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They look comic with smudges of Channel purple metallic lipstick on their front teeth. See how she clings to her cell phone for dear life. The driver parks by the curb and flips on his hazards.
Their Dior sapphire-blue eye shadow drives their eyes inward, making them look a little like cross-eyed circus clowns. Her eyes scan the train station across the street, checking out a man's ass here, sizing up a woman's style there. Yumi heads over to car and yells over her shoulder to Mariko. Let's go." Mariko, always meticulous, marks down the time and date in her cell phone's digital calendar.
No one wants to admit that it gives the girls freedom and lets them get away from the familiar sights of their village. "Once," I lie, not wanting to get her off the subject.
Her friend, Yumi, looks identical, except for her hair, which is clipped up in a knot and held by a Burberry's barrette.Mariko and Yumi, in a sense, are like the typical Japanese teenagers that I have come to love. The only rule the girls break is that they have cell phones hidden in their book bags.They are filled with controversies on the inside - worried about college placement, boyfriends, club activities, new videos, print club, fashion, and independence. Tiny, not even the size of a face powder compact their grandmothers used at the same age, these cell phone make them distinctive, catapult them into adventure and make possible their new, money-making pastime.When you get to know Yumi and Mariko, talk with them, joke over soba, you can't figure out what is more alarming; their late night pay outs or the way they can switch back to their ordinary lives.In a strange way that only adolescents can feel, these girls care what their mothers think.