A MINUTE LATER, Lou-Anne and I are locked in the bathroom, arguing loudly.
‘Who the hell do you think you are, keeping track of my periods?’ I demand. Lou-Anne doesn’t take a backwards step.
‘I wasn’t keeping track. We’re usually in synch, Shauna. I didn’t even notice it the first month, but last month I noticed you hadn’t used any pads.’
‘So you went rifling through the sanitary bin counting pads, did you?’
‘I know when you’re having your period, okay? You’re always short of pads and you usually take a few of mine. And you have breakouts on your chin. There’s been none of that since we got back to school. Think about it. It’s nearly April.’
I don’t want to think about it. But I pause. I lower my voice, knowing that Indu and Bindi could be gasping and palpitating with their ears pressed against the door.
‘I’m not pregnant. I can’t be. I took the morning-after pill.’
‘Doesn’t always work.’
‘But I was sick for twenty-four hours.’
‘So what? That doesn’t mean it’s worked.’ She sounds uncertain. ‘Does it?’
I actually don’t know. I bought the pill at a pharmacy in Tamworth. That was three months ago. Easter holidays are coming up. The last time I had my period was over Christmas. I remember going Christmas shopping with Mum in Armidale and sloping off to the chemist to buy pads.
Lou-Anne is right. I’ve missed two periods. Which doesn’t necessarily mean I’m pregnant.
‘I’ve just been sick. My body’s all out of whack since Olivia Pike got here.’
Lou-Anne shook her head. ‘It’s got nothing to do with Olivia Pike. It’s called morning sickness.’
‘But I’m sick all bloody day!’
‘It’s called morning sickness,’ points out Lou-Anne, ‘but it should be called all-day sickness. My sister was sick all day every day for the whole nine months.’
I burst into tears. How am I going to do the HSC feeling the way I do now? What if I have the baby in the middle of the exams?
I quickly do the maths. Suppose I am pregnant. My last period was around Christmas. That means the baby would be born at the end of September, maybe the beginning of October, which is right around the time of my exams.
Lou-Anne hugs me hard from behind.
‘I can’t have a baby,’ I sob.
‘Yes, you can,’ she says calmly. ‘You don’t have to do anything. They cook themselves, and when they’re ready to come out, they come out themselves.’
‘But I can’t do it at school. Not at this school. Can you imagine? The teachers . . . Keli Street-Hughes . . .’
I’m really crying hard now, tears rolling down my cheeks.
There’s a loud knock at the door.
‘Piss off!’ snaps Lou-Anne.
‘There’s absolutely no call to use language like that,’ comes Miss Maroney’s voice. ‘This door should never be locked. Now, is everything all right in there?’
‘Fine,’ says Lou-Anne tetchily. ‘We’ll be out in a minute.’
‘You’re getting two Red Marks, Lou-Anne, which makes three for you altogether,’ says Miss Maroney. ‘You’ll be on Wednesday afternoon detention.’
Lou-Anne opens the door slightly
‘Bloody cow!’ she whispers. ‘I should tell Mrs Green about her little pool parties.’
I walk to the sink, with Lou-Anne still clamped to my back, and look in the mirror at my puffy, tear-streaked face. I start to shake my head.
‘I have no choice,’ I say. ‘No choice. I have to leave the school. Or have an abortion.’
‘No, you don’t, Shauna.’ Lou-Anne lets go of me and turns to stand beside me, so that I can see her in profile in the mirror. ‘What goes on under your uniform is no one’s business but yours. No one will even know you’re pregnant for a few more months.’
‘And when they do?’
‘Still none of their business.’
‘But everyone will talk. I’ll lose the scholarship. I’ll probably get expelled. And my parents . . .’
‘Let’s just keep it quiet for now. Take it one step at a time.’
Lou-Anne takes my hand. I can’t believe how level-headed she’s being, but I sure do appreciate it. It makes me feel calmer.
‘I’ll get a test and make sure I’m really pregnant. I mean, maybe I’m not. Maybe I am just having an allergic reaction to Olivia Pike.’
We meet each other’s eyes in the mirror and smile sadly. Lou-Anne really is the best of best friends. I know I don’t have to tell her to keep the secret. She would never betray me, not in a million years. Not even to Bindi or Indu.
There is no easy way of going out and buying a pregnancy test during the week. No easy way of paying for one either, not unless I can bum ten bucks off someone under false pretences. I won’t steal, though, and I won’t let Lou-Anne steal for me, though she does offer. I know what stealing does to you.
By Saturday afternoon we’ve managed to scrape together a few bucks by emptying our backpacks of coins and selling Lou-Anne’s amethyst pendant for a steal at Cash Converters in Bondi.
‘But Isaac gave that to you, Lou-Anne!’ I plead miserably as she lays it on the counter.
‘I don’t care about Isaac.’
‘But I’ve heard you tell him you love him on the phone.’
She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. ‘That’s just to keep him sweet.’
We go to a nearby chemist, blush ferociously when we make the humiliating transaction, and then rush to the nearest McDonald’s toilet. Lou-Anne stands just outside the stall door with the instructions.
‘Do you need a cup of water?’
‘No, it’s . . . I’m fine . . .’
In spite of my best efforts, I soak the whole testing stick in wee.
