Faking Reality Read online

  The daisies are long gone, but I put the basket with Leo’s note still tucked inside it on my desk, next to Jake’s bouquet, and put my stud finder inside it too.

  Chapter

  13

  “Are you sure about this?” Dad says when we pull up in front of Matsuda thirty minutes before my test date with Jake Yong. I nod. “If things go south, text me from the bathroom. I’ll make up an excuse that I need you to come home ASAP.”

  “Thanks. But I got this. I’m on neutral ground—a paparazzi-free zone—here. I feel, maybe not comfortable, but at least safer.”

  Dad gives me a hug like I’m leaving for war. I hug Dad back. I know he’s as conflicted about all of this as I am. You hand my Dad a gizmo from 1954, and he can opine about it for hours. But his words are measured on everything related to my growing up. Though there are days when Mom jokes that she can’t wait to be an empty nester—usually when I’m salty about something like the state of my room—Dad always counters with him being fine if I never move out. Yeah. That’s not going to happen either.

  “Irasshaimase!” Mrs. Matsuda doesn’t look up from the table she’s cleaning when I first come inside. Then she does a double-take. “Sugoi! Dakota-chan, kirei dayo.”

  “Thank you.” I accept her compliment that I look pretty though Iwate-sensei taught us that culturally you’re not supposed to.

  “You’re early. Somebody is sitting in your booth right now. Do you want to pick another spot?”

  “Not yet, I wanted to say hi to everybody before Jake gets here.” And get a pep talk from Aurora, but Mrs. Matsuda doesn’t need to know that. “Is it okay if I go back?”

  “Of course. We had a big rush thirty minutes ago, but things are slowing down again.”

  As I head back, Aurora comes out of the kitchen with a tray full of different types of noodles. Though she can’t stop to chat, Aurora gives my outfit a quick look and a nod of approval as we pass each other. I open the kitchen door to find a sweaty Ojiichan lecturing Leo about something.

  “Hai. Hai. Wakarimashita.” Leo rubs his temples and agrees to whatever Ojiichan is scolding him about.

  I knock on the opened door. “I just wanted to say hi and thank you for letting me come here tonight.”

  Ojiichan tips his head at me as he plates up somebody’s miso-katsu next to a pile of finely shredded cabbage. “Of course, Dakota-chan. You are family.”

  “So?” I put my arms out to the side and do a tight turn. “I took your fashion advice.”

  I paired the black fitted pants with a more modern black-and-gold top, a pair of tall black boots, my jean jacket, a little more makeup than usual, and my hair up in a half-do.

  Leo nods. “You are missing one thing.”

  “What?” I look down at my outfit. “Is the purse too much? I told Nevaeh it was over the top.”

  Leo pulls the Kitsune Mask pin off his pine-green waist apron. “For courage.”

  When Leo’s fingers slide underneath the fabric of my jean jacket to attach the pin, his knuckles lightly graze the skin of my exposed collarbone. A bolt of electricity races to the pit of my stomach. My breath catches when Leo’s long fingers tuck a lock of escaped hair behind my ear.

  Leo clears his throat. “Kirei dane. Ne, Ojiichan?”

  Ojiichan glances over from plating the fourth miso-katsu dinner and nods at Leo’s assessment that I look pretty. Leo goes to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Girls stopped having cooties around the fifth grade, you know,” I tease Leo, though he’s just following health code rules.

  Leo looks over his shoulder and gives me a wink. “I know.”

  “Thanks for the pin.” I hold the kitchen door open for Leo to pass through with the heavy tray perched on his shoulder.

  “It’s only on loan for tonight. To help you channel your Inner Jay. Fierce. Confident. Sassy. So don’t lose it.”

  “Gotcha.” I watch Leo walk away, nimbly dodging Aurora, who almost backs into him.

  When my booth is finally open, I grab an empty tray and pile up all the used dishes. I take them into the kitchen and hand them over to Mr. Matsuda, who is back from his break and loading up the dishwasher for probably the hundredth time today.

  After cleaning my hands, I grab a towel and dry some of the plates fresh out of the dishwasher. The wet heat warms my cold hands. I dry and stack in silence until Aurora comes in.

  “Koty, what are you doing?” Aurora unloads her tray of dishes and tucks the two empty trays under her arm.

