Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

MARGO

I was wrong. Annie was right. Despite what I originally thought, Daniel is a good guy, and I think they could be good for each other. Officially setting them up is the logical thing to do.

So why don't I feel good about it?

My stomach is uneasy, and it's not because I'm sick. It's because I can't help but think about him. The way he was so close yesterday. His head on my shoulder. His hand holding mine.

It's not right. I shouldn't think about him like this. He's Annie's.

Papa walks into the living room. "Hey, Bug. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, slouching more into the couch, wishing it would swallow me whole.

"Come on. I know you better than that." He sits down next to me and pats my head. "Tell me."

"It was a long day." I lean into him. "I need to think about something else. "

"Want to get out of here?" he asks.

Papa is rarely home, so I feel guilty wanting to take him up on his offer.

"What about Mama?" I ask. She's off running errands, but she doesn't like it when we miss dinner. She thinks it's the most important meal of the day because it's the one we get to spend together.

"I think she can spare us for a couple of hours," he says.

I'm not so sure. "You think?"

He nods. "Let's go do something fun. Besides, when was the last time we did something just the two of us?"

He's right. I've been so focused on Mama and Annie I almost forgot about helping Papa relax and focus on something other than work. This will be good for both of us.

As we make our way to the car, we pass Mrs. Jackman watering the roses in front of her house. She smiles and waves at us.

"How are you feeling?" I ask her.

"We're doing well," she says, laying a hand on her belly, which has grown since the last time I saw her. "I'm almost eight months along now. I'm a little tired, but that's it."

I hope I get to meet the baby. I love seeing tiny fingers and toes and the way babies fit perfectly in their mother's arms.

"I'm happy to hear that," I say as I open the passenger door and get in the car.

Papa turns on a podcast as we start driving, and I sink into the passenger seat, watching the sunset. I love how the colors paint the sky, and it's never the same. Each sunset is unique, full of character, and never overstays its welcome.

Normally, I'd find a million things to talk about, but right now all I want to do is look out the window. There's so much on my mind that I don't know where to start. I don't know how to explain my feelings to Papa because I don't really understand them myself.

"Want to talk about it?" Papa asks.

"It's nothing important," I say, but the truth is I don't know why I'm upset. I can't label it. I know there's a small pull in my gut when I think about Daniel going to see Annie. A seed of jealousy, maybe? But that's silly. The only reason I'm spending time with him is because I have to. Right?

"Are you sure, Bug?"

"I just have a lot on my mind right now, but it'll be okay." I smile, trying to convince him I don't need him to jump in and make everything better the way he did when I was younger. "Where are we going?"

A coy smirk coats his face.

"Oh, no," I say.

"Oh, yes," he replies.

Something most people don't know is that my parents met at the roller rink. Then when they had us, they had us skating before we could ride a bike. We used to go to the rink all the time, but then our lives got busy and we gradually stopped going. Even though I haven't been there in years, I know as soon as I put on the skates, muscle memory will kick in.

The place is packed tonight, but that's how I like it. I hate it when there are only a few people because everyone can see when I mess up. Bright, colorful lights dance across the building, and loud disco music blares. We rent our skates—well, Papa rents skates, and I rent blades because I think they're easier to balance on—and we find an empty table to sit at while we put them on.

"Think you're still faster than me?" Papa asks.

"I guess we'll have to find out."

He smiles and stands. "This is one of my favorite songs. Come on, let's go." He holds out his hand, and I take it, letting him pull me to my feet.

"Let's go," I echo. As soon as I hit the floor, I speed away. "Still faster!"

He chases after me as we enter the rink. I slow down after the first turn to let him catch up. He skates ahead of me, backwards.

Show off.

I always loved watching my parents skate. It looked more like dancing than skating by the way they weaved through the crowd. I wish my mom was here, but she hasn't been to the rink since I got sick, and she'd have a heart attack if she knew I was here now. She tries to minimize any chance of injury she can. On second thought, if she were here, she'd probably hold my hand the whole time and shoo everyone else away so no one runs into me.

I laugh.

"What's so funny?" Papa asks.

"I missed this," I say. I want to keep making loops around the rink, but my legs are already aching, and I'm out of breath. I don't have the same stamina I did before. I slow down next to the wall.

Papa stops next to me. His playful expression is replaced by concern and fear. He puts a hand on my shoulder and his eyes wander over me as if he's looking for a wound. "Are you okay?"

I take in a deep breath. I don't want him to leave. He's having fun. "Yeah," I say. "I'm starting to get hungry, that's all."

