“I. Will. Kill. Him,” Atsuko seethes, pacing in and out of view on my laptop screen.

“Atsy, we’ve talked about this,” Bex says nervously, twisting her hands together. “You can’t get all murder-y over someone breaking your best friend’s heart.”

“Oh, you think I didn’t have a hit squad all lined up, just in case Shelby broke yours?” Atsuko flops onto the bed next to Bex and cocks an eyebrow. “I know people in Japan. I just need to figure out the best way to get ahold of them.”

Honestly. I can never tell when she’s kidding.

“Atsuko, I’m fine,” I say. My quavery voice reveals this to be a total lie. I mop my eyes with a soggy tissue and let out a long snuffle. “And anyway, didn’t you keep warning me that there was no way of knowing how things were going to turn out? Well, I guess now we do know: They turned out horribly.” The last word comes out as a sob and I start crying again. Really, I haven’t stopped crying since yesterday in the park. My eyes are red and puffy and my head feels like it has a metal band around it, pulling tight.

“Oh, Kimi.” Atsuko blows out a long breath. “Just because I want you to prepare for the worst doesn’t mean I want the worst to actually happen.”

That just makes me cry harder. Bex taps on the screen and holds up a small bowl.

“We’re having ice cream,” she says. “Breakup ice cream? In your honor. It’s like you’re here.”

“And you will be here in just a few days,” Atsuko says, brightening. “You can put this whole Akira mess behind you.”

“Maybe meet someone new,” Bex says, waving her spoon around. “Shelby’s been introducing us to all these cool people from her job at the comic book store.” She dips her spoon back into her ice cream, leans forward, and puts on a theatrical whisper. “There’s this guy, Naz, who’s totally into Atsuko—”

“Okay, okay, we’re getting off topic here,” Atsuko says, her face turning bright red. I wipe my eyes again, momentarily distracted from crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Atsuko blush. “In any case, Bex is right—you can always meet someone new. Or hey, Justin’s still single. I bet he’d be more than willing to woo you with a few more rock rings.”

“Yeah.” I nod mechanically, but all I can think is: I don’t want someone new. I don’t want Justin.

I want Akira.

“You only would’ve had a couple more days with him anyway,” Atsuko says. “Then what? You’d come back here, and you guys probably never would’ve seen each other again.”

“Always harshing the romantic buzz,” Bex says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, with reality,” Atsuko snarks back.

“I hate reality,” I snuffle. “This is why I like to keep things in fantasyland.”

“You can do that, too,” Atsuko says. “You don’t have to actually do anything or try anything ever again if you don’t want to. Just keep imagining experiences instead of actually having them.”

“Atsy!” Bex admonishes, hitting Atsuko with her spoon.

“Sorry,” Atsuko says. “That came out all wrong. It’s just, reality does hurt a whole hell of a lot and I hate that you’re in this heartbreak place, Kimi.”

“Come home,” Bex says, giving me a sympathetic look. “Come home and we’ll figure it out.”

“All right,” I say, dabbing at my nose. “I’m gonna go now, guys. See you soon.”

They wave to me and wink out of sight.

I push my computer to the side and flop back on the bed. Reality does hurt. Atsuko’s right, I only would have had a few more days with Akira anyway.

And yet … all I can think about is how much I want to see him.

My phone buzzes and I glance at the screen. It’s Dad, responding to my email about Liu Academy tuition. God. That seems like a lifetime ago.

You got it, kid. I look forward to hearing more about this plan. Love you.

Oh, right. My grand fashion school plan. Which I haven’t thought of since I started my twenty-four-hour crying jag yesterday. I flip open my sketchbook and listlessly turn through the pages. I still can’t think of a good design to apply with. I turn all the way back to the pages I drew my first full day in Kyoto: the cherry blossom dress, the redesigned mochi costume with the cute boy …

Dammit. Tears fill my eyes again.

Maybe I’ll never think of a good design. Maybe wanting this whole fashion school thing is like wanting Akira: a dumb fantasy I should never make real. Because if it doesn’t work out, it will hurt too much. I gnaw on my lower lip, staring at my sketches.

“Kimiko-chan?” My grandfather is standing in the doorway, looking concerned. He and Grandma have been giving me concerned looks since yesterday, when I came home with drippy, puffy eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay, Grandpa,” I say, sitting up in bed.

He gives me a slight smile. “Then would you like to come with me to town? I am going to replenish my snack supply.” He lowers his voice and gives me a conspiratorial look. “Do not tell your grandmother; I am saying we are going to have lunch. A very healthy lunch.”

“I heard that, Hakaru,” my grandmother says, coming up behind him and giving him a disapproving look. “You think you are being so sneaky, ne? But I know you’re going out to buy treats.”

“I could go to get some snacks,” I say, my voice hollow. “Or to have lunch.”

My grandmother takes in my disheveled, red-eyed appearance. Exchanges a look with my grandfather. Then turns back to me, arching an eyebrow.

“Let’s do both,” she says.

My grandparents take me to an incredibly picturesque district of Kyoto called Gion, which is apparently known for looking like a perfectly preserved bit of old-timey Japan. It has narrow streets and rickety old teahouses with thatched roofs. It’s also known for being a “geisha district,” and my grandmother tells me that tourists flock here hoping to see geiko walking the streets in elaborate kimono and white face paint.

“Many of the people you see in full kimono are tourists themselves,” she snorts. “You can rent all of that gear by the hour.”

My grandparents take me to eat the freshest-tasting sashimi I’ve ever had—thin and delicate, it practically melts in my mouth. For dessert, we go to a beautiful teahouse that also contains various collections of oddball antiques for sale. We sit at a table with a nice view of the Shirakawa River and I order a green tea shave ice that comes out looking like a gigantic head of lettuce.

