by Seven Steps
Not only that, he was gorgeous. I’d never been close to Julius Samson before. That was a shame. Up close, his blue eyes sparkled. His light brown hair tinted gold in the sunlight. His face was smooth and almost boyish, but in a sexy sort of way. He was every bit as handsome as girls said he was. Boys like Julius were meant to be salivated over, and boy was I salivating.
He raised his brows as if he expected me to say something.
And why wouldn’t he? I’d shouted his name in the middle of a busy street, an action most New Yorkers considered the height of disrespect.
Oops.
I stopped my gawking long enough to kick my brain into gear.
How exactly did one lead into fake pregnancy news? A joke? A comment on the weather? A political quip?
I decided to go with the whole ripping-off-the-bandage thing.
“Can I talk to you in private?” I asked.
He nodded without hesitation and offered me a warm, friendly smile so beautiful it should have come with a warning label. My knees were suddenly weak.
“We’ll meet up inside,” he said to the two guys who’d been walking with him. They slapped hands like they’d never see each other again and left.
Then, Julius stepped closer to me.
I’m five foot seven, yet I still had to crane my head to look into his eyes. Why did that make me feel so…dainty?
I gave myself a mental slap.
Get it together, girl. We have lives to ruin.
Julius’ brows knit together, and he looked at me as if I were an especially difficult math problem.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
Yup, that killed the mood real quick.
“I’m Megera Kotopuli. We go to St. Mary’s together.”
“Oh, right.”
I could tell he still had no clue who I was. I wanted to hide in a hole, but I couldn’t. I had to ensure my future by taking a piece of his.
Words tumbled out of me in a single breath.
“We met at Ronnie Garrison’s end of the year costume party in June. You were wearing a culturally insensitive Native American costume and I was dressed like Athena—”
“My sister?”
“No, the Grecian goddess of wisdom. Anyway, we were doing jello shots by the DJ booth and…”
His brows crinkled, and I could tell he was reliving that night and trying unsuccessfully to place me, but Clay was thorough. The costume would place him at the scene of the crime, and the jello shots would explain why he couldn’t remember me, among other things.
My lungs tried to lock, but I wouldn’t let them. My feet couldn’t keep still, but I had to get this out or I never would and it would be the end of life as I knew it.
Come on Megera. You can do this.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m four months pregnant, and you’re the father.”
My mouth clamped shut. There it was. The lie was out.
And I’d officially become the worst kind of person.
A liar.
I didn’t know how I expected Julius to react. Surely he’d go through all the emotions one would expect the recipient of such news to go through.
First, surprise (“Are you sure it was me?”) then disbelief (“No, this can’t be happening!”). Next, denial (“I don’t even remember you.”), probably anger (“Do you know what this will do to me when word gets out?”), and definitely suspicion (“Did someone put you up to this?”).
But he didn’t say any of those things.
He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, introducing me to his magnificent triceps, and said in the most polite voice I could imagine given the circumstances, “Look, I need some time to think about this. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Then he disappeared into The Center, leaving me and my empty belly on the sidewalk.
Alone.
I let out a breath and looked around as if video cameras would pop out at any minute and announce that I was on some crazy prank show.
Well that was weird, I thought.
He hadn’t even asked for a pregnancy test. If I were him, I’d demand a pregnancy test, paternity test, blood test, and one of those ancestry tests where they tell you what ethnicity your great-great-great-great-grandfather was—you know, just to be sure.
What kind of guy was Julius Samson?
Was he as terrible as Clay claimed him to be? Would he even play our little game?
Honestly, I probably would’ve felt better if he’d exploded at me. This polite, calm, collected guy was not something I’d anticipated.
I turned around and walked back in the direction I’d come from. It didn’t matter now. The wheels were in motion. If I was lucky, Julius would transfer out of school and out of my life by tomorrow…but something in the back of my mind reminded me of one inescapable truth.
I was never lucky.
My current situation was proof of that.
I turned and walked back toward the school. Pulling out my phone, I texted Sarah and asked if she wanted to meet me at Starbucks. Hopefully, she’d be willing to skip out on film club this afternoon and come see me, because I needed someone to talk to.
She texted back immediately saying she’d be there soon. Ten minutes later, Sarah and I sat in Starbucks. She was wearing a sweater vest and corduroy skirt despite the warm day.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, wrapping my fingers around the warm cup of coffee. “I know it was last minute.”
“It’s fine. Thanks for rescuing me from Caleb and Poppy’s discussion on the history of cinematography in film. The word Polaroid came up. It was painful.” Her head bobbed, sending sheets of brown hair spilling over one shoulder. She looked around the shop through black, horn-rimmed glasses, taking in each customer with the watchful eye of someone who’d seen one too many If you see something, say something posters.
“Do you want some coffee?” I asked.
“No thanks. I’m good.” She shrugged. “And I’m not a big coffee drinker.”
