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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

She stared for a moment, too surprised to speak, I suppose. I was a little surprised myself. I hadn’t meant to be quite so rude. But the only way I could think of to stop throwing away opportunities was for her to stop handing them to me. I bit my lip, waiting for the inevitable fallout.

Finally, she said, “Okay. Fine. You don’t want my help, I won’t bother you anymore with it,” and swiveled her chair back to face her laptop.

“Good,” I said, and left.

That was last week. Ever since then, Mom’s been as good as her word. Dinnertime has been a little strained, and I can tell it’s killing her not to ask how I’ve been spending my afternoons. Maybe she really is trying to give me some space.

Actually, no. The most likely scenario is that she’s quietly strategizing a new approach. Because Katsuyamas never quit.

I really hate that motto.

I’m a little stressed as I pull into the lot behind Heart’s Desire, because today’s rainy weather has caused accidents and made me late. But it occurs to me as I get out of the car that the upside to Mom’s freeze-out is that for the time being, I can spend as much time here as I want and not have to listen to her drag me about it. Plus, winter vacation starts in two days, so I won’t have to squeeze in homework after work, which has been busier than usual because of the holidays. Cheered by this thought, I sprint through the rain and burst through the back door with a theatrical sweep of my arm, shouting, “Fear not! I have arrived at last!”

I mean, based on my experience, there was probably only an 80 percent chance that Hannah was going to be back there to appreciate my grand entrance. But there was a 0 percent chance that this guy pressing his lips together to hide his smirk was going to be there to scare the shit out of me holy-shit-is-he-an-ax-murderer-did-he-kill-Hannah-is-he-going-to-kill-me-should-I-call-911?

“Hey, you okay?” he says. “You’re white as a sheet.”

Well, no shit, strange dude who’s not supposed to be here and who might be about to chop me into little pieces, my brain says. But I’m still too freaked out to do anything but stare warily at him.

He’s about my age, and obviously I don’t know him, but something about him is vaguely familiar. He’s tallish and lanky-bordering-on-skinny with stiff, shaggy black hair that needs a trim. He’s wearing black Vans, jeans, and a plaid flannel shirt over a black T-shirt that reads,

HISTORY BUFF

I’d find you more interesting if you were dead

Which calms me a little, because if he were a florist-murdering ax murderer, he probably wouldn’t be wearing a nerdy history T-shirt.