Chapter Thirteen

Weeks Five through Seven

 

I sat alone on the porch swing, numb to the cold and the darkness. I tucked my legs underneath me, so the swing held entirely still. I'd almost bawled in front of Rodney, but now that I was alone, my eyes were empty, as if he'd taken all my tears with him.

Did he really believe I'd be okay? Because I didn't believe him. Not one bit. And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like he had been trying to convince himself, as well.

The front door opened, and Dad stepped out onto the porch. "Can I join you?" he asked.

I leaned my head against the back of the swing. "Okay," I said. If he figured out what I'd done to Rodney, he was going to confront me with it sooner or later. Might as well do it now, when I had no energy left to fight back. "Shouldn't you be with Mom?" I asked.

He shook his head. "She went to lie down."

I nodded. The conversation with Rodney's parents had been stressful for her, too.

Dad sat down next to me on the swing, his feet planted on the ground. His mouth set in a firm line, like he was getting ready to say something.

I let him bring it up first. Maybe he hadn't really picked up on anything. Maybe I'd imagined it.

"You did this on purpose," Dad said. "You got pregnant for your mother." His tone was even. He wasn't even really asking me, just stating a fact.

But he also didn't sound angry. Not yet.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"When did Rodney know?" he asked.

I cringed, tears threatening me again. Maybe I wasn't entirely empty. "Not until after."

Dad leaned his head back on the swing, and turned to look at me. "I don't have to tell you how unfair that was to him."

Another statement. I waited for the lecture about what a horrible person I was, but it didn't come. Maybe Dad didn't just realize what I'd done. Maybe he saw how I felt about it, too.

"Why didn't you say something?" I asked, "when Rodney didn't?"

Dad looked up at the moon cresting over the edge of the roof. "He was protecting my daughter," he said. "I wasn't going to argue with that."

My nose began to run. "I don't deserve protecting," I said.

"You're stuck with it," Dad said. "From me, at least."

From both of them, it seemed. If only I could convince Rodney that protecting me didn't mean walking out of my life. "Does Mom know?" I asked.

Dad shook his head. "She hasn't put it together."

"But you're going to tell her," I said.

Dad shook his head again. I waited for him to tell me that I was the one who had to tell her. I had to march upstairs this minute and do the right thing. But instead, he just sighed the sigh of a man exhausted to his core. "I think your mother feels bad enough as it is."

I turned to face Dad. "She does?"

"Of course she does," Dad said. "She's your mother. She'll feel responsible for everything you do, whether it's actually about her or not."

Ugh. And in this case, it was, which would only make it worse. "I get it," I said. "I won't tell her."

"Not tonight," Dad said. "But you can't leave the secret between you forever."

I nodded. "Okay," I said. "I'll wait for the right moment." Once Mom had a baby in her arms, she wouldn't care how that child got there.

Then, I'd tell her. Only then.

 

The next morning, I woke up to a gag reflex that pumped my stomach bile into the toilet for ten minutes straight. If I couldn't eat before, I certainly wasn't going to try now.

I'd turned my phone off last night and shoved it in the bottom of my desk drawer, so I wouldn't keep expecting it to ring, expecting Rodney to call and tell me he'd changed his mind. Turning the phone off only helped until I fell asleep. Then I dreamed on repeat about the phone ringing deep in the bottom of the drawer, and no matter how fast I emptied it, I could never dig it out.

When I hauled myself off my knees, I dug it out and turned it on, checking for texts from Rodney that I already knew wouldn't be there.

I went downstairs with dread. But when I arrived, there was a tall glass with a straw where the eggs had been yesterday.

Mom looked up from her stool at the counter. "I made you a smoothie," she said. "I thought you could drink your calories, if you can't eat them."

I love smoothies. I love the way the fruits tang together; I love knowing I'm drinking something good for me even though it tastes like candy. But today all I could think of was the way it would burn coming up.

"I think I'll just have some water," I said.

Mom gave me a look, and to appease her, I picked up the vitamin she'd left on the counter and stuck it under my tongue while I poured myself a glass.

