Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DANIEL

Five minutes earlier

I'm dreaming about Margo.

I picture her smile, big and bright, as she takes my hand and leads me through a field of flowers. The sun twinkles across her face, and she bends down to smell a wildflower. She motions for me to copy her, and I do even though I've never cared about flowers before. The flower is as pink as the blush on her cheeks.

I like it here. I lie down on the grass and watch as birds fly overhead in the blue sky. Margo lies down next to me and starts humming a tune to herself. If I had it my way, I'd never leave this place.

But Laura's voice filters into the dream. "Can I get you anything?"

My heart leaps into my throat because I become overly aware of where I am. My head isn't against the couch. It's resting against Margo's shoulder. I can feel a slight bounce in her shoulder as she talks with Laura .

I know I should open my eyes, but if I do, I'll have to move. I don't want to. I want to drift back into my dream where Margo isn't afraid to tell me how she feels. Where she isn't afraid to take my hand. Where I'm not afraid to let her.

Her fingers graze my face, and for a second I wonder if I've fallen back to sleep, but her touch is too real. Goosebumps ripple up my arms as she brushes my bangs back.

I thought I could do it—stay perfectly still and pretend to be asleep—but as she starts to pull her hand back, I realize I can't. I open my eyes and confirm this isn't a dream. I reach up and wrap my hand around hers. I want so badly to get used to this feeling. She's so close, shock coating her face, lips parting like she wants to say something.

I need to be right.

I need her to like me.

I need Margo Blakely to want me.

And this time I won't be the first to pull away.

Margo clears her throat and shifts her weight, hand slipping out from under mine. "Your hair was in your face," she says.

I sit up, wishing her hand was still in my hair.

Margo's cheeks are flushed. They're even pinker than in my dream.

"Thanks," I say.

I wish she would come clean and tell me how she feels. She doesn't have to be afraid of what I'll say. Not anymore.

She shows me the phone. "I've made a lot of progress while you napped. I've been reaching out to people who were in the same graduating class as your mom."

"Has anyone responded?" I ask.

She shakes her head with a laugh. "Still impatient as ever, I see. Someone is bound to eventually. I sent a million messages."

We sit there for what seems like forever as Laura finishes dinner. Every few seconds Margo checks her messages, and I try my best to hold a conversation. There's only one thing on my mind, though. I have to know.

I'm not good at starting conversations, especially not ones like this. My words will come out jumbled and thoughtless. I know they will. This is the kind of thing I'd write about in my book and leave it there. I wish I could do that now, but not knowing what Margo thinks of me is starting to eat me alive.

She doesn't seem like she's treating me any differently. She's scrolling on her phone, not paying attention to me. Is she ignoring me because she doesn't know what to say to me? Maybe she thinks I'm too much work. Even if she likes me now, she'll change her mind. But then again, her hand was in my hair. You don't move someone else's hair out of their face if you don't like them, right?

My heartbeat pounds loudly in my ears as I cough up the courage to say something. "Don't you think it's about time you tell me who the girl is."

She laughs, gaze darting around the room. "I told you I have a plan."

"But you're so close to finding my dad. Can't you give me a hint or something?"

She sighs, taking a good look at me.

Why does she have to drag this out? Doesn't she know it's obvious? I already know the answer. I just want to hear her say it directly. I need to be sure.

"I'll think about it," she says.

I turn away to smile. She's going to think about it. Those words live rent-free in my mind for the rest of the night.

I thought the nightmares were bad, but I got way less sleep last night from thinking about what she said. I expected her to think for a few minutes. Maybe an hour. But all night? She still hasn't texted me.

How am I supposed to get anything else done?

Part of me hopes she'll come find me the second she walks into school. I even stand near her locker, but she doesn't show.

I trudge to my science class and my fear is confirmed. Her seat is empty, and I immediately slump forward in mine. Why isn't she here? Maybe she is, but decided not to go to her locker. No. I've carried that backpack. There's no way she'd haul it around all day.

Mrs. Wilkson begins class by handing out a quiz. I scribble down my answers and rest my head as I wait for everyone else to finish. I guessed on a couple questions, but most of the answers seemed pretty obvious.

"Hello."

My pulse short circuits, and I smile.

Margo stands in front of Mrs. Wilkson's desk with a pink slip in her hand.

Mrs. Wilkson hands her a quiz, and Margo takes her spot next to me. She takes out a perfectly sharp number-two pencil and writes her answers down. Her handwriting is bubbly and unison.

I want to talk to her, but we aren't allowed to speak during quizzes.

She chews her lip, tapping the pencil on the lab table before completing the next question. She takes her time. It takes her much longer than everyone else to finish, but to be fair, she came in late.

"Swap your tests," Mrs. Wilkson says. "We're going to go through the answers."

I hand Margo my paper. "Where were you?"

She switches papers with me. "I had a doctor's appointment."

"For what?"

She shrugs. "It was just a checkup."

"How'd it go?"

She raises a brow. "Why do you care?"

"Answer one," Mrs. Wilkson says, stopping me from replying. I look down at Margo's whimsical penmanship. The first answer is correct.

"So," I whisper. "I think you should tell me who the girl is."

"Be quiet," she whispers back, marking the second question on my paper in red.

"Does she have brown eyes?" I ask.

"Shh," she says.

"Does she?" I ask, leaning closer.

"Yes," Margo says.

We move on to the next question, but my attention couldn't be further from grading her test. "Have I met her?"

"You're going to get us in trouble," she whispers.

"Have I?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Wilkson clears her throat. "Margo, Daniel, do you have something you'd like to share with the rest of class?"

"Sorry," Margo says, sitting up straighter. Then she gives me a fiery glare.

I like it.