  “I don’t mind drying dishes. Plus, I’ve got time to kill.”

  Because Mr. Matsuda isn’t a particularly chatty person and often listens to podcasts while he does this mind-numbing job, drying dishes is a way to settle my brain. It’s practically a form of meditation for me. I dried a LOT of dishes after the Great Homecoming Disaster.

  “Well, stop before you melt your makeup off. Actually, finish that load so I don’t have to do it, and then stop. I’m going on break, Dad.” Aurora ducks out the back door for a few minutes of regular teen life.

  Leo comes through the doors with another tray piled high with dirty dishes. “I wiped down your table, Koty, if you want to go get ready for your date.”

  I put the last two tiny shōyu plates in their pile. Mr. Matsuda and I have never had a lot in common, but there is one thing we agree on: One must keep the bowls, plates, and teacups in a specific order and stacked to a certain height. In fact, at rock bottom of my downward spiral last year, Mr. Matsuda insisted that I needed to come do inventory and reorganize the dishes with him because “my children don’t do it right.”

  I realize now that the task was more about my mental health than crockery organization. That it was his way of showing concern for me.

  “Dōmo.” Mr. Matsuda nods his head at me with a thanks when I hang the towel up to dry.

  “Dō itashimashite.” You’re welcome, I nod back at him. I let out a cleansing breath and thank him too. “Dōmo.”

  “Anytime, Dakota-chan.”

  I stop for a quick makeup and hair check in the bathroom before settling into my favorite booth. My phone pings.

  NEVAEH

  You got this!

  I send them a goofy selfie back. And then another one. And then a third.

  “Right over here,” Mrs. Matsuda says.

  I’m in the process of taking a duck face selfie when Mrs. Matsuda delivers a tall Asian guy to my table. He quirks a manscaped eyebrow at me. I slap my phone facedown on the table and jump to my feet.

  “Oh, hey. You must be Jake. I’m Dakota. Of course I’m Dakota. Yeah. Have a seat.”

  I am so cringe. Worse, Jake’s hand still floats in the air. I jump back up and shake it. Across the restaurant, I can see Aurora shaking her head. Jake slides off his leather jacket to reveal a form-skimming, baby blue button-down shirt underneath. He unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves and rolls them up. A waft of piney scent drifts across the table. Whether it is his cologne or the hair wax in his perfectly styled hair, I’ll never know.

  Aurora cuts Leo off on his way to our table. “Hi, I’m Aurora, and I’ll be your survivor … server … I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Before I can answer, Jake says in a deep, rumbly voice like thunder, “Seltzer water. Do you have Perrier or at least La Croix?”

  “No, but we do have Phoenix’s best tap water that I can carbonate for ya.” Aurora laughs at her joke, but Jake doesn’t.

  “I’ll have ocha,” I say.

  “Me too then,” Jake says.

  When you are on a date, eye contact is important. At least, that’s what the article I read this afternoon said. But where is the line between paying attention to your date and being weird and awkward? I look into his deep brown eyes for a count of three before flinching and looking away.

  “You know a lot about me from my headshot, but I don’t know that much about you. Besides what I’ve seen on TV, of course.” Jake puts his left arm on the table. A large, e
xpensive-looking watch encircles his wrist.

  I have to wonder if the watch is as much a prop as Nevaeh’s designer purse is for me. Because I mean, come on. You can use your phone to tell time like everybody else does. Then again, I let Nevaeh talk me into this purse because, according to them, “You are not a kangaroo, Dakota. Why do you walk around all the time with your pockets filled with crap?”

  Before I can answer Jake’s question, Aurora reappears with our ocha. “Do you know what you’d like, or do you need a few minutes?”

  “A minute,” Jake says, though I already decided on miso-katsu while I was still in the parking lot with Dad.

  I pretend to look over the menu, which I have memorized. Leo cuts off Aurora so that he can clean the four-top next to our booth. Leo can get a table cleaned and reset in under one minute. I know this because we timed him one day when business was slow. Tonight he is working at snail speed. Eavesdropping much?

  “I wonder how authentic this food is.” Jake’s low voice has a too-cool-for-you vibe. “I mean, I do live two blocks away from Little Tokyo in LA, so my standards are pretty high.”

