My nure-onna self wants to hiss, to shove him away. To deflect and say he’s imagining things and change the subject.
But I can’t do that to him. Not after he was so open with me about something he clearly doesn’t want to talk about.
I imagine the door to my heart cracking open just a little bit more.
“I think you’re right,” I say, my eyes still trained firmly on our clasped hands. “The dojo was supposed to do this demo at the Nikkei Week parade. Sensei Mary called in a bunch of favors to get a UCLA scout to come, and Eliza and I put in all these extra hours practicing so we’d be at our absolute best. It was going to be the pinnacle of everything we’ve worked for, ever since we were kids. And then I . . . I ruined it.”
“Rika,” Henry murmurs again—but this time, I tell myself not to shiver. I can’t allow the magic that is my name on his lips to wash over me.
“Sensei Mary has always been kind to me,” I press on, dismayed to feel the beginnings of tears pricking my eyes. “She stood up for me. She’s the reason I never got kicked out of the dojo, even after I bit Craig and all the parents complained. She never looked at me like I was some kind of wayward orphan freak. And Eliza was the only kid who would spar with me after the biting incident. She’s sort of my only friend I’m not related to. She’s so kind. She never sees anything bad in anyone—not even me. And I know there’s a lot of bad there.”
“I disagree,” Henry says. But once again, I block it out. Act like I can’t hear him.
“They’ve both been there for me,” I say, blinking hard so my tears won’t fall. “Even when they had no reason to be, even when it was actually bad for them to back me up at all. And I totally let them down. So now I feel like . . . I can’t talk to them. I don’t even know what to say. Maybe it’s better if I don’t, if I just—”
“What, never talk to them again?” Henry says. He reaches over and cups my face, gently tilting my chin up so I’m looking at him. All I see in his eyes is warmth, caring so potent, all I want to do is look away and maybe never talk to him again either. “How did you let them down? You didn’t stop the demonstration from happening, you didn’t disrupt the parade—”
“But I’m the reason for the disruption,” I insist. “Grace was trying to get to me—”
“So, what, it’s your fault for being born?” Henry says.
Yes, my brain says viciously. I swallow the word.
“I let them down,” I repeat. “Why would they ever want to talk to me again?”
“You’re always so ready to not belong,” he says, leaning in closer and locking my gaze with his. “It’s like you think people are going to, I don’t know . . . throw you away. Over the smallest things.”
I feel a rogue tear slip down my cheek. I want to break away from him, heave myself out of the car, run far away. But I can’t seem to take my eyes off of his.
“And now it’s like you’re throwing yourself away first,” he says.
“Maybe I’m doing them a favor.”
“No.” He shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not how friendship works. That’s not how love works. And these people . . . Rika, they love you. I can tell by the way you talk about them.”
I swallow again, trying to keep those fucking tears from falling.
Joanna’s voice echoes through my head: It’s because you think you don’t deserve a happy ending.
What did she mean? It’s not that so much as . . . I just think they don’t exist. Not for girls who get called “mistakes.” Not for girls who wait for someone to want them. Whether or not I deserve one seems like another question entirely.
But . . . do I think that?
I definitely don’t deserve Sensei Mary’s and Eliza’s love. My kaiju-temper always destroys everything in its path. Somewhere deep in my gut, I’ve always known I’d destroy them, too.
“I think you should talk to them,” Henry says.
“I . . .” I trail off, studying him. Those sweet, hopeful eyes I can’t seem to get enough of. He wants this so badly for me, just like he wanted me to meet Grace at the zoo. How can I say no to that? “Tell you what,” I say slowly. “If we go to the dojo tomorrow together—if I talk to them and show you a few moves—will you keep your audition? And, hey—what you’re saying about love. Don’t you think it could apply to your parents, too? Maybe you should talk to them. About how you feel.”
He grins, surprised—and maybe a little bit amused.
“You’re very strategic sometimes. Cunning.”
The nure-onna at her finest, I think, smiling back.
“Okay, deal,” he says, nodding vigorously. “You talk to your friends, I’ll keep my audition.”
“And talk to your parents?” I push.
He laughs. “What did I say before? Relentless. I’ll . . . I’ll think about that one. Maybe if you show me these slick moves of yours, I can overcome all this pressure I’m feeling.”
He squeezes my hand one more time and turns back to the steering wheel, finally ready to start the car and maneuver us out of this tight parking spot.
“Overcome that pressure and win the part you want,” I say, trying to pump him up.
“Oh, and get on the lot and try to find Grace!” Henry exclaims. “Even more incentive.”
I smile at him, even though I totally forgot about the Grace factor. She’s been slipping further and further from my mind all evening.
“That’s the multitasking spirit,” I say.
“Excellent pep talk,” he says with a chuckle. “Hey, if we are in a fairy tale—are you my handsome prince, swooping in to save me? You did it at the library, you did it tonight at the meetup, extricating me from an awkward conversation, and now you’re doing it again.” He
