What Kind of Love? by Sheila Cole

from a pay phone somewhere in Massachusetts. His father’s trying to enroll him in some prep school, but Peter doesn’t think he’ll get in because it’s too late—their classes are already filled. They are only talking to him to be polite because his father went there. He said he’ll be home before school starts. He was telling me that he loves me when the line went dead.
    What if he does get into that school? I know he said that everything would be all right, that he’ll be back and we’ll be together. But I can’t help worrying. Nothing has gone right for us so far, has it?

Sunday, August 18
    Mrs. Ikura has been looking at me kind of funny. I wonder if she can tell. She hasn’t said anything. I’ve been wearing super loose clothes, so maybe she doesn’t know. I can’t afford to lose this job now.
    I’ve been working and working on The Lark, and it still doesn’t sound right. Sometimes I think I should give it up, but I can’t. I have to do this. It’s a challenge. My music is the only thing in my life that isn’t a complete mess.

Monday, August 19
    Mom and I went back to see Dr. Price this morning for my five-month checkup.
    Although I dreaded going, I have to admit it wasn’t so bad. It felt kind of weird—lying there with my belly uncovered, with this man I hardly knew bending over it, listening to my insides with this cold stethoscope. I could feel his breath against my skin. He let me take a turn listening to the baby’s heart. I couldn’t hear anything that sounded like a heartbeat, but I said I did.
    He asked me if I had felt the baby move. I didn’t think so, but when he said it felt like a butterfly fluttering, I realized I had. Then I had the ultrasound.
    It was incredible! The nurse or technician put some sort of warm goop on my belly and then rubbed this plastic thing back and forth over it, and there it was on this television screen—a tiny baby. My baby !
    Until the minute I saw it, and its tiny hand moved as if it were waving at us, I had never thought about it as a real baby. It was just something that was causing me trouble. But when I saw it, tears came into my eyes.
    The technician was nice. “It really is something to actually see it,” she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to cry.
    She asked if I wanted to wait to see if it would move so we could tell if it was a boy or a girl. I wanted to know, and at the same time I didn’t. Anyway, the baby never got into a position where we could see. It doesn’t matter. It’s mine, whatever it is—mine and Peter’s.
    Now that I know what it’s like, I keep feeling the baby move. It hasn’t stopped the whole time I’ve been writing.
    My dear little astronaut with your butterfly kicks, I love you.

Tuesday, August 20
    Mrs. Ikura asked me if I was pregnant this morning. I knew she would let me go as soon as she found out, and she did.
    She said she’d thought I might be pregnant for a couple of weeks now, but she wasn’t sure. She told me she was sorry to have to let me go because I’ve been a good worker. But she needs someone who can do a lot of lifting and carrying, and she doesn’t feel that she can ask me to do it in “my condition.”
    I wanted to beg her to change her mind, but I didn’t. I didn’t say a word. I just bit my lip and nodded like I understood.
    I didn’t really like working there that much anyway. But it was a job, and I needed the money. I’m going to need money even more with the baby coming—and who’s going to hire me if they know I’m pregnant?
    Wow! I just had an idea! What if I could give violin lessons to little kids? Mrs. Rykoff would know, but I’m embarrassed to ask her because I’d have to explain to her why I want to do it.

Wednesday, August 21
    Sandy’s friend Heather came over. They were talking about what classes