Saying Good-bye to London

by Julie Burtinshaw

  “We can talk after,” Francis suggested hopefully.

  “No, Francis. It’s kind of important.”

  He sighed and sat back in the couch, prepared to listen. “Okay. I’m all ears.”

  “Well, last week, my teacher asked me to stay after school…I knew she wasn’t too pleased with me; I’d missed some classes and tests, and my marks had dropped.”

  She closed her eyes. Francis waited patiently, aware of the ticking of the old clock on the wall opposite him.

  After a lengthy pause, she continued. “I’ve always been top of the class. She attributed my poor performance to moving and changing schools. I should have gone along with that, but, stupidly, I told her I’d adjusted just fine. She wanted to know if anything else was bugging me, and I told her the truth—you know, that I’d been sick with this low-grade bug since the start of the school year and that, as result, I was having trouble concentrating. And you know what she said?” She gave him a sad half smile. “Just like the rest of you, she told me I should go and see a doctor.”

  “No surprise there. Did you?”

  “Well, no. The thing is, I thought I knew what was wrong with me. Maybe. And I think she did too. At least she had her suspicions.”

  Outside, a truck slowed. Francis nodded over the squeal of air brakes. The faint smell of burning rubber wafted up from the pavement through the open window. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not finished.” She rocked back and forth on the couch. “I thanked her for her concern. I promised I’d see a doctor, work harder, and get my marks back up. But that didn’t seem to be enough. My teacher started pacing around the classroom and then she gave me this whole lecture about how I could always talk to her if I needed to blah, blah, blah—and then she handed me a little booklet and said, ‘Read it before it’s too late.’ I was kind of freaked out, so I shoved it into my backpack and got out of there as fast as I could. I guess I kind of forgot about it. Anyway, I didn’t look at the booklet until the next night.”

  By now Francis was curious. “And? What was in it?”

  “Here—read it for yourself.” She dug around in her pack and pulled out a rumpled, dog-eared booklet.

  Francis took it from her, but didn’t immediately look at it. He was terrified. Was she deathly sick? Was that what she was trying to tell him? Was she going to die, like Kevin’s dad? He gulped. “I don’t know if I can handle this.”

  “Just read it, Francis. Sometimes we have to handle things that seem impossible. It’s called life.”

  Francis’s jaw dropped. “You don’t have to tell me what life is all about.” He pictured Mr. Croyden in his hospital bed waiting to die. Stop, he told himself. His eyes wandered to the scratched hardwood floor, the haphazard carpets strewn over it like bandages, the mismatched chairs—all found treasures from garage sales and secondhand stores. Nothing really went together, but it worked—kind of like him and Sawyer, at least he hoped so.

  Braced for the worst, he turned over the booklet and began to read, but he got only as far as the title when he had to stop. “What?” Confused, he read it over again and then once more. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense. Are you sure?” He threw the little book onto the coffee table, as if it might explode in his hands. “This is bullshit.”

  “I wish. I’m not a hundred percent sure. I’ve been late before, but never for months.”

  “But…we only did it that once, the first time, without a…you know…just once. And that was months ago.”

  “A condom. Isn’t that the word you’re looking for, Francis? And yes, we only did it once without protection, but apparently, once is enough.”

  “But that was three months ago—and you just figured it out? Jesus!”

  Francis retrieved the booklet and turned it over in his hands. So You Think You Are Pregnant: Options for Teens.

  “It says options right in the title. What options? Where is the option page? Jesus!”

  “Chill, Francis. I’m not even positive that’s the problem.” Her scared look spoke differently.

  “Have you told anyone else?”

  “No—” A light tap on the door interrupted her. “Give me that,” she demanded, snatching the booklet away from him. “For now, we’ll keep this between ourselves. Promise?”

  He thought for a second before he made up his mind. “I guess.”

  There was another, more persistent knock on the door. “Oh god. Is this What’s His Face? Talk about bad timing.”

