So . . . That Happened

by Laci Maskell

  Well I’ll be damned if Greyson didn’t just describe himself.

  “He is not,” I argue. I didn’t want to, but something about Greyson pushes my buttons. I turn around in my seat to make my point. I want him to know he can’t intimidate me, even though that is exactly what he does. “He is a complete gentleman. And yeah he makes mistakes, but that is what makes him perfect. He’s flawed, sure, but he fixes things and makes everything right. He fixes all his mistakes. And he loves with his whole heart, even when he knows he shouldn’t. He goes against his family and everything he has believed his whole life just to be with the one he loves. That is the most romantic thing in the world. And that is why he is not a dick. And he comes to learn that he is not better than everyone else.”

  Take that Greyson Darcy Fletcher.

  I force myself to look away from Greyson to the front of the room where Mr. Rush is staring at me like I am a genius.

  “This is exactly why I wanted you to read Pride and Prejudice. You understand perfectly who Darcy is and why he acts the way he does. You will find more of this when you read his diary,” Mr. Rush beams at me.

  “I still maintain that he is a dick,” Greyson says, only this time not with so much conviction.

  The class snickers at Greyson’s defiance. Let them. One day their king will fall.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Greyson glance at me then bow his head to his notebook.

  I really can’t figure him out. At times it’s like he can be an actual decent guy, but then he goes and proves me wrong with Amelia and the rest of his friends. Greyson is just that right kind of wrong.

  The bell rings and the class disperses. Greyson doesn’t spare me a glance on his way out of the room. Mr. Rush asks me to stay behind.

  He gets up from his desk and walks to close the door. Then he comes to stand inches in front of me.

  “So you’re back. It’s good to see you. How are you feeling?” Mr. Rush asks.

  My mom had to call the school and inform them why I would not be back for a week. With the entire student body believing I had an abortion, it is at least good to know that the faculty can keep a secret.

  “I’m okay,” I say, smiling timidly.

  “But you lied to me last Friday when you said you were okay.”

  “No I didn’t. I thought I was okay.”

  “You could have let me help you,” Mr. Rush says. He looks down at me, concern coloring his face.

  I look into his eyes. Deep pools of dark brown that bore right into me. They are beautiful. The way he is looking at me, with those sad eyes, makes him look like a sad little puppy. He really is so good looking. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why he is so interested in me. Mr. Rush’s hands and arms continuously move ever so slightly, like he is fighting the urge to reach out and touch me.

  “I’m fine.”

  Finally, Mr. Rush’s internal battle ends and he puts him hands on my arms. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to be weak. It’s okay to ask for help sometimes.”

  Mr. Rush’s hands on me send shivers down my spine, not unlike the way Greyson’s touch affects me. My eyes close for a mere second, but in that second I picture Mr. Rush holding me, loving me, making the pain go away. When that second is over, I feel stupid. Even if Mr. Rush wanted to be with me, which, why would he, it would never work.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat. I plaster on a fake smile and say, “Really.”

  “You don’t have to pretend with me. I can see you are hurting.”

  I jerk when the bell rings again. Mr. Rush’s hands don’t move from my arms, his thumbs constantly caressing. It feels so good I wish he would pull me into him. I am weak. If sleeping with Greyson and getting pregnant taught me anything about myself, it is that bad things happen with I am weak with a guy.

  I shrug my shoulders to shake off Mr. Rush’s hands and say, “I have to go,” then bolt for the door.

  ***

  When I get home from school, I do something I should have done a while ago. Something I have been thinking about for a while now. I pull my laptop onto my lap and research adoption.

  There is no way I can raise this baby on my own. I know that my parents would help out, but even if I get a job and try to graduate high school, I wouldn’t ever see the baby, I would be dead tired all the time, I still wouldn’t be able to afford it, and I don’t want to burden them with raising another child when theirs have almost left the nest. Any way I look at it, I can’t find a solution to keeping this baby. I have to give it up for adoption.

