Chapter 6 Eighteen and Pregnant
EIGHTEEN AND PREGNANT
The school commons area was empty and quiet. I opened my locker and dug out my mythology book. I had finished the assigned book and turned in my report, but I still had to show up to get full credit. If Mr. Gardner questioned why I was late, I’d tell him I had cramps.
“Evan?”
Fuck, Mrs. Peterson called my name. She wouldn’t believe my period excuse. She had taught sex ed in fourth grade and probably had a chart with every girl’s cycle somewhere. “Hey,” I said, shoving my bag into my locker.
“Do you have a minute?”
“I have to get to class,” I said, shrugging. “That Mr. Gardner is a stickler for being on time.” He was one year from retirement; he didn’t care.
“I’m not asking.” She turned and walked towards the large glass wall that held the office.
I followed her, wishing I had tried harder to make Tristan take me with him. I didn’t want to sit through the “you know better” lecture I was about to get. Knew better than what? Her? My mother?
Mrs. Peterson asked me to close the door. Her office was supposed to feel like a safe, calm place with its pale green walls, and posters with uplifting quotes and calming ocean scenes. It felt suffocating and small to me.
“Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair by the desk. “So how are things?”
She meant since my father died. I could hear it in her voice. That soft tone adults liked to use. It was laced with pity and fake concern. I heard it a lot in the days and weeks after he died. “Fine.”
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
“Nope.” Adults liked to do that too. Talk about things.
Like talking about my father dying would make it all better.
He was dead. There was nothing more to talk about.
All the grief pamphlets I had gotten said there would be seven stages.
The last being acceptance. Well, I accepted he was dead. What more could we talk about?
“Did I see Tristan Anderson dropping you off? Are you two back together?”
Christ, you would think Tristan and I were the king and queen of fucking England as much as people were interested in us breaking up. “Yep. Is that a problem?”
“I am sure you are aware that Tristan has been struggling. Mrs. Aldrich said that you’ve been helping him. In fact, his handwriting is starting to look like yours. And that you two seem to have a lot of the same answers.” She paused as if I was going to disagree with her.
I wasn’t. The right answer was the right answer, and I did do all his reports and weekly assignments. His father threw beer bottles at him; I didn’t think Tristan was too concerned with the human cost of Thailand’s fishing industry.
“Is it true?” she asked carefully.
“Is what true?” I played dumb. Tristan’s business was his. Not mine to be telling this woman who would then tell everyone else.
Her mouth twisted to the side as she opened a file up. “Evan, do I need to remind you that until you get your acceptance letter, all colleges will look at your entire file?”
Mrs. Peterson helped me with my essay to the U of M.
She had thought my dead father would make me more interesting, would make the admission board feel bad for me.
My grades were okay. I wasn’t the smartest kid but far from the dumbest, so I needed to stand out.
My father had dreamed of me going to the U. He said it was the best college.
“Did you put something in my file about my dating life?” I tried to look at the file.
Mrs. Peterson smiled. “No, dear. But your grades are in here, and if Mrs. Aldrich kicks you out of her class for cheating, that will look bad. I have made Tristan aware of this also.”
That explained him not wanting to show up for class today. We had an assignment due, and I had done most of his. “So instead of having him show up for class, you tell him not to. Wow, that kind of defeats the whole guidance counselor thing, doesn’t it?”
Mrs. Peterson took a deep breath, then let it out and gave me that look.
The look like I was such a stupid child who had no idea what the real world looked like.
But I did. I knew what it looked like when James tried to kill Tristan.
When my father went from a healthy, vibrant forty-six-year-old man to not being able to feed himself in less than a month.
“No one has told Tristan not to come to class. But he has been warned, and now so have you.”
“Anything else?” Now I didn’t want to be here. But I really wanted to get into the University of Minnesota. For my dad. As stupid as it sounded, it made me feel closer to him.
“One other thing.” She closed the file and clasped her hands before her.