“This place is so cool,” I say, looking around. The combination of food and beautiful scenery has lifted my spirits a bit. There’s so much to see, I barely have to think about Akira. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. “Is this where you get your snacks, Grandpa?”

“Oh no, for that, we must go to the best snack shop in all of Japan,” Grandpa says, digging into his own dessert. “Just wait until you see it—you can tell your friends back at home about how your grandfather took you there.”

“It’s the convenience mart by the train station,” my grandmother says, giving Grandpa a look. “Do not tell tales, Hakaru.”

I giggle. The way they are with each other reminds me again of my parents—gently needling one another, so over-the-top in love after all these years.

“Well. It is still the best,” my grandfather says, giving me a wink.

“That sashimi we had for lunch was definitely the best,” I say, taking another bite of shave ice. “It’s a good thing you learned to like fish, Grandpa, otherwise you would have missed out.”

“Ah, hai,” Grandpa says, casting a sidelong look at my grandmother. “So she told you the story of our first dinner together.”

“I did,” my grandmother says. “And I am also glad you came around, because I cannot imagine a life without fish.” She glances around the café. “I am going to go look at some of these antiques. Sometimes there are interesting treasures to be had.”

“Ooh, I want to do that, too,” I say. “I’ll join you when I’m done with my shave ice.”

Grandma nods at me, stands, and heads to one of the other rooms.

“So, what caused the fish switch, Grandpa?” I say, scooping into the dregs of my dessert. “Did your taste buds change one day or was it more of a gradual thing over time or—”

“Oh, Kimiko-chan.” My grandfather smiles at me and lets out an ornery chuckle. “I have always liked fish.”

“Wh-what? But Grandma said—”

“Your obaasan’s fish was terrible,” he says, his laugh morphing into a full-blown cackle. “Oh my. She could not cook to save her life. It was not—what do you say?—not fit for humans. To eat.”

“So, you fed it to the dog and then lied about why?” I say, incredulous.

“She was so proud to have made it,” he says. “Her smile when she served it to me was so …” His expression softens, and he gets a faraway look. “And anyway, dog vomit aside, the fish was a small part of our evening. The rest was …” He trails off again and smiles. “I knew I wanted to be with her forever.”

“Even though you were possibly resigning yourself to a lifetime of not-fit-for-humans cooking?” I say, laughing.

“I was not a very good cook, either,” he says with a shrug. “We learned and got better together. And if we hadn’t? Eto … I suppose we would have just gotten a dog.” He laughs uproariously, like this is the funniest thing ever, and I can’t help but join in. “There is always a little uncertainty when you love someone,” Grandpa says, polishing off the last of his dessert. “Sometimes that’s part of the magic. Sometimes it means heartbreak. But when you feel strongly enough about someone to endure their bad fish …” He smiles and pats his heart. “Nothing like it, ne?”

I find myself smiling and nodding back. I consider his words, turning them over in my mind. And as I do, a tiny spark takes root in my chest. I have no idea what it means, so for now, I just let it flicker.

After dessert, I wander through the teahouse’s rooms of antiques for sale. Surprisingly, nothing is very expensive. Some of the price tags contain little handwritten notes—which are written in Japanese, so I can’t read them, but Grandma tells me they’re explanations from previous owners about the history of the items and why they need new homes.

There’s a section that has a beautiful rainbow of yukata and kimono. Another with a collection of chipped teapots. And one that seems to contain everything that didn’t go anywhere else—a bushel of silk flowers, a ceramic bear holding a camera, a mask with horns and a ghoulish grinning mouth. There’s a little pile of old books propping up the mask, and I pick through them, noting that they’re also for sale. I pick one up and page through it—even though, once again, it’s in Japanese and I can’t read it. Maybe I can take some Japanese classes when I get back to the States.

I flip to a new page and find a detailed black-and-white diagram of the human body, arrows pointing to different organs and systems. Ah. This must be a medical textbook of some kind.

That, of course, makes me think of Akira.

I take a deep breath and keep paging through. Weirdly, I feel like looking at this makes me understand why he was so enchanted by these kinds of gross diagrams. It’s like looking at a gigantic puzzle and trying to figure out how all the pieces fit, how everything works together to create a perfect whole. It reminds me a bit of sketching a new design, trying to make the elements balance each other, trying to find that one shape or sweep or pattern that makes my heart sing.

I picture tiny Akira studying these diagrams in detail, face lit with wonder, and smile. I remember refashioning my grandmother’s coat and feeling that same sense of wonder for the first time.

I run my fingertips over the intricate black-and-white designs on the page, thinking of my sketchbook.

Suddenly images from my sketchbook over the past week and a half flood my mind—along with all the memories attached to them. The flowing patterned jumpsuit and the bamboo grove. The tulip dress and my trip with Grandma to the fabric shop and Sakae’s wonderful store.

The cherry blossom dress and Maruyama Park.

My eyes widen, a bright thread of excitement flowing through my veins, worming its way into my gut, and exploding in my chest.

That’s it. I know what I have to do for my application design.

And yes, I am going to apply. It might not work out the way I want. It might even end in a way that hurts so bad, I spend weeks crying and eating ice cream with Atsuko and Bex.

But here’s the thing: None of that stops me from wanting it.

I close the medical textbook, clutch it to my chest, and jump up and down a little bit. My fingers are already twitching, eager to start sketching and measuring and draping.

“Kimiko-chan?” I turn and see my grandparents approaching me, looking puzzled. “Are you okay?” my grandmother continues.

“Yes,” I say, hugging the book. “I’m more than okay.” I smile at my grandparents. “Can we go home now? After stopping by the greatest snack shop in all of Japan, of course. I have something to work on.”