  So I Google Adoption in Nebraska.

  The first link on the page directs me to a website called the Department of Health and Human Services. I click on the tab that says Adoption. It leads me to a page with options like Are you thinking about adoption? Are you pregnant and thinking about giving the baby up? And things like the regulations and stipulations of adopting. It also has a page called Nebraska Adoptive Families. When I click on that page, there is a large picture of couples with the caption that says, click here for pictures of adoptive families.

  Emotions well in me as I look at the screen. I could be giving my baby to one of these couples. Deciding who to give the baby to is going to be a huge thing. How do people do this all the time?

  I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, then click the link to bring up the prospective adoptive parents. Down the page are pictures of couples, or even single people. By each picture, it has the adoptive parents’ names, ages, where they live, and then a short bio about them. As one should, I start at the top.

  Laura and Tony are a couple in their thirties who live in Lincoln. They have two other children, no pets, Laura works at a dentist office, while Tony is a banker. It says they are looking to expand on their happy family. Okay. So, my kid could grow up in a big city full of crime. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Also, Greyson is going to college in Lincoln. How would he feel if his baby is being raised by other people right next door? Oh wait, he wouldn’t care. Also, he wouldn’t have to know. If I chose Laura and Tony, the baby would have other siblings to play with. But then again, these kids could beat the crap out of the baby. Ugh. This is hard.

  Next couple.

  Fred and Nancy. Their picture is so cute it is almost unbearable. Everything about their appearance is perfect. Almost too perfect. They too live in Lincoln. They do not have any other children. I guess Fred has a low sperm count. Poor guy. His junk is messed up crushing his wife’s dream of having four children. Fred is a professor at the college and Nancy is a clerk at the courthouse. They look to be in their late thirties. My baby could be the first to start off their big family. Potential.

  The next picture is of a single woman in her late twenties looking to give her love to a baby in need. Her name is Lucy. She lives in Valentine. She has two dogs. She works as a waitress. It also says that she was adopted. She would definitely be able to sympathize with the baby if it ever felt abandoned.

  Oh God, is my baby going to feel abandoned if I give it up for adoption? Am I making the wrong decision? My breathing becomes rapid and I feel sick to my stomach. Why is this so freaking hard?

  I scroll through the page and read more bios from other potential adoptive parents. Then I go back to the page with the regulations of adoption and get more overwhelmed. I have to sign away my rights to the baby. But what is worse, I have to get Greyson to sign away his rights to the baby. I wasn’t going to tell him about the adoption. Now I have to. If he freaked out when he thought I got an abortion, how will he react when he knows I’m giving the baby away? When I get overwhelmed, I close my laptop and lie back on my bed and try to empty my thoughts.

  Then mom calls me down to dinner.

  I haven’t been able to keep much down lately save for Italian food, pizza, pasta, and the like. It’s fine because I love Italian food. But I also like a little variety. But tonight, a pizza box sits on the table.

  When my parents and I sit down to eat we exchange the casual pleasantrie
s and the how was your day question is passed around. Since the school found out about my pregnancy I have mostly lied when it comes to that question. But after what happened with Tyler, my parents are a little more diligent about getting a real answer out of me.

  Tonight is no different.

  “How was your day, sweetheart?” my dad asks me.

  “Alright,” I say. “Nothing news worthy.”

  “No one trampled you today? No one said mean things to you?” My dad asks.

  “Have you talked to the father at all?” This is from my mom.

  “No. No. And . . .,” I pause, not on purpose, and when I do so, both of my parents lean in.

  “Greyson talked to me today. I guess the rumor around school is that I got an abortion, and that is why I was out for a week. No big deal. Let’s just eat,” I say, trying to end the conversation.

  I take big bites of my pizza to deter them from asking me more questions. It tastes so good. Sometimes I want to find the person who invented pizza and give them a big kiss. And spaghetti, it’s noodles, hamburger, and marinara sauce. It’s not likes it’s pure genius, but it tastes so good. I wonder what else marinara would make delicious.

