When I get home, I reach under my bed until I latch onto a cardboard cover and the paper thrills that surround its edge. Then, I fumble around for stainless steel metal spirals that are cool to the touch and yank each out so that they're before me in the lamplight.

It's my scrapbook and journal. The two are inseparable. I remember my mother buying me the scrapbook when I was in elementary school and telling me "You can document all the fun times with your classmates and us in this!" and my dad bought me my first journal, saying "You'll write down your thoughts here and reflect to find peace, like I did when I was a kid and annoyed with life or giddy about it". I've gone through a stack of journals since then and the one in front of me is nearly full. I lack my mother's optimism and tend to think more like my father, but I appreciate both just the same and their thoughtfulness never fails to both simultaneously amaze and horrify me.

It was kind of sad that I hadn't sat down with them at the dinner table since they got back from their financial workshop. I'd ask them how it went, but I already heard their bickering with each other from upstairs. They always bicker every day they see each other, but they've assured me over and over that they love each other.

I don't doubt that, but it makes me hesitant to get married myself, one day. At this point, that seems like a non-possibility. I'd hate to say I loved someone and argue with them every single day, even if it's not over something serious. Even worse would be letting my kid hear it all.

I'd only be with someone if they were in tune with my feelings and I was in tune to what they were feeling. It wouldn't need to be perfect, only enough so we wouldn't argue over what's insignificant.

I flip open the scrap book and then the journal. The first picture is one of myself and my parents from a few years ago. We're a small family with only three people and no direct relatives in Konoha, so every family picture contains us alone. But, it's sufficient.

Then, there are other pics for the limited "special" milestones in my life. Like the time I took my first steps. Like the time my parents brought cupcakes to my first-year academy class on my birthday, because it was the easiest way I'd be in the company of kids my age for the very special day. No one in my neighborhood is around my age. Mitsuki and all the other kids live closer to school and the bakery. Nothing but older people live around me.

I flip through the other pics. Most of them are from when I was younger. There's a pic from the first grade rodeo my school had. The school brought horses and everything. Mitsuki and I are sitting on a saddle together, since we were both small enough to do so, as a tall, lanky man in a cowboy hat leads the horse with the guide rope. It's cute and was quite the novelty to children like us back then.

Then, there's the time I went to Mitsuki's baseball game. And the time he went to my track game in the same year of elementary school. He wasn't the best player and I wasn't the fastest runner, but you can see the enthusiasm and rapid voracity with which we cheered for one another in each pic. It's quirky and endearing and makes me smile.

There's a photo from when we were at a football game in junior high. I'm standing on the sidelines and Mitsuki in the bleachers. I was a yearbook editor and I convinced Mitsuki to come along with me. One of the teachers we were close to snagged the picture and emailed it to me. I have a clunky camera dangling around my neck and I'm squinting trying to see a good shot I could take, but the other school's team is tackling one of our guys and I didn't think that would make good yearbook material. Mitsuki is wearing his hoodie and shades. He has wavy hair that's sticking out from under the hood because his hair was a little shaggy then. This was before he took up skateboarding, but he certainly had the look.

There's a picture of Harumi, Ayumi, and their mother smiling in front of the bakery. I'm standing with them, but I wasn't ready for the picture. My eyes are shut and my mouth is open. I was saying something, probably asking if Mitsuki was taking the picture. The photo in front of me is the answer.

I flip through the other photos. Many of them are at the bakery. People have come and gone and it amazes me how the snapshots of people's lives are caught in these photos, some regular customers and some that passed through and never came by again.

The pictures contain frozen moments in time of our classmates as they dined at the bakery, too. I noticed before but didn't give it much thought before. I only focused on the main subjects, typically Mitsuki, myself, or another staff member. Sumire is seen with Inojin often. Long before they were thought to be an item, he was in her circle. He is never caught in a single photo looking at Sumire, instead he looks far off, as if his mind is wandering, while in every photo Sumire is intently gazing at him and smiling as if he's the only boy in the world, chattering away. He didn't seem to be interested in Sumire. Sumire seemed to not see anyone else but him. There's no way a girl like that fell for Mitsuki. Sure, rejection forces a person to move on, but so quickly?

