Page 94 of Let's Pretend I'm Okay

Mama sets down the rag she’s using to wipe down the counter. “How? If I grounded her to her room, she’d thank me. If we tell her she can’t see her friends, she’d tell us she doesn’t have any. She needs to know that skipping school and being unreachable is unacceptable.”

I understand why my parents did it, but my heart aches for Annie. She wanted to go to the concert so bad. It’s all she could talk about for the last week. She kept showing me ideas for outfits.

I need to go talk to her. I need to apologize, get on my hands and knees if I have to. I don’t care if she yells at me. I deserve it. I can handle it.

The room is dark, and Annie is going through her dresser drawers. She pulls out every piece of clothing that is mine and leaves it in a heap on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not getting too close.

She shuts the drawer and heads to her bed. She takes the stuffed animal I bought her last year and tosses it onto the pile of clothes.

I gather the pile in my arms. “I thought you liked the teddy bear.”

“Well, I don’t anymore,” she mumbles. Next, she moves to her side of the closet and purges it of any of my dresses. She hangs them on my side and pushes the clothes far apart, leaving a large vacant gap in between them as if she’s creating an invisible line I’m not allowed to cross.

“Annie, don’t do this,” I say. My heart is ripping from the way she’s trying to get rid of me. I step closer and put my hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about it?”

She spins around with her jaw clenched and bags under her eyes from crying. “No, Margo. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Please just let me explain,” I plead. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Fine, Margo. Explain. Tell me why I shouldn’t be mad,” she says, but I don’t think she means it. “Tell me why you got involved when Ispecificallyasked you not to.”

“I didn’t think this would happen—”

“Because you didn’t think about how I would feel! You never have.”

“That’s not true!” The fact that she’s implying I don’t care is infuriating. I always think about what she wants. I’m constantly trying to make her happy.

“Yes it is! You’re always pushing me to do things I don’t want to do because you think you know best.”

“Like what?”

“You’re always trying to get me to go shopping or bowling or to wherever your friends are going!” Her face is bright red, and her words are beginning to run into each other from how fast she’s speaking.

“That’s because you’re always complaining about not having friends, and I don’t want you to feel left out! How are you going to make friends if you never do anything? And Inever force you to spend time with them. I even ditch plans to hang out with you all the time because you refuse to go anywhere!”

Her jaw falls. “Well, go spend time with them. Nothing’s stopping you! You don’t have to ditch them to spend time with your pathetic, lonely sister!” She tries to pass me and leave the room.

I stand in the way. “Annie,” I say, lowering my voice and trying to stop my temper from bubbling up again. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just worried about you. I want to protect you. I want you to be happy, and sometimes I make mistakes. I’m sorry.”

She looks me in the eye, full attention. “If you’re so sorry, then why’d you do it? Why did you get close to Daniel?”

My heart pounds because I know it’s time to tell her the complete truth. “You told me you liked Daniel, and I was afraid he’d end up hurting you. I didn’t think he was a good guy, but now—”

Annie waves her hands in front of her face as her eyes water. “You know what, I don’t want to hear this. He didn’t hurt me. You did.” She makes a move toward the door.

“Wait, Annie,” I say, trying to tug her hand off the handle. “Please, I need to tell you—”

“Just stop!” Annie yells.

My hand falls from hers.

She stares at the door, waiting a mere moment before she opens it. “I’m not some little kid who can’t take care of herself,” she says. “So leave me alone.” She leaves, pulling the door shut behind her.

“I need to tell you I’m dying,” I whisper too late.

I trudge over to my desk and bury my head in my arms. This isn’t the way I wanted the conversation to go. My eyessting and I wipe them on my sleeve. I don’t have time to be upset. I need a plan. I take out my notebook. I cross out the ideas having to do with the concert.

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