by Amy Sparling
“Ew, Mom,” I say, just to do my duty as an annoying son. “What if I’d brought home one of my friends? Can’t you wear real clothes?”
She scoffs and waves a hand at me before high-kicking along with the man on the television who is completely ripped. Talk about false advertising—no amount of kickboxing will make you look like that guy.
“I’m pregnant, Jett. None of your friends would look twice.”
“All the more reason to cover up,” I say, rolling my eyes as I head into the kitchen and get a snack. When I was a kid, it was kind of a big deal when my mom would dress less than mother-like. All of my friends were obsessed with her, calling her a MILF and the likes. It always grossed me out when I was growing up. She’s my mom, so I didn’t get what the big deal was about, but when everyone else’s parents are fifteen years older than your own, your friends can’t help but want to talk about it.
I’m making my second Hot Pocket when Mom walks in to refill her water cup. “Dude, when’s the last time you checked the PO box?” she asks, her voice panting from the workout.
“Friday,” I say. I’d had about fifty letters from fangirls who had seen the news of me joining Team Loco. “Why?”
She gulps her water and then walks over to the dining table where a garbage bag sized tote waits. The post office logo is printed on the fabric. I lift an eyebrow.
“Friday was three days ago.”
She hefts the bag off the table and shoves it in my arms. “That adorable mug of yours seems to have a fan club.”
In my room, I dump out the post office bag on my floor. It’s mostly envelopes with girly handwriting, hearts and stars and little decorations drawn all over. Some appear to be written by guys, and if they’re anything like my mail from Friday, it’s teenage guys writing me for advice on how to get their own internship.
What’s ridiculous is that this isn’t even all of the messages. My email is blowing up as well. It was probably a terrible idea to give Team Loco our PO box address when they did my initial interview, because that’s what they used for fan mail and, damn people are using it.
I grab my phone to text Keanna.
Me: I got a shit ton of fan mail. Wanna help me read it?
Keanna: You know I do. I’m gonna shower first, okay?
Me: Shower here . . .
Keanna: K. You want some of Becca’s lasagna?
Me: Yesssss
It’s kind of funny how I asked her to get naked and shower in my bathroom and she only said “k”.
I guess part of me feels all puffed up and important as I gaze out over the mountain of fan mail. In reality, these girls don’t even know me—they’re writing out of a desire to get close and personal with a “famous” person. I don’t feel that famous, not really. I’m just a guy who’s good on a dirt bike. I guess these girls think they’ll get some kind of famous themselves by knowing me? I don’t know. But I do know that Keanna was into me before she knew who I was. She didn’t grow up knowing my dad’s name in motocross, or idolizing professional racers. She just knew me for me, and that’s what she liked. Because of this, I trust her to be my girlfriend for the long term and I know she won’t screw me over just to get something from me.
Taking one of the thicker envelopes, I rip it open. Keanna walks through my bedroom door at the exact second I slide out a handful of naked photos.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, dropping them to the carpet.
She peers at them and wrinkles her nose. “Girl needs some serious razer burn gel.”
I grab the photos and flip them over so we don’t have to look at it, then I skim through her handwritten letter that smells like some kind of prostitute’s perfume.
“She’s sixteen. Are you kidding me? That shit is illegal.”
Keanna nods, tossing the new outfit and towel she brought over. They land on my bed and I catch the sight of her cute purple thong and get an array of dirty thoughts floating through my mind. But then I look back at the overturned photos and scowl.
“We need to burn these,” Keanna says, kicking at them with her foot. “If that girl’s underage, you could definitely get in trouble.”
I nod and run a hand through my hair. Is this my life now? Screening fan mail for illegal photos? “Ugh,” I say.
She kneels down to my level and kisses me. “You don’t need these gross photos, babe.” She does a little shimmy and runs her tongue across her bottom lip. “You’ve got me, and that’s better than photos.”
Chapter 3
I haven’t always been very lucky in life, but that might be turning around. All I had to do was corner my parents in the kitchen during dinner the next day and explain to them about the pregnant teenagers.
After their initial looks of shock wore off, I told them that no, I wasn’t pregnant, I just heard that pregnant seniors can graduate in December instead of waiting until May if they have enough credits. My parents were immediately on board with the idea. Becca was cool with it because she knows how much I hate going to school and Park was excited that I’d be around to work full time at The Track again, since one of their employees just quit to move out of state.
After making a few calls to the office to figure out my graduation status and set up an application, (and one call to the principal to complain about Mrs. Albright’s treatment of me) Becca has all the info I’ll need.
Two of my teachers agreed to let me take the final on Friday instead of waiting one and a half more weeks until the day before Christmas break. They both essentially said that no real work is done or taught in those last two weeks so it wouldn’t matter if I took the exams early.
Have I mentioned how much I love my English and History teachers?
My final exams are scheduled for Thursday and Friday mornings at six freaking a.m. since they can’t interfere with school hours.
