Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1)

by Sc Montgomery

  She sighed and leaned into me. “You swear?”

  “I swear.”

  “No matter what our parents say?” she implored, her voice getting higher, desperate, as if she was holding on to it by a thread. “No matter what happens when we get to school and kids make fun of us? No matter—”

  I shushed her with another kiss. “I said, I swear. No. Matter. What.”

  I waited until she nodded, though I wasn’t convinced that she believed me, then I led her back inside so we could try and salvage what was left of our evening—pushing aside the nagging feeling that whatever her last ‘no matter what’ was, it couldn’t have been all that bad.

  Right?

  July 28th

  OK, so dinner last night. It should’ve been perfect. I was finally getting to be with Reed and he was taking me to a nice restaurant. But we ran into Jonah and his date, Chloe Seymour. I saw the way she looked at Reed like he was a steak, but I ignored her. He was with me, she was with Jonah. She could look all she wanted. I had myself convinced of that . . . until she followed me to the restroom.

  You know her type: pretty, blond, perfect. By all rights, I should hate her. And maybe I do. She’s got the perfect high school life. She’s popular, got a perfect body . . . she’s not pregnant.

  When we were alone, the first thing she asked me was if Reed and I are really having a baby. Duh. Can’t she see my pooch?

  Then, she asked if Reed “told me.” Told me what? Oh, nothing. Just that she freakin’ kissed him on that stupid fishing trip I refused to go on. I was so mad, I wanted to rip her face off. I wanted to hurl. Punch her. Scream. Shrivel up and cry.

  I’ve been souped up on hormones and I’m getting big. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he cheated . . . Plus I would’ve never known.

  But I know, without a doubt, that Reed is innocent. And Chloe Seymour definitely is not.

  To quote my bestie, Roxanne, when I called to tell her about it, “Honey, everyone knows Reed has a girlfriend. You guys have been an item since eighth grade.”

  Yeah, she’s right. Chloe is a lying whore.

  Alien Invasion

  We got through the rest of the summer fairly uneventfully. If you counted blistering heat, endless hours slogging through greasy popcorn and screaming children, Mel’s mood swings and weird cravings (tacos, peanut butter and bacon milkshakes, and fried pickles, just to name a few) and her dad’s continued death stares as usual summer stuff.

  For expectant teen parents, anyway.

  And thankfully, Mel never did toss Chloe’s kiss or our dinner disaster in my face. It was like we’d made an unspoken pact to be this imperfect pregnant us, and we used every spare moment of the summer to find our groove.

  But summer was over and we were about to be thrown back into the shark tank today. High school.

  My cell phone buzzed next to my ear, rousing me before my alarm clock. I glanced at the time. Four-seventeen. I groaned. Who the heck—?

  I fumbled with the phone and squinted at the display. My heart rate automatically picked up when I saw Mel’s number. “Hello?” I answered, my voice coated with sleep.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” she whispered. She must’ve still been tucked into her bed, too.

  I propped myself up higher on the pillows. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  I waited. I could tell by her breathy, anxious answer that she had something on her mind. I just couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. My stomach knotted into my throat. “Are you nervous? About today?” I knew the first day of school had been on her mind.

  “Kinda.” She sighed. “Yeah.”

  “It’ll be all right.” I rubbed a hand down my face and glanced at the clock again, wishing for that extra thirty minutes of sleep.

  “I felt it, Reed,” she finally said.

  My eyes snapped open and I stared at the whirring ceiling fan above me. “Felt what?”

  A beat of silence. “The baby.”

  Something foreign ticked inside me. How did you “feel” a baby that was so small? I guessed it was bigger than a peanut now . . . an orange maybe? I had noticed Mel’s tummy starting to grow. But I hadn’t dared to say a thing about it because she had such a thing about getting fat. Personally, I thought it was adorable.

  But to feel something move inside you? Man. That had to be freakin’ weird. Like an alien invasion.

  “What did it feel like?”