  Though Jake can’t see it, Leo rolls his eyes. To his credit, Leo keeps the snark out of his voice when he asks, “Do you have a question about something on the menu?”

  “Is the chef really Japanese?” Jake says.

  “Yes, he immigrated to the US from Nagoya in 1968.”

  “Is all the sushi locally sourced?”

  “No.” When Jake looks down his nose at him, Leo adds, “You’re in Arizona. We’re a landlocked state. If you give me a black light and about ten minutes, I could make you our secret, off-menu scorpion sushi. Fresh and locally sourced. Only the VIPs know about it.”

  “Scorpion sushi?” Jake says like he is seriously considering it.

  I look at Leo, and it takes all of my limited acting skills to keep a straight face. Leo lets the question hang for a beat before he cracks a smile.

  “Totally kidding. Plus, the scorpions are hibernating. Our specialty is Nagoya-style miso-katsu. It’s like tonkatsu, only with a rich, red miso paste sauce on top of the deep-fried pork cutlet.”

  “I don’t want anything fried.” Jake’s eyes skim over the menu again. “I’ll have a double order of the yakitori chicken—light on the sauce. And no rice for me. Can I have double the salad? With the dressing on the side. And miso soup with extra tofu. I need the extra protein for this new training regimen the movie studio has me on. I have to pack on twenty pounds of muscle in the next six weeks before we start shooting.”

  I don’t know how Leo reads the ridiculous order back with a completely straight face. “And for the lady?”

  “She’ll have—”

  I cut Jake off. “I’ll have the miso-katsu meal.”

  “Any special requests from the chef?” Leo fights unsuccessfully to keep the corner of his mouth from pulling up.

  “Nope. As is. I heard the chef has won the Phoenix Phoodie Phestival’s Asian Cuisine Award four times in a row. I trust his judgment.” I look up at Leo. “Thank you.”

  As Leo walks off, Jake yells, “I forgot. No pickles either.”

  I sip my ocha. This is not going well. “If you are filming a movie soon, are you going to be available in late April?”

  “Yeah. The director and I are close. He’ll let me take a few days off. Being the lead of the movie has its perks.”

  “Why in the world would you want to take this low-level job then?”

  Okay, so that wasn’t my Mr. Inside Voice like I thought because Jake flinches.

  “It’s an indie film. Uncle Dan—I mean, the director—said it could be the next big thing if we can find a good distributor. If we can get it into some of the bigger film festivals that will help.”

  “Can I be honest with you?” I say, because at the rate we are going, Jake and I aren’t going to make it to dessert much less anything else. “You can be real with me. We’re auditioning for a guy who looks good on camera—and believe me, you do—but who doesn’t take himself too seriously and can have fun even though we are technically working. This party is going to be a complete circus, so I want my date to be chill and fun.”

  Jake’s voice suddenly comes up half an octave. “Can we start again?”

  “Yes.” I put out my hand. “Hi, I’m Dakota McDonald.”

  “Jake Yong. Nice to meet you.”

  Jake holds my hand for a few seconds and looks me deep in the eyes. Wooooow. I don’t get the electric zap that I feel when I look at Leo, but now there is some kind of chemistry bubbling between us.

  Suddenly, I can see us walking into the crowded ballroom, filled with rose-gold balloons. I have on a ridiculous rose-gold dress with yards of tulle and an enormous tiara perched on my perfectly styled updo. Meanwhile, Jake is doing his best impersonation of Prince Charming in a white tux with a rose-gold cummerbund and bow tie. Girls swoon right and left from Jake’s perfectly straight, brilliantly white smile. Jake looks at me from under his heavy, dark lashes. His lips brush my cheek when he says …

  “My agent says this gig pays $5,000 plus travel expenses.”

  I shake my head to release the sugarcoated fantasy from my brain. “You’ll have to talk to Stephanie about that. I’m in charge of auditions.”

  “You have other guys auditioning?”

  “Of course. Like I said. I’m looking for someone I have chemistry with. It doesn’t even have to be romantic chemistry. I’m not looking for a boyfriend. It’s more like a friend with benefits.”

  When Jake raises an eyebrow at me, I clarify, “Benefits like you get paid and get to keep the tux.”

  “I could do that for you.”

