“McDonald’s? Really?” I put my hands on my hips and give Akira a look. “I thought you were taking me somewhere more … more …”

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. “You were expecting a place that is more …” He affects a bouncy, Valley girl–like accent, stretching out his vowels. “… like, totally authentic Japanese?”

“Is that supposed to be a California girl voice?” I say, my explosive giggle tumbling out. “I do not sound like that.”

We took a long, meandering walk to get to this McD’s, wandering through gorgeous green nature-scapes peppered with those adorable deer. A few of them tried to follow us, hoping we’d stop and feed them. But Akira marched on, determined to get to … an American fast food place? An American fast food place that, make no mistake, I enjoy greatly, but that I can also have whenever I want. Okay, okay: I’ll admit maybe I had been expecting something more, like, totally authentic Japanese.

“We need french fry fuel before we go feed the deer,” Akira says, opening the door for me. “And anyway, I believe our McDonald’s has a few offerings that yours does not.”

We step inside, and it looks like … well, a McDonald’s. Bright lights and primary colors and the good ol’ golden arches. But as I glance up at the menu, I realize Akira wasn’t joking: alongside the Big Macs and Filet-O-Fishes, there are several unfamiliar items: a “Teriyaki Mac” burger, a fried chicken patty you shake up in a bag with spices, and something called an Ebi Filet-O.

“Shrimp burger,” Akira explains when I point it out. “Shrimp smashed together into a patty and fried in panko. Highly recommended.”

“You had me at panko,” I say, holding up a hand. “I love panko maybe more than anything in the world. I haven’t even tasted this yet and I’m all ready to start a petition to make the Ebi Filet-O a thing at McD’s in the States.”

“It is most definitely petition-worthy,” Akira says, nodding solemnly.

We order a Big Mac for him, an Ebi Filet-O for me, sodas, and two large fries.

“Let me,” Akira says, waving me aside when I pull out my money. “I am taking full responsibility for your first authentic Japanese McDonald’s experience.”

“Oh, thank you,” I say. Then I lengthen my vowels and give him my own version of the California girl drawl. “I, like, so totally appreciate that.”

He laughs. “Mine was better. More authentic California accent, ne?”

We get our food and sit at one of the plasticky tables, the scents of grease and salt mingling in the air surrounding us. I have to admit, there’s something comforting about this heavy, greasy aura—it sinks into my bones and soothes me, reminding me of home and getting fries after school with Atsuko.

“Ah, smiling before you have even taken a bite,” Akira says. “Already, my McDonald’s is winning.”

“Who said anything about a competition?” I say, arching an eyebrow as I pick up my shrimp filet and take a bite. “Holy crap.”

The flavor explosion of the Ebi Filet-O cannot be overstated. Tender shrimp, crispy panko, and some kind of sauce on top that is sort-of-but-not-quite Big Mac sauce. Wow. It’s rich and comforting and I can totally see Dad doing a killer version of this at his restaurant. I’ll have to tell him about it.

“This. Is. So. Good!” I exclaim, pointing emphatically at my sandwich with every syllable.

“Ah, you see, Kimi from America?” Akira gives me a smug look and pops a fry in his mouth. “You were prepared to be disappointed by my lunch selection, but I have … what is the expression?” He puts his elbows on the table and leans forward, affecting an ultra-serious look. “Blown your brain.”

“Blown my mind,” I correct, laughing. “But you know what, my brain is pretty blown, too.”

He grins and sits back in his seat, popping more fries in his mouth.

“You get so excited about things,” he says.

“What, like food?” I say, taking another delectable bite of panko and shrimp. “Yeah, I love food. A lot of people love food.”

“But you are always exclaiming over it,” he says with a chuckle. “You seem to … how do you say it? Like, enjoy in an especially excited way. You … you relish it.”

I shrug. “There’s so much awesome food in the world. Why not relish it?”

“Not just food,” he says. “You get excited about other things, too. The beauty of the temple earlier, or the girls in yukata at the bamboo grove the other day. Or when you were talking about where you’d wear that dress you drew—the imaginary party for your friend Atsuko with all the fantastical decorations. You got that same look as you were describing it, like you were relishing just thinking about such a party and such a dress.”

“Is that weird?” I say, cocking an eyebrow.

“No.” He smiles at me. “I like it.”

I flush and look down at my food. Once again, I’m confused. Does he mean, I like it and I like you, weird, overenthusiastic American girl or I like it as an element of someone I want to be friends with, full stop?

Totally KY, Atsuko says in my head.

“You get excited about things, too,” I say, polishing off my filet. “Creepy medical texts, American detective shows, Buddha’s guts. And surely you have some outrageous fantasy you like to indulge in, much like my whole party thing.”

