by Catherine Lo
And that’s where my memory gets choppy. The parts of the night I do remember are vivid, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t piece together what happened in between those memories. It makes me sick to think of what I may have forgotten.
After being on the couch with Annie and Scott, I suddenly found myself in a group of girls who had their claws out, gossiping mercilessly about our classmates. Emily was there, and Larissa, which is tragic, because I remember clearly how I bashed Courtney and called her a bitch. I felt like I was flying at the time, though, and I suddenly understood why Courtney is so mean. I felt powerful and beautiful and free. Being on the inside was like a drug, and when the other girls laughed at my impersonation of Courtney, the pure joy of it flooded my veins.
A heartbeat later and I was back on the couch with Scott. I don’t know where Annie was. I was sleepy, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. He was asking me something, but I couldn’t make out the words. I knew I should lift my head and look at him, but it felt so good to lean into his strong arm and pretend that he was my boyfriend for a few minutes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, moving away from me so that my head bobbed.
He caught hold of my chin and searched my face with those puppy dog eyes of his. “Mmmhmmm,” I said, smiling. “So happy tonight.”
His face melted into a smile that showed off his dimples. “Jessica Avery,” he scolded playfully, “you’ve been drinking.”
“Shhhh!” I said, flirting with him. “Don’t tell my mom.”
His laugh was deep, and I felt it vibrating in my chest. He was so perfect. I love you, I thought to myself.
But when his eyes widened and he jumped up off the couch, it dawned on me that perhaps I’d said the words out loud.
“I think maybe it’s time we got you home,” he said, backing away like I might leap on top of him. I definitely said them out loud.
Then I was dancing in a crowd by the speakers and the room was swirling around me in the most intoxicating way. I felt like I was one beat ahead of the music all the time, dancing the way I’d always wished I could. This must be the key to dancing, I thought. Letting go.
Then Courtney was beside me. “I see we’ve conquered our anxiety for the evening,” she shouted over the music. The words slithered out of her mouth and wrapped themselves around my chest, squeezing with that familiar pressure. I wanted to punch her for ruining my moment of freedom. I was suddenly hyperaware of my body, and I went from dancing with abandon to stumbling over my own feet.
I pushed my sweaty hair back and met Courtney’s gaze. “What did you say?”
“You know, your crippling anxiety that prevents you from being normal—it doesn’t seem to be a problem tonight. You seem super comfortable hanging out with all my friends and calling me a bitch.”
The room swayed while I tried to make sense of what she was saying. Now that I was standing still, the room should really have stopped moving. I opened my mouth to toss a witty comeback her way . . .
And instead I puked. All over Courtney.
Larissa screeched, the music stopped, and all of a sudden all eyes were on me. I swayed for a moment, and Annie was there to prop me up. Annie. Courtney. A horrible truth was revealing itself in my mind.
“Have you been drinking?” Annie asked, her face contorted with disbelief. I stared at her, letting Courtney’s words play back in my head. Crippling anxiety.
“Jessie,” Annie said slowly, looking worried, “is it okay to mix alcohol with your medication?”
My medication? I yanked my arm away from her and swayed dangerously, afraid I might throw up again. “What are you talking about—medication?”
Annie fidgeted, looking around for support.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Courtney yelled, pulling her soaking shirt away from her body. “Your crazy girl meds. The ones that keep you from being a complete and utter psycho like you are right now.”
The last thing I saw before the room went black was Annie’s guilt-ridden face.
The next thing I knew, I was being loaded into my mom’s car, and she was on the phone with someone asking about drug interactions. Annie was crying and apologizing over and over again. And that’s when I put it together. I heard my mother’s voice in my mind—I think it might be time for you to tell Annie about your anxiety. I leaned forward, puked all over her car, and then surrendered to the darkness again.
That’s all I remember before waking up this morning with a headache so intense I thought someone was cracking my skull open.
Mom has been in and out of here all day, presumably checking to see that I’m still breathing before screaming at me over and over again about responsibility and taking care of my health and how I could have killed myself. I let her words bounce off me and roll around on the floor. She told Annie. She took my deepest secret and just handed it over like it was nothing. And then Annie told Courtney, who told the world. I will never, ever trust any of them again. They have ruined my life.
My phone has been buzzing all day with messages and voice mails from Annie. I open the texts and delete them immediately. I want Annie to see on her phone that I got her messages but didn’t reply. I want her to suffer.
I thought she was different. I thought we were different. But she betrayed me just like Courtney and Larissa.
When I think about last night, I may as well be back in seventh grade, alone on the playground, because I feel exactly the same way I did back then—small and worthless and ashamed.
Annie
Jess is a total bitch.
I’ve talked to her mom twice now, so I know she’s awake and that she’s okay, but she refuses to pick up the phone when I call. I’ve sent her a million texts that she won’t reply to, and I just tried messaging her on Facebook to find that she unfriended me.
Happy Birthday to me, right?
I know she’s mad I told Courtney, but she won’t even let me explain. I did what I did to help her. I was being a friend.
