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Chapters (77)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. A Series of Screw-ups: The Chisaki Joan Katsuyama Story, Part I
  6. 3
  7. The History of My Beef with Brynn Foer-Preston
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part I
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part I
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part II
  20. 13
  21. The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part II
  22. 14
  23. 15
  24. 16
  25. 17
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. The Complicated History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Imaginary Relationship with Her Nonexistent Dad
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part III
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. 25
  36. A Brief, Backward History of the McAllister Family, as Paraphrased from the San Jose Mercury News
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. A Quick and Eerily Relevant History of Asians in America
  41. 29
  42. 30
  43. 31
  44. 32
  45. 33
  46. 34
  47. 35
  48. 36
  49. A Brief History of Chisaki Joan Katsuyama’s Romantic Learning Opportunities, Part IV
  50. 37
  51. 38
  52. 39
  53. 40
  54. 41
  55. 42
  56. 43
  57. 44
  58. A Series of Screw-ups: The Chisaki Joan Katsuyama Story, Part II (Or Maybe It’s a Prequel)
  59. 45
  60. 46
  61. 47
  62. 48
  63. 49
  64. 50
  65. 51
  66. 52
  67. 53
  68. The History of the Katsuyama Family, Part III
  69. 54
  70. A Note from the Author
  71. Index of Flowers and their Meanings
  72. Acknowledgments
  73. About the Author
  74. Praise for This Time Will Be Different
  75. Books by Misa Sugiura
  76. Back Ad
  77. About the Publisher

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Really, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” I babble, and I sidle past her and Owen, holding my soggy shirt out away from my body. I just want to get out of here as quickly as possible, and it’s not simply because of the spill.

Because the spill is bad enough. But it’s the other thing that happened—the out-of-my-control, unchangeable thing that happened in the moment between the one where Owen’s eyes met mine, and the one that left me drenched in alcohol and humiliation. I had just squeezed my way around Wall Guy and turned toward Owen, a tentative smile on my face, fear and hope battling in my heart.

Only it wasn’t just him. Sabrina—perfect, beautiful, brilliant Sabrina—was snuggled under Owen’s arm, her own arm splayed across his chest, her dainty face tilted up toward his. She saw me and her face lit up and she pointed at the flowers in her hair. And I realized that she didn’t order the flowers to enchant the judges at a dance competition. She ordered them to enchant Owen. And it looks like they’re working.

42

FLOWER MAGIC ISN’T SUPPOSED TO WORK. IT’S all romantic hocus-pocus.

This is what I tell myself as I spin and duck back into the crowd, holding my shirt out in front of me. On the other hand, if the magic doesn’t work, that means that Sabrina has captured Owen’s attention purely on her own merits.

Neither option is pleasant to think about, and I focus my energy on getting the hell out of there and back home so I can mope in peace. Naturally this means that I bump right into the world’s biggest fan of flower magic: Emily.

“CJ!”

“Hey, Em.”

Well, this is awkward. I didn’t text her, she didn’t text me. And yet here we are.

“What happened to your shirt?”

I consider saying, “Nothing,” which would be an obvious lie. Instead, I say, “Um.” And start to cry. I mean, not sobbing or anything. Just low-key weeping. A couple of wayward tears and a closed-up throat.

Em takes me to an empty bathroom and I unload on her like the pathetic lovelorn loser I have apparently become. Dammit. I don’t want to be sad about Owen. Not before we even get together. Which will probably never happen now.

“I’ll be okay,” I tell her. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will.” She smiles. “Hey, Ceej?”

“What.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been a butt. I don’t like being all weird and uncomfortable with you. I miss telling you stuff.”

I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “I’ve missed telling you stuff, too.” I hug her, and she lets me, despite my disgusting shirt. I smile. This is one good thing from tonight, at least.

“So, um. Can I tell you something?” she asks.