Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DANIEL

It's strange. I've never thought seeing Margo's empty seat next to me would bother me, but I don't like it. I wonder what she's doing. I wonder if she's away working on the plan she boasts about. Or maybe she's off finding something for somebody else.

I've never paid so much attention to where she sat in all three of our classes together, but now I can't seem to look away. At first I hoped her absence was a fluke, that she'd show up at some point.

I can't shake the curiosity building up in my mind. Does she really like me? Or did I make that up? Did I read into things too much? I want to know. And if it's true, I have to know why. I came to school with the sole intention of interrogating her, and the fact that she isn't here really throws a wrench in my day. I couldn't sleep last night, which in itself isn't abnormal, but now I'm also wide awake in class staring at her chair. How am I supposed to wait until Monday to see her again? How could she do this to me? She's the reason I can't think about anything else. She had the audacity to drop bombs on me yesterday and then disappear.

This simply won't do.

I spend the rest of class racking my brain on what to do. My head buzzes, my feet tap, and my stomach turns. It isn't like I want to see her necessarily, but I want to know if I'm right. As I walk to the cafeteria for lunch, I spot my answer. I had almost forgotten about the girl who's almost a carbon copy of her, but with longer hair and muted clothes.

There's also something about the way she walks. It's not like Margo. It's timid, methodical, as if she's trying to choose the quickest way to avoid others. Margo wouldn't do that. She'd stand tall and proud, not afraid of what others think of her. She isn't scared to be herself even if she isn't following what's popular. She wears her absurd earrings and embroidered jeans with such confidence I almost believe they're in style.

I quicken my pace, following Annie into the cafeteria. She sits down at a table toward the back and before she opens her lunch box, she sets a book down in front of her. She flips through it until she lands on the page with the bookmark and pulls it out.

How do I talk to her? What should I say? I clearly didn't think this through.

I step back, regretting my decision, when Annie looks up from her book. "Can I help you?"

My mouth opens, but I'm at a loss for words. I'm literally hovering over her table so it's not like I can pretend I wasn't about to talk to her. Anyone with more than two brain cells can tell that's what I'm here to do. "Annie, right?"

She gingerly puts her bookmark back in the book and closes it with a nod. I notice the faintest pink hue covering her cheeks. I've embarrassed her.

"Where's Margo today?" I don't mean for it to come out so blunt, but I'm not good at talking to other people. Besides, the sooner she answers my question, the sooner I can leave.

"Margo?" She stirs in her chair. "Yeah, she's not feeling well today."

How come that never crossed my mind? I assumed she was on some quest or adventure, ignoring me. "Oh." That's all that comes out of my stunned brain. I don't know what to do with that information. Is she going to be sick long? Will I have to wait longer than Monday to see her?

"Did you need to talk to her?" Annie asks.

"Yes, I..." It's not like I can come out and say what's been on my mind. I don't want to tell another person about my dad. That's too personal. And I can't tell her I think Margo likes me. That feels awkward. "She's my science partner. I have a question for her."

That's a reasonable excuse, right?

A little smile pulls at her mouth. "That makes sense." Annie fidgets, tapping her hands on the table, then grabs her phone. "Did you want her number?"

Do I want Margo Blakely's number? Do I really want to give her another way to bombard me? Not necessarily, but it's the only way. "Sure." I pat my pockets, looking for my phone, but I can't find it. I left it in my locker. "I don't have my phone. Could you text it to me?"

Her smile grows, and she hands me her phone. "No problem." I don't know why she's so excited to give me Margo's number. Does she know something? Has Margo told Annie she likes me?

I take Annie's phone, but my thumbs hover over the numbers. I can still back out if I want to, but I remind myself I won't relax until I talk to her again. I punch in my number and hand the phone back. "Thanks."

Her eyes falter when I look at her. She's so shy she can't even make eye contact.

"I'll send it right away," she says.

I acknowledge her with a brief nod and a half-hearted smile. I wave slightly and start to walk away. There's no need to keep making her nervous. I have what I need.

Instead of sitting down to eat, I head back to my locker for my phone. I pull it out of my jacket pocket and click on the message from Annie. I don't take the time to save her number because I doubt I'll need it again. But should I save Margo's? She is looking for my father after all, so the chance of me needing to talk to her again is higher. Then again, if I save Margo's number, that's almost like accepting her into my life. That doesn't make sense, because once she finds my father, I told her I didn't want to see her ever again.