My eyes widened. Not a big coffee drinker? I lived for coffee. My blood was constantly caffeinated, and probably filled with cream and sugar too. The previous Christmas, Daddy had gotten me a French press coffee brewer, and I used it every day. Homer once called my coffee drinking an addiction. I’d called him a pig for saying it. Little did I knew, a week later, I’d be calling him a pig for a different reason.
We sat in awkward silence for a minute, me sipping my coffee, Sarah twiddling her fingers in her lap. Finally, I spoke up.
“So,” I said.
“So.” She looked at me expectantly.
And why shouldn’t she? I’d invited her here to talk, and there I was not talking. I squeezed my lips together and stared down at my coffee cup. Why had I assumed she’d show up and everything would magically fall into place? Like we were still best friends or something? Yes, I called her my friend, but really, I barely knew her anymore.
Come to think of it, all of my friends were like that—bodies that gathered around me from time to time, people to share a joke or two with. We didn’t really know each other. It was shallow.
Did that mean I was shallow too? Was Sarah?
God, I was such an idiot.
“So, how’s the location scouting going?” she asked.
I sipped my coffee, grateful she was breaking the ice first.
“I think we’re going to shoot up in Rhode Island for the outside stuff. For the inside stuff, I’m still looking.”
“It must be hard to find Grecian columns these days. After all, no one wants to be a dork.”
I frowned.
“A dork?”
Disappointment crossed Sarah’s face.
“It was a pun. Doric’s are a type of Grecian architecture.”
I nodded slowly.
“Oh. That’s…funny.”
Sarah’s cheeks reddened. “I thought you would get that one since you’re Greek.”
“Oh, well, I’ve never actually been to Greece. We’re not really world trav
elers.”
And then it was there again, the silence hanging between us. We were two unfunny people, sitting in a coffee shop, wondering where the conversation would go from there.
Finally, Sarah leaned forward and spoke up again.
“Do you need to talk?” she asked. “You look like you need to talk, and just in case you were wondering, I’m still a better listener than comedian. So, if you want to talk, I’m here.”
I looked into her eyes. Why did those words make my throat so hot? Maybe because it was the nicest thing anyone had said to me in a while. Mom and Dad were at the hospital all the time, Clay was using me for my womb, and Julius was probably cursing my name, but in the midst of all that, Sarah was offering me something so small and simple it took my breath away.
An ear that would listen.
I let out a breath.
“I just…” I said. Then I laughed, because I didn’t know what else to do. “I’m…” I drummed my fingers on my coffee cup. I wanted to tell Sarah what I was going through, but I didn’t want to name names. After all, this was our first heart-to-heart, but I had to say something or else I would explode.
“I know this girl who got herself into a…sort of…moral dilemma.”
She nodded slowly. “What kind of moral dilemma?”
“She told a lie that could really hurt someone.”
It was the perfect amount of information, enough for feedback but not enough for open judgement.
Sarah pushed up her thick glasses.
“Can’t she just say she’s sorry?” she asked.
I shook my head. “It’s not that simple. If she admits she lied, something bad will happen to her. If she doesn’t admit it, something bad will happen to someone else.”
Sarah frowned. “That is a moral dilemma.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
She took my hands from my cup and squeezed them in hers. Then, her mouth opened, and sounds emerged from it that I’d never heard before. It was a language, of that much I was sure, but which one? Chinese? Japanese? I didn’t know. I only spoke English, and Greek swear words.
When she was done, she looked at me.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“That was Chinese. It means: to see what’s right and not do it is want of courage or of principal. Confucius said it a long, long time ago. Tell your friend that knowing what’s right is the easy part. Being brave enough to stand for it is what’s difficult.”
I let her words sink in.
I knew what was right, but was I brave enough to do it?
At the moment, the answer was no.
I released Sarah’s hand and leaned back in my seat, feeling heavy and horrible.
She sat back too.
“Thank you, Sarah. I’ll tell my friend.”
She smiled a little, and in spite of my failing mood, I managed to smile back. I wondered if she realized I was the friend in the story.
“So, where did you learn to speak Chinese?” I asked.
“Lots and lots of manga and kung fu movies.”
My mouth dropped open. This girl in front of me wearing a sweater vest and glasses was into kung fu movies? When did that happen. The Sarah I knew before read science fiction books and spoke fluent Klingon. Talk about things changing.
“I’ve seen a kung fu movie,” I said. “Well, just the one Mr. Walters showed us in film club.”
“I helped him pick it out.” Sarah sat forward again, her words quickening with excitement. “It was one of my favorites.”
“It was pretty cool. Have you been to China, yet?”
“Twice. My dad’s company opened up a branch there last year. I’m going with him again this summer.”
She’d been to China twice? I’d only gone on a few cruises to the Bahamas. My old friend was getting cooler by the second. How could I not have spoken to her for so long?
We both relaxed. Sarah ordered a hot tea, and I sipped my coffee while we caught up on each other’s lives. It was amazing how much she’d changed in the last three years. Even more amazing was that there, in that coffee shop, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel so alone.