I don’t care about the early hour though. I’ll walk barefoot through miles of snow if it means getting out of here early and with a real high school diploma, not the shame and regret of being a dropout. And let’s face it, at one point in my life I thought I’d actually end up in the dropout boat.
All of my graduation talk has sparked Jett to consider becoming homeschooled or maybe getting a GED. Of course, the second idea probably won’t happen since his mom is hugely against it. I really hope he does get to become homeschooled, and it’s almost entirely for selfish reasons. I can’t stand the thought of Jett sitting with other girls at lunch or walking with other girls between classes. I don’t think he would, but with how popular he’s been lately, maybe he wouldn’t exactly have a choice. Sometimes Jett is too nice for his own good.
He’s been talking to his parents about homeschooling but they keep telling him to wait until the Christmas break to figure it out. I know he’s angsty and annoyed about it, but I’m pretty sure they’ll let him do it. All we can do until then is wait.
After dinner, I text him.
Me: Something is really wrong in my bedroom…
Jett: What is it?
Me: There’s no boyfriend here…
Jett: haha. I have a shit ton of history homework but I’ll be there as soon as I’m done.
I turn on my TV and stare at the phone. The good girlfriend thing to do would be to give him my blessing to take as long as he needs to get his homework done. Homework is important, after all.
But maybe I’m a terrible girlfriend because I text him something bad.
Me: Come over and I’ll help you!
Jett: I’ll bring cookies.
The boy gets here in record time—like, I have a feeling he was already on his way over before I told him to come over. I hear Becca talking to him in the kitchen, so I run out to meet him. Yeah, I run. Like it’s been years since I’ve seen him instead of just a couple of hours. Pathetic? Yes, but who cares.
Jett’s strong arms circle around me, warming up all of my cold parts. It’s especially cold in here today since Park is working from home and he always cranks the air conditioner. I bury my head in Jet
t’s chest and he hugs me tightly to him, his hand on my head.
“You guys are ridiculous,” Becca says, waving her hand at us. “I mean, Park and me were like that, too, but seeing it from the eyes of a grown up makes me want to make fun of you.”
“It’s not my fault your daughter is so perfect,” Jett says.
Becca brightens. She always does when someone calls me her daughter without adding the word “adopted” before it.
When he pulls away I notice his dark brown hair is all messy, probably from pulling at it while working on his history assignment.
“Come on,” I say, tugging on his pocket. “Let’s go do that homework.”
“Shall I bring the cookies?” he says, holding up a plastic container of what looks like Bayleigh’s famous chocolate chip cookies.
“Not without letting me raid them first,” Becca says. She swipes three cookies and then shoos us away.
Jett and I settle onto my bed and I help him with his homework by reading all of his vocabulary words and quizzing him on them. Part of his final exam will be to know these words so I hope all of this studying will help him pass and move into homeschooling.
When we’ve studied until Jett knows the words before I’ve even read the whole definition, we finally close up the textbook.
“It’s only eight-thirty but it feels so much later than that,” I say, rolling over to my side to check my phone off the nightstand.
When I turn back around, Jett is laying down, his head propped up on his arm, the other hand reaching for me. I grin and roll over until we’re facing each other on top of my plush comforter.
“Thank you for studying with me,” he says, his voice low and sexy as hell. I slide closer to him, matching up our bodies until my toes touch the tops of his ankles.
“That might be the first time two people have actually studied instead of making out,” I say. I reach up and touch his chest, letting my fingers slide down his pecs.
“Oh I have every intention of making out,” Jett whispers, sliding his hand around my waist and tugging my hips closer to him. He kisses me full on, not building up to it with slow, innocent kisses. I tangle my hands into his already messy hair and shudder when his weight rolls on top of me as we make out.
This is good. We are so good at this. But we still haven’t taken it much further and part of me wonders why. The other part of me says it doesn’t matter if we take it slow, because we’ll be together forever.
Jett’s hips press into mine and I feel his erection, his need, both from the feel of his body and the way he kisses me. I shudder from the sensation and then pull away.
“Babe,” I breathe. Jett immediately lifts up on his elbows, worry stitched across his gorgeous face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “I was just thinking about how we haven’t . . . you know . . .”
“Had sex?” He kisses me on the cheek and then locks his gaze on mine again. “I guess I’ve been waiting until it felt right.”
“It doesn’t feel right now?” I ask, trailing my fingers down his cheek.
He grabs my hand and kisses the inside of my palm. “I guess it always feels right. But you know what I mean.” He glances toward my closed bedroom door. “Maybe when your parents aren’t here . . .” His gaze turns sultry. “That’d be a terrible time to find out if you’re loud in bed.”
Then he winks and my cheeks are probably so red they could pass for a street light. “I agree,” I say, biting the inside of my lip. “We should probably wait until we’re fully alone.”
“So does that mean we’re ready for it?” His hand slides down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin.
“God, yes,” I say, only to blush even more when I realize how freaking eager and dorky I just sounded.
He chuckles. “Here, roll over and I’ll give you a massage so you’re stress free for your exam tomorrow.”
I do as he says and I close my eyes.
Best boyfriend ever.
