Page 55 of Fake it ’Til Fall

I am not going to stand and listen to Daisy get turned into town pity while Puck judges me and a squirrel witnesses my decline.

Daisy isn’t a “poor thing.”

She isn’t a sad anecdote people can lower their voices around.

She’s not the wounded woman in the Liam-and-Carla story.

She is Daisy Thorn. She could alphabetize a disaster, insult your beverage, and make a room feel less lonely by being annoyed in it.

She is not a victim.

Not to me.

“But I have an appointment with my therapist,” I say.

Which is true.

In the broad sense.

As in, I have had appointments before and am emotionally due for several more.

“That’s something our parents would love to hear about,” Principal Whitcomb says.

I nearly groan.

This woman keeps finding new doors into the same room.

Puck stares at me.

I stare back.

Do not start, I tell him with my eyes.

He tilts his head.

Traitor.

“I’ll make sure the schedule works,” I say. “Thank you for calling.”

After another two rounds of polite administrative fog, I finally end the call.

For three seconds, I just stand there.

Phone in one hand.

Leash in the other.

Puck pressed against my shin like a furry parole officer.

“No,” I tell him.

He tilts his head again.

“I’m not talking about it.”

He blinks.

“Fine. I’m calling my agent.”