Run It!

1. Press Start

1

Press Start

Now begins my story. I’m one of over a dozen second-generation alumni of the Toshaini-Kai Institute. When I was fifteen, I made the finals of the Freshman Fall Festival. Standing in the arena in front of hundreds of students, teachers, and alumni, we, the top eight were given our moment of glory.

“In this miraculous turn of events, all final eight are all the children of former alumni,” shouted the perky MC. “Moma Yukihira, the daughter of the current dean of students, Samuel Yukihira, and his lovely wife Megan!”

Shy, Moma smiled behind her curtain of black hair.

“You better rock the finals!” shouted Kintaro. Her brother had won the competition final his freshman year and he seemed to be the polar opposite of his baby sister, his energy as fiery as his red hair.

The MC laughed and pointed the spotlight. “Next, show some love for Giovanna, daughter of legendary Italian alumni Tony Aldini!”

Gigi, the supermodel blonde, walked in like a pageant queen. From backstage I watched her image on the big screen, in awe. But I knew beauty came with a price. Her dreams were not in her father’s kitchen. But that’s a story for later.

When the applause died down, the MC pointed to the next student, my awesome cousin. “Now, a girl who needs no introduction, Prayikina Nakiri-Hayama!”

The dark-skinned girl with blonde hair was the definition of cool as she formed the peace sign and blew a kiss to a very specific area of the audience.

“Kyle Thompson, son of the meat heiress Isla Mito!”

The blond-haired muscular American boy struck what could only be described as a pro-wrestling pose. Whatever next?

“Now put your hands together for the crown princess of punk rock—Elena Rose Nakiri!”

The crowd roared as my image appeared on the big screen. I’d grown to look a lot like my father, from his iconic height to my long black hair. For the competition, I wore face paint under my eyes like Daddy always did. I strutted to my seat, shimmering with a confidence that could have only been learned from a Dutch-Japanese socialite mother. I found my space while the MC called out what seemed like a long list of people who need to be defeated.

The match-ups were as follows: Prayikina vs Davis, Tomas vs Moma, James vs Giovanna; and I was to face off with Kyle. Looking at the cheering sections, one would think I was at a disadvantage, but I wasn’t worried about beating him. Although undeniably athletic and supermodel hot, the guy was a one-note meathead. The MC gave a brief explanation of the competition schedule before giving the local press more photo opportunities.

I reached for Prayikina’s hand. “So cool, right?”

My cousin nodded. “I can’t wait to get started. Have you seen your mom and dad?”

“Not yet.” That was the real high point to come. As soon as we were dismissed, I ran to the hallway in the backstage area to reunite with my parents for the first time in nearly a year. “I can’t believe I’m in the finals!”

As usual, my father was standing two steps behind my mother, waiting for her to speak first. My mother, dusting down her bright white pantsuit, simply shook her head. “Don’t get cocky, your road is long from over. After all, your father was a failure.”

My father snickered. “I’m sorry dear wife, but if I remember correctly, I tied for second place while you were eliminated in the prelims.”

Thankfully, my mother grumbled and stomped off, her departure finally allowing me access to my best friend. “Hi, Dad,” I said with a chuckle. “It’s been a while.” I held opened my arms for a hug.

My father stood a little taller in her absence. A strong, imposing man, he wore a leather jacket with denim jeans, letting his black hair hang shaggy and loose in a way that made him look like a movie star. He scooped me up in his arms. “How the f**k have you grown up so much?”

“Dad!” I laughed. “I’d need to hit six feet if I ever want to walk in your shoes.” I took the opportunity to give him a kiss on the cheek. He was my knight in shining armor, someone too perfect for this world.

“You can walk in my rancid-ass shoes anytime.”

“I’d be honored, but I’m sure Mom would be pissed.” I stood on my two feet while still in his arms. “Speaking of Mom, that fact-drop about her prelims was bad-ass, but she’s totally going to make you pay.”

“Yeah well, it’ll be worth it. I love you so much. And I’m so proud of you.” My father took out his red bandana.

Old and worn, it was the source of his ‘power’ and the reason he’d graduated alongside classmates and friends who’d had more tuition. For whatever reason, wearing the bandana did more than keep his long hair out of his face. What it did to his energy was the equivalent of drinking a bottle of vodka while snorting a line of cocaine. It brought about a fiery spirit that was truly awe-inspiring. I assumed he took it out just to hold, but his next words shook me to the core.

“Elena, I want you to have this.”

“Really?” I cupped my hands over my face. I’d witnessed my father cook; I knew the power of the bandana. “Do you think it’ll work for me?”

He shrugged as if it was not a big deal. “Worth a try, right?”

I blinked tears from my eyes. Father always believed in me. “I’m really scared. What if I lose in the prelims, like Mom?”

“Do you remember what I told you about being scared?”

I nodded. A lifetime of stories echoed in my head. His father died at sea while his mother died of illness not long after. “You were on your own, and you were scared, but you found your courage through your cooking.” That was what I loved about my father. He taught me to be brave, but also grateful. “When you cook, you go to war, fighting with everything you have. So, when you win, you can truly savor the victory. If you lose, you go down in a blaze of glory.” I had my father’s eyes, his hair, his punk-rock cooking spirit. Now I just hoped I had his talent. Tying for second place would still be quite an accomplishment.

My father cupped my face. Lost for words, he smiled and kissed my forehead. “No matter what, Elena Rose, you’ll always be my champion, my princess, and my precious little girl.”

He felt thinner, weaker. I had no idea if he was sick or just stressed. I hated leaving him alone with my mother. She was verbally and emotionally abusive on a good day. On a bad day… I didn’t even want to think about it.

“Thanks, Dad.” My heart was overflowing with pride. As long as I had my father by my side, nothing was impossible.