Mom sighed. "Penny. You have to eat."

I closed my eyes. The baby book said I didn't need to push it. Could that be right? Pregnant women had to eat for two, didn't they? How on earth did babies survive, if their mothers' bodies told them to starve themselves?

I picked up the smoothie. When it was still a foot from my nose, I could smell the banana, and it might as well have been bruised black for all I wanted to put it in my mouth.

"That bad?" Mom asked.

I nodded miserably.

She gave me a sad look. "I remember being pregnant with Athena. Everything I ate came up for two months. But you just have to keep eating. Something will stay down, even if it's only a little."

Mom stared out the window, like she was longing for something far away. She used to look at Lily the same way, like she'd give anything to be in her place.

My stomach tightened at the thought of putting the smoothie into my mouth. But Mom would do it, wouldn't she? If this was her baby, she'd drink.

I put the straw to my lips, and sucked some smoothie into my mouth. The tang met my tongue, and tasted fine. But despite the sweetness, my throat constricted.

Swallow, I told myself.

But my body wouldn't.

I set the smoothie down on the counter with a clang and spit into the sink. "I can't," I said. "I'm sorry."

Mom turned her sad, longing look on me. Jeez. She was going to look at me like that for months, wasn't she? It was bad enough watching her do that to Lily.

My skin crawled. The receiving end of Mom's sad looks was so much worse.

I marched back up the stairs, intending to hide until it was time for Mom to drive me to school.

But Mom followed me into the stairwell. "Penny," Mom said. "We need to talk."

I didn't turn around. She couldn't see the look on my face, the way I wanted to glare at her and stomp away like I was a little kid. That couldn't be about the smoothie, could it?

No. That was totally stupid. So either I was completely soaked with irrational hormones, or this was really about Rodney.

I got that she wanted to feel safe about the baby being hers. But did she really have to drive him away?

"Penny," Mom said again.

She was waiting for me to turn around. I tried to wipe the anger from my face. Why was I feeling this way? I did this for Mom. For Mom. She should come first.

I sucked in my cheeks. I might not be able to make myself eat, but I could make myself relax and treat Mom nicely. However hard this was on me, it had to be harder on her.

I turned slowly around, keeping my face blank, but I still didn't trust myself to speak.

Mom apparently didn't need me to. "Pregnant women really need to watch their diet, to make sure they get enough nutrition."

I took a deep breath. I could do this. I could speak to my mother like a reasonable person. I wasn't Athena, who yelled.

It was just two little words.

I spoke softly, keeping my tone even.

"I'm trying," I said.

"I know," Mom said. "But you need to try harder. It doesn't seem that way, but if you eat, you'll feel better."

Better? Food was not going to make me feel better about having lost my best friend.

Stop it, I told myself. She was talking about the nausea. Though I tried to keep it out, an edge crept into my voice. "I want to eat," I said. "Trust me. I do. It's not my fault that I can't."

Mom folded her arms. "If you feel this bad without food," she said, "think about how the baby will suffer."

My hands trembled. "I'm not starving your child," I said. "I'll eat something for lunch at school." Probably a Snickers, but I wasn't going to say that to her.

"Penny," Mom said. "You're shaking."

I clapped my arms to my sides, but still my fingers quaked. She thought it was from lack of food, but that was only part of it.

Mom spoke slowly, in the voice she might have used to calm a toddler. "Come into the kitchen," Mom said. "See if you can stomach some crackers."

I took a step backward up the stairs. I couldn't do it. I couldn't sit there while Mom gave me that sad look, as if she hadn't torn my life apart by suggesting that Rodney leave.

Tears burned my eyes again. Didn't she get that I was just trying to help her? Couldn't she look around and see that I was the only one who was? "I'm going to get ready for school."

Mom let out an exasperated sigh, like she'd had enough of me. "Penelope," she said. "You are not the only one having a hard time."

Something in my brain exploded, and I nearly yelled: I did this for you. But I swallowed the words before they could escape. I should have eaten the smoothie. I should have downed it and lost it and come back for more. Because between the nausea and the low blood sugar, and the things Rodney had said, I really didn't have a chance of holding this next thought in. "I get it," I said. "You wish it was you who was pregnant. Well, trust me. So do I."