  “You’re telling me those nasty little kids are saying you got an abortion?” my dad asks.

  I want to say, That is what I just said, but bite my tongue. And instead I nod.

  My mom gasps and says, “That is horrible. Do I need to go to your school and talk to your principal?”

  “No, Mom,” I say practically leaping out of my seat. “That will only make it worse. I can handle it.”

  “Clearly you can’t, Lux,” my mom says.

  “Mom, please just drop it. They’re going to find out in a couple months that it didn’t actually happen so there is no point in dwelling on it.” I say this. I can hear it coming out of my mouth. And yet I am dwelling on it. I knew high school was going to suck and the kids were going to be mean, but I never comprehended how mean kids can actually be. I think if I survive this ordeal and come out on the other end of it, I could be one of those It Gets Better speakers. That’s a big, fat, IF.

  My dad gives my mom a look. One I’ve seen pass between them a million times. It’s the drop-it-for-now look. No matter which one of them is giving the look, it is the same look, and it means the same thing. Wren and I used to sit up in our bedrooms trying to imitate the look. We’d also make up our own looks. The our-parents-are-crazy look. The on-the-count-of-three-run look. And my personal favorite, the you-are-about-to-be-in-big-trouble look.

  So my mom drops it. Instead, she brings up something much worse.

  “Your brother called today. He is enjoying college. He likes his classes and his roommate,” my mom says.

  “Wren called? When?” I ask almost frantic.

  “When you were upstairs working on your homework.”

  “And you didn’t come get me? I would have talked to him. Didn’t he ask to talk to me?”

  “He was very busy, sweetheart,” my mom says almost convincingly.

  “You mean he still hates me,” I say, throwing my slice of pizza on my plate.

  My big brother Wren hasn’t talked to me since I told him I’m pregnant. It’s been the longest nine weeks of my life. Wren is two years older than me, but we have always been thick as thieves. My best friend didn’t abandon me but my brother did, the other closest person in my life, a life that is no longer whole without him. I try calling him, texting him, facebooking him, emailing him, but he won’t answer me. My own brother, the one person, besides Leah, who has always been by my side, always protected me, who I’ve always looked up to, won’t even acknowledge me. I’m not certain if Wren is more disappointed in me for getting pregnant, or angry with himself for not protecting or looking after me and keeping me out of trouble. But other than Leah, Wren is my best friend and I can’t stand not talking to him. I miss his voice. I miss telling him about my life and hearing the outrageous stories of his. I miss my brother more than I could ever imagine and hate myself for so deeply disappointing him.

  “Honey, he’s just disappointed. That’s all,” my mom says.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” I almost yell as my eyes get watery.

  “I know sweetheart,” my dad says. “He’s just going to need some time to adjust.”

  “It’s been two months,” I say standing up. “How long does he need? Is he just going to magically adjust when the baby is born?”

  I storm out of the kitchen and back to my room. I don’t mean to take my frustrations out on my parents, especially when they have been so great about everything. They could have disowned me or thrown me out, but after the initial shock and anger wore off they were understanding and supportive. But not Wren.

  I lie on my bed trying to calm myself and keep myself from throwing up. I think I ate too fast. When I feel that I won’t upchuck and that I have thrown myself enough of a pity party, I head back downstairs, with my laptop, for another slice of pizza and to talk to my mom.

  When I walk into the kitchen, my mom throws her arms around me and apologizes. “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. You know your brother loves you.”

  “I know, mom,” I say. “On both counts.”

  I sit down at the table and nibble on a slice of pizza while my mom loads the dishwasher. When she is finished I ask her to sit down with me.

  “I want to talk to you about something,” I say, treading carefully.

  “Okay,” my mom says. I can tell she wants to say more, but she waits for me to continue.

