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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 befair, 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.
