As she and Rory continue discussing the particulars of this weirdness, I take the iPad from Belle and focus on the story she’s pulled up. It features a single photo from earlier in the day, someone’s phone camera shot blown way up. It’s actually pretty clear—maybe one of the dancers took it? Grace has that wild woman look again, her eyes desperate, her hair swirling around her.
I flash back to right before Grace collided with me, her eyes locking with mine. That moment when I felt so connected to her. Like we were communicating with our own version of telepathy.
I have to find her, I realize. Even if she’s lying low, even if she’s gone into hiding, even if she’s deleted all her social accounts and wants to pretend like Grace Kimura, Movie Star, doesn’t exist.
And not just to unravel the mystery of my past. I have to find her because for that brief moment when her eyes locked with mine, I felt a flash of connection with another person that was so powerful, it brought tears to my eyes. Maybe, like me, she doesn’t belong to anyone.
Maybe we could belong to each other.
Once upon a time, a peasant girl lived in the quaint village of Little Tokyo. She was a tragic orphan, an oddity people whispered and gossiped about. She tried to blend in as best she could and to perform various tasks as a dutiful member of her remaining family. Then, one day, she discovered her mother was in fact a beautiful and beloved queen, and the peasant was orphaned no more. There was much rejoicing throughout the village, and the peasant felt that perhaps she had finally found answers to questions she’d harbored all her life.
However, the queen suddenly disappeared without a trace, not even having the courtesy to leave an away message or a forwarding address or an “on hiatus” tweet.
Seriously, what the hell, Mom?
SIX
I’ve come up with the worst plan ever.
I should have known it was the worst plan ever, because it hit me at like three a.m., well after Belle, Rory, and I had exhausted every other possibility. We’d tried calling Grace’s agency—no answer, it was the middle of the night on a Saturday. We’d scoured the internet for further hints—but Grace was still MIA, no statements from anyone, just tons of speculation, most of it involving some form of rehab. Belle started a #WheresGrace hashtag and got it to trend locally. But even with her infinite Belle powers, we hadn’t gotten any clues as to where Grace had gone.
I’d tried to sleep, but it was impossible, and I’d ended up staring into the darkness. My bedroom is covered in various drawings Rory and I had done of yokai—Japanese monsters—when we were goofing around one afternoon, and I couldn’t help but think they were gazing back at me, trying to help.
So I’d gotten my phone out and scoured the internet again, trying to find some morsel—any morsel—that would lead me closer to Grace Kimura. I’d come across a lot of articles about her latest movie: another big, splashy rom-com called We Belong that was set to come out next summer. They were almost done filming, but Grace was still on the job, still had a few more weeks of shooting to go.
Said movie is the one co-starring Mr. Not a Vandal, Hank Chen—who my extensive research tells me is seven-teen, the same age as Belle and me. He’s nabbed himself a “potentially scene-stealing” role as Grace’s irrepressible younger brother. Much is being made of the fact that this is Hank’s first “real” acting role, the first time he’ll have to do something other than look cute, smile, and dance. It’s apparently kind of a surprise that he got the role in the first place, and the more uncharitable entertainment gossip sites are salivating at the idea that he’s about to totally mess up and make a giant fool of himself and be banished to endless rounds of being a coach on Dance! Off! before fading into the obscurity reserved for all the Disney kids and boy band stars who never manage to shed their former image.
My brain hooked into this part of the Grace Kimura saga, and it was ultimately the genesis of my terrible plan. It led me to looking up Hank’s Instagram and sending him a delirious-sounding three a.m. message, and that’s why he’s now sitting across from me in a cramped booth at Katsu That, my Aunties’ katsu restaurant.
I have to admit: when I woke up this morning feeling less delirious, I thought there was no way I’d hear back from him.
But here he is.
He still looks too cute, that bit of inherent smugness impossible to suppress. But there’s something less assured about him today—a wariness that creeps into his dark eyes every now and then. Or maybe people just look different when you’re not crashing headfirst into them and getting all tangled up in your own yukata.
An unexpected warmth flashes over my skin as I think back to our meeting the day before. I shake it off.
“So explain this to me,” Hank says. “You need to find Grace Kimura because—?”
I fold my hands on the table and school my features into what I hope is a starstruck look.
“Because I am definitely her biggest fan ever, and when she ran into me yesterday at the parade, her bracelet got caught on my yukata and I need to get it back to her. And it would be amazing to really meet her, you know? Without the crashing-into-each-other part.”
He stares at me for a moment, studying me intently. Then he lets out that laugh again, the one that’s snort-adjacent.
“That,” he says, “is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
“Excuse you—” I huff, indignant.
“You are an interesting person
