How It Ends (20 page)

I snatch up my toothbrush and scrub my teeth as quickly as possible, calculating how late I'll be for first period. Detention late? Or just lecture late?

One look in the mirror confirms that it will definitely be detention late. I look like death. It took me forever to fall asleep last night, and it shows on my face. My cheeks are sickly pale, and there are dark circles under my eyes.

Concealer. Need concealer.

I shuffle through the bottles and tubes littering the countertop but come up empty-handed.
What the hell?

I wrench open the drawer, nearly yanking it right out of the vanity. It's got to be here somewhere. I empty the contents of the drawer onto the countertop—brushes, mascara, Band-Aids, tampons . . . I've got everything in here except concealer.

That's when I remember—the makeup kit Madge gave me for Christmas. It's still sitting, untouched, on my dresser. I skid into my room and pop it open, and there it is—concealer! Thank God.

Back in my bathroom, I'm dabbing it under my eyes when a horrible feeling creeps up my spine. I look at the countertop where I tossed the tampons out of my drawer. When was the last time . . . 

The room goes hazy.

Think.

Were Jess and I speaking then? Did I have it on spring break? Was it before or after the history assignment was due?

I have absolutely no idea. It could have been last month or three months ago for all I can remember.

As stupid as this sounds, I've never kept track of when my period comes. I can always tell when it's on its way, since I start getting cramps and feeling gross, so I just wait for the signs and make sure I'm prepared. I stumble over to the bathtub and sit on the edge, taking deep breaths and trying to sense some sign that my period is coming, but there's nothing. Not even a twinge.

Fucking hell. I can't be—can I?

I get up, smooth out the concealer under my eyes, and head into my room for my bag. My first class is a write-off. I check the clock on my nightstand and make a decision. I'm headed to the pharmacy and then to find Jess.

She's the only person I trust with this. The only person who understands having a secret you can't tell anyone else.

Do you ever have days when you swear you're dreaming? When reality is so ephemeral . . . so slippery . . . that your mind skates along the edge of disbelief?

That was my day today.

Annie herself is like a dream. One minute I think I have her figured out, and the next she morphs into someone new.

Every time I get comfortable—every time I relax into our friendship—it takes a dizzying new turn. Today was the most dizzying turn of all.

Annie texted me before school this morning to say she was running late and that I should go on without her. I walked to school alone, worrying over her having ditched me so close to us making up from our fight.

By the time first period was over, I'd convinced myself that she had reconsidered our friendship. So when I spotted her scanning the crowd in the hallway, it didn't even register that she might be looking for me.

As soon as she saw me, though, relief spread across her face. She made a beeline through the foyer, cutting off kids as if she didn't even see them.

She grabbed me by the arm and leaned into me. “Thank God you're here. I've been dying to talk to you all morning.” She looked panic-stricken, and my mind got tangled up between relief that she was happy to see me and fear over the look in her eyes.

“What's wrong?”

“In here,” she hissed, dragging me into the bathroom by the arm. “I need your help.” She held up a finger for silence while the bathroom emptied of the between-classes crowd.

I felt lighter. Annie chose
me.
She had a problem and she was turning to
me.

“Promise you won't tell anyone?” She sounded excited. Her words were vibrating with an unnerving mixture of hope and dread. She pulled a plastic bag out of her backpack and clutched it to her chest. With her eyes wide and cheeks pink she looked like my Annie again. She looked like the first day of school.

“Of course not!”

“Okay . . .” She dragged out the word like she was about to reveal something wondrous, and my eyes widened with expectation.

But what she pulled out of the bag was a red and white box that took my breath away. The room swam around me as though we'd suddenly been plunged underwater.

“I know!” she practically shouted, and I looked reflexively toward the door, afraid we'd get caught. “I know it's terrible and awful, and I should be crying and freaking out . . . and I'm not exactly
happy
about it or anything. God, I don't even really believe it could be true . . . but I'm late, Jess. I'm late and I'm freaking, and I just have to
know,
you know?”

She finally stopped talking and looked at me, waiting for me to say something. Waiting for me to reassure her. To put my arm around her and tell her everything would be okay. I could see the scene unfolding the way she wanted it to, but I just couldn't make myself cooperate.

Instead, I blurted, “You had
sex!
” I'd meant it to be a question, but it came out an accusation.

“Duh.”

“What were you
thinking?
” I had suddenly become my mother. I knew I was handling it all wrong. I didn't really care so much that she'd had sex, beyond being insanely jealous and enormously curious. What really bothered me . . . what still cuts me so deep that I can barely breathe, is that she did it without talking to me. She thought about it, debated it, made her decision, and did it without ever, not even once, mentioning it to me.

