Kenji smiled. He’d stopped dancing and shuffled his feet around the confetti scattered across the floor until he’d gathered his next words. “Hey,” he started, “I know I’m late, but I wouldn’t have taken your gloves if I knew how much it’d upset you. I just wanted to get your attention. I’m sorry.”
They were standing in the middle of the stage, the only ones not dancing, oblivious to the bop of the music and their classmates’ loud cheers as the band started blaring “The Loco-Motion.”
“That was five years ago,” said Marigold.
“Yeah, and you’ve hated me ever since.”
“I was irritated, but that’s not why I didn’t like you.”
“Then why?” Kenji looked genuinely curious. “It’s not because I’m Japanese. There’s at least twenty of us at school. You played badminton with Naoko for a whole semester.”
Marigold swallowed. It was her turn to confess. “I... I heard a rumor that you vandalized someone’s car back in LA. I thought you were going to be trouble.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Kenji asked, surprised. “Never mind. Can I tell you what really happened?”
He guided her toward the edge of the dance floor, where it was quieter. “I was twelve. My brother had just gotten drafted, and my parents were fighting about everything. They couldn’t be in the same room without yelling. The day I smashed the car, Mom told me we were moving back to my grandparents’ in Berkeley, and Dad was staying in Torrance.”
He exhaled. “I was angry, and unhappy. I’d tried everything to get them back together, but it’d just backfire. So I thought, maybe I should make them upset at me instead of each other. Stupid, right? I wasn’t thinking. As soon as I picked up my bat, I knew it was a mistake. I kept hoping they’d come out and stop me.” He grimaced. “So I swung. I broke the windows, even broke off one of the side mirrors.” His voice deepened. “Took a long time to pay it all back, even longer before I could look my parents in the eyes. Worst thing was, they still got divorced.”
Marigold hadn’t moved a muscle while he spoke, and now she didn’t know what to say. She’d wronged him. After one glimpse of his past she had assumed the worst. Humbled by his story, she bent her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “Can we start over? I’m Marigold.”
A slow smile spread on Kenji’s face. “Ken. But you can call me Kenji.”
She looked up at him. “Why do you look so pleased?”
“Because. You were the only girl in eighth grade who knew sandworms were fromDune,not ‘some part of Arabia.’ I’ve wanted to be friends from the start.”
A slow song had come on—“Let’s Stay Together”—and Kenji offered Marigold his hand once more.
This time she took it.
They got to dance for two minutes before Valerie Hodge stalked over and claimed Kenji’s arm, flashing the pink corsage he must have gotten for her. She threw Marigold a smirk that readscram.
For a second, Kenji looked like he had a stomach flu, and it surprised Marigold how disappointed she was to stop talking with him. There was only a month until graduation; she doubted there’d be many more chances.
“Enjoy the rest of prom,” she said lamely, making her way back to the buffet table.
“Hey, Marigold,” Kenji called after her. “Want to read some Fantastic Four?”
She couldn’t believe he remembered that. “Sure.”
“I’ll bring a stack on Monday.”
Marigold couldn’t help smiling. She didn’t notice Rosie coming up beside her wearing a mischievous look. “I saw that.”
“Saw what?”
“You and Kenji Yamamoto. He’s pretty cute.”
Normally Marigold would roll her eyes at her sister’s audacity, but there was a shining feeling inside her from the wonder of having made a new friend.
Laughing, she grabbed Rosie by the hands, surrendering to the infectious beat of a song she didn’t recognize.
“Come on, dance with me.” Fallen pom-poms crunched under their shoes, and the sisters twirled each other until they were dizzy.
It tied for her favorite dance of the night.
Part III
