“How?” Rory says, intrigued.
Belle, of course, already has a plan.
“Grace!” she calls out—loud enough to be heard over the clapping, not loud enough to disrupt the dancers. “Grace Kimura! Little Tokyo loves you!”
“You’re our, um, queen!” Rory says, her voice less assured.
“I thought Belle was the queen,” I can’t help but add.
“Right, you’re our other queen!” Rory attempts, getting a little louder.
“The whole point of a queen of any given area is that she’s the only one,” I say.
“Stop ruining our fun,” Belle says, reaching down to swat me on the shoulder.
“Grace!” Rory yells, committing more firmly to the bit. “Queen Grace Kimura!”
“Queen! Grace! Kimura!” Belle cries out, giving it a rhythm.
I don’t know how exactly it happens—these things always seem to happen when Belle decides to bend a large group of people to her will—but suddenly others take up this chant and then it syncs with the clapping and the dancers get in the same rhythm and it’s like we’re all part of a weird spontaneous flash mob with the sole purpose of getting Grace Kimura’s attention.
“Queen! Grace! Kimura!” everyone yells, Belle’s voice the loudest. “Queen! Grace! Kimura!”
Grace Kimura finally turns in our direction, because . . . well, how could she not?
She’s still all smiles, charisma radiating from her every pore, beaming the full wattage of her beatific expression on us. Being on the other end of her smile really does feel like being showered in glitter and sunlight—you can’t help but smile back. She gives Belle a wave and a gracious nod, like they’re communicating in some special queen-to-queen language. Her gaze moves to Rory, and she gives her kind of an “aww” look—but not in a condescending way. It’s like she’s fully honoring Rory’s adorableness.
“Oh my god,” Belle gasps, and I hear Rory rustling around behind me, sitting up a little straighter.
Damn, Grace Kimura is really freaking good at being a movie star.
Grace’s gaze finally wanders down to me, the sweaty person behind the wheel.
And the blood drains from her face.
I barely have time to register that before all hell breaks loose.
Because all of a sudden, Grace Kimura is definitely not acting like a movie star. Her smile has been totally wiped from her pale face, bright red lips turned downward. A shadow passes over her eyes. And then she’s scrambling down from the car and leaping into the street.
“Holy shit,” Belle says. “What is she doing?”
A bunch of people start shouting, the dancers stop dancing and look around in confusion. Someone on the flower float whines, “What is going on?” because they can’t see. A man in a dark suit—Grace’s bodyguard, maybe?—springs from the passenger seat of the car Grace was just riding in and takes off after her.
But Grace, in addition to being a movie star, is surprisingly fast.
She zigzags through the confused dancers, looking like she’s effortlessly navigating an obstacle course. There’s a bunch of confused murmuring among the dancers as they dodge this way and that, trying to get out of her path. Some freeze in place, unsure of what to do. Like should they try to stop her or . . . ?
The vibe from the crowd on the sidelines is similarly confused, but they’re calling out to her: “Grace? Are you okay? Grace, what’s wrong? Grace . . . Grace . . . Grace . . .”
The weird but genial flash mob we had going a few minutes ago has morphed into something else, threads of shared panic and worry and just not knowing what to do winding themselves through the air. Sweat prickles the back of my neck, the tips of my ears. Even now, sweat is finding all new fun places to take root. I hear someone in the distance call for security.
“Ms. Kimura!” yells the man in the dark suit, Bodyguard Guy, his voice commanding. “Please. Stop!”
But she doesn’t listen. She darts past the last confused clump of dancers and barrels straight for our car.
Her face is still ashen, her eyes haunted. Her hair has somehow worked itself into a wild tangle. I lock gazes with her, unable to look away. In an instant, Grace Kimura has transformed from beautiful princess to monstrous wild woman. Something pings in my heart, a strange connection that forms as her eyes hold mine.
“Rika!” Belle hisses. “Do something!”
I snap to attention, reacting instinctively. I unbuckle my seat belt, throw the car door open, and catapult myself in front of Grace Kimura.
And for the second time today, I’m part of a unit of two people crashing into each other.
Only this time, I’m the one being crashed into.
Belle’s and Rory’s screams ring in my ears as Grace and I slam to the ground. I feel the impact of my backside on concrete and wince. She lands on top of me, and my arms fling themselves around her waist, as if trying to protect her.
Ow. I know how to brace my falls pretty well thanks to judo, but being unexpectedly knocked to the ground still hurts a whole hell of a lot.
Grace looms over me, her eyes searching my face. She looks like she’s really panicking now, her breath quick and uneven.
She reaches out with shaky fingers and touches my face.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound comforting. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You . . .”
She shakes her head quickly, as if to indicate that she’s definitely not okay. She leans in close to me and manages to push a single word from her lips, barely a whisper.
Then she slumps against me, passing out.
It all happens so fast, but it seems like time slows way down as Bodyguard Guy finally catches up to her and scoops up her limp form. Security guards for the parade are hot on his heels, and they swarm around him and Grace, blocking them from view.
“Rika-chan!” Belle is at my side, and she looks terrified. Rory’s head pops up behind her. “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor? Should we take you to the hospital or call an ambulance?!”
I sit up