  “I woke up this morning and my stomach felt hard as a rock. It was the freakiest thing I’ve ever felt. I pushed on it a little bit and it sort of moved down like . . . a big bubble, but it was hard! Then I felt this sort of tiny little movement. Not a kick really, but a little something. I guess it was a kick. Or maybe gas.” I heard the smile in her words. “They say sometimes when babies first move it feels like gas. I see why. Oh, Reed, I wish you were here. That’s why I called you.”

  I grinned in automatic response to her contagious happiness. “I’m glad you did. That’s really cool.”

  “I know. I can’t believe it’s only going to get bigger.” Her whisper held hushed awe.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that’s what I really wanted to tell you. I need to go figure out what I’m gonna wear since nothing fits me now, then get ready for school. I’ll see you later?”

  “Yup. I’ll be there.”

  We hung up and I stared at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot. Our little Peanut alien was moving inside Mel. I wondered how long before I could feel something.

  An hour and a half later, I picked her up, and she bounded out in jeans and a loose top, her face glowing. She hopped in the car and pressed a kiss to my cheek, her sweet scent wrapping around me. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I smiled at her. “You look happy.”

  “I look nervous. But I’m still pretty excited about feeling Peanut this morning. I think she knew I needed a little extra something to get me through the day.”

  “She?”

  She grinned. “I already told you, I have a feeling.”

  I pressed my hand to her little rounded tummy, something like a mix between awe, love and serious nerves zipping through me like a swarm of bees. “You did. Doesn’t mean you’re right though.”

  She shrugged and bit into a granola bar. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

  I let it go and drove on to school. We pulled into the hubbub of the Brazosport High School parking lot and I felt her nervous energy fill the car. I glanced her way. “It’ll be fine, Mel.”

  She turned her wide, luminous eyes my way. “By now, most everyone will know.”

  She didn’t have to tell me what everyone knew. We were probably fuel for the gossip mill most of the summer. “So?”

  She gripped my hand and cast her eyes down. “Things won’t be the same anymore and I’m scared.”

  “Me, too.”

  She glanced at the school as kids began filtering in. “But you’re not the one who’s carrying around the evidence.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “It’ll be pretty much status quo for you.”

  I squeezed her hand. “No, Mel. I’ll be thinking of you and Peanut all the time. And if anyone says or does anything to make you feel . . . uncomfortable, I want you to tell me. Okay?”

  She didn’t answer right away. I had to squeeze her hand again. “Okay?”

  She finally relented. “Fine.”

  I stretched over and kissed her. “Okay. Now let’s go or we’ll be late.”

  I grabbed her hand again once we were out of the car, ignoring how she gripped me like a woman being led to the gallows, and walked her toward the school. At first, it was like any other normal day. Reed Young and Melissa Summers had been an item since middle school. It was nothing new.

  But, slowly, the kids’ faces began to register awareness, their gazes sliding down to Mel’s belly. Whispers started. A couple of girls laughed and pointed.

  I felt Melissa whither a little at my side. But I pulled her along, silently imploring her to ignore their pettine
ss. I had her. I would always have her.

  I smiled into her eyes, holding her gaze as I held the door open for her.

  I love you, I mouthed as I walked my girl proudly into school.

  Screw them all.

  True to my word, I thought about Mel and the baby pretty much all day long. I wondered how she was faring in her classes. If she was feeling uncomfortable. If her friends were treating her differently. Because mine sure were. Of course, those were just high school friends. Not the real friends that you keep year round, like Jonah and Mike. No, these were the kids who you only hang with during the school year, joke with during class, sit with at lunch. Acquaintances that you use to get through the year. Who use you to keep from being a loser with no friends, just as much as you use them. Yeah, those people, were totally treating me like pregnancy was contagious and they didn’t know me.

  And it sucked.

  I plopped down in an empty desk in fourth period English next to one of “those” friends, named Jevon, and tested the waters. “Hey. What’s up?”

  He tipped his chin. “Hey.”

  “You get Mrs. Ridley for Physics?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Brutal.”

