The look of concern on Adney’s face is instant. “What is it?”
Mom hems and haws until I can’t take it anymore.
“I’m pregnant.” The words fly out of my mouth easily. Helps that I’ve been telling a few people at school. They’ve all kept their mouths shut. Even Marty Torres, my ex’s cousin.
Though Marty hates his cousin so he’s totally taken my side.
Adney doesn’t even blink. “I see. I suppose you want to talk about transferring to online schooling? We have an excellent program—”
“No, I don’t,” I say, interrupting her. “If I transfer to online only, then I’ll be considered graduating from a continuation school, correct?”
“Well, yes,” Mrs. Adney says, clearing her throat. “But it’s more understandable, when a student is in your—situation.”
I’m reminded of AP English my sophomore year, when we read The Scarlet Letter. I have become Hester Prynne.
“I want to go to college—a state university, not community college.” Mom starts to speak, but I talk right over her. “It’s been my goal since I graduated eighth grade to go to San Diego State.”
I’ve been working toward that goal for the last three years. Made a vision board and everything. When I peed on that stupid stick and it came up with two pink lines, I started to cry. Not just because I was pregnant, but also because I ruined my future plans. There will be no San Diego State for me. I can’t go to school with a baby, that far away from my family and friends. I need help.
After a few days of debilitating depression and constant weeping, I set my goals closer to home.
“That’s impossible now, Jocelyn,” Mom says, her voice soft.
“I know.” I turn to look at my mother, spotting the concern and worry in her gaze. I look just like her, minus my eye color. Mine are blue; hers are brown. I love her fiercely. Even when she’s looking at me like I’m broken and she knows there’s no way she can fix me.
“I only brought it up because when faced with this type of situation before, the student usually opts to go to school online,” Mrs. Adney explains, her tone gentle. “They believed it was best they remain off-campus.”
“You want to hide me?” I ask her point blank.
Mrs. Adney blinks rapidly, but that’s her only outward reaction to my question. “Absolutely not. You are more than welcome to finish your school year on campus.”
I lift my chin. “I think that’s what I’m going to do then.”
“Jocelyn.” I glance over at my mother once more. She’s studying me as if I’ve sprouted a second head and she’s absolutely horrified. “You should reconsider your decision, don’t you think?”
“You don’t need to make any decisions until…how far along are you?” Mrs. Adney asks.
“Around eight weeks. Maybe nine. Ten?” I answer, a little unsure. My hand automatically goes to my stomach, resting there. I’m not showing. Not at all. Everything feels the same. I’ve not really experienced morning sickness either, though certain smells get to me.
Pancake syrup? Gross.
Lunch meat? Please don’t make me eat it.
Raw chicken? Hurl.
Otherwise, I just feel like myself.
Oh, minus the exhaustion. I live for naps lately.
“You won’t really show for a couple of months still, and we’ll be in full-blown sweater weather by then. You can hide your belly easily.” Mrs. Adney hesitates for only a moment before she adds, “If you want to.”
I’ve discovered there is a lot of shame in being a pregnant teenager. Everyone wants to keep it hush hush, and they treat you like someone with a contagious disease. Some of my friends are avoiding me at all costs, and that…
Hurts.
“I don’t care who knows I’m pregnant, or if they see my belly.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance. The idea of waddling around campus in my eighth month of pregnancy is terrifying. What if I get really fat? No boys will look at me.
No boys will look at me now, so I guess I’ll be used to it by the time I’m ready to burst.
Mom’s shaky hand settles on my knee. “Are you sure?” Her question is a whisper.
I shrug, not looking at her. I can’t, or I might start crying all over again. “I have nothing to hide.”
A choked sound escapes her and I glance in her direction for only a second. She appears ready to crumple. Mrs. Adney looks as if she’s almost…
Impressed.
“We’ll stand by you, no matter what your choice is. And if it gets harder to be on campus, or the workload proves difficult, please don’t hesitate to contact me. We can go ahead and enroll you full-time online or even a couple of courses, whatever your decision may be.” Mrs Adney rises to her feet, an indication this conversation is over.
Which is fine with me, because I’m starting to realize it was sort of pointless to meet with her anyway.
Within minutes Mom and I are ushered out of Adney’s office and we’re exiting the administration building. I take a deep, fortifying breath of the crisp fall air, a shiver stealing over me. It’s after school, there aren’t too many people around, and I’m dying to be alone in my car with my thoughts. Thank God, Mom met me here so I don’t have to ride home with her. The last thing I want is to hear her go on and on about ‘my situation,’ as she calls it.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” she says wryly.
“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and it came to me last night that I don’t want to go to school online. I’ll miss all of my friends. And graduating from a continuation school will only hurt my chances to get into a good college,” I explain as I walk with her to the visitor parking lot where her car is.
“It’s just—” Mom stops and I do too. “They’re all going to talk about you.”
“They’re already talking about me,” I say, not really caring. Only because I’ve become used to it. The gossip. The stares. The whispers behind my back.
It sucks, but what can I do?
“And you’ll see Diego,” she continues.
“I see him already.” Seeing his face in class or in the halls is slowly killing me inside, but I deal with it. He won’t even look at me, and I return the favor, clinging to the knowledge of just how badly he did me wrong. Remembering what he did to me justifies my hatred toward him.
Hatred toward the father of my unborn child.
Yeah, that is so…depressing.
“And doesn’t it hurt you, having to see him? Is he still with that—girl?” Mom’s face screws up when she says the last word, and I appreciate her disgust toward a certain person named Cami Lockhart.
I hate her too.
“I don’t know. I’ve heard rumors about them,” I say with a shrug.
“Like what?”
“Like they might’ve already split up.” I don’t know if what I’ve heard is the truth. They weren’t together very long if the rumors are true, because I’ve been hearing them for a while. I don’t see them together on campus, but that doesn’t mean anything.
I never saw them together on campus when he was cheating on me with her, so they could still be messing around in secret.