Page 93 of Let's Pretend I'm Okay

“What are you writing?” Daniel asks.

I lean away from him, covering my words with my hand. My list isn’t the kind of thing he’d understand.

He plucks the notebook out of my grasp.

“Hey!” I reach for it.

He jumps up, holding it in the air as he glances at it.

I spring to my feet, trying desperately to take the notebook back, but he’s too tall.

He turns the page. Then his brows dips together, and he peers over at me. “This is the weirdest bucket-list crap I’ve ever seen.”

The book lowers enough for me to snatch it back and stuff it into my bag. “No, it isn’t.” I zip the backpack, preventing him from making another attempt to steal it.

His eyes follow my bag. “There isn’t one thing on that list for you.”

“Of course there is,” I say, crossing my arms.

He shakes his head, pointing to it. “No, everything on that list is for other people.”

I sling my backpack over my shoulder. “So?”

He steps closer. “So? Shouldn’t you do some of the things you want to do?”

He doesn’t understand.

I try to walk past him. “I have to make sure everyone else is okay when I leave them—”

“That’s ridiculous,” he says, blocking me.

I brush past him. “No, it isn’t.”

His hand circles around my wrist, pulling me back. “They won’t be okay, Margo. No matter what you do, no one is going to be okay!”

“I have to try!” My voice cracks, pulse skyrocketing.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. His stare is dark and angry. “Well, maybe you should try to live for yourself too,” he whispers.

I’m about to argue and tell him all the reasons he’s wrong, how I am living for myself, but Cameryn comes out of the entrance of the school. She smiles at me, waving. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I say, leaving Daniel behind.

He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

I don’t say much on the drive back home. Despite how much I disagree, I can’t get his words out of my head. Would it be so hard to add myself to the list?

Once we reach my house, I thank her for the drive and walk inside. Both cars are home already, which means my parents went and found Annie.

Mama is in the kitchen cooking. Her apron is tied around her waist too tightly, which she tends to do when she’s upset. The counter is covered in everything from peppers to sugar to ground meat. I have no idea what she plans on making, but she has to put her nervous energy somewhere.

“We grounded Annie,” she says.

“Is she okay?” I ask, setting my backpack down.

“She’s pretty upset.” Mom’s expression changes, shying away from me. “We told her that she can’t go to the concert.”

“Mom!” I was banking on the concert as a way to bond with Annie again. “Can’t you ground her another way?”

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