okay. I can’t have a baby, Jake! I’m seventeen!” Chloe cried. “But I can’t have an abortion! It has a heartbeat! Did you hear that? It’s an actual person.”
“I know … I, yeah, I know.” I had no idea what I was saying.
Wait. Did she just say she can’t have an abortion?
“But, Chloe, we can’t be, like, parents,” I said, panicking. “I mean, can we?”
“No! No, no, no. We can’t. We definitely can’t,” she replied, rambling. “We sooooo can not be parents.”
“Well then, what’re we gonna do?” I said, pressing the side of my fist against my mouth. I felt like if I didn’t, I was gonna hurl.
Chloe did this groan-whimper thing that made her sound like a dying puppy. She turned sideways and slid off the table, pacing back and forth in the small room. “My parents are going to kill me.”
“No, they’re not,” I said automatically. I wiped my hands on the butt of my jeans. But then I realized I had no idea what her parents would do. Some people were crazy about this kind of thing. They, like, threw their kids out of the house over stuff like this. “I mean, they’re not actually going to murder you. Right?”
“Oh. God.” Chloe covered her face with both hands and cried. Her shoulders bounced and she started making these scary choking sounds. Okay, clearly someone was going to have to hold it together around here, and it wasn’t going to be her. I walked around the table, thinking of the doctor’s silent look, and put my arms around Chloe.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” I pressed my lips together and tried to think. What would make her feel better right now? What could I do or say to make myself feel like less of a prick? “What if we tell my parents first? Like a kind of test run?”
Chloe let out what I thought was a laugh. It was hard to tell with the snorting and blubbering. How the hell did I end up here? Chloe and I had always been casual friends, but until thissummer we’d never even talked much. How was it me here, holding her and talking about babies? It should’ve been Hammond. It should’ve been Will. It should’ve been anybody but me.
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
“What?” I leaned back to see her face. Her nose was swollen, her eyes were puffed, and her lips were rimmed with red blotches.
Chloe’s hands dropped. “Your parents are way stricter than mine. If we tell them, your dad will definitely kill you.”
I swallowed hard as Chloe grabbed up her denim jacket and bag. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she wasn’t. In fact, I was kind of thinking about hiding my dad’s shotgun as soon as I got home.
“I think we should wait,” Chloe said, sniffling. She stared at a painting of a sailboat on the wall, like she was talking to it instead of me. “Yeah. I think we should wait to tell our parents until we figure out what we’re going to do. It’ll go better if we have, like, a plan.” She glanced at me then, and swiped the back of her hand under her nose. “Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
As I trailed her out of the room I bit my tongue to keep from saying what I was thinking. If we couldn’t even get through a doctor’s appointment without freaking, crying, and almost ralphing, then how the hell were we going to figure out what to do?
ally
The metal soccer bleacher seat cut into the back of my legs as I watched Hammond take the ball upfield toward the goal. I hadto remember not to wear shorts to these games from now on. When I stood up, I was going to look like I’d been sitting on a cheese grater. But then, it would be too cold to wear shorts soon anyway. It was so weird to think that this was our last fall in high school. That this time next year, I’d be cheering for some random dudes on some random college team. Last night over pasta at the Olive Garden, my dad and I had narrowed my choices down from twenty-five to ten, but the schools were still all over the country—everywhere from Stanford to Texas to
“I know … I, yeah, I know.” I had no idea what I was saying.
Wait. Did she just say she can’t have an abortion?
“But, Chloe, we can’t be, like, parents,” I said, panicking. “I mean, can we?”
“No! No, no, no. We can’t. We definitely can’t,” she replied, rambling. “We sooooo can not be parents.”
“Well then, what’re we gonna do?” I said, pressing the side of my fist against my mouth. I felt like if I didn’t, I was gonna hurl.
Chloe did this groan-whimper thing that made her sound like a dying puppy. She turned sideways and slid off the table, pacing back and forth in the small room. “My parents are going to kill me.”
“No, they’re not,” I said automatically. I wiped my hands on the butt of my jeans. But then I realized I had no idea what her parents would do. Some people were crazy about this kind of thing. They, like, threw their kids out of the house over stuff like this. “I mean, they’re not actually going to murder you. Right?”
“Oh. God.” Chloe covered her face with both hands and cried. Her shoulders bounced and she started making these scary choking sounds. Okay, clearly someone was going to have to hold it together around here, and it wasn’t going to be her. I walked around the table, thinking of the doctor’s silent look, and put my arms around Chloe.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” I pressed my lips together and tried to think. What would make her feel better right now? What could I do or say to make myself feel like less of a prick? “What if we tell my parents first? Like a kind of test run?”
Chloe let out what I thought was a laugh. It was hard to tell with the snorting and blubbering. How the hell did I end up here? Chloe and I had always been casual friends, but until thissummer we’d never even talked much. How was it me here, holding her and talking about babies? It should’ve been Hammond. It should’ve been Will. It should’ve been anybody but me.
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
“What?” I leaned back to see her face. Her nose was swollen, her eyes were puffed, and her lips were rimmed with red blotches.
Chloe’s hands dropped. “Your parents are way stricter than mine. If we tell them, your dad will definitely kill you.”
I swallowed hard as Chloe grabbed up her denim jacket and bag. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she wasn’t. In fact, I was kind of thinking about hiding my dad’s shotgun as soon as I got home.
“I think we should wait,” Chloe said, sniffling. She stared at a painting of a sailboat on the wall, like she was talking to it instead of me. “Yeah. I think we should wait to tell our parents until we figure out what we’re going to do. It’ll go better if we have, like, a plan.” She glanced at me then, and swiped the back of her hand under her nose. “Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
As I trailed her out of the room I bit my tongue to keep from saying what I was thinking. If we couldn’t even get through a doctor’s appointment without freaking, crying, and almost ralphing, then how the hell were we going to figure out what to do?
ally
The metal soccer bleacher seat cut into the back of my legs as I watched Hammond take the ball upfield toward the goal. I hadto remember not to wear shorts to these games from now on. When I stood up, I was going to look like I’d been sitting on a cheese grater. But then, it would be too cold to wear shorts soon anyway. It was so weird to think that this was our last fall in high school. That this time next year, I’d be cheering for some random dudes on some random college team. Last night over pasta at the Olive Garden, my dad and I had narrowed my choices down from twenty-five to ten, but the schools were still all over the country—everywhere from Stanford to Texas to
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