I can tell he doesn't completely buy my excuse because his face hasn't lightened, but instead of pressuring me to tell him what's really wrong, he asks, "Cheese or pepperoni? "

Without missing a beat I say, "Pepperoni."

"Good answer." He rubs the top of my head, messing up my hair. "I'll order it for us. Why don't you wait at the table?"

I nod. I hate that I have to stop, but I appreciate he isn't making a big deal out of it. I sit down and wait, watching everyone else out in the rink having fun.

My phone buzzes. I ignore it at first, but it won't stop. When I turn it on, there are at least five messages from Annie. She's so excited that Daniel stopped by. Her messages keep coming in, giving me a play-by-play of the entire interaction. I glance over the messages, but I can't bring myself to read them in their entirety.

I start typing a reply when another message comes through. A message from Daniel.

Where are you right now?

I scowl. Why would he care? Is he really so desperate to find his dad that he never expects me to take a break? I swipe his message away. I don't want to think about him.

I can't even bring myself to finish typing out my reply to Annie. Not yet. I will. I'm happy for her, but I need a minute.

I set my phone down and rest my head on my folded arms. It doesn't help though. Not even a minute goes by before my phone rings. I pick it up expecting to see Annie's caller ID, but it's not her.

It's Daniel. Again.

I sigh and answer it. "Hello."

There's a pause. He doesn't talk right away.

"What do you want?" I ask, hoping he'll get straight to the point because the sooner he tells me, the sooner I—

"I thought the girl was you. "

The world around me stops moving, and my heart plummets to the ground. He wanted her to be me?

I force a laugh even though I don't find any of this funny. "Of course not."

"You were the one making excuses to spend time with me." Even though he's talking, his voice is quiet, more than normal.

There's a moment that passes where neither of us say anything. I'm not sure how to respond, and I think he's afraid to probe any further. He's searching for me to confess something that I can't.

"I did that for Annie," I finally say. But I have to be clearer. I can't leave any room for him to wonder about my feelings. "You're not my type."

Another pause. "Why not?"

"What?"

"Why am I not your type?"

"Well... because..." This should be easy to answer, and yet I find myself searching for excuses. Why does it matter? Why is he making this all so confusing? "Well, you sleep during class. You haven't done any of the homework from our assignment, and you have a temper." Those are all perfectly good reasons. They should be enough.

"Then what is your type?"

Why is this boy so bold? So what if he thought I'd be the girl there tonight? It's not like he likes me.

He can't like me.

"I don't know. I've never really thought about it." It's true. I haven't.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?"

This is exhausting me even more. Why can't he just drop it? "I don't care what you believe. I don't know what I want, but I do know you aren't it." And yet, those words are thick on my tongue as if I don't really want to say them.

"But a goody-two-shoes guy who does his homework is?"

Papa starts to walk back toward the table with a plate of pizza in each hand.

"I have to go," I say.

"But we aren't done talking—"

"I'll see you tomorrow at school." I hang up the phone and slide it back into my pocket just as Papa sets the pizza down on the table.

"Who was that?" he asks.

"Just someone from school."

Papa pushes my plate toward me. "Does this someone have a name?"

I tilt my head and give him a look. "His name isn't important."

His eyes soften with concern. "Is he the reason you've been down all evening?"

It's Papa: I can't lie to him. Besides, maybe talking to someone about the confusing thoughts I have might help. "His name is Daniel. Annie likes him."

"Oh," he says, like he suddenly understands the entire situation. "How do you feel about that?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I didn't like it at first, but after I got to know him, I realized he wasn't so bad." I fidget with the plate in front of me. "I asked him to go to the bookstore tonight to meet Annie."

Papa nods. "I see."

"I think they could be good for each other," I say. Maybe if I keep saying that out loud, it'll get easier to hear.

"You know," Papa says, taking a breath, "growing up, you two never fought. "

"We aren't fighting—"

"You didn't let me finish. Everyone was always shocked you two never fought. The other kids your age would fight over toys, but you guys never did. I used to think that you guys got along better than most, but then I realized you just gave Annie the toy every time."

"Daniel isn't a toy," I say. "And it's not what you're thinking. I'm not interested in him."

"Why not?"

My jaw falls open. He knows why it would be a terrible idea. "Because it wouldn't be right."

"Sometimes things aren't as black and white as we think they are."

"This is." I'm not going to get any closer to Daniel. I'm going to leave enough people behind. I don't need to add to the list.

He reaches over and pats my hand. "All I'm saying is you don't have to give in every time."

"Okay, Papa," I say. "You better eat up before it gets cold."

He starts to eat, even though I can tell he wants to say more.