Page 47 of Let's Pretend I'm Okay

She shows me the book proudly. “It fits perfectly.” Then her gaze shifts back to me. “When did you cut your hair?” she asks.

My fingers graze my bob. “It’s been this short for a while.”

Her brow furrows. “Yesterday I could’ve sworn it was long—”

“What are you doing?” Daniel stands in the doorway.

“I’m just visiting with your grandma. Last I checked, that’s not a crime,” I say.

His gaze is so strong it makes my skin crawl. I get that hedidn’t want me to hang around him all the time, but I’ve never seen him look this upset. His face is turning redder by the second. Even the veins in his neck are popping. Someone should probably tell him it isn’t the most attractive look.

“I told you not to come around here anymore,” his grandma says, crossing her arms.

His eyes stay on me, ignoring her. “You might as well just leave. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Justin! How dare you come into my home and talk like that.”

“Get out,” Daniel says.

I hear him, but my mind is still computing one word: Justin. Who is Justin?

“Do I need to drag you out of here?” Daniel yells.

His grandma makes an attempt to get up. “Don’t talk to my daughter like that!”

Daniel paces the room, tugging at his hair. “I’m not Justin!” Then he points at me. “And she isn’t Ashley!”

A light bulb goes off in my head. It’s so painfully obvious what’s happening, but I need him to stop talking. I can’t have him reminding his grandma who he really is. I need her to believe we’re Ashley and Justin. I jump up and run over to Daniel. I cover his mouth with my hand and start pushing him backwards.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles through my hand.

“Trust me,” I whisper. I turn to look over my shoulder at his grandma. “We’ll just be a second.”

I push him completely out of the room and close the door. I need to talk to him without her hearing my plan. I know how to find his father. This breakthrough is better than I could’ve ever imagined. I just need Daniel to play along.

Daniel groans. “You are completely insufferable.”

I don’t care what he thinks about me. It’s not important.

“Justin,” I say. “She called youJustin.”

He rolls his eyes and proceeds to argue about how he thinks this vital piece of information is irrelevant.

“Do you know what this means?” I ask.

There’s no spark in his eyes. He’s void of joy—tired. “Enlighten me.”

“She called me Ashley. If that’s your mom’s name, that means maybe Justin is your father. It’s a clue.”

“It could be anyone,” he says.

“But it could behim. Your dad.”

He shakes his head. “No. She told me she never knew him.”

“Maybe she lied.”

“No!” he yells, startling himself. “She wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

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