If she'd yelled at me, I might have felt justified, but instead her face fell, like I'd slapped her. She deflated, stepping backward away from the stairs.

"Mom," I said. "I didn't mean that." My anger crumbled. That sounded like something Athena would have said to her. Not me.

Damn it.

Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?

If I'd thought Mom looked sad before, it was nothing compared to the way she withered before me now. "I'm going to go lie down," she said, and she walked away in the direction of the family room. Not her bedroom, which would have required her to come closer to me.

"Mom," I called after her. "I'm sorry."

But she was already gone.

 

She showed up at my bedroom door a half hour later with a brown bag lunch, and I didn't say one word about not wanting to eat it. She drove me to school in silence, but I could see the things I said hanging like bags around her eyes.

At lunch I bought myself a Snickers and an apple juice, and then looked inside the brown bag. Mom had made me a sprout sandwich—another thing I usually liked to eat. And though I logically knew I'd eaten tons of those in my life, I couldn't imagine how I'd ever gotten over the physical impossibility of swallowing bread.

I called Athena. "You were right," I said. "Mom is making me her pet birth mom."

"Um," Athena said, "did I say that?"

"You did."

"Hush," she said. "I'm trying to be gracious."

"Just tell me you told me so."

"What's going on?"

I told her about the smoothie, with emphasis on how hurtful I'd been.

"Well, you're pregnant," Athena said. "I'm sure it's normal to be hormonal."

I rolled my eyes. This went way beyond hormones. "She was all concerned about what I was eating, and I get that, but the baby book says I don't need to worry about nutrition until my second trimester, when I'll be able to eat again."

Theoretically.

"Okay," Athena said. "Now I will say I told you so."

"Thanks," I said. Though, predictably, that didn't make me feel better.

When I got off the phone, I found Kara waving at me in the quad. I sat down next to her, drinking my miraculously delicious apple juice. The bottle claimed to contain ten different vitamins and minerals.

Take that, morning sickness.

Then I opened the bag lunch and pulled out the sandwich. As I peeled apart the bread, tiny green sprouts spilled onto the table.

"What is that?" Kara asked.

"Lunacy," I said. "How do people eat?"

Kara wrinkled her nose. "You mean how do they eat that? Because I don't."

I tucked a single sprout into my mouth. It didn't make my throat constrict, so I tried another. The bread, though, was not coming anywhere near my face. I opened up the sandwich on the table and poured the sprouts into the baggie, so I could eat them without having to look at their spongy companion.

"I take it you didn't make that," Kara said.

I looked over at her tater tots and soda. The thought of grease and carbonation nearly made me choke. "No," I said. "My mom did."

Kara squinted at me. "Does she want you to diet? Because you look fine."

Give it a few months. "She's just on a health kick."

"And you're eating the sprouts," Kara said, "but not the bread."

I shrugged.

"Hey," she said, glancing over my shoulder. "There's your boy."

I forced myself not to look. There was only one person who Kara would refer to as my boy, and he wasn't anymore. I picked up another sprout and twirled it between my fingers.

Kara didn't notice my lack of enthusiasm. "They're coming this way," Kara said. She turned and waved. "Hi, Rodney," she said.

At that point, I had to turn around. And when I did, I found Rodney passing our table with Ryan, Kara's ex-boyfriend.

Was she trying to get his attention?

"Hey," Rodney said. He might have been responding to Kara, but he was looking at me. Our eyes met. My heart hammered and my breath left me. As he passed our table, Rodney's hand drifted within inches of my shoulders. I thought he might touch me, but he didn't.

"Um, uh, hi," I said, when they had already passed by. Rodney must have heard me, because he turned around and gave me half a smile. My cheeks turned pink as he and Ryan headed off through the back doors, toward the science wing.

Kara planted her elbows on the table. "Okay. What was that?"

"What was what?" I asked.

She raised one eyebrow at me. "You dropped a sprout down your shirt."