  Sawyer stood. “His name is Jack, and don’t start in on him again. You can be so immature sometimes.”

  “Maybe that’s because I am immature. In case you forgot, I’m fifteen years old. I’m a kid, and I’m not having a kid, no matter what you say. And don’t take this wrong, but if you are actually pregnant, how do you know the kid is mine? For all I know, your precious Jack is the father.”

  “Pardon me?” Sawyer hissed. The blood drained from her face. “Did you just say what I think you said? You shit!” She pointed to the door. “Go. Go now.”

  Francis recoiled in the face of her fury. “But…it’s a fair question.”

  “Get out,” she whispered, her eyes welling up. “Get out. I never, ever want to see you again.”

  “Now who is the immature one?” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. “Have it your way, but like I said, for all I know, Jack is the father, unless you can prove otherwise. Talk to him about it!”

  In a flash of anger, he jumped up from the couch and stormed to the door. He yanked it open only to find himself face-to-face with a tall, reed-thin boy dressed in extremely skinny and extremely cool black jeans, a purple tailored button-down shirt, and pointy-toed ebony shoes. He was older than Francis and somehow managed to look both sophisticated and streetwise at the same time. His hair, parted on the right side, fell to his shoulders in all the colors of the rainbow. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and coffee.

  “You!” Francis roared. He wanted to punch his lights out, but Jack was tall and, despite his slight build, he had a strong, tough look about him that made Francis think twice about hitting him.

  Startled, the boy took a step back. “If by ‘you,’ you mean Jack Meneer, that’s me.” He looked Francis up and down and nodded slowly. “I take it you’re Francis.”

  “Screw you,” Francis muttered.

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  “Don’t bother, Jack,” Sawyer called from inside the apartment. “Francis is just on his way out.”

  “True that,” Francis snapped. He glowered at his rival.

  Jack met his gaze unblinkingly. “Looks like I’ve come at a bad time.”

  Francis pushed past him as Sawyer appeared in the doorway. “Actually, Jack, your timing is perfect. Come in.” She pulled the boy into the apartment and slammed the door, leaving Francis alone in the hall.

  Furious, he slammed his hand against the wall. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

  He plunged down the stairs and ducked out onto the rain-drenched street, breaking into a sprint. He ran until the stitch in his side felt like a deep knife wound. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps, but still his anger prevailed. When he finally stumbled up into a bus, the driver greeted him with a concerned “You okay, son?”

  Francis fumbled for his bus pass.

  “Don’t worry about that,” the driver said, waving him on.

  He played the scene at Sawyer’s place over and over again in his mind on the long ride home. He’d never seen Sawyer so angry. At one point, he almost called her, but he stopped himself. What point would there be in talking to her until she’d cooled off? Actually, he corrected himself, there was no point in talking to her at all if she couldn’t or wouldn’t be honest with him. His questions were legit. Jack could easily be the father of the baby, if there was a baby at all. Who was to say she wasn’t lying
about the whole thing? He’d heard about stuff like that before.

  And what about Jack? He knew a bit about him; the dude worked full-time at a coffee shop—The Grinder—that’s where Sawyer had met him. He lived in a dingy basement suite with no windows. So, either he had no parents or he was old enough to live on his own. Which meant he’d either finished university or had never gone. In the end, Francis realized he didn’t know much at all and certainly nothing helpful.

  By the time he got home, his mood had worsened. Ralph was waiting for him at his usual spot on the mat inside the front door. When Francis walked past him without even a pat on the head, the dog tucked his tail between his legs and let out a little cry. Francis didn’t care. He snapped at the twins and grunted at his mother when she asked him about his day. “I can see you’re still angry with your father,” she conjectured.

  Good! Let her think that, because if she knew the real reason for his foul mood, she’d never forgive him. The thought of it turned his stomach. He imagined her dumbfounded response: I knew I didn’t like that girl. We are so disappointed in you!