“Ah, un, un,” he says, his smile widening. “Sometimes I imagine I am already a successful doctor, spending my days cracking the medical mysteries of my patients and doing important research. I am making enough money to get my family all the things they have always wanted. I buy Ojisan a permanent mochi stand where he never has to worry about rent ever again. He can concentrate fully on perfecting all of his recipes.”

“Is rent at the market expensive?” I say.

“It keeps going up,” Akira says. “So far, Ojisan’s profits have been enough to keep him going, but the margin gets smaller every year. Luckily he has the best employee in all of Japan to help him out.” He grins and points to himself.

“Or the only employee in all of Japan who’s willing to dress up in a mochi costume and dance around like a dork,” I say, grinning back at him. “But you know, Akira: There’s a big difference between your fantasy and mine.”

“What’s that?”

“Yours could actually come true,” I say, making a face at him. “You’re going to be a doctor. And you’re so excited about it. That’s awesome.” I toy with my ketchup-stained napkin, tearing it into tiny little pieces. “My fantasy, meanwhile, is destined to remain pretty firmly in fantasyland.”

“You could not make dresses for you and all of your friends for a party?” he says, his brow crinkling. “Or do you think such a party could not take place?”

“No, I have no doubt Atsuko will someday have tons of parties dedicated to celebrating her genius,” I say, smiling slightly. “I guess I just assume that by then, we’ll be actual adults and I won’t have time to fool around with clothes anymore. Because I’ll be doing … whatever I’m supposed to be doing with my life. Before all this, I thought I’d be painting. Becoming the great Asian American artist my mother was so convinced I’d become. But now … now, I don’t know.”

“Ah, but we are going to figure this out, ne?” Akira says, giving me an encouraging smile. “And I have to think: Someone who gets excited about so much in life shouldn’t have too much trouble finding her passion. Surely it is lurking right around the corner.” His face gets all serious for a moment and I lean in, wondering if he’s about to impart some major insight. “Yes,” he says, nodding. “I think I see it—”

I lean in closer.

“Right behind you!” he cries out, pointing dramatically at a spot just beyond my left ear, his serious face collapsing into a goofy expression of exaggerated shock.

“Ha-ha,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him. “And here I thought you were about to offer me some life-changing words of wis—”

“Wait, but the deer is behind you!” he exclaims, making me jump. “The one who wanted food! She’s back to—”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” I yelp, whipping around in my seat.

Of course, there’s nothing there.

“Oh my god,” I say, turning back around and throwing my napkin at Akira. He dodges easily, laughing.

“We do have some deer to feed, though, ne?” Akira says, sweeping our empty food wrappers onto a tray. He inspects his fry box, notes that it still contains a few precious golden potatoes, and tucks the box into the front pocket of his backpack. “Shall we get to that?”

The amount of hungry deer in sight is no joke.

They really are everywhere, roaming the green of the park. And they’re aggressive, relentlessly seeking out tourists buying shika-senbei from vendors and nose-bumping them until they get fed. Some tourists are surrounded by entire packs of deer, pestering them for sustenance.

“Dang, the deer really love these cookies,” I say, brandishing the pack of shika-senbei we’ve purchased. They’re round, wafer-thin, and held together with little crisscrossing pieces of paper.

“Careful,” Akira says, holding up his hand to cover the cookies. “They see you waving those things around and they’ll be all over us.”

But it’s too late; I’ve given us away. A cluster of three deer frolics over, noses eagerly sniffing the air. They nudge the bottom of my dress and I hold the cookies up high so they can’t reach them.

“All right, all right, calm down,” I say, my explosive giggle spilling out of me. “Oh my gosh, you’re all so cute.”

I hand them cookies one by one, and they gobble them up eagerly. Akira purchases another packet of shika-senbei and starts handing them out himself. More deer, having heard the rumor of our cookie riches, trot up and sniff at us and before I know it, we’re surrounded.

“This is so cool,” I exclaim, laughing as one of the deer licks my hand. “I feel like a freaking Disney princess attracting a whole squad of woodland creature pals.”

“They will be your ‘pals’ until we run out of shika-senbei,” Akira says, cocking an eyebrow at me. He’s looking at me like he was earlier, when he kept talking about me getting excited about things. A little amused, a little intrigued, maybe a little … tender? I can’t tell if I’m imagining that part or not.

My cheeks flush and I turn back to my new deer friends, focusing hard on distributing my shika-senbei. One of the deer bumps my hip, almost like she’s encouraging me to turn and look at Akira.

No way, little deer friend. We have to be more subtle than that.

I cast a surreptitious sidelong glance at Akira—and notice a deer nosing around in the open front pocket of his backpack.

“Oh—Akira!” I yelp. “Behind you—”

He gives me an amused look. “Trying to fool me like I fooled you earlier, Kimi? It will not work.”