I looked down. It was hanging at the edge of my v-neck like a drowning man clinging to the edge of a boat. I flicked it off. Had Rodney seen that?

Probably.

"I did not see that coming," Kara said.

I looked up at her. "What?"

She grinned. "After all these years, you have a crush on him."

"I do not," I said.

"You do. You were practically drooling! How do you do that? I'd have thought all the years of friendship"—Kara tagged air quotes—"would have worn all the magic off."

Now my cheeks were burning. I crossed my arms over the table top and buried my face in them.

"Wow," Kara said. "You are adorable."

I groaned. "Cut it out."

She giggled. "Has Rodney witnessed this? Because he'll tease you more than I will. You know it's true."

I put a hand to my forehead. "We're not . . . we're not really talking right now."

Kara set down her soda. "What?"

I sniffed. "Things are complicated, okay?"

Kara was quiet. I peered up to see her contemplating my disassembled sandwich. "Holy crap," she said. "Are you pregnant?"

I moaned into my arms.

Kara swore. "And he's not talking to you?"

I snapped up to look at her. "Why does everyone think that Rodney is being a jerk to me? He's not, okay?"

Kara looked at me wide-eyed. "Yeah," she said. "Okay."

The people at the other end of the table stared at me. I didn't look around, but I was pretty sure they weren't alone.

At least Rodney had disappeared toward the science wing. If he'd witnessed that little display, I would have curled up into a little nauseous ball.

Who was I kidding? Enough people heard. Someone was going to tell him.

"So what are you going to do?" Kara asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Die of starvation, probably."

But Athena was right.

There was no way I was getting out of this that easily.

 

I slept through the next week and a half. I'd zombie-walk through school in a daze, and then come home and crash in the afternoon. Rodney nodded at me whenever I passed him in the hall, but he never stopped to talk. In my lethargy, I managed not to stalk him.

I did, however, stalk his photography. I guess without me bugging him to study, he had a lot of time on his hands. He sent new ones every day—plants dying from the sudden arrival of the winter chill, toys the neighborhood kids abandoned in the street. One cold gray day, Rodney took a series of photos of light bulbs shattering on black tile. I recognized the floor—he took those pictures in his hall bathroom. I wondered if his mother knew he was smashing glass in the house.

I couldn't keep up with him, so I picked his best shots from each set to crop and color correct. Rodney didn't comment on my work, but I could tell from the history that he looked at the photos almost as often as I did.

At the end of the second week, I was able to eat more, but I could only stomach simple things: chicken nuggets, grapes, carrot sticks. I was going to have a child, and apparently I was going to eat like one, too. I focused on each bite individually. Place in mouth. Chew. Swallow.

I learned from the baby book that I wasn't supposed to see a doctor until twelve weeks, counting from the start date of my last period. "It's stupid," I told Kara one morning before school. "That means when I was one week pregnant, Rodney and I were both virgins."

She shook her head. "You have terrible luck, getting pregnant the first time."

Ouch. I nodded, so she'd think I thought so, too.

"Of course," she said, "I'm surprised you guys didn't do it years ago. You circled each other for long enough."

I wanted to melt right through the floor. If I'd realized that at the time, things would have gone differently. "That's just how it worked out, I guess," I said.

"Seriously," Kara said. "Worst. Luck. Ever."

She wasn't kidding.

I stopped by my locker on the way to first period, and Kara paused, leaning against it. Rodney had cleared his books out, but he still knew the combination. Every time I opened it, I felt a spark of hope that he'd have been there, and left something behind. A book. An old test. Hell, a banana peel. Anything.

But I always found it just as I'd left it.

As I knelt down this time, though, white spots dotted my vision. I paused with a hand on my books, waiting for them to fade, but instead they intensified.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Don't pass out, I thought. Do not.

"Are you okay?" Kara asked.

A rush of cold spread over my face. I sat down on the floor and rested my forehead on my knees.

A loud rushing roared in my ears, and my mouth watered. "Penny?" Kara said again.

Then I felt the back of a water bottle on my neck—still cold from the vending machine. Kara brushed my forehead, wiping away beaded sweat. I wanted to look up at her, but my clenched eyelids felt like the only things anchoring me to consciousness.