  “Yeah.”

  Okay. I was having a hard time gauging where this was going.

  He finally looked at me. “So . . . I hear you knocked up your girl.”

  Right. “Um. Yeah. She’s pregnant.”

  “Then I guess you won’t be gettin’ outta the house too much anymore, huh? No more fun? Your life is pretty much over, isn’t it, dude?” He smirked like he was in on some big, cosmic secret.

  I stared. “What?”

  “Dude. Your baby mama is gonna have you so chained down you won’t know what hit you.” He sunk down in his chair and shook his head. “I feel sorry for you, man.”

  “I—”

  Baby mama. Chained. What the hell ever.

  The bell rang before I could tell him he was out of his freakin’ mind.

  Like I said earlier, screw them all.

  August 25th

  OK, I suck at keeping a diary. So sue me.

  But, guess what?!

  I FELT THE BABY!

  This morning, before I got out of bed, a rock hard lump just sort of filled my tummy all of a sudden. More than a little freaked out, I gently pressed on the little boulder and it shifted, rolling away like a bubble. Then, as I was staring at the alien-like movement that has taken over my body, I felt this teeny tiny whisper of a flutter—like butterfly’s wings—behind my pelvic bone.

  It feels real now.

  I wonder what my birth mom thought when she felt me move for the first time? Was she already planning to give me up then? Or did that come later?

  I put my hand gently on my belly and thought long and hard about this baby. Whose DNA will it have? His? Or Reed’s?

  But, as I felt this baby move, I knew for sure, 100% without a doubt, that no matter the circumstance, no matter the biology, this baby was mine. Forever.

  But my lies feel like they’re piling up by the day. I’m thinking if I’m due in January, I’ll definitely tell Reed the truth before Christmas break. No later. I just need his love and support to get me through a little longer. Selfish? Probably.

  But it was so obvious I needed him today. It was the first day of school and I was a nervous wreck. I know my pregnancy has gotten around, and being the “good girl” on the drill team, I’ll probably be made fun of. Hell, I know I will. I’m ashamed to admit I was right in the mix of it last year when Darinda Lawrence got knocked up by Joey Freemont. But she got an abortion. And that was before I understood.

  And, even more than being stared and laughed at, I hate that Reed’s going to have to suffer along with me. It’s not fair to take the choice away from him, not when he’s trying to do the right thing. I know that. And I’m so, so, so sorry! I just want to be a normal girl again. But that was all taken away from me that night.

  Battle of the Sex

  “I’m not going back.”

  I stared at Melissa’s face as tears streamed down her cheeks, mimicking the raindrops streaking down the car’s windows, as we sat facing the obstetrician’s office the Tuesday after Labor Day.

  School had been awkward for the past couple of weeks with people treating me just slightly different. Weirdly nicer, almost like they were afraid to say or do the wrong thing. A couple other guys had echoed Jevon’s sentiments, but I’d blown them off. Who needed those kind of friends? But for Melissa, school had been torturous and she’d had enough.

  I reached over and brushed my thumb over her cheek, catching some of her tears, but hundreds more fell in their place. My poor baby. “Mel, you can’t just drop out of school.”

  She faced me, misery shining in her eyes. “Why not?”

  I tilted my head as a crack of thunder echoed. “You know why not.”

  I drew her into my arms as fresh sobs wracked her body. Had people really been that horrible to her? “Mel, what’s going on?”

  She mumbled against my chest something about the girls’ continued whispers and stares and how someone had called her a slut. Mean girl stuff.

  “. . . and I ignored them all . . .” She sniffled. “I did. I have you. I have Peanut. But when the coach basically kicked me off the drill team today, I was a total laughing stock.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “Yes.” She dabbed her eyes and smeared her mascara. “It’s in our stupid handbook. Something about being a good example of morals or something.” She hiccupped. “Plus I don’t fit in the dumb uniform anymore, either. Now everyone thinks I’m a big, fat, pregnant loser!”