The same goes for Mitsuki. There's not a single photo where he's caught looking at Sumire. In retrospect, those remarks in years prior about her music ability and playing dumb, sure there could have been some interest, but maybe it wasn't a tiny romantic charge. It may have been curiosity and mild amazement. Sort of like when a child finds a cool toy in their pocket that they didn't know they had, a toy they don't need or really want, but is still something they weren't totally aware was there, and so they get jittery for a bit and even entertain themselves with it for a time, before letting it go to the wayside and somehow making it under their bed or behind the dresser. Out of all the people in the entire school, he chose Sumire to ask to Homecoming. He's shown disdain for her and her crew before. There are way too many other girls he could have asked if he wanted to make me jealous. But he didn't. He asked her.

Mitsuki isn't using Sumire, but I don't think he likes her either. If he did, he would have mentioned any talents he noticed about her more often. Now that I think about it, he's also mentioned the talents of other preppy jerks at our school. He mentions everyone's talents. He's got a good heart and is impressed by the smallest things.

"Sarada, I'm coming in" a calm but low voice says before I hear the door knob turn. My mother always knocks, but my dad announces his presence first. He knows that if I were totally against anyone coming into my room, I'd have taken initiative to lock the door.

I slide the scrapbooks across the carpet so that they stop under my bed, out of view.

"So, what's up?" he says.

"Nothing much. Is something wrong?"

He doesn't look mad. But, something's on his mind.

"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to check on you."

"Hey dad, everything's A-okay with me."

Well, not really. But, who ever says they're not fine when someone asks? It's an expected response to say all is well, no matter how you feel.

"I'm not too sure about that."

"Don't worry about it dad. I'm old enough to handle it on my own."

Honestly, I feel so juvenile saying that.

"If something's wrong, you're my daughter and you can tell me."

"Nothing's worth worrying about. How was your day today? How was mom's day? And how was the financial workshop? Sorry, I never got around to asking."

"That's okay. I'm sure you're busy with school work."

If only that was the only thing I had to worry about.

"So…?"

My dad rubs the back of his head.

"It was fun. Learned plenty. Had a good, grand, great time, Sarada."

"Happy to hear it, dad."

My dad moves out of the doorway and sits down across from me, in the swivel office chair adjacent to my bed.

"How are things with Mitsuki?"

Oh, geez. He knows. My father knows. Of course he knows what's bothering me. He's my parent. He did half the job of raising me.

I don't say anything, but he knows that it's poor because my eyes dart to the left and I know I look nervous.

"Bad, huh?"

"I mean, it is what it is."

"I see."

"Yeah."

"Well, every relationship goes through a rough patch, sometime."

I roll my eyes.

"Dad, I'm not dating him. He's my friend. It's not the same."

"Sure it is. People argue, whether they're friends, lovers, whatever."

"I don't know…"

"Think of myself and your mother. You can hear us bickering downstairs, even when you're here in your room, right?"

This catches me a little off guard. I had no idea that they knew I noticed.

"Yes…"

"Well, that's the way it is sometimes. You get really comfortable around someone and then you take them for granted. So, you get upset with each other over something insignificant."

"I understand."

I do, but I don't think it entirely relates to what is going on.

"It doesn't mean that you care about each other any less. It means that you make the mistake of not showing it as much anymore."

This sounds more like something my mother would say and I wonder if she lectured my father prior to him coming up here.

"Dad, I understand. I know you and mom love each other. I don't doubt that."

My father laughs and does a sign of relief before pointing at me and remarking that he's "Glad to hear it". But, then he tells me to not worry if Mitsuki is taking me for granted or if I'm taking him for granted. That he won't put me on the spot by asking which one of us is doing what, but that I need to be certain it will all work out in the end. And, I doubt everything will be fine because the more I think about it, the more I think Mitsuki's behavior is bizarre, but I don't tell my father that.

I hear the pounding of footsteps as some is running up the stairs.

My mother knocked on my door. "Sarada?"

She sounded nervous.

"Yeah, mom?"

"Three people from your school are here to see you."