to fix it before he saw.”
Ren opened his pencil case. He had a short piece of clear tape wrapped around the end of his ruler.
“Why is that there?” Aki asked.
“I needed some last week.”
“Did you use it?”
“No. But I might need it again.”
They sat on a low wall. Aki held the paper while Ren peeled the tape from the ruler. It curled around his finger.
“Is it supposed to do that?” she asked.
“It didn’t before.”
Aki held one end while Ren pressed the other over the tear. They smoothed it down together.
“There,” he said.
Aki turned the paper over, keeping the picture against her knees. The tape showed on one side, but the fold held.
“He’ll be able to see it’s been fixed,” Ren said.
“I know.” She ran a finger along the tape. “I think he’ll be pleased it’s still in one piece.”
She folded the picture carefully and slipped it into the front pocket of her bag.
Someone First
They reached the corner where their routes home separated.
Aki looked at Ren’s bag. “Was your other thing made by someone too?”
“I made it.”
“For school?”
“For my grandmother.”
Aki waited.
“It’s a present,” Ren added.
“What is it?”
“She hasn’t seen it yet.”
“I could keep it a secret.”
“I know. But she should see it first.”
Aki nodded, though she continued looking at the bag.
“Does she like things you make?”
Ren thought about the paper bird on his grandmother’s shelf. He had made it the previous year, and one wing had come out much smaller than the other.
“She kept the bird I made,” he said.
“Could it fly?”
“It was made of paper.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Ren smiled. “Once. Off the table.”
Aki laughed and stepped backwards towards her street.
“I hope she likes the present.”
“I hope your brother likes the repair.”
“He might ask why it’s shiny.”
“What will you tell him?”
“That you had tape on your ruler.”
“That’s true.”
Aki waved and turned towards home. Ren watched her go, then set off along his own street.
After a few steps, he heard the click again.
He reached behind him. The metal pull had slipped out from under the strap.
Ren tucked it back into place. Then he thought of Aki listening with her hand raised and let it fall against the buckle once more.
Click.
He left it there until he reached his grandmother’s gate.
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