If she were truly my friend, she would hear me out. She’d let me explain, at least. And then we’d talk about it. But no. Like always, Jessie is convinced that she’s right and that everyone is against her. She’s probably pouting in her room, thinking about how awful I am. Like I’m the one who got wasted and started hanging all over her boyfriend.
I read the books Mrs. Avery gave me, and I feel like I understand about her anxiety and depression. But here’s the thing: I don’t think those are excuses for being a shitty friend. I don’t see why I always have to be the one to overlook stuff and be understanding and she gets to be as immature and demanding as she wants.
Not to mention that you’d think she’d be cutting me some slack right now. She’s so fucking self-involved. She is the only person on earth who knows that I’m pregnant. Shouldn’t she be worrying about my feelings for five minutes? Shouldn’t she make some allowances for me?
I leave her one last voice mail. I tell her I’m sorry and that it was a misunderstanding. I tell her I want the chance to talk to her about it and show her my side of things. I’m not going to chase after her forever. If she values our friendship, she’ll give me a chance and call me back. If I don’t hear from her, then I’ll know her answer.
Ugh.
I so don’t need this right now, on top of everything else.
Like I wasn’t feeling shitty enough.
All last night at the party I felt like such a fraud. It’s eating me up inside, keeping this secret from Scott. I know I should tell him I’m pregnant. This affects him, too, and he should know. But I just can’t bring myself to do it.
It’ll change everything. The easy, fun connection we have will get strained and awkward. We’ll have real, grown-up decisions to make. I’m not ready for that. I want to be happy and carefree and young for a while longer. I’ve been sixteen for only twenty-four hours, for Christ’s sake.
Plus, I have absolutely no idea how he’ll react to this news. I don’t even know how I want him to react. Even the thought of hav
ing this conversation with him short-circuits my brain. This cannot be real. It cannot be happening to me.
What if he breaks up with me? What if he decides this is all too much for him and he just leaves? What will I do then?
If I get an abortion, I might not even need to talk to him. Maybe I can just pretend that none of this ever happened. I can stay with Scott and keep all my friends and still be me.
I can’t tell him yet. I need to decide what I want to do first. I don’t want to ruin everything for no reason.
Jessie
She’s done? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
I stabbed at the screen of my phone, replaying Annie’s last voice mail.
How dare she?
Even the tone of her voice made me livid. She was so smug: “I’ve called and texted you all day, but you refuse to talk to me. You even blocked me on Facebook. That’s not how friends treat each other, Jessie. And the day after my birthday, too. If you’re really my friend, you’ll call me and we’ll talk this through. You don’t know my side of the story at all. I have so many things to tell you, but I’m done chasing you. If you don’t want to talk to me, then fine. Walk away. But if you do value our friendship, please call me back and we’ll talk.”
I could almost see her shrugging her shoulders and giving up, and it pissed me off. She expended what? . . . Like five hours of effort into making it up to me? A bunch of worthless texts and phone calls? If it had been me, I would have gone to her house, sent her apology flowers—anything to show that I was sorry and that I cared about her.
I threw my phone down and pulled my laptop toward me. I’d been trolling Facebook all day, looking for references to the party. I hit Refresh and held my breath as it reloaded. Still nothing. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or upset.
I pulled up my friends list and scanned through it, feeling sick. All those people, and none of them real friends. Annie wasn’t on the list, of course. I unfriended her the minute I woke up today.
I picked up my phone again, suddenly desperate to erase every bit of evidence of our friendship. I deleted all her messages and texts and then pulled up her number and blocked her from my contacts, but it still felt unsatisfying. It still felt as if she’d had the last word.
I looked back at my laptop screen. Scott was on Facebook. I could see the little green light beside his name on my chat sidebar.
Why should I keep her secrets when she didn’t keep mine?
All it would take was one little click and a carefully worded message.
Hi, Scott. I’m so sorry about last night. I was really drunk and stupid and I don’t even remember half of what happened. But I do remember wanting to tell you something. Annie has been keeping a huge secret from you. You really need to ask her about it.
Annie
I can feel Jessie’s eyes on me, but I refuse to turn around. She flounced past me on her way into class earlier, her nose in the air, sighing loudly as she passed my desk. Her whole woe is me routine is bugging the shit out of me. She’s been skulking around all morning, looking wounded and waiting for me to make things right.
I apologized already. It’s her turn to apologize to me. And not just for ignoring me and being a bitch—she owes me an apology for slobbering all over Scott at the party. I mean, come on. It takes a shitload of nerve to play the victim when you’re a backstabber who’d make a move on your best friend’s boyfriend.
Scott. The back of my neck goes hot with sudden realization. I haven’t heard from Scott all morning. Weird.
I reach down and ease my phone out of my bag, careful not to let Miss Fletcher see it. I must have missed his text this morning. I rest the phone inside my desk and open my messages. Not a single text from Scott. He always messages me first thing in the morning.