  At dinner, Francis sat in angry silence, pushing his food around his plate, before he pleaded a stomachache and asked to be excused. With a skeptical look, his mom waved him away. Whether she’d bought it or not meant nothing to him. He had bigger problems. Lying on his bed, headphones on, he struggled to put those problems into context. So what if he never saw Sawyer again? So what if she had another boyfriend? He didn’t give a damn about her father or her life in London or her stupid friend Jack. And even if it was true, and she was pregnant, he didn’t give a damn about that either, because if it were true, his life would be over.

  And if it were true, it was her fault; she was the experienced one. She was the girl. The whole thing had been her idea. She should have taken care of the birth control.

  At least, that’s what he told himself as he tossed and turned all night.

  By morning, Francis was in worse shape. Lack of sleep did nothing to improve his mood throughout the day. School was a write-off. As the week progressed, he felt himself withdrawing from his world. Every so often, he caught Kevin eyeing him warily, but Kevin’s attempts to talk to him were futile. Eventually, to Francis’s relief, he gave up.

  For the first time ever, Francis skipped soccer practice. He didn’t even bother to inform Coach. That afternoon, Kevin bombarded him with text messages, so he turned off his phone, but not before he sent him a curt text: Leave me alone. I’m a shitty friend, and that’s how it is right now.

  His dark mood took a toll on his mom, but Francis didn’t have the energy to worry about her or the twins, who had taken to tiptoeing around his black temper with hurt looks on their small faces. For the sixth night in a row, Francis skipped dinner and opted instead to lie on his bed with a bag of chips and stare at the cracks in the ceiling while his mind looped back to his conversation with Sawyer.

  I think I’m pregnant.

  So, you think you might be three months pregnant and you just figured it out?

  Sawyer hadn’t once called or texted him. He couldn’t blame her, not really, after what he’d said and how he’d acted.

  Still, he was terrified and maintained, privately, that it was all a lie.

  What are my options? he asked himself. I could run away, or kill myself. But he knew he didn’t have the will or the guts to do either.

  Late at night, ten days into his depression, his despondent reflections were interrupted by a soft knock on his bedroom door. He ignored it, but whoever it was, and he knew the answer to that question, was persistent. “Go away, Mom!”

  It’s not that he hated her. It’s just that he couldn’t face her anxious questions—not when his betrayal was so complete—good-bye scholarship. It’d kill his parents.

  The door slowly opened. “It’s not your mom. It’s me. Kevin.”

  “Leave me alone.” Francis turned his back on his friend. “I mean it. Eff off.”

  The door clicked shut, and Francis breathed a sigh of relief and pulled his pillow over his head.

  “I’m not gone, asshole.”

  “Fuck.” He rolled over and saw Kevin watching him warily from across the room. His arms were folded and he leaned against the door, his eyes bright with anger and something else: fear.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s up with you. I can’t believe you skipped practice and didn’t let Coach know.” He crossed the floor in three steps and planted himself at the foot of Francis’s bed. “I mean it. I’m not moving until I know what’s going on.”

  “You’re being weird.”

  “It’s your girlfriend, isn’t it? You guys have broken up. Good. I never liked her, anyway.” He took a breath. “Now, that’s over. Want to kick the ball around, play some video games?”

  “It’s worse,” Francis squeaked, unable to be anything but relieved at having someone to confess to. “I’m fifteen. Sawyer thinks she is pregnant—almost four months pregnant—not that I get what that means. I’m going to get kicked out of Hudson, lose my scholarship. I’m dead.” The words flooded out of him, leaving him exhausted.

  He watched as Kevin’s eyes grew wide.

  “I’m in a world of shit,” he added.

  “Holy shit. I mean…holy shit.” Kevin paced back and forth from the door to the bed. “Seriously, holy shit.”

  “Yeah. Helpful. But you’re right. Holy shit. I think Sawyer and I are broken up. I think she’s seeing someone else…but that’s the least of my worries right now. I’m dead,” he repeated.

