Chapter Twenty-Three
Presley
September
Another two weeks have crawled by and I still haven’t heard from Rygaard.
Rafe’s been quick to offer updates, all of them lies, not that he hides it well. It's written all over his stupid face.Like the time a video surfaced of Rygaard slurping jello shots out of his new fling’s belly button while his frat brothers cheered him on.
Or the clip from football practice, where someone caught him on camera about to get a blow job in the locker room. It’s good to know he moved on so fast while I'm left here picking up the goddamn pieces.
Crying myself to sleep every night since the first photo surfaced, Rygaard kissing someone else's lips that weren’t mine. He once told me my lips were the only ones he'd ever kiss because they were made for him. What a steaming pile of horse shit. And the most pathetic part?I believed him.
“Fucking hell!” I screech as I hit the ground hard.
“Oh! Are you okay?”
I look up into Keifer’s worried, kind eyes.
“Yeah. Just a little clumsy,” I mumble, placing my hand in his and letting him pull me up. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He looks around, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should. “Can I walk you to class?”
Why is he so damn adorable?
Cool it, Prez. He’s just being nice. Everyone knows you’ve been a trainwreck since Ry left. Hell, I know I've been a train wreck.
Smiling up at him, I say, “That would be nice. Clearly, I’m not too steady today.” We both laugh at my lame joke, and he offers his arm. I loop mine through it without hesitation, letting him guide me down the hall.
We walk in silence. It's actually... nice.
Outside my classroom, he stops and turns to me. “Here you are.” He gives my hand a little squeeze before letting go.
“Yep, this is me. Thanks again, Keifer.”
“Of course. I’ll be around if you need anything.” He smiles, warm and genuine, before walking away.
“You betcha,” I say softly, a rare, little smile tugging at my mouth.
Lately, I've been all sharp edges, biting heads off for no reason. An underclassman complimented my sneakers earlier and I told her to fuck off without even realizing what she’d said. Tried to apologize, but she practically ran away.
“Care to explain what that was about?”
Of course Agatha’s there, always lurking, always seeing more than she should.
“I fell, Keifer helped me up, and walked me to class. End of story.”
“End of story, huh?” She smirks. “More like the beginning of a new chapter.” She hooks her arm through mine and drags me inside. I don't even mind. God knows I’m sick of sulking.
But honestly?
What else can I do?
“Alright, class, settle down,” Mrs. Richard says, setting her things down and adjusting her glasses. “Did you all complete your geometry homework?”
Groans fill the room. I dig through my backpack even though I already know I didn’t do it.
“Well,” Mrs. Richard says, eyeing us over the tops of her glasses, “judging by your faces, I’m guessing not.” Silence. “Presley? I know I can count on you to lead by example.”
I sit up straighter. “About that, Mrs. Richard...”
“Oh no. Not you, too?”
“Guilty.”
She frowns. “Presley, that’s the third assignment you’ve missed. What’s going on?”
Seriously? She’s putting me on blast now ? Hunching my shoulders, I mutter, “I’ve just got a lot going on. I forgot.”
“You forgot? How many more times are you planning to forget? Until you flunk out and have to repeat the year?”
The class erupts with “oohs” and gasps. My blood boils.
“You act like I’m the only one who didn’t do the homework, Mrs. Richard.”
“I know you’re not, Presley. It's just disappointing seeing my star student failing at something so simple, "
“Lay off already. I said I didn’t do it. End of fucking story.”Oh shit. That came out way harsher than I meant.
“Well, you can take your incomplete homework and your foul mouth down to the principal’s office.”
“Gladly.” I grab my stuff and head for the door, pausing just long enough to say, “Maybe next time don’t call someone out in front of the entire class. There’s a time and a place, and this wasn’t it.”
Then I’m gone, slamming the door behind me.
But I don't go to the principal’s office.I head straight for the exit.
“I don’t have to deal with this shit today.”
Except halfway across the parking lot, a sharp pain slices through my side, doubling me over.
“Shit!”
“Prez? Are you okay?” Agatha's by my side in seconds.
“My stomach... hurts so bad, Ag.”
“You want to go to urgent care?”
“No,” I grit out just as another wave of pain rips through me.
“Too bad, we’re going.” She practically carries me to her car.
We sit in the urgent care waiting room for twenty minutes before they call my name.
“You want me to stay out here?” Agatha asks, looking a little green.
“Absolutely not.” We go in together.
“Hi, I’m Renee,” the nurse chirps. “I’ll be doing your bloodwork and vitals. Then the doctor will be right in.” She gestures to the scale. I step on. “One-sixty-five,” she mutters, jotting it down.
I wince internally. What?
“What brings you in today?” she asks, slapping a blood pressure cuff on my arm.
“Bad stomach pains.”
She rattles off questions, last period, sexual activity, eating habits, anyone else sick? I answer honestly: Period two weeks ago. Sex three or three and a half months ago. Eating like a pig since the breakup. No one else sick.
“Alright, we’ll grab some blood and a urine sample,” she says with a bright smile. I try to mirror it, but it feels fake.
Once the blood draws are done and I drop off the urine sample, I sit nervously on the paper-covered bed.
“You scared?” Agatha asks.
“Yeah. I hate doctors.”
“Me, too. But it'll be okay.”
I wish I believed her. Instead, my mind drifts, to Rygaard. Is he hurting, too? Or am I just some faded memory already?
The door opens, snapping me out of my spiral. The doctor, young, nerdy, cute, comes in. “Hi, I’m Dr. Jennings. I hear you’ve got some stomach pains.”
He checks my breathing, my pulse, my throat, then has me lie back. His hands are cold as he pokes and presses on my stomach. “Does this hurt?” he asks, pressing under my ribs.
I wince. “Yeah.”
He presses lower, frowning thoughtfully. “What about here?” he asks, tugging my jeans down slightly to access my lower stomach.
“It’s tight... Like my skin’s stretching.” I laugh weakly. “Probably all the breakup snacks catching up to me.”
He hums under his breath. “I’m going to check your labs and be right back,” he says, hurrying out.
Agatha steps closer, poking my stomach. “Jesus, Presley, how much have you been eating?”
“Everything. You know how rough it’s been.”
“Yeah, but...” She presses gently. “Your stomach’s hard .”
“Maybe 'cause I had a snack after peeing?” I joke, laughing nervously.
Agatha’s about to say something when the doctor returns, face serious.
“How old are you, sweetheart?” he asks.
“Sixteen.” He shares a heavy look with the nurse. “What?” I demand. “What’s wrong? Am I dying?”
He actually chuckles. “No, no. You’re not dying.” He clears his throat. “But... you’re pregnant.”
The room tilts.
Agatha clutches my hand.
“You’re about three to three and a half months along,” he adds.
If I thought my world had fallen apart before… This?
This is a full-blown geostorm. And I’m right in the middle with no chance of survival.