“No!” I say, gesturing wildly. “There is … the deer! It’s behind you!”

The deer chooses that moment to get aggressive, craning its neck and plunging its snout more fully into Akira’s backpack pocket. He must actually feel it this time because he gets a funny look on his face and turns his head to look.

“Wha—?” he says. “Oi!” He drops the rest of his shika-senbei on the ground and bats (very gently, I notice) at the backpack-plundering deer. “Stop that!”

I try to rush over to him, but there are so many deer between me and him at this point, and they’re all poking at me for food. I start to wind my way through, bribing deer with cookies as I go, doing the best I can.

“Stop!” Akira repeats, trying to shake free. The deer, in response, head-butts him and he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground.

“Akira!” I cry, trying to move more quickly through the deer mass. “Shoo!” I say to them. “Get outta here, Bambi!”

The deer finally liberates the thing it was after from Akira’s backpack—the McDonald’s cardboard box half-full of french fries.

“Oi!” Akira yells as the deer runs off, fry box clutched triumphantly in its mouth. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I could swear it looks a little gleeful.

The other deer, sensing that deer has a cool new treat, take off after the fry thief, finally clearing my path to Akira. I run over to him.

“Are you okay?” I exclaim, crouching down next to him.

“Yes, fine,” he says, grimacing. “Perhaps a little embarrassed that I cannot seem to stop falling down in front of you.” He gives me a wry grin.

“Maybe we’ve had enough deer-related shenanigans for one day,” I say, standing up straight and extending a hand to him. “Here, let me …”

He clasps my hand and meets my eyes, but stays still, making no effort to get off the ground. “We’re always helping each other up,” he says. His voice is soft and that quiet intensity is flashing through his eyes. It’s almost like he’s saying it to himself—turning it over in his mind, trying to figure out what it means. I’m suddenly very aware of the warmth of his palm against mine again, of the way my cheeks always seem to heat up—

CRAASSSSHHHHHHHHH

Suddenly, the sky opens up and rain slams down on us. There’s no warning, nothing. One moment, things are pleasant and dry. The next, nothing but wet and cold and my bangs are getting totally drenched and sticking to my forehead.

“Wha …” I yelp.

Akira scrambles to his feet. “Come on!” he cries out, grabbing my hand.

And then we run.

I’m not sure where we’re running to, I can barely see—my bangs are now in my eyes and dripping everywhere. Grass squishes under my feet as Akira pulls me to the right and then to the left, trying to maneuver around the deer. It’s the kind of rain where there’s no space between the drops, it’s just like one big sheet of endless water.

We run and run and finally we reach a city street–like thing, wet concrete that doesn’t squish as much underneath my shoes but still feels dangerously slippery.

“Over here!” Akira calls out.

He makes a hard left and pulls me into a small alleyway between buildings that appears to have some sort of tarp over it.

It’s still cold, but at least we’re not getting drenched. I guess technically, we’re already drenched in pretty much every possible way.

“Oh, Kimi,” Akira says, his brow creasing with concern. “You’re soaked.”

He sets his backpack on the ground, shrugs off his cotton jacket, and wraps it around my shoulders.

“Oh, uh … your jacket is also wet,” I say, giggling.

“Guh.” He laughs. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He smiles at me, flashing that dimple. He’s holding the lapels of the jacket he’s draped around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. Even though we’re both freezing, I suddenly feel very warm.

And then I realize we’re totally in the fantasy of my first kiss: the rain, the alley, the adorable boy who’s standing so close, there’s nothing for us to do but kiss.

Only there are all these things that weren’t in my fantasy that are somehow even better: the sound of water pattering against the buildings, the way he’s looking at me, the delicious scent of rain.

This is it. This is my perfect moment.

I don’t think about ruining everything or being bad at kissing or whatever I was worrying about before. I don’t even hear Bex and Atsuko chanting in my head. I just know. I part my lips slightly and lean in.

He needs to lean in the rest of the way. You know, meet me in the middle.

And he doesn’t.

We just keep looking at each other, our gazes locked, me leaning in like I’ve thrown my hand up for a high five and am getting nothing back. He’s still studying me in that intense, serious way. But he’s not moving. It’s as if we’re trapped in a weird staring contest.

“Uh …” He shakes his head, like he’s coming out of a trance.

Then he’s carefully removing his jacket from my shoulders, avoiding my gaze, and putting some distance between us.

Well. That is not how I saw that going.

“Sorry,” he says, giving me a tight smile. “I didn’t realize, eto … my jacket is soaking you even more. We need to get inside, maybe find a store with some cheap sweatshirts to change into, so we don’t catch colds.”

“Oh, uh, of course,” I say, my voice small.

He motions for me to follow him and I do. He doesn’t grab my hand this time.

How did my perfect moment go so wrong?