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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

Most websites also said something like, “Sometimes you’ll be late for no discernible reason other than the fact that your body is still developing.” Please, let my body still be developing. I can’t be pregnant, I told myself. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Days 34–44

I clung to the “body still developing” explanation for the next several days, praying silently to whatever deities there might be who looked out for girls in my situation. What was my situation? Not pregnant. It had to be. I frantically hacked down every but what if I am? that dared to sprout.

But the what-ifs got stronger and wilier. They twined their way like ivy into the cracks of my denial and started pulling it apart. Because what if I was pregnant? (Please, God, no.) But what if I was?

Meanwhile, self-accusations buzzed like angry wasps in my head. How could you have allowed this to happen? they would say. Swept away in the moment, I told myself. Stupid. Lazy. Careless, buzzed the wasps. It could have happened to anyone, I said. You should have known better. You should have been more careful. You should have been stronger. You should have been smarter. It was relentless and exhausting.

I didn’t tell Andy why I was so surly and skittish because it was probably nothing. It had to be nothing.

Day 45

After two weeks, I woke up with a feeling of intense nausea when I got out of bed. The steady thrum of denial and self-abusive rage, now the soundtrack of my life, was joined by a whine of panic, like sirens in the distance, like fork tines screeching across a metal dish.

By the end of the school day, I was spent. I felt simultaneously that I would faint if I didn’t have something to eat and that I would throw up if I did.

I made myself a cup of mint tea (according to Google, a good stomach settler) and gave myself a talking-to. It was time to stop pretending nothing was wrong. It was time to make a mature, responsible decision. Because if I made a mature and responsible decision, everything would be okay. Wasn’t that what every grown-up, ever, always said?

So I did the mature, responsible thing. I drove three towns away, bought a pregnancy testing kit, went home, locked the bathroom door, and took the damn test.