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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

But I can’t resist peeking over my shoulder to catch one more glimpse. Light blue eyes fringed with impossibly long blond eyelashes, chiseled cheekbones, aristocratic nose. Wide, generous mouth. His light brown hair has a silvery white sheen from all his time in the pool, and, combined with his facial features, it makes him look like he’s walked right out of the elven council in Rivendell. Except, of course, for his tan and his body; he’s quite a bit buffer than most residents of Rivendell, I suspect. He looks over and meets my eye, and I realize with a start that my little glimpse has turned into a long—and longing—gaze. I may as well be mopping up my drool with my paper napkin.

He nods, and even though we’ve literally never spoken to each other, he calls, “Hey, CJ!” and smiles. Because that’s the kind of friendly guy he is.

“Hi, Shane,” I croak. Mortified, I clear my throat.

“What’s up?”

I dig frantically for something clever and rom-com-worthy to say, but all I can come up with is, “Nothing. This.” I hold up my cup and plate, realize that it looks like I’m trying to make a punny joke about things literally being up, and wish I could die. “I mean. I was eating here.” Duh. Last try: “You?”

“Same.”

He grins again—I notice that it’s slightly forced this time, and I cringe inwardly. He shifts his focus to the menu above the counter. “So, what’s good today?”

Finally. A question I can answer without sounding like I landed on the planet yesterday. I go over to him and open my mouth to tell him about the chocolate croissants and the blueberry muffins, but I never get to say anything because that’s the moment when Brynn Foer-Preston, aforementioned queen of my shit list, empress of hypocrites, and object of Emily’s ill-fated eighth-grade crush, comes striding in. Because of course she does.

Brynn strides everywhere, as if she’s wearing seven-league boots. She’s one of those perpetually energized, enthusiastic, and engaged people who exhaust me just to look at. Over the last couple of years, she’s dropped the bitchy eighth-grade attitude and is now friendly to everyone, but I find it hard to believe she’s really changed. If she’d changed, she’d feel bad about what she did. And when forced to interact with Emily or me, she’d be awkward and quiet and smile with her mouth closed. That’s what I’d do, anyway. But nope. Not Brynn for President. Upon seeing me, she exclaims in a voice made of plastic (BPA-free, of course), “CJ! Hi! How are you!” as if we were BFFs.