I chew on my lip, my mind turning over the possibilities. Is he home sick? Did he lose his phone again? I wait for Miss Fletcher to write something on the board before firing off a quick text: Haven’t heard from you all day! Everything ok?
It takes about three seconds for the reply to come in. We need to talk.
Why? What’s wrong?
Let’s talk at lunch.
You’re freaking me out. Is everything ok?
We’ll talk at the diner.
The diner? We’re not supposed to leave school property at lunch, though no one really makes a huge deal about it. Almost everyone eats in the cafeteria. Joel’s Diner is a twenty-minute walk from school, and it’s hard to get there and back in time for class.
Ok . . . meet at my locker?
Meet you at Joel’s.
What the hell? Butterflies swoop in my stomach. Something’s wrong. Scott sounds so mad. I rack my brain trying to think of a reason why. Did we have plans I forgot about? Was I supposed to message him last night? We chatted over Facebook in the afternoon, and he wasn’t mad at all . . .
I’m shaking by the time I walk into Joel’s at lunch. I practically ran the whole way, so I’m surprised to see Scott already here. He’s in a booth at the back, already ordering from a waitress. Nice that he waited for me.
I give myself a mental shake. Stop freaking out like a pathetic girl. You haven’t done anything wrong.
I walk up with a confidence I don’t feel. “Hi,” I say, trying hard to sound bright and cheerful.
Scott doesn’t even look up at me. “Order fast so we’re not late for class.”
The waitress raises her eyebrows at his tone. “I’ll have a burger and fries,” I mumble, sliding into the booth. “And a ginger ale, if you have it.”
She scribbles down my order and rushes off. I’m gripped with the sudden urge to call her back and ask her to sit down so I won’t have to face this alone.
I look up and meet Scott’s eyes. He’s staring at me.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I ask.
“Are you keeping secrets from me?”
My blood runs cold. He can’t possibly know. “Secrets? No . . . what makes you think I’m keeping secrets?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, they’re so sad that it breaks me. “If there’s anything you need to tell me, Annie, just say it. Please don’t lie to me.”
This isn’t the time or the place. I’m not ready to have this conversation yet. But the hurt in those eyes that I love so much . . .
“I’m pregnant.” Holyfuckingshit. I want to reach out and grab the words and push them back into my mouth.
Whatever Scott thought I was going to say, that sure wasn’t it. His face goes completely white. “What? When did this happen?”
“I missed my period last month and I took a test and—”
“Last month? You’ve known this for a month and you’re just telling me now?”
“No. Almost. Wait . . .” My head is spinning.
“Why would you wait?”
“Hold on a second. You’ve got it all wrong. I missed my . . . you know . . . and then it took me a while to realize I was so late. Then I took a test. So really, I think I’ve known for all of two weeks or so. But why is that important?”
“What do you mean, why is that important? How long do we have left to take care of it?”
“What are you talking about?”
He leans in close, his eyes dark. “I mean, what were you waiting for? Till it was too late?”
“Too late for what?”
“An abortion.” He hisses out the word, looking around nervously.
“What? No! Of course not. There’s still lots of time for those decisions. I was . . . just . . . I wanted to tell you at the right time.”
Scott’s fury is white-hot. “The right time? Are you fucking serious? What right time would there possibly be for you to tell me you’re ruining my life and that you’ve been hiding something major from me for a month!”
“Two weeks . . .”
“Whatever!” He’s obviously not worried about being overheard anymore. The waitress fidgets by the counter.
“Cal
m down. I’m not keeping secrets. This was hard for me, too. I totally freaked out and got scared. This isn’t exactly the kind of information you can just toss out there, you know?” I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away. “Come on, Scott. Of course I was going to tell you. Of course you need to know. Because this is your child and we need to make these decisions together.”
The panic in his eyes takes my breath away. “My child? Annie! What’s wrong with you? We’re sixteen years old. We can’t have a child! What are we going to do, drop out of school and get jobs at the Dollar Store to support it? You’re insane.”
“I never said we were going to keep it, I just said we had to talk about it. And talking usually involves conversation, not someone yelling at the other person.” The tears are out in full force now, and I swipe at them angrily. I don’t want to cry in front of him.
“How did this happen, anyway?” His eyes are accusing.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you telling me you don’t remember us having sex?”
“Of course I remember that. But you were supposed to be on the Pill.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I’m the angry one now. “Who said anything about the Pill? What did you think, that I’d go up to my dad and ask him to fill my birth control prescriptions? Where the fuck would I get the Pill?”
“When I asked you if we could stop using condoms, you said it was okay.”
“Excuse me?”
“When. I. Asked . . .”
“I heard you. But first of all, you didn’t ask if it was okay. You announced that you hated condoms and said you couldn’t feel anything, so you wanted to stop wearing them. There was no question in there. And we never talked about the Pill. I said it was okay because I wanted you to enjoy it, not because I was on birth control.”
“Then you never should have said yes.”
“Why is it all my responsibility to take care of the birth control? You never even asked. And why would I have insisted on condoms from the beginning if I was on the Pill?”