‘Now, it could take a few minutes,’ says Lou-Anne, ‘but are there two bars or just one in the plastic window?’
The two bars light up at the same time.
‘There are two, Lou-Anne.’
‘That means you’re pregnant.’
The bottom falls out of my stomach. I feel black. Quivering and immobile at the same time. Shit.
‘Shauna?’
I flush the toilet and come out of the stall. Lou-Anne follows me to the sinks and watches me silently as I wash my hands.
‘Well, congratulations,’ she says eventually. I meet her eyes in the mirror and raise my eyebrows.
‘Over-the-counter tests can be wrong,’ I say shakily. ‘I should really have a blood test. That’s what Dr Google said.’
Lou-Anne and I have already done some frantic googling on the prep. hall computers. I’ve got all the information. I just want someone to tell me that I’m not pregnant. Pregnancy, however, is a fact that’s difficult to rebut.
Getting to see the doctor as an Oakholme girl with an embarrassing little condition can be a tricky business. The school’s obliged to tell the student’s parents when she’s seeing the doctor. We are allowed off school grounds in the afternoons to go to appointments with parental permission, as long as we’re back by a given time. I have to make up a story about ‘girly problems’, which covers a lot of territory but kind of sounds like thrush. I get Miss Maroney to make an appointment for me at Dr Baker’s surgery in Double Bay the next week.
Miss Maroney hands me my Medicare card and on Wednesday after school I walk to Dr Baker’s surgery on my own (Lou-Anne being on detention).
Dr Baker’s a lady doctor who treats most of the boarders at Oakholme College. Being an old hippy, she’s very kind and approachable and I’ve never felt particularly awkward telling her about my medical problems. I feel nervous now, though.
‘What can I do for you today, Shauna?’
‘I think I’m pregnant.’
Dr Baker’s face doesn’t even change. She must have had this conversation a hundred times before.
‘When did your last period start?’
‘The day before Christmas.’
‘That’s over three months ago. Did you have sex?’
I nod. ‘The condom broke. I took the morning-after pill, but I don’t think it worked.’
‘Have you done a urine test?’
‘Yeah.’
Dr Baker waits a few beats. ‘And?’
‘Well, it seemed to be positive.’
‘False positives are possible, but very rare.’
‘I think I need a blood test.’
‘If you’re still in doubt, let’s do another urine test.’
She rummages through one of the drawers in her desk and pulls out a plastic jar.
‘Go to the bathroom and get me a wee sample. That’ll give us a result in a few minutes.’
I go to the bathroom and pee into the jar, clutching it to my chest as I walk back through the waiting room to Dr Baker’s office.
She unscrews the lid from the jar like it’s nothing more disgusting than a cup of coffee and dips a plastic stick into it. She leaves the stick on her desk and smiles at me.
‘If you’re sexually active, we should really talk about contraception.’
‘I’m not that active, you know. It was my first time.’
‘But your contraceptive method didn’t work. You might want to consider a hormonal method like an implant as well as using condoms. You need to keep using condoms because they’re still the best protection against sexually transmitted diseases.’
‘Is an implant expensive?’
‘No. It costs about thirty dollars.’
And that’s not expensive . . .
‘I probably won’t have sex again for a while,’ I say lamely.
In the time that it’s taken to have this short conversation, the pregnancy test has come up positive. Dr Baker picks up the stick and holds it across the table. There’s a big red plus sign in the little window.
‘It seems that you’re pregnant,’ she says. ‘What would you like to do?’
I get that black, bottomless feeling again. My face heats up and I feel my eyes fill with tears.
‘I just wish I wasn’t pregnant. I mean . . . how unlucky can I be, getting pregnant the first time.’
Dr Baker reaches for my hand. ‘You’ve got options. A pregnancy doesn’t mean the end of the world.’
‘I can’t have a baby. I just can’t.’
‘It’s not a big deal, Shauna,’ she says in a gentle, matter-of-fact way. ‘It’s probably too late to take the abortion pill, but you’re still well within the time for a surgical abortion. It’s a simple procedure and very safe. I can make an appointment for you at The Choice Foundation.’
‘The Choice Foundation? Is that an abortion clinic?’
‘It’s a women’s health clinic, yes. It’s on Macquarie Street.’
‘You won’t tell the school about it, will you?’
‘Of course not. You’re almost eighteen years old. I have to respect patient-doctor confidentiality. You’re old enough to have sexual privacy.’
This comes as a huge relief. I know if I want to, I can make this all go away and the only person who’d ever know is Lou-Anne. Even she wouldn’t have to know if I didn’t want her to. I could tell her that I wasn’t pregnant after all and then quietly have the abortion.
‘How much does it cost?’ I ask, my heart full of shame.
‘It costs about five hundred dollars.’
I start to cry. ‘I don’t have five hundred dollars.’
‘I think it would be better if you talked to your parents about this, Shauna.’
I just shake my head, keep shaking it. I don’t want to tell them. I don’t want to admit to them that I’ve failed like this. But where to get the five hundred dollars? The only person who has it and will give it to me with a minimum number of questions is my cousin, Andrew. I’ll tell him it’s a loan for the ticket to Paris.
‘Do you want me to give you the clinic’s details?’ Dr Baker asks kindly.
I nod, desolate.