  “We’ll see.” I sip my tea.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Jake’s hand reaches across the table to take mine.

  “Thank you,” I say as Jake’s thumb gently rubs across the outside of my hand.

  Leo clears his throat. I let go of Jake’s hand like it’s a snake.

  “Ohashi o tsukaimasu ka,” Leo asks Jake.

  “Huh,” Jake says.

  “Are you going to use chopsticks?” I translate.

  “Chopsticks, of course. We are eating Japanese food. It would be a crime to eat it with a fork.”

  “Two pairs of chopsticks then.” Leo doesn’t hide his snark this time.

  “I’m impressed.” Jake nods his head at me. “If you give me a script written in phonetic Japanese, I can do it. Like for anime voice-overs. But now I kind of wish I would’ve gone to Japanese Saturday School like my mom wanted me to when I was a kid.”

  “You’re part Japanese?” I say.

  “Yeah, half Korean, half Japanese. Though I’ve never been to either country.”

  “I’m one-quarter Japanese. Unfortunately, the little Japanese I know comes from my high school Japanese class. But I’m working on it.”

  Jake looks down and snorts in disgust. He puts the tsukemono on what is supposed to be the shōyu plate.

  When Leo comes back with our chopsticks, Jake pushes the tsukemono at him. “I said no pickles.”

  I slide the little plate stacked with a few of Ojiichan’s neon-yellow daikon and shriveled green cucumbers toward me. “I’ll eat them. I love tsukemono.”

  “My apologies,” Leo says between clenched teeth. “Is everything else to your high standards?”

  Jake looks at his meal and then mine. “Hmmm, we could use more tea.”

  “Yes. Thank you. Itadakimasu,” I say.

  Leo gives us a curt nod of his head before leaving, which is better than the baka slap he’s probably dying to give Jake. I’m also not surprised when it’s Aurora who comes back with the tea a few minutes later.

  “How’s everything over here?” Aurora flashes Jake a flirty smile.

  “Everything is wonderful. Thank you,” I say.

  “It’s okay,” Jake says, and Aurora’s smile dampens.

  “Right then.” Aurora does an about-face and storms off.


  “The movie I’m making with my uncle is really cool. I play the role of a spoiled, arrogant, trust-fund, prep-school boy who will stop at nothing to reach his dreams of becoming a rock star or maybe an A-list actor. We haven’t decided yet. It depends on how my guitar lessons go.”

  “Sounds like a real creative stretch for you.”

  Not only does Jake completely miss my sarcasm, he actually agrees with me. “Yeah. Uncle Dan says this could be my breakout vehicle. We’re going to record an album and everything to go with it. I’m writing all the songs—well, the lyrics at least—for the soundtrack. I find all kinds of inspiration in the everyday world. Like today. I was lying on my bed at the hotel watching dust motes swirl around in the sunlight.” Jake chuckles before continuing his monologue. “Finding words to rhyme with ‘mote’ is a challenge, though. So I decided to…”

  Ten minutes into Jake’s monologue on the existential meaning of dust, I’m ready to poke myself in the eye with a rusty spoon. I almost sob in relief when Aurora appears at our booth again.

  “The chef insists that dessert is on the house, since Dakota is a VIP.” Aurora tries one more time to save this disaster of a date. “Our special house dessert is ice cream mochi in strawberry, matcha, and vanilla flavors. Which would you like?”

  “I don’t eat dessert,” Jake says. “I have to keep my carbs ultralow if I want to get my abs cut enough in time for my movie.”

  As I’ve probably consumed all of Jake’s carbs for the month with my dinner alone, I say, “Can I take a rain check?”

  “Are you sure?” Aurora knows that I love the matcha-flavored ice cream ones.

  “Very. But thank you. We’re ready for the check, please.”

  It’s Leo who takes the bill from his mom and brings it over. He looks Jake directly in the eye and holds the bill out to him.

  “Will you be paying in cash or with card tonight?”

  Jake looks at me. “I thought this … Never mind.”

  When Jake digs for his wallet, I pull the bill out of Leo’s hand. “I’m paying tonight.”

  Well, technically, the production company is, after I bill them. I pull out my credit card and hand it and the bill back to Leo. After Leo returns with my card, Jake watches as I fill in the receipt.