4
The next day, Dad texted me to head straight home from school but not to make any noise when I arrived. There was no explanation or reason why.
Dang it! I wanted to know why I couldn’t hang out at film club. Even an hour after school would have expelled all the negative thoughts running through my mind.
For a year, film club had been an oasis in the desert of my life. The projects had become a lifeline I held on to every time I remembered how quickly Homer had dumped me for that brainless cheerleader. The first time I saw them making out in the parking lot, I locked myself in my room, editing until my eyes blurred.
Being in film club made me feel more at home than anywhere else. Nobody judged me. They appreciated my work. It was the only one place where I could be myself.
And now I’d missed it.
Again.
I stepped through the front door but again no one greeted me. I checked the kitchen calendar and read my dad’s chicken scratch handwriting: Nausea meds arriving.
I examined a note hanging beneath a purple eggplant-shaped magnet. Please don’t make any noise as your mom fell asleep at three and I’m busy with phone calls.
I sighed. Thanks for the warning, Dad.
The doorbell chime reverberated throughout the house, and I sprinted from the kitchen.
If they didn’t have the right meds this time, I was going to be pissed. Mom’s nausea medicine was going to run out within a day, and the replacement was already three days late.
Three freaking days.
Didn’t the delivery company know she needed her meds? Didn’t they care how much she suffered?
I swung open the door with my left hand extended to grab the package, but the person standing there was not the delivery guy.
My eyes widened, but I tried to disguise my shock by waving my fingers.
“Um, hi.”
Julius! He was all beautiful body and perfectly imperfect hair and polite grin.
What’s he doing at my house? And how the heck did he find out where I lived? Who did he ask? Oh no! Does he suspect that Clay set this whole thing up and I’m not pregnant? Is he upset?
My heart pounded so hard I thought it would end up on the front steps. I had to relax and play it cool or else Julius would know that something was up. I sucked in a breath.
“Can, um…can I help you?”
What a dumb line.
The setting sun illuminated him from the back, making him appear almost angelic. He gave me a nervous smile.
“Hi. Is this a good time to talk?”
I closed the door behind me, hoping my parents hadn’t heard him.
“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
He stuck his hands in his tight black jeans, which fit him oh so well.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
I frowned. What did he have to be sorry about? I was the one trying to pull a fast one on him to get my tuition paid for. A tiny bit of guilt stirred in my soul.
He shifted his weight from one foot to another. “I wasn’t exactly nice to you yesterday, and I wasn’t raised that way. So, I’m sorry.”
I stared at his broad shoulders and wide chest, only half listening. My heart beat faster and faster. Something about him sent my pulse into overdrive.
I cleared my throat. I had to concentrate—but how could I concentrate when those baby blues were staring at me like that? So vulnerable and innocent…so beautiful.
Get a grip, girl. He’s only here because of Clay’s plan. Nothing more, nothing less.
Julius kept talking, probably because I was gawking at him instead of answering.
“Look, I know my behavior wasn’t the best.” He lowered his eyes and rocked on his heels. “Nor was it the night we, um…when we made the baby.”
My eyes popped open. Now he had my full attention.
&nb
sp; “Shush.” I grabbed his arm and moved him away from the front door to the large oak tree by the fence, just in case my dad decided to listen in. “I haven’t told my parents.”
And hopefully they’d never find out about this little charade.
“I haven’t told mine either. One of my brothers fractured his arm this week, so I didn’t want to add any more headaches, you know?” He leaned his back against the tree. “I wanted to make sure we had a solid plan first.” He rested his sneaker on a raised tree root. “Look, I didn’t want to ask you to do this, but I know my parents will make us even if I don’t want to.”
After a couple of seconds, I asked, “Make us do what?”
“Can we take a paternity test once the baby is born?” He stared off into space. “Just to make sure. I mean, I know you had a boyfriend before, and I just want to…well, you know.”
I almost broke out laughing. I was actually happy that he asked—it proved he wasn’t totally naïve.
“Sure. I mean, I was with Homer, but we, uh, we didn’t sleep together…ever. So…” I cleared my throat again. Julius had been practically a stranger five minutes ago, and now I was sharing my entire sexual history with him. Man, did it feel awkward. “I haven’t been with anyone.”
He nodded.
“Me either. Just you. “
It took a second for my brain to process his words. When it did, my stomach dropped to my knees.
Great. Just great. Now I’d fake taken his virginity too? How could this get any worse?
“Yeah.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “That night is like a blur to me. I remember drinking, but I don’t remember you.” He held up one hand. “Not that I’m saying it didn’t happen, because I know you wouldn’t lie about it, but it’s just that I can’t remember.” A reassuring smile appeared and his white teeth showed through his lips.
His kissable lips…
“And Clay told me we snuck out together toward the end of the party and he didn’t see us return.” He stared at his sneakers. “He said he saw us kissing and stuff.”
His cheeks reddened as he referred to an act that, in actuality, never happened. I was starting to think that Julius wasn’t the dog Clay claimed he was.