I take a breath and save it for some reason, but it's okay because I can always delete it or block her later.

I stare at the keyboard, and my mind goes blank. I spent all morning thinking about what to say to her, and now I'm suddenly void of the entire English language. How are you? No. I don't want her to think I care that much. Did you find him yet? No. Obviously, she hasn't found him that fast, and I'm sure she would've found a way to tell me if she did. Hey? No. Without context that feels creepy.

Are you slacking?

I bite my lip. That's bad too, but it's too late. It's already sent .

A minute goes by and my message is left on delivered, not read. I don't know why I expected her to reply right away, but I did. She seems like the type of person that would immediately respond with long, drawn-out paragraphs.

My brow furrows, and I sigh. Did she see the notification and swipe it away, thinking it was weird? Is that why she isn't replying?

My eyes wide grow with horror when I realize I never told her who I was. She doesn't have my number, so how's she supposed to know I'm the one texting her? For all she knows, that message could be from anyone.

It's Daniel.

Now, she'll reply. I know she will. Why wouldn't she? She's been spending every possible second she could with me the last week. She should be over the moon about me reaching out. Shouldn't she?

The minutes tick by, and nothing. Was I wrong? Maybe she doesn't like me. Maybe I did jump to conclusions. She would have replied by now if she did.

I'm on edge for the rest of the school day. I never ate lunch. I can't sleep through any of the classes. All I do is stare at my phone, hidden below the desk and out of view of anyone else. Or so I thought.

"Mr. Hansen." My history teacher stands with her hand extended toward me. "Your phone please."

Heat rises on my neck. "I wasn't on it."

She raises her brow. "I wasn't born yesterday. I realize you all aren't staring at your pants. Hand it over."

I set it in her palm, and despite my longing look, she takes it for the rest of class, setting it inside one of the drawers in her desk. The class drags on, making it seem like hours before the bell finally sounds. Once it does, I walk up to her desk.

She laughs, pulling the phone out of the drawer. "Maybe I should take this more often. I've never seen you sit upright in class that long." She hands it back. "I still don't understand how you pass every test."

"Just because I don't look like I'm listening doesn't mean I'm not," I say, taking it back.

"Well, it was refreshing to see you look like you're listening," she says.

I won't take the hint. When Monday rolls around, I'll be back to ignoring her again.

I step into the hallway, hardly paying attention to the students around me. My eyes are glued to my screen. My gut twists.

No reply.

I don't get it. This is Margo, the girl who followed me home just so I'd talk to her. So why won't she talk to me now? Did I do something wrong yesterday? Was she mad at me for leaving so suddenly?

All this anxiety is making my head hurt.

Olive steps next to me and tugs on my arm to see the phone. "Oh, you got it bad. Is that Margo's number?"

I turn off the phone and slip it into my pocket. "You saw wrong."

She laughs. "No, I definitely did not. I thought you said she was annoying. Why are you texting her?"

I shrug.

"Do you like her?" she asks.

"No."

"Then why did you text her?"

"Does it matter? "

I make my way outside, but Olive tugs my arm. "My mom is picking us up."

"I can take the bus."

"Come on, she's already here."

I sigh and turn to follow her. I don't say anything on the ride home. Olive does all the talking. She talks about how her drama class is holding auditions for their winter play and how she wants the lead role but she doesn't know if she'll get it.

When we walk inside the house, "my room" is occupied, so I set down my things by the front door and walk toward the back porch to hide away, but Olive follows me out.

I sit down on the steps.

Olive runs down, turning to stand in front of me with her script in her hand. "Want to help me practice my lines for the audition?"

"Nope."

She frowns, following my gaze to my phone. "It's not like you're doing anything."

"No," I say.

"Come on. It won't kill you."

"Go ask your parents."

She sighs. "Don't you think I've tried? It's not like you're the first person I thought of. No offense."

I lean against the porch post and close my eyes. "Why don't you go practice with one of your friends?"

"I don't have any," she says.

I stare at her. Olive? No friends?

"Most of the kids at school think I'm weird. Even the other drama kids don't seem to like me very much. They say I'm too loud."

"Well, they sound like jerks." Her words tug on my heart. I don't like knowing that. I don't want to practice drama lines with her, but someone should. She shouldn't be alone. She shouldn't be unwanted.

I'm about to say something when my pocket buzzes.

Margo:

Did I say you could text me?

I smile softly.

"She replied, didn't she?" Olive asks.

She did. Margo texted me back.