School Ties by Tamsen Parker Page A

at my abdomen. No way. No freaking way. I grab my keys and I’m about to run out to my car in my flip-flops and cut-off sweatshirt, but an image of Shep flashes through my mind, tipped head and stern glare.
Don’t you dare.
    Though it’s silly—Shep can’t see me and even if he could, I’m the adult here—I take five minutes to grab my parka and put on socks and shoes before vaulting down the stairs and out to my Civic. It’s freezing, and I’m thankful I had the good sense to listen to the specter of Shep as I shiver in my car, waiting for the heat to turn on and warm me.
    I guide my car through the silent streets of campus and head two towns over to a drug store, paying cash for a pregnancy test. My face turns a vivid shade of red when the cashier, an older woman, eyes my ring finger and its distinct lack of ring. I may as well have a scarlet “A” tattooed on my forehead. I wave off the bag that’s too thin to hide its contents anyway and shove the box inside my coat. I hustle out to my car and shake the whole way home though it’s heated up by now.
    Once there, I go through the rigmarole everyone’s familiar with. The indignity of having to pee on a stick adds to the doomsday feeling that’s sinking my belly.
    Please, please, be on the fritz, cycle.
I haven’t felt sick, my breasts aren’t tender, I haven’t had cravings. Clearly, I. Am. Not. Pregnant. But when I look at the test after the requisite five minutes, there it is, as I knew it would be. Two blue lines, less welcome than even that red dot.
    I’m pregnant.
    Erin
    I’ve stood outside this door before. Not a lot, a couple of times. But now I know every inch of it. Every divot in the corkboard, the corner broken off the plaque announcing it as “Faculty Apartment 2,” the white paint chipped off revealing various colors this door’s been painted before. Dark brown, hospital green, and a startling seventies orange.
    It’s been almost a week since I made my discovery and I’ve been dreading this conversation. I got to avoid it for a few days because Will was in New Jersey with his family and this isn’t the kind of news I want to deliver by phone, but he’s back. I was hoping to talk to him before the boys swarmed the place, but he didn’t arrive on campus until the last minute. Now the hallway is thrumming with adolescent noises of boys catching up with each other after a month away and done for the moment with the minutiae of studying. It’s hard to get back into the swing of things.
    I flush when a door on the hall opens and Seung Park, a well-mannered sophomore who looks like a Korean pop star, emerges.
    â€œAre you looking for someone, Miss Brewster?”
    It’s unusual though not unheard of for faculty to be in dorms other than their own. My cheeks burn hot as I point a thumb at the door. “Believe I’ve found him. Thank you, Mr. Park.”
    With that, I really have to knock. So I turn, metaphorically straighten my big-girl pants and raise a hand, only to be almost bowled over by a Will Chase in a hurry.
    â€œErin. What’re you doing here?” He sounds more surprised than he ought. It’s possible color rises in his cheeks, though it’s hard to say with his reddish-brown beard obscuring most of his face.
    â€œI’m sorry. Uh, can I come in?”
    He checks his watch and shifts his weight, frowning.
Where are you in such a hurry to get to, Mr. Chase?
    â€œIt’s important,” I offer, hoping he won’t make me say anything else, knowing another door could open at any second. That would be my luck, too.
    He steps back from the threshold and sweeps an arm inside. “By all means. Let me make a phone call first.”
    After shutting the door and leaving me in the middle of his small sitting room, he disappears down the hall. I stand there, not wanting to take any liberties, looking around and trying