"What's wrong with her?" Kara asked. Her voice sounded far away. Too far. Definitely not in my ear.

I pried open my eyes. My vision cleared enough that I could see Rodney standing over me, one hand on my knee, the other on the water bottle on the back of my neck.

I squirmed away from him. Why couldn't I have just passed out? He'd wanted out of my life, and now here I was falling apart in the hall where he could see me. It probably looked like I was trying to get his attention. "I'm fine," I said, even though I could feel sweat breaking out on my forehead. "You can go."

But he didn't. "I'm going to take you to the office," Rodney said. "Can you walk?"

I swallowed. I would walk, because if I didn't, he might try to carry me, and then I would have to commit ritual suicide, possibly by clubbing myself over the head with my physiology book.

"I'll walk," I said. And I took a deep breath and straightened to a stand. I didn't want to lean on Rodney, but I couldn't help it.

"Come on," Rodney said. "I've got you."

My heart beat so fast I thought I might pass out again, but my mind actually cleared a little.

"I can go by myself," I said. But I was still leaning on him, which ruined my argument so thoroughly that Rodney didn't even bother responding.

The bell rang. I looked up, and Kara was gone. Had Rodney waved her off, or had she decided to leave us alone to work things out?

She probably thought she was doing me a favor.

Rodney led me down the empty hall toward the office, and I shuffled along, feeling as if we were treading uphill. My mouth started to water again, and as we passed the bathroom I peeled myself off Rodney and ducked in, barely making it to the toilet before I retched.

I knelt on the cold tile with my eyes closed. I didn't want to see what state the floor was in. It would just make me puke again. I counted the seconds, my head clearing. How long would I have to wait before Rodney gave up and left me alone?

Then I heard water running. Wet paper towels pressed on the back of my neck. I twisted around, squinting up at Rodney.

"What are you doing in here?" I asked. "This is the girl's room."

"I'm not going to leave you like this," he said.

My stomach retched again, and I leaned over the toilet, salivating, as Rodney stood behind me, wet towels on the back of my neck.

I'd been wrong. Things could get worse.

He put a hand on my elbow. "Think you can walk to the office now?"

I would, if only to end the humiliation. "Yeah," I said. I stood up and leaned against the wall of the stall. The world seemed to tilt back to normal again, though I still felt sweaty and off-kilter as we made our way down the hall. When we got to the office I sank immediately into a chair.

"You can go now," I said. But Rodney ignored me. He marched up to the receptionist.

"Penny's sick," he said. "She needs to call home."

I must have looked like I felt, because the receptionist didn't argue. Instead, she brought me a cup of water. "Do you want to call your parents?"

"Yeah," I said.

Rodney still hovered over me, but the receptionist shooed him away. "Go back to class," she said.

He hesitated. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I'm fine," I said. But my voice came out hoarse.

Rodney looked down at me. "I just," he said, "I think—"

"You've done enough," I said. Though this time it came out as a whine. I hunched down in the chair, and wished for this moment to be over.

Rodney leaned over to the receptionist, and said in a low voice. "She's pregnant. Is this . . . normal?"

My hands went cold. If I could have stood, I would have shoved him out of the office.

"We'll take care of her," the receptionist said. And then she ushered Rodney to the door.

I thought I'd feel better once he left, but I didn't. I just stared off into space, hoping no one else in the office had heard. Though, what was the point of hiding? Everyone would know in a couple months, anyway.

The receptionist came back and knelt next to me. "Do your parents know you're pregnant?" she asked.

I nodded.

"I'll bring the phone over," she said. "And you can call your mom."

"It's okay," I said. "I have my cell phone." I rooted it out of my backpack pocket. "I'll ask her to come get me."

The receptionist nodded. "Just make sure she signs you out."

Because I was old enough to have a child, but not old enough to sign myself out of school. As I pulled out my phone to ask the other person I'd wronged to come save me, I couldn't help but think that my life was irrevocably messed up.

And I had absolutely no idea how to make it right.