Tokyo Heist by Diana Renn Page A

fiction. You most certainly did.”
    “Skye said you were never going out. That it was all in your head. That you had an ambiguous brunch, a little non-date, and you got the crazy idea that—”
    “It’s not crazy. She was my girlfriend.” He takes a swing at my dad.
    I retreat to a corner and look for something I might use to distract them. “Hey, guys? Hello? Kid in the room here.” I wave a white paint rag, but they don’t notice me. They circle the table faster now, their eyes locked on each other.
    “You make Skye sound like some brainless moron,” my dad snarls. “She has a mind of her own. She obviously chose the better man.”
    “You arrogant son of a bitch.” Julian swipes at my dad again. This time his punch lands right on my dad’s nose.
    My dad recoils, holding his hands to his face and moaning.
    “Hey! Stop it, you guys! Cut it out!” I yell, but they still ignore me, so I bolt for the door just as my dad swings back at Julian. Then they’re on each other, scuffling and wrestling.
    My dad is bigger than Julian, but Julian shows a surprising burst of strength. He shoves my dad into the file cabinet I was standing by moments before. My dad pushes back. Julian falls into a stack of blank canvases. Jars of paint fall off a shelf and crash to the floor, splattering all over Julian’s clothes. He gets up and lunges at my dad, clutching a paintbrush in his fist.
    “Stop!” I scream. I shove a tabouret of art supplies in Julian’s direction.
    Julian trips and falls on top of the tabouret. It slides all the way across the studio floor, carrying him until he crashes against a wall. Two drawers fall out, scattering pencils.
    “Just stop it!” I yell again. “You guys are acting like complete idiots.”
    My dad, breathing heavily, lowers his head. “She’s right, man,” he says. “Just finish doing what you have to do and get out. You’re messing with my headspace.”
    My dad retreats to the bathroom.
    Not wanting to hang out with Julian by myself, I escape to my room. Julian Fleury’s just rocketed to the top of my suspect list. He’s stronger than he looks; he could have pulled off the heist. And he has motives galore. He wants to be an art dealer, but Margo treats him like dirt. He holds a grudge against Skye. Maybe he stole the art to make a name for himself as a black-market art dealer—or to make money from the sale and go do his own thing. And maybe he wanted to make it look like Skye did it. To get back at her by framing her.
    Kenji said that, according to a UPS guy, Julian signed for a package on the evening of the crime. That, plus the security camera, was proof he was at the gallery and not stealing art. But is that strong enough proof? Maybe Julian paid one of the art handlers to sign his name. Or maybe he paid off the UPS guy. And if he had some technical savvy, maybe he changed the time stamps on the security video. Something like that happened in Vampire Sleuths 17.
    My mind drifts to Edge. I stare at my cell phone. When I think of him going off to camp with Mardi, and of my going overseas in just two days, I get this pulsing ache in my chest. But the phone remains silent. All I hear is the sound of the front door slamming and Julian’s van starting up. Driving off.
    At the drafting table, I lose myself in Kimono Girl , inking panels. Hours later, hunger forces me to stop. In the kitchen, I find my dad, his nose swollen and ugly.
    “Hey, what do you say to dinner at Blue C Sushi?” he says. “I better learn about sushi before I embarrass myself in Japan. You can teach me what to order.”
    “Yeah, definitely! I love Blue C Sushi.” My mood lifts a little. I’m glad he sees me as an expert on something, even if it is raw fish. “But your nose. Are you okay?”
    “Better now. I should have ducked. I haven’t been in a fistfight since eighth grade.” He grabs his car keys and we head out to the street together. At the bottom of the steps, he slaps his forehead. “My