  Oh, God. She loved being on the drill team. I stroked her back and tried to think of the right thing to say as frustration and anger surged through me. Anger at those girls for making her feel this way. At the coaches. At me for getting her pregnant in the first place.

  Shit. What a cluster.

  “You’re not a loser, babe.” I twirled her hair around my finger. “They are for being like that to you.” I bit my tongue before saying ‘Who wants to be on the stupid ass drill team anyway?’ I figured it might not go over well.

  I held her until her cries subsided and we were nearly late for our appointment. “We gotta go in, Mel. Don’t you want your ultrasound? Isn’t today the day they can tell us if Peanut is a boy or girl?”

  She nodded and sat back. “Yeah.” Though she looked less than thrilled.

  We rushed in through the deluge, then I walked her into Dr. Foster’s office and we checked in. When the nurse called us back, Mel looked like a zombie and I wondered if people thought I’d drugged her.

  She peed in the cup, weighed in, did her blood pressure and stuff, then we waited in the room with the mystery equipment and brochures for vasectomies and STDs. Fun, fun, but I was getting used to it.

  I tried to smile at Mel, but she was having none of it.

  Finally, Dr. Foster came in, Mel’s chart in his hand. “Good afternoon, you two.”

  “Hey,” I said, trying to make up for Melissa’s lack of personality.

  The doc frowned at her. “Everything okay?”

  “She’s just tired today. Bad day at school.”

  He nodded and did his usual exam. All good. “Okay, so today you’re twenty weeks. I’d like to send you across the hall for an ultrasound to check for growth and development.” He pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to me. “Here’s the order. Just give it to the clerk at the desk and you should be all set. Any questions?”

  I glanced at Mel. Nothing. “Uh, no. Thank you, Sir.”

  I led my brooding girl across the hall to the ultrasound department, and we waited in silence for our turn.

  “Melissa Summers?” called a sunny blonde. Yes, that was the only way to describe her. Sunny. She smiled brightly, in complete opposition to the storm that continued to rage against the windows.

  Mel stood and I followed.

  “How are you today, sweetie?�
� the woman talked to Mel over her shoulder as we moved down a corridor.

  “Okay,” Melissa answered, her voice monotone.

  “It’s one wet day, isn’t it?” the blonde answered, her chipper voice syrupy with a Southern drawl.

  Mel said nothing.

  “Sure is,” I answered as she directed us into a dim room.

  “Okay, darlin’. Would you like to leave your top on, or I can give you a gown to change into?” She eyed Mel with big blue eyes.

  Melissa fingered her loose shirt. “I guess I’ll keep this on.”

  “Perfect. Why don’t you just lie down.” She pointed out a stool. “And, Dad, you can sit there.”

  My chest contracted. Good thing she gave me a place to sit because my knees suddenly became watery.

  Dad?

  Uh, that was for old guys. Or men like . . . well, my dad. Khaki-wearing, lawn-edging on Sundays, football-obsessed, I-can-fix-anything-but-the-toaster kinda men. Not me.

  Oblivious to my thoughts, the woman fired up her big ultrasound machine and chatted a mile a minute, but I heard nothing over the roar in my ears. Every step of this journey had made it more and more real. But today smacked me clear between the eyes.

  Dad? Dads took you to soccer practice and built Lego forts with you and snuck Tooth Fairy money under your pillow, and taught you how to pry open an Oreo. Pitch a tent. Mow the grass. Be a man.

  How did I get into that category?

  Blindly, I squeezed Mel’s hand.

  She squeezed back.

  I met her eyes, feeling a bit wobbly.

  She offered me a small smile. She seemed to be coming out of her funk, as if she was reading my mood and getting into the moment.

  This was bigger than what the girls at school said. Bigger than drill team. Bigger than our parents. Than anything.

  “Sorry, sweetie, this’ll be cold,” the woman said as she squeezed some blue goo on Mel’s belly. Yeah, we’d done this before. But this time, I marveled at how big and round Mel’s bare stomach was. I hadn’t seen it in a while.