Damp cold licked my skin above the dress’s V-back, even under Kiki’s wrap. Kiki watched through the parlor windows, so I made a good show of walking to the road, then turning south, as if heading to Edna Okawa’s street. But when I got to the spot where wild berry bushes grew as tall as a man, I ducked under the fence and into the Omuras’ orchard. I couldn’t go to the dance. I wasn’t just dateless. I was nearly friendless.

For Kiki to believe I’d gone, I’d have to stay out till just before curfew. I needed to feed the chickens anyway, so I headed for the barn. I pulled up my hem so that it wouldn’t drag in the crabgrass and dirt, and I smirked. Kiki had frowned when I put my boots on, but there was nothing to be done about it—Okaasan’s only pair of heels was now too small for either of us. The dress, though … well, it was perfect. I still couldn’t get over the fact that Kiki had made me a dress. Even if I was the only person who ever saw it, it meant the world.

As I neared the barn, I heard the chickens squabbling. The barn door hung ajar, shuddering with the wind. “Charlie?” There was no answer. I hurried into the barn.

Soft light filtered through the cracks in the barn walls. Glittering swirls of dust fell softly to the nubby floor. Clark Gable paced the length of the wire fencing that kept the chickens on their side. “Why’s the door open?” I asked, shutting it behind me and checking the latch. It clicked smoothly. “Did Charlie leave it?” I checked the ground inside the chickens’ pen. The water was still a quarter full, but the ground was bare of feed.

“Well, if it was Charlie, he didn’t feed you.” I leaned forward, using one hand to keep my dress off the floor and the other to open the tin container of feed.

The top of my head grazed the wire enclosure. A burst of feathers and talons lunged at my eye. I whipped back.

Clark stared at me, his eyes onyx. Again he spread his wings and flung himself at the fencing. His talons flashed as he crashed into the wire only feet from me.

My heart and head pounded. I’d dropped my dress. Dust dirtied its hem. “What’s gotten into you?”

Clark stared at me, his neck feathers ruffled.

I stepped toward the food. “Look, I’m just going to dish you some—”

But Clark flew at me again. The wire jangled as his talons sliced the air next to my hand.

I jumped back and took a deep breath. In one swift movement, before Clark could react, I shoveled a bunch of feed into the waiting coffee can and poured it on the ground near Clark. He didn’t charge me this time. Instead, he glared, his eyes hard and sparkling, his tail-feathers gleaming.

I frowned and dropped the can back in the feed. “Oh, Clark. Don’t do this.” All around him, the hens scratched and pecked, but Clark eyed me, his gaze reptilian. We’d had roosters go mean before. It happened sometimes as they aged. The really bad ones attacked every time anyone tried to get near their hens, even just to feed them. If that was the case with Clark—if it got bad enough—he’d have to be put down.

Clark swiveled and stared into the dark far corner of the barn. I sighed. Maybe he wasn’t going mean. Maybe he was spooked. There might have been a rat. Or maybe it was the open door and the wind.

“Please don’t turn on us, boy,” I said, fitting the lid on the tin. “For your own sake.” I gazed at the handsome rooster, thinking of how Okaasan had loved him. I wasn’t ready to lose another part of her.

I slipped out of the barn, shutting the door as the familiar ache washed over me. I tipped my face up to the sky. “Oh, Mamii.” I used the name I’d called my mother when I was young. “I wish you were here.”

The evening light shone soft. I closed my eyes again and tried to picture Okaasan. The image blurred. Was her hair really as smooth as I remembered? Had her only freckle been under her right or left eye? A cold thought slid through me. Was I losing my memory of her? The thought terrified me in a way Mack and Scooter couldn’t.

I picked my way through the orchard in the dying light, searching till I found the gnarled, knocked-over trunk. I brushed at the leaves, surprised at how dry they’d stayed, till my fingers rubbed fabric. I lifted out the dirtied peacock-blue scarf and unknotted the corners to find the tin inside.

I pried the lid open. The picture on top was the family portrait we’d taken just months before Okaasan went to the hospital. She sat in the middle of the photograph, wearing her kimono. Dad sat next to her in his best suit. Charlie, Kiki, and I stood around the two of them. The photo was blurry—we’d laughed as the photo was taken. I couldn’t remember why we’d laughed, but I did remember that Mr. Simmons, irritated, had made us pose for a second take.

There was an ease to the scene. No brimming tension. No consuming grief. We were a family. We were happy.

How could things have changed so quickly? And what else would change? With everything going on in the country, in the war, with the farm—where would I be in two more years?

And I found myself thinking of Hiro. Kiki’s exasperated voice rang in my brain. If you like him, don’t lose him on my account. And something clicked. This life was too fleeting, too changeable, to waste. I’d made a terrible mistake.

There was a crackling of leaves behind me, and I turned. As if I’d summoned him, there stood Hiro.

“Sam.” Hiro’s expression was solemn. He seemed not at all surprised to run into me in the orchard in the middle of winter. He didn’t even mention my dress.

I laid the photo in the tin. “Hi.”

Hiro rocked on his heels. I crumpled the fabric of my dress.

“You didn’t go to the dance?” I asked.

Hiro shook his head. His gaze swept over me. “Did you?”

I shook my head. “No, Kiki—”

But Hiro interrupted me. “Sam, I saw you out my window, and I just had to ask …” I glanced toward his house. I could barely see his window. But Hiro plowed on, his jaw tight. “Look, if what you said before was for keeps …” Something dark flickered across his face. “If it was, just tell me. But I thought that …”

There was a hooded quality to Hiro’s eyes, as if he was afraid of what I might say. But around the edges there was a softness—hope?

My heart slammed in my chest. In a flash of random thought, I remembered the time I’d begged Charlie to take me cliff-jumping. I’d perched on the edge of the rock, looking down at the dark, froth-laced water beneath me. This was just as terrifying. And yet …

“It’s not for keeps,” I whispered. “I think I feel … the opposite.”

Hiro said nothing, and I couldn’t bring myself to look up at him.

Then two leather boots stepped into my vision. “Sam.” A smile softened his voice. My breath filled my ears, embarrassingly loud and uneven. When I dared to look up, his eyes searched my face, reading me as if I were a book. I kept my face angled toward his, but lowered my eyes, focusing on the Adam’s apple under his smooth brown skin.

Too many thoughts and feelings clamored inside me. I wanted to run or at least say something to rend the thick tension between us. But as Hiro lifted his hand, I dared to stand still. Shivers of something sweet danced up and down my spine.

Hiro hesitated, then reached up. His fingers lingered on my temple just long enough for me to feel their warmth … and the question in them.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and let my gaze rise upward, first to his chin, then—shying away from his mouth—to his cheekbones, finally meeting his eyes. Something between us disappeared, and his face seemed clearer. Sharper somehow.

For a long moment, his eyes held mine. We were so close I could see specks of light in their warm, deep brown.

Hiro’s hand dropped, and his fingers caught mine. They trembled, as if he might be as scared as me. My breath caught in my throat. And then, in one slow, careful movement, he brought my lips to his.