“Jesus, Jess! I need
help,
not a lecture.”

I took a deep breath and tried to focus my thoughts. “Okay. Let's think about this logically. You still have a week before your period is due.”

“What?”

“Your period. It's due next week.”

“I don't even want to know how you know that, but I'm late from the one
before.
”

“You're three weeks late and just noticing
now?
”

“I don't keep track of these things!”

I eyed the box. “You haven't taken the test yet, right?”

She shook her head.

“Let's do it, then,” I said, slinging my backpack into the corner. “It's not like either of us will be able to focus in class until we know.”

Annie disappeared into a stall, and I heard the package rip open. A moment later, a little folded booklet came skidding out from under the stall. “Read that! I'm too nervous.”

I scanned the pamphlet, my hands shaking. “Sounds pretty easy. Take the cap off, pee on the ‘absorbent tip,' and then put the cap back on. We should know in three minutes.”

We shared a giggle at the term
absorbent tip
before the bathroom fell silent. When I heard Annie peeing, I got so scared I thought I might throw up. What the hell were we going to do?

She came out of the stall holding the stick in front of her as if it were a weapon. She set it on the edge of the sink, and we stared at my watch as the seconds ticked by. Neither of us peeked at the test.

At two minutes and seventeen seconds, we heard the bathroom door pull open. We both moved to block the test from view. A nervous-looking girl peered at us, obviously curious about why we'd formed a human wall in front of one of the sinks, but she thought better of asking. We stayed motionless, not even talking, until she finished, washed her hands, and left.

“Three minutes have definitely passed.” Now that it was time to look, I wanted to run away.

Annie looked at me for a long moment. “Thanks for this, Jess,” she breathed.

I nodded at her, and we both turned around at the same time. In front of us was the white plastic stick. There were two pink lines in the little window.

“I don't suppose two lines means negative?” she asked.

I didn't answer. I just passed her the booklet that contained the bad news. Two lines meant pregnant. Two lines meant a
baby.

Annie picked up the pregnancy test and tossed it into the garbage. “Well, fuck . . .” she said awkwardly, not meeting my eyes.

“I won't tell anyone,” I reassured her. “And we'll fix this, I promise. We just need information. We can go to a guidance counselor if you want . . . or maybe your family doctor? I'll go with you. We can find out where to get it done there.”

She was nodding her head along with what I was saying, until I got to my last sentence. Then she stopped and looked at me, confused. “Get what done?”

“You know, the . . .
procedure.
”

She was still looking at me blankly.

“The thing . . . the
abortion.
” I whispered the last word, feeling the crushing weight of it in my chest.

“Jess!” Her eyes widened in shock, and she backed away from me as though I were something monstrous. “Who said anything about an
abortion?
” Like me, she couldn't say the word without whispering.

“Well, it's not like you can
keep
it!”

“This is all so . . . I
just
found out. You can't expect me to know what I want to do right this instant!”

“What do you mean—know what you want to do? What options do you have? You can't seriously be thinking about having this baby. You're
fifteen,
for God's sake. Are you really going to walk through these halls with a giant pregnant belly for everyone to see?”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “I didn't . . . I mean . . . I haven't thought about it. I just . . .”

“Look, Annie. Let's call your doctor and make an appointment. We can ask him about . . . abortions . . . and get information. You don't have to do it if you don't want to, but I'm assuming that there's some kind of time limit on this sort of thing. Let's get information first and then decide what to do.”

She gave her head a quick shake, as though she were waking from a dream. “I got it, Jess. Thanks, though.”

“You got what?”

“I'll go to the doctor and everything. I don't need you to come.”

“But I
want
to. I want to help you.”

She looked at me strangely. “I know you want to help, but the only two people who get a say in what we do are me and Scott.”

“Right. Of course. I just thought . . . I mean, you said you needed my
help.
Why did you drag me in here if you didn't want me to help?”

“I wanted you here for moral support. Not to schedule an abortion for me. I need to
think
about things and talk to Scott. This is serious, Jess! It's a
life.
”

Her words shamed me. I
know
it's a life . . . and yet I can't help feeling like it's not, too. This was Annie's life we were talking about, and I couldn't believe she wasn't putting herself first. She made a
mistake,
for God's sake! I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that she might consider throwing her entire life away at fifteen because of a
mistake.

I nodded at her, embarrassed. “I just want to help,” I said as she fumbled