  Kevin sucked in a mouthful of air. “How can she be pregnant?”

  Francis propped himself up on one elbow. “Jesus, Kevin.”

  His friend’s face reddened. “Sorry. And are you sure? You know, that there’s something going on with someone else? I mean, that could be good. It could mean…”

  Francis rolled off the bed and went over to the window. “I’m not sure of anything—except that I’m dead.”

  Kevin was as uncomfortable as Francis with this whole exchange. “Has she seen a doctor?”

  “I don’t know. She kicked me out before we could really talk about it.”

  “When?”

  “Last week, or the week before. I’ve kind of lost count.”

  “And you haven’t spoken since?”

  “Nope. She’s pissed, but I’m the one who is screwed. I unfriended her on everything.”

  “Yeah, tough guy. You’re an idiot.” Kevin moved to the window and sighed. “You have to find out the truth; even if you are broken up, you need to know if there is a…well, you need to know.”

  “How?”

  “Face-to-face. I’ll go with you. After school tomorrow. Set it up. One way or the other, we’ve got to get some answers.”

  “She might not agree to meeting.”

  “Then it’s your job to persuade her.”

  “I’ll try.” He rubbed his temples. “How’s your dad?”

  Kevin bit his top lip. “He’s still alive. For now.”

  Chapter Six

  You have reached the end of your first trimester. Congratulations! Your baby is moving in your uterus, although you can’t feel it yet. Your baby is growing delicate, pink skin and starting to look more human. Your baby is approximately the size of half a roll of Life Savers.

  Excerpt: From Conception to Birth

  Coach sought Francis out the next day. Though Francis saw that his intentions were good, he couldn’t risk confiding in him of all people, so he was evasive when Coach asked, “Is anything wrong?”

  “Just a bit of pressure, with school, home, Kevin’s dad.” Francis hoped this explanation would keep Coach off his back for a while, but he made a note to himself that he needed to pull it together and act like everything was normal.

  “I’m here to talk to you whenever you need me,” Coach as
sured him. “And make sure you’re at the next practice, or I’ll have to bench you and, of course, get in touch with your parents.”

  At lunchtime, Francis was half-surprised to receive a text from Sawyer in answer to the one he’d sent her in the morning. He’d been doubtful that she’d agree to meet with him and Kevin after school, but she did, though her text message was terse and unfriendly: Fine, but don’t be an asshole, or I’ll throw U out again. S.

  Though he was grateful for Kevin’s support, he wasn’t confident his friend’s presence at Sawyer’s would change much. Besides, after last night’s frank conversation, they were both slightly embarrassed and avoided each other at school.

  Francis almost expected Kevin to back out, but when the final bell rang, Francis found Kevin waiting at his locker. “Did you hear from her?”

  “Yup. I got a text at lunch. She agreed. So…you’re still coming?”

  “I said I would,” Kevin answered, although he looked like he was having second thoughts.

  They spoke little to each other on the bus to the East Side. Both were anxious, but they kept their misgivings to themselves until they were standing outside Sawyer’s door. “This whole thing,” Kevin muttered, “is super weird.”

  “We could leave,” Francis suggested hopefully.

  Kevin’s answer was to knock on the door. “Nope,” he said with a wry smile. “We’re here now.”

  “Enter.” Sawyer’s voice came through the door. She greeted Francis coolly but was pleasant to Kevin. “Hey, it’s good to see you. Thanks for bringing Francis over. I knew he wouldn’t have come alone. Every couple needs a Tiresias to help out now and again.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.” Kevin buried his hands deep in the pockets of his flannel school pants. “No problem,” he stammered. It wasn’t hard to tell he’d lost his nerve. Or that he didn’t have a clue who or what she meant by Tiresias. Francis didn’t either, and he didn’t ask for clarification.

  He saw Kevin’s eyes travel around the apartment, full of curiosity. “Different” was all he managed after some observation, not looking at her.