Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DANIEL

I stagger away from the door. It's not true. It can't be. Grandma told me she never knew my father. I had asked more than once growing up. Every single time she'd say my mom never told her who he was. She told me he didn't want the baby, but that was a lie. He didn't even know I existed.

My chest constricts, squeezing tighter and tighter to the point where I can't breathe. I gasp for air, but the air doesn't make it to my lungs. I tug on the collar of my shirt, but nothing helps. Hot tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I run.

I have to get out of here. This place is closing in on me, and I need fresh air.

Once outside I round the side of the building and lean against the brick wall. I pant and my mouth dries, leaving my lips parched. I rub my eyes with the back of my sleeves. This shouldn't bother me. I'm not someone who lets people hurt them. Yet, it stings, like a knife turning in my chest. I've never had a great relationship with Grandma, but I never thought she'd lie to me about something this important. I've been upset at my parents for as long as I remember. I hated that my dad didn't want me, but maybe he would if he knew about me. Is that possible?

I sink to the ground and pull my knees in, hiding in the shadow of the building. My breathing regulates, other than the occasional hitch, but my head is still spinning. I tug on my hair, trying to distract myself from the pain.

"Daniel?" It's Margo. Of course it is. She's like a parasite I can't get rid of.

"What do you want now?" I mumble. "Did you come here to gloat?"

She sits crisscrossed on the ground next to me. I expect her to rub her victory in my face, but instead she says, "Are you okay?"

I half laugh. "I just found out my grandma's been lying to me for the past seventeen years, so yes, I'm great."

Margo doesn't say anything for a moment, which is shocking considering this is the first time she's ever been quiet around me. Up until this point I genuinely didn't think it was possible to make her speechless.

She leans back and watches the traffic move by. Then after a few minutes she says, "Maybe she lied because she loves you. Sometimes people lie to protect the people they care about."

"That doesn't make it okay." Besides, she doesn't know what our relationship was like. Grandma never smiled when she saw me. She never hung my artwork up on the fridge as a kid. She never told me she was proud of me.

"Maybe not, but it could be why she did it. You never knew your father. Maybe she had a reason not to tell you about him."

"You don't get it," I say, staring off. "If she lied to me about this, how many other things has she lied to me about?" I want to agree with her, but the wound is too fresh. I can't find a silver lining in any of this. "My entire life I grew up thinking my parents didn't want me because that's what she told me. But if what she just said is true, my mom didn't tell my dad about me. What would've happened if she did?" My voice trails off to the point where it's barely above a whisper. "Maybe he would've wanted me."

"I know you didn't believe me when I told you I could find him, but I promise you I can." She's serious, looking straight at me. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

For the first time, I do believe her. She may be overbearing at times and a little wild, but I trust she'll keep her word. There's a new feeling building up in the pit of my stomach: fear. What if we do find him? What then? Will he want me in his life after missing the first seventeen years? Maybe he won't, but I know if I don't find out, I'll regret it. I'll always wonder about it in the back of my head. He might be the family I've been longing for. Maybe we'd laugh and tell stories. Maybe he'd toss a football back and forth with me like they do in the movies with happy families. Maybe I wouldn't be lost anymore. What if finding him is what helps me find myself?

"Yes," I say, barely above a whisper, "I want you to find him."

"Then it's as good as done."

I nod, still partially zoned out. I should move, but I have no energy. Margo doesn't appear to be leaving anytime soon either. "Aren't you going to leave?"

She laughs. "Tired of my face again?"

There's a tinge of guilt running through me for yelling at her the other day. "You have to admit it's hard on the eyes. "

Her jaw drops, and she turns to me. I expect to see anger, but there isn't an ounce. "Daniel I-don't-know-your-middle-name Hansen, did you just make another joke?"

"Is that really so hard to believe?" I ask.

Her head tilts as she looks up at the clouds. "I'll have you know my face isn't hard on the eyes. You should be honored to see it at all."

A small laugh escapes me. I stare up at the clouds along with her, watching them change shape little by little. I wait for her to talk, to tell me what animals she sees, but she doesn't.

"Say something," I say.

"Why?" she asks, squinting at the sky.

The quiet isn't right with Margo. Margo is loud. She's a bold font you can't help but notice. At first I didn't think I liked that, but now the silence is more distracting. "Because I'm getting used to hearing your voice."

I almost can't believe I said that. I study her face, hoping I didn't make this awkward.

"What should I talk about?" she asks, holding her hands up to her face as if she's taking a picture of the clouds.

"Why don't you tell me what you want from me?"

Her nose scrunches up, and she twists her mouth. "I think we should wait until I find your father first."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think you'll like it very much."

That only makes me more curious. What could possibly be so bad she can't tell me until later? "Who cares? You might as well give me time to prepare."

She smiles. "I'll wait."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"It's complicated," she says .

"That's never stopped you before."

Her head turns, and she looks at me. She bites her lip as she thinks it over. "You swear you won't back out after I tell you?" I can already tell by the look in her eyes she doesn't trust me.

"I doubt you'll give me a choice," I say. This girl is the type of person who doesn't know how to take no for an answer.

"True." She nods, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. She may not trust me, but she knows I'm right. "I told you before that I'm known for getting things done, and there's something I need to get done, but I can't do it without you."

"Vague much?"

Her eyes narrow. "I've never heard you talk this much before. I don't know how I feel about it."

I huff. "Don't try to change the subject."

She sighs, averting her gaze. "It's silly. You won't like it."

"Tell me."

Her words are so quiet I can barely make out, "There may or may not be a girl that likes you, and I need you to talk to her. Maybe take her on a date."

"No way." She can't be serious? I don't do anything or talk to anyone at school. Most people stay out of my way. She has to be misinformed. It's almost comical how absurd it is.

"Hey, you said you wouldn't back out." Her face morphs into a stern glare, and she shakes her finger at me.

"That's it?" It sounds so simple. "You're going through all of this trouble just so I'll hang out with some girl?"

Her chin twitches up, and she raises an eyebrow. "You aren't mortified?"

"Who is it?"

She shakes her head. "I can't tell you yet. "

This girl and all her games. It's exhausting. "Why not?"

"Because it's not time. I have a plan," she says, crossing her arms. "Everything has to be perfect."

I groan. "I'm not about to let you set me up with someone. I'm not interested in dating right now. Also, I'm not buying flowers or doing anything romantic. I'm not like that, and I'm not going to change just because you're going to find my father."

"That's fine. I don't want you to act any different. Just be yourself because I want the real you to be obvious."

I wish I could read her—understand what's behind her actions. I don't like not knowing what she's thinking. I don't like being her pawn. But to be fair, she's right. If she had told me earlier, I would've laughed in her face and told her to get lost.

I scour my memories of school, trying to pick out a girl that could possibly want to talk to me, but I come up blank. The only girl I think of spending more than a couple of seconds with is Margo. A gnawing thought creeps into my mind. Could it be Margo? I didn't realize she existed until she ran out of the school in orange overalls. It doesn't make any sense. But it would explain why she won't tell me who it is.

Her eyes close as she rests her head on the wall. A faint smile tugs at her lips. Even while she's sitting with me on the ground outside in the chilly air, she's happy. I might not understand why, but now I'm convinced there's only one possible answer to this riddle: Margo Blakely likes me.