“Your mother is concerned that you are participating in risky behavior. She is concerned that Tristan is leading you down a dangerous road. Evan, you are a smart girl with a bright future ahead of you. I don’t want you to mess it up over a high school boy.
I know you want to help him, but let the adults do their job. ”
I stood up. “Yeah, because you’ve all done such a great job with that. Can I go?”
“Yes, but please know I’m here if you need to talk to anyone about anything.”
“I don’t.” And I left. This felt like some stupid after-school special.
Next the screen would go black and sad music would play.
The narrator would tell how I got knocked up and never went to college.
How I never lived out my dead father’s dream.
So say no to drugs and sex with pretty boys.
Both will make your parents uncomfortable.
The rest of the day was eventless. I was in seventh hour study hall when Anna came in. “Hey.” She sat down next to me. This wasn’t her class, but Anna was a “good girl” and Mr. Potter was asleep, so no one noticed. “Meet me in the bathroom by the art room.” She got up and waved to Jason.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said to no one.
The bathroom by the art room was supposed to be off-limits to us because it had a window that opened. Perfect for smoking. Anna was pacing the small space between the sinks and stalls.
“What’s going on?”
“Have you ever missed? I mean, after you did it with Tristan?”
“Missed what? My period? No, I’m on the pill like you are supposed to be, right?” I had dragged Anna with me to Planned Parenthood. She had been having sex longer than I had.
She shook her hands like she was drying her nails. “I’m late.”
“Like, how late?”
“Like, a week. I think?”
“You think?” I watched her chaotic movements. She paced the space between the sink and stall. “You’re still on the pill, right?”
She turned to face me. “I forget sometimes, and Matt hates using condoms, so he pulls out.”
I hit my face with my hand. “Anna, you are smarter than this. That’s not proven birth control.” I never had to worry about that type of pressure from Tristan. If I missed a pill, which I never did, we didn’t have sex. He was more scared of having kids than I was. We both had daddy issues.
“I know.” Her voice pitched higher. “Can you get me one? A test. If I go, my mother will find out.”
“And you don’t think my mom will?” She wouldn’t. After my dad died, she dropped out of the Parkfield life. She stopped going to lunch and golfing with the ladies. Finding someone to take care of her became more important.
“You’re different,” she said slowly. “People won’t question you. Especially since you’re back with Tristan.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sometimes I wondered why Anna and I were still friends.
I didn’t like any of her other friends, and she didn’t like Tristan.
I thought about breaking up with her. But Anna could be mean; I’d seen what she had done to other ex-friends.
And we were from a small town, social groups were established at a young age, and they rarely changed.
“I’m sorry, Ev, but people talk, and they all think you’ll be knocked up before graduation. That’s what happened to Tristan’s mom.”
“Fuck you.” I walked to the bathroom door. I didn’t need this from her too.
“Don’t go.” She gripped my arm, her blue eyes bright with tears.
“I don’t know what else to do. Matt won’t talk to me until I know.
I can’t tell my mother; she’ll kill me. And all my other friends, well, they think I’m stupid.
” She let go and slid down the wall, sitting on the dirty floor.
“I don’t think you’ll be knocked up by graduation,” she whispered to her feet. “I’m scared.”
I blew out my breath and sat down next to her. I pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”
Anna sobbed into my chest. This had never happened to anyone in our circle.
It happened to other people. Other girls who didn’t grow up in nice homes with loving parents.
At least that was the bullshit line we had been sold.
Like your financial status would protect you against things like pregnancy and bad grades.
Girls like me and Anna were supposed to do things in order.
Go to college, then marry our high school or college sweetheart.
Then put our lives on hold to have babies and raise a family.
There was no deviation from those plans.
The world would end if we did things differently.
“I’ll go, but if anyone sees me, I’m telling them it’s for a friend.”
She lifted her head. Mascara ran down her cheeks. For once the perfect Anna wasn’t so perfect.