I can’t help but laugh and am about to respond with something tossed-off and snarky . . . but before I can, a bunch of images flash through my mind.
Henry agreeing to help me on my Mom Quest, even though he had no reason to.
Henry resting his hand on Craig Shimizu’s shoulder, telling him to apologize to me.
Henry at the zoo, asking me not to give up, to look at all the beauty the world has to offer.
Henry trailing after me in his car, unwilling to let me stomp off into the night.
Henry touching me with so much care, kissing me with so much passion . . .
“I think we’ve saved each other—a few times,” I say. “Maybe we’re both the prince in this scenario.”
Once upon a time, a pair of noble warriors set out to slay their respective dragons. They both had quests they desperately wanted to complete, if only they could vanquish these fearsome beasts that stood in their way. They both spent most of their lives in an endless cycle of fighting, losing, and returning to the dragon. Only to be defeated once more.
And yet, neither of them could seem to give up.
One fateful day, they decided to team up in the hopes that their combined noble warrior skills could take down their dragons once and for all.
Both knew it was a risky proposition—if they were to be defeated again, as they had been so many times before, perhaps it would be the last time. Perhaps they would both crumble into dust, the dragons reigning over all the land.
But if the warriors emerged triumphant, it could be the start of something new. Something truly beautiful.
All they had to do was remember to never give up.
FOURTEEN
“Just go inside. That’s all you have to do. Worry about the rest as it comes. Live in the moment. Oh god, now I sound like one of Belle’s wannabe influencer captions.”
“Rika?”
I whirl around to see Henry approaching, head cocked at me in a quizzical manner. I’m standing outside the dojo, letting the relentless summer heat of Little Tokyo beat down on me. My hair sticks to my sweaty neck, and I can already feel those little bits of perspiration gathering in the crooks of my knees and other weird places.
I thought I could do this. But going inside the dojo, entering this space after the parade disaster, suddenly feels like trying to scale the most skyscraping of mountain-tops. I am a mere speck at the bottom, looking all the way up.
Henry drove me home last night, and we agreed to meet at the dojo in the late afternoon, right when I know classes will be winding down. I was conflicted when he dropped me off. Part of me wanted to kiss him again—could pretty much think of nothing else. The other part told me to eject myself from the car as quickly as possible—and that’s what I ended up doing. I didn’t want to ruin the pure magic of our kiss in the alley, of that giddy feeling that surged through me . . .
Ugh. Listen to me. Maybe Sweet Rika has a mushy heart after all.
Everyone was asleep when I’d let myself into the apartment, and I’d managed to slip into my room with no problem. Then I’d worked a bustling morning shift at Katsu That, which still seemed to be reaping the benefits of Henry’s appearance yesterday. Luckily, there was not a Craig nor a Becky in sight. And Belle and Rory were busy with their courtly duties, so I managed to avoid them as well.
That hasn’t stopped Belle from blowing up my phone, demanding to know all about what I’m “studying” with Hank Chen.
I meet Henry’s eyes and flush, the memories of the “studying” we did yesterday flashing through me most vividly.
“Rika?” he says again, his brow crinkling. “Are you okay? Were you just talking to yourself?”
“Yes,” I squawk, my flush deepening. “I’m, um . . .”
Thinking way too much about your mouth.
“. . . still nervous about going inside,” I say, brushing the other notion away. “I thought I could do this, but . . .”
I turn back to the dojo, its stately arched entrance framing a wide set of heavy wooden doors with a series of kanji carved into them. Sensei Mary told me once how these doors are the only part of the building that survived LA’s massive earthquake in the nineties. These kanji are all scratched up and faded now, and I can’t make out what they say. But Sensei Mary always tells me these doors and these kanji are like symbols of what you have to go through when you’re training hard in judo. You get knocked down, you pop right back up. You may not always be able to stay standing, but you don’t break. Not ever.
I feel like I will absolutely break if I set foot back in that dojo.
“Hey.” I’m still laser-focused on those damn doors and their indecipherable kanji when I feel Henry take my hand. “Try the breathing,” he says.
I turn to face him, jolted out of my reverie about doors.
“What?” I say, confused.
He gives me one of his warmest smiles, and I feel that awkward crackle of electricity between us yet again.
“The anxiety breathing,” he says. “Even if you’re not on the verge of a panic attack, it can still help kind of center you so you can come back to the moment and feel like you’re ready to”—he nods toward the big doors and squeezes my hand—“step inside.”
I open my mouth to protest, to tell him I don’t need that, I can take care of myself, I can put on my mental armor and blaze through those doors just as I have so many times before.
Then I stop myself. Meet his eyes again. And we go into the breathing, like it’s the most natural thing ever. Big