Chapter 4
My alarm blares, nagging me over and over again as I repeatedly tell it to sleep. It’s five forty-five in the morning—why the hell is it going off? I need my sleep. Sleep and I are lovers and I would like to get back to her.
Then it hits me. Keanna.
I sit up in bed and yawn, reaching for my phone. That’s why I’d set the alarm—so I could send her this text.
Me:Good luck on your final exam, baby! I know you’ll do great
I fall back onto my bed and close my eyes as sleep beckons to me again. My phone buzzes and I read her reply.
Keanna: Thanks, hon. Now go back to sleep!
She knows me so well. I reset my alarm for the same time tomorrow when she’ll be taking her second final and then I fall back asleep.
#
In just two days, everything has changed. Keanna passed both of her exams and got an A on each one. I’d known she could do it, but she apparently didn’t have the same belief in herself because she had burst into tears when she got her results. Silly girl. She’s so much smarter and better than she’ll ever give herself credit for.
The greatest part of Keanna’s early graduation though, is that it convinced my parents to let me pursue homeschooling. My dad was all for it but Mom has her reservations. She seems to think I’ll spend all of my time riding my dirt bike, hanging with Keanna, and studiously ignoring my school work.
To give her credit, she might be right. But an education is important, and I do want one, so I had to convince them that homeschooling is what’s best for my career. Since my parents are too busy and (according to my mom) not teacherly enough to homeschool me themselves, Mom found a program online that she thinks will work the best. It’s an online high school diploma program, but it’s partnered with the local branch of Texas State University, so I’ll have an actual professor to report to and I’ll take all of my exams at the college with him. The rest of the work is done online. There are even video lectures that I can watch online as if I were in a real classroom. The best part? Some of the classes will get me college credit. Awesome.
Since The Track was busy as hell this past weekend, we’ve all decided to go out tonight, Monday, to celebrate Keanna’s graduation. So today, although I get to skip school because I’m about to drop out anyway, I’m busier than usual.
I have to shower, work one hour at The Track’s front office because Mom and Becca have a baby doctor appointment, and then I have to go to the college which is an hour away and meet with my new professor. Then it’s a quick trip back home, shower, and go find the prettiest flowers money can buy because I want to surprise Keanna for her early graduation. She doesn’t think it’s a big deal, but it is. Especially since she started school this year as a girl who had hopped around so much she really missed out on a lot of good grades in her past. I knew she was smart, and now she’ll have the diploma to prove it.
I’m falling asleep at the front desk when Mom and Becca come bouncing in the doors, talking animatedly in a way that makes them look like teenagers.
“How was the doctor?” I ask.
“So perfect,” Becca says, giving Mom a wide-eyed smile.
“How’s the baby?”
“Also perfect,” Mom says, tapping her belly. “This time we had two other couples assume we were lesbians. It’s annoying how people feel the need to point out your sexual orientation when they don’t even know you.” Mom rolls her eyes and Becca meets me behind the font counter, relieving me of my work duties.
“I’d be damn proud to have you as my wife,” Becca tells Mom.
“Hell yeah you would,” Mom says, shaking her hips. “I’m a trophy wife.”
“Excuse you?” Becca says, putting a hand on her hip. “I would be the trophy wife.”
Mom throws an arm around her shoulders and flashes me a smile. “Becca, dear, you are the best trophy wife of all.”
They’ve always been this weird. It’s not a new thing. Growing up with my mom and her be
st friend since childhood has been fun for the most part, but sometimes they get a little too weird and I have to extract myself from the situation. Now that Mom’s carrying Becca and Park’s surrogate child, they’re even closer, and I hadn’t realized that was possible. It almost feels like I’ll be getting a new baby brother or sister myself, since Becca is like a second mom to me.
“So, do you know if it’s a boy or girl yet?” I ask.
“Not yet, but they said by our next visit they’ll be able to tell.” Becca logs into the computer. “But you’ll all find out more at the party.”
I lift any eyebrow. “Like a baby shower? Because men don’t go to those things.”
Mom punches me in the arm. “Men go to whatever supports the women they love, you little punk. And she’s not talking about the shower. She’s talking about the baby gender party!”
I check the time on my phone. I need to get out of here to make my appointment on time but I have to know more about this. “What is a baby gender party?”
“It’s where we gather all our friends and family and reveal what the sex of the baby will be,” Mom says. “Becca won’t even know until the party. We’re going to keep it a secret until then. It’ll be a fun surprise.”
I nod sarcastically. “Okay . . . ya’ll are weird. . . but I love you both. I gotta go.”
“Have fun at college, sweetie,” Mom says, shooing me off my barstool so she can sit next to her best friend.
I wish Keanna could come with me, but she has one final meeting at the high school to get all of her graduation stuff completed. She might actually be the first girl to graduate early who isn’t knocked up. Funny, because I’ve already heard some rumors going around that people think she must be pregnant. Those people can go screw themselves. Why does everyone have to get into other people’s business? What Keanna and I do in our relationship has nothing to do with them.