Luna shrugs. “She said she wouldn’t. She hasn’t given me a reason not to believe her yet, and I figure if she does tell your boyfriend, then we know Frog can’t be trusted anymore.”
That’s smart. I think this over, two fingers to my lips. “Do you think Frog stole the pregnancy test?”
“I gave her money to buy it, but I guess it’s possible.” She sifts through more pens. “What’d Akara say she stole in New York?”
“CDs, I think.” I frown more. “C fucking Ds. What do people even do with them anymore? I thought they were relics.”
“CDs could be portals to other dimensions. Maybe she knows something we don’t.”
I want to say that I could use a bunch of CDs if that’s the case. To escape my problems. But my stomach twists and knots into a stale pretzel. The Sulli who runs away is long gone.
Even the idea of moving backwards makes me recoil inside.
I glance at the inked script on my wrist.
Luna adds, “Tom likes CDs. He thinks they’re vintage cool.”
I snort.
Luna smiles, and for a split-second, I forget the elephant in the room.
I imagine Luna asking Frog for another test. “Won’t she start questioning things? She might start believing you’re actually pregnant, and then she could tell her cousin, who’d find out it’s not you. Then we’re both fucked!” I plop back down, staring at a stain on the ceiling. “It’s too risky.”
Luna lies back beside me.
I turn my head, our eyes meeting.
She says, “You’re probably right. It’s better if you tell Akara and Banks before anyone tells them. And we haven’t known Frog for that long.”
I nod and take a breath.
She sits up to grab the fallen lilac gel pen.
I watch her. “So let’s just say the test is right and I am pregnant.” Let’s roll with that fucking tornado.
Luna grows quieter and stares harder at her gel pens.
I frown. “Luna?” I lift myself on my elbows again.
“I’m a horrible person.”
“What?” I sit up fully now. Considering all that she’s done for me, plus being here as support and audience to my panic and meltdown, I’d say she’s a fucking superstar.
She colors in a planet tattoo on her thigh with the milky lilac pen. The galaxy fine-line tattoo peeks out from the hem of her jean shorts. Already half-colored with different types of marker. The more she draws, the more I see she’s avoiding looking at me.
“Luna,” I breathe. “You’re not a horrible person. I don’t believe that one fucking bit.” Where is this even coming from?
“If you were in my head, you’d know how awful I am,” she whispers softly. “My first thought should have been about supporting you.”
But it wasn’t? “You have been supporting me. You’re here.” My muscles pull taut, and I sit really fucking still. She’s my roommate in Philly. She’s one of the closest friends I currently have.
Guilt reddens her eyes. “I hate what I just thought.”
I swallow a rock. “What were you thinking? And hey, this is a judgment-free fucking zone. You know me, I always put my foot in my mouth.”
“I don’t know why I brought it up.” She’s quiet again, looking tormented.
I nudge her hip. “The truth will set you fucking free.” That’s what her mom always says. I’m clearly doing an abysmal job following this where my boyfriends are concerned, but I don’t point out my hypocrisy.
Luna lets out a long breath. “You really want to know?”
I probably should just let her bad thought perish. What if it changes our friendship? But I’d rather absolve Luna from whatever’s plaguing her. That’s what friends do, right? We dig through the nasty shit together.
So I say, “Lay it on me.”
She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I thought…I’m so happy it didn’t happen to me.”
Oh.
“Luna…” I start but I don’t know what else to say. I’m not great with words.
“It’s just…” She stops drawing on her knee. Her amber eyes rest against my green. “The world thinks I’m going to walk the same path as my mom. Become a sex addict. Have a surprise baby. I guess…it could still happen, but now I’m not the first, so I was just…relieved.”
She doesn’t seem happy now. Just remorseful.
“It’s okay,” I breathe.
“It’s not.” Her head drops.
“Yeah, it fucking is.” I elbow her until she raises her head. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you want to feel, and you know, I’m glad you weren’t first either if it’s not something you want.” She’s gone through a lot of hell being bullied in high school. People might think she’s an easy punching bag, but she’s one of the most resilient people I know.
“Do you want to have the baby then?” Luna wonders.
“I think so.” I pick at my ankle bracelet. “Plan B is different from an abortion…I don’t think I can abort a baby, knowing how hard it was for my mom to get pregnant, to have me…” I trail off, going quiet. “No part of me really wants to.”
Not even now.
At twenty-two.
With two boyfriends.
At the Summer Games.
I expel a heavy breath. “I just need to figure out how to tell Akara and Banks about it.”
Who’s the father? The thought plows into me. This might change everything all over again. I don’t want one of them to feel lesser because I’m having the other’s baby.
Jealousy hasn’t been a big factor these days, and what if that monster rears its fugly head?
Luna offers a sparkly turquoise gel pen. “You could write them a letter.”
Not a bad idea. While I take the pen, Luna lies on her belly and stretches to the floor, whisking a notebook from her backpack.
“Should I write two letters? One for each?” I ask. “Fuck, what if one letter sounds better than the other one and they compare—maybe I should just write one and address it to both. Ugh…” I rub my eyes, stress mounting.
Upright again, Luna places the notebook on my lap. “Don’t overthink.”
“That’s my fucking problem. I literally can’t stop overthinking.”
Luna smiles. “Whenever I get in my head, I just tell myself—do the opposite of what Moffy would do. No thinking, just go.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. And it’s kind of…you know, put me in some interesting situations. Not all great. But at least I didn’t stress about it.”
We’re both smiling.
She’s right. I need to go with the path that has the least amount of stress. For starters, I’m pretty sure stress is bad for a baby.
“One letter,” I say and flip open the notebook to a blank page. “I might give it to them the next time we cross paths.” Which I hope is soon. Despite carrying this massive secret, I miss having my boyfriends around me. “Decision fucking made.”
Telling them before trying to qualify for semifinals is probably not the best timing. But telling them after isn’t great timing either.