What Kind of Love? by Sheila Cole Page B

word until we were out in the car. Then she exploded. She said she didn’t want me in the program. She said it wasn’t academic and I wouldn’t learn anything in it. “It’s designed for girls who are going to be nothing but mothers.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with being a mother?” I asked, which made her even madder.
    â€œIt’s not funny, Valerie,” she snapped at me. “Having a baby doesn’t have to mean your life is over. That program is a dead end. It doesn’t qualify you to go to college or teach you marketable skills—and take it from me, because I know from bitter experience, you’re going to need to earn a living. Eventually you’re going to have to be an adult. You can’t be a teenager who got pregnant for the rest of your life. You have to look ahead. That’s what Daddy and I are trying to tell you. That’s why we don’t want you to quit school. And that’s why you’re not going to keep this baby, if we have anything to say about it.”
    â€œYou don’t have anything to say about it,” I said, and we didn’t say another word the whole way home.
    I was thinking about what Mom said about the school-age mothers’ program being a dead end and about all the fun things I’d miss not going to school, like hanging out with Carrie and Dianne and all the other kids, and playing in the orchestra and being in school plays and the prom and graduation. And I started to feel sorry for myself. I even began to think that she’s right. I am too young to be anyone’s mother. Then I had to stop and tell myself it wasn’t the baby’s fault I got pregnant. It’s my fault for letting it happen—and Peter’s.
    Please don’t take it personally, my little astronaut. I know I shouldn’t feel that way about being pregnant with you. It’s not your fault. But sometimes when I think about all the things I’m going to miss out on, I can’t help it.

Saturday, August 24
    Yesterday Dianne asked me if I wanted to take a bike ride with her to El Moro Beach, “if it won’t hurt the baby or anything.” I said I couldn’t go. Then today Arianna asked me to go to the beach with her. There was no way I was going to let everyone see me in a bathing suit, so I made some excuse. The only people I don’t feel funny being with right now are Carrie and Nick. They’ve been terrific. Nick and I walked all the way to Penguin’s after dinner the other night: five miles there and back just to get some frozen yogurt. And last night Carrie and I went to the movies. Afterward we sat in the car and talked.
    She thought that it was a big mistake for me to switch schools. She said I was being paranoid, most kids wouldn’t even notice that I was pregnant. But I said she was wrong. How could I go to swim meets or football games or hang around the lunch tables where the guys sit when I was expecting a kid? And what was I going to do once the baby is born? Take it to my classes? To dances? Parties? There’s day care at the school-age mothers’ program. And the other girls in the program are in the same boat. She said I was throwing away my chance for a decent education. She was starting to sound just like my mom, so I changed the subject and asked about her and Tom. She said she knew she should break up with him because of what he did when she was away, but she didn’t want to because she still liked him a lot.
    She asked me about Peter. I said I thought he’d be home soon, although I didn’t know for sure.
    â€œHaven’t you spoken to him?” she asked.
    â€œNot for a week,” I admitted.
    â€œHe hasn’t called for a whole week!” she yelled.
    I told her that it’s hard for Peter to call from a pay phone with his father watching him all the time and with my mother or father hanging up on him. The whole time I was saying that, though, I was