OKAY, THE ABORTION. You all think I took the photo outside the clinic, but trust me, I didn’t. I knew Tabby had hooked up with guys, so I figured she had her business taken care of, if you know what I mean. I mean, I went on the Pill last year, when I was dating Braden Hall, even though we never ended up doing it. Anyway, I was wrong about Tabby. Maybe she’s like the rest of us. Too afraid to ask a guy to find a condom because that ruins the moment, and ruining the moment can sometimes seem worse than ruining your entire life.
I heard about the abortion from Leslie Sears. Leslie knows I hate Tabitha, and one day she’s at my locker, telling me her older sister saw it. Tabitha Cousins at the abortion clinic. Wading through the Jesus freaks and their signs, YOUR BABY IS THE SIZE OF A CLENCHED FIST or whatever.
“Is there proof?” I asked, and there was. A picture. You can’t really see Tabby’s face, but you don’t need to. She had the sweatshirt on, that one of Mark’s that she used to fold herself into like it was some kind of security blanket. It was her way of broadcasting to everyone at our school: I’m dating a Princeton guy.
Okay, so I’m not totally proud of what happened next. Or what I did. I started a new Instagram account just to post the photo. Then I sent the link to Mark. I took a chance on what I thought his school email address would be. I also took a chance that he didn’t already know, because he wasn’t in that photo, holding her hand.
He didn’t already know. He replied to the email, who’s this? Of course, it wasn’t my real email addy, so he had no way of knowing who I was. I wasn’t going to write back at all, but then I felt bad, or maybe I was just bored, if we’re being totally honest. So I wrote sorry you had to find out this way, but it’s better than not finding out at all. And I added, just before hitting SEND, you should know who she is.
I never heard from him again.
And you know, I carry some guilt over it. I mean, obviously I didn’t shove him off the Split. But we learned in school about this thing, the butterfly effect. Which is also a terrible movie with Ashton Kutcher. It’s all about how everything you do can lead to something bigger, even something far away. Maybe Mark never wanted to talk about the abortion until they were out hiking in the woods, with nobody to overhear them, and she got riled up and pushed him.
But some people believe her. Just like I believed her, once upon a time. At one of Elle’s parties early this year, when she and Mark were long-distance and Beck had called me sweetheart for the first time. She watched us together, and later, she cornered me in the bathroom, which felt super aggressive. But she just sat on the counter while I put more eyeliner on.
“You have great lips,” she said. Random, right? “You should play them up more. Here, have this.” And she gave me a tube of lipstick from her purse, this berry color I knew I’d never wear. I can’t even find it now. Maybe I threw it out, because I was sick of having Tabby’s leftovers. But I shit you not, the name of the lipstick was Boy Slayer.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, hoping she would leave. There were rips in her nylons, but, like, on-purpose rips, which just looked super trashy. At the next party, I’m ashamed to say I wore mine that way, too. Not because I wanted to be like her, but because I wanted Beck to look at me the way he looked at her.
“You have nothing to worry about,” she said. “It’s totally over between us. And I think you’re good for him. He needs to be with a nice girl.” She hopped off the counter and ran her hand through my hair, just like my mom used to do before she got busy hooking up with strange men at bars.
I let her leave without saying anything, because what the hell was I supposed to say to that? Later, when I was trying to fall asleep, I thought of a bunch of good comebacks. I wasn’t looking for your approval. I’ll go for whatever I want. If it’s a competition you want, then bring it. And one alternate reality where our eyes met in the mirror and I said What makes you so sure I’m a nice girl?
It was like Tabby cursed me that day in the bathroom, and I spent every day after trying to prove her wrong, that I wasn’t nice. And you’ve gotten to know me a bit, right? I’m not exactly a peach.
I’m surprised it took the rest of the world this long to find out about her abortion. But I’m glad they know now, because it’s part of her story. And let’s get something straight. I’m not judging her for deciding to get an abortion. We should all have the right to choose what happens with our own bodies. I’m judging her because I doubt she knows who the father even was.