  “This afternoon when I was in my room, I wasn’t doing homework. I was looking up adoptive parents.”

  My mom’s eyebrows shoot up and she sucks in a breath. She takes a minute to consider what she is going to say. “Is this your decision?” she asks.

  With a purse of my lips and a shrug of my shoulders I say, “I think it’s what’s best.”

  She smiles a sad smile as tears fill her eyes. “You’re going to be a great mother one day.”

  “I looked on the website. They had all these couples and all this stuff that you have to do. Will you help me?”

  “Of course I will.”

  I open my laptop, and begin the process of finding the perfect parents for my baby.

  Greyson

  The amount of relief I felt when Lux told me she is still pregnant scared me. The anger I felt all week when I thought she’d had an abortion was unbearable. I could have asked Leah about it. I could have swallowed my pride and asked Leah if Lux had gotten rid of the baby. But it isn’t in me to ask others for help. So I suffered in silence. What is worse, I had to hide it from my family and friends, when all I wanted to do was scream at the top of my lungs because I thought I’d lost a part of myself. Which scares me even more. That baby is not mine. It may carry my DNA, but it is not mine. I know in my mind that I shouldn’t, can’t, and don’t want anything to do with this baby. That it will, in fact, ruin my life. And yet I can’t get my heart and my gut to agree with my brain. Stupid feelings. Why do we have them anyway? They do no good.

  I spend the entirety of football practice trying to keep my calm. It takes all of my self-control not to kill Tyler. His careless mistake could have killed the baby and then he had the nerve to yell at Lux while she was down. What if he had killed the baby? How would I have ever been able to look at him again? How could I ever again call him friend? Why do I even care? I don’t have a handle on any of my feelings anymore. And that is not manageable because no one knows that Lux’s baby is mine. No one knows the guilt I have for what I did to her and how I handled it. No one knows how I feel about her or the baby. I don’t even know how I feel about her and the baby. I have no one to talk to about any of this and it is killing me.

  Luckily, my anger towards Tyler and everything else has me focused enough in practice to not warrant any screaming from the coach. Any extra screaming anyway.

  My talk with Lux in the janitor’s closet made me think about a lot of things. This whole preg
nancy experience has made me think about a lot of things. When Lux asked why I care, I had nothing to tell her. I don’t know why I care. I just know that I do. When I first heard the rumor about Lux having an abortion I couldn’t breathe. I literally lost my breath for nearly ten seconds, until the raucous laughter of my friends shocked me back into reality.

  How can this be my life? How can I be on my way out of this school and into the school I’ve always dreamed of going, and have gotten a girl I barely know pregnant? Am I being punished for having an easy life? For always getting what I want? Am I being taught a lesson? And if so, what lesson? If I am being punished, is Lux being punished? She is the one who got pregnant. What could she have possibly done to warrant such a punishment? She’s like a frickin angel. I’ve never seen her do anything wrong. She’s never gotten into trouble in school. How could she possibly deserve to have her life turn out like this?

  She doesn’t. And yet she is the one who has to live with the consequences. While I continue my life like nothing has changed. Besides my guilt, nothing has changed. No one treats me differently at school. My parents aren’t disappointed in me. I can still go to the college of my dreams. All is right with the world. And yet, nothing is right with the world.

  Still, I live it like it is.

  After practice, in the shower, I scrub myself until my skin is raw. I can never get clean enough these days. I shower three sometimes four times a day. I change my clothes several times a day. I feel dirty like I have never felt before. I walk the halls and swear everyone around me can see my every flaw.

  I don’t have flaws. I don’t feel this way. I am not a coward.

  I dry off, get dressed, and dawn my Greyson Fletcher swagger.

  Jesse punches my shoulder as we move towards the locker room door. "Where’s your head at, man?” he asks.

  I punch him back, harder than necessary and say, “What are you talking about?”

  “Greyson, you’re my best friend. Sure, we’re guys, but I know when something is bothering you.”