Mrs. Wilkson continues sharing the last few answers. Then she walks around the room gathering the papers. Margo sneaks a look at her score before Mrs. Wilkson takes it. She scored a ninety-two.

I scored eighty-five.

We both hand in the quizzes. Mrs. Wilkson smiles when she sees mine. "Good job, Daniel."

Margo shakes her head as our teacher walks away. "How in the world did you score so high?"

I shrug. "It wasn't hard."

She scrunches up her nose, clearly not entertained by my reply.

"Does she go to school here?" I ask, back to my interrogation.

She clicks her tongue and tilts her head toward me. "What's with you today?"

I shrug. "Just curious."

Her eyes search me, trying to figure out if I have some other motive. "Yes. She does."

"And—"

"I'm not going to play twenty questions with you. If you want to meet her, then you can."

My heart stops, zapping back to life a moment later. "What about your plan?"

She sighs. "Plans change. But," she leans a little closer, and waves her finger at me. "You better not mess this up. This is important to me, and this girl really likes you, okay?"

"If she likes me so much, why doesn't she just tell me?"

"It's complicated," Margo says.

"Why?"

"You'll think it's silly."

"I won't." Margo might find it hard to believe, but no matter what she says at this point, I won't think it's silly. I want to know why Margo won't just come out and say it.

Margo puts her perfect pencil back into her pencil pouch and stacks it on top of her school books. "She's a romantic. She wants to fall in love the same way she sees it in movies," she whispers, "so pretend like you aren't being forced into this."

So that's why she hasn't told me. I haven't exactly been the romantic type. I've been rude and yelled at her. Of course she wouldn't say anything. I don't blame her. She probably wants us to start over in a way. She wants to make up a scenario where I walk in and sweep her off her feet.

I never know what to expect with Margo, but this makes sense.

"That shouldn't be too hard," I say. Margo might not believe it, but she isn't forcing me to do anything anymore.

"She works at the used bookstore downtown."

"The one across from Riverfront Park?"

She nods. "That's the one, and she works tonight."

My chest tightens. "Are you telling me you want me to go there tonight?"

"Yeah," she says. "But I want you to be on your best behavior."

"I thought you told me to be myself."

Margo looks down. "I want you to show her your good side. You act tough all the time, but let her see the real you."

"I have a good side?"

She rolls her beautiful brown eyes. "Don't act like you don't know."

I turn so she doesn't see my smile. I'm not going to lie, I don't want to go through all this. I'm impatient. I want her to tell me how she feels right now, but if she wants to live in a fantasy, I'll play the part.

"What are you doing?" Olive asks as she walks past the bathroom.

My hair is dripping wet. I'm trying to style it, but it's a lost cause. I don't know how to make it do what I want. "Nothing," I say.

Her eyes twinkle. "Do you have a date?"

"I'm just trying to do my hair."

"Since when do you do your hair ?" she teases.

"Since now," I say, trying to close the door.

"Wait, do you want some help?" She holds her hands out, stopping the door from budging. Her jaw drops as she takes a deep breath. "Is that cologne? It's totally a date."

"Shut up," I say, forcing the door closed.

She laughs as the door slams in her face. "Hey, I'm not judging."

I stare at my messy hair in the mirror. It's sticking out in every direction. I crack the door open. "Hey, Olive."

She's halfway down the hallway, but she turns back to me. "Yes?"

"Could you . . . maybe . . ."

Her face scrunches up in a smile, and she runs back. "Yes!"

She finds a stool and sets it behind me in the bathroom so she can reach the top of my head. First, she blow dries it and then she uses some of her dad's gel to hold the hair in place. She pats my shoulder when she finishes. "There. So much better. "

"You think?"

"Margo won't know what hit her," she says.

"It's not—"

"You wouldn't try this hard for anyone else," Olive says.

I know she's right. There's no point in denying it anymore. It's obvious who I'm going to meet.

My gaze shies away. "Would you stay here for a second?"

She nods.

I race to my room and grab two of the new shirts Laura bought me. With one in each hand, I make my way back to Olive. I hold the shirts up. "Which one do you think looks better?"

She raises an eyebrow and points at herself. "You want my opinion?"

I nod, and she smiles. Then, she tilts her head and analyzes the two shirts. One is a black button down and the other one is plaid. "The black one. It fits your personality more."

I slip it on over my undershirt and start fastening the buttons. When I reach the top, I look at Olive one more time to see her reaction. I want to make a good impression.

Olive steps closer. "You're almost there, just—" She unbuttons the top button and then steps back again. "Perfect."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she says. She waves me on. "Go get her."

I try not to smile, but it's hard. I haven't been this excited about something in a very long time. I turn to dash away, but pause, looking back. "Thanks, Olive."

"You owe me."

"I know," I say. I don't know what I expected Olive to be like when I moved in, but she's starting to grow on me. I wouldn't say we're friends, but she's alright.

I can't stand still as I wait for the bus. My foot taps, and I fidget with my fingers. Once I'm seated on the bus, it's not any better. If anything, it gets worse as we drive. I get off the bus a block away from the bookstore, and my heart is pumping.

I know I said I wouldn't buy flowers, but I did. I bought her a bouquet of wildflowers. They're all a little different, but they reminded me of her—of the version of her in my dream.

The bookstore lights shine bright, making it impossible to miss. I take a deep breath, but my chest is tight. I can't relax no matter how hard I try. This is it. This is where Margo tells me she likes me. This is where I tell Margo I like her back, and that she doesn't have to keep playing all these games.

I open the door and step inside. A little bell sounds above my head.

At the front of the store, off to the side, is a little desk.

My heart plummets, and I stand there frozen. My mind plays tricks on me. She's almost Margo, but her eyes are missing the sparkle that lights up Margo's face every time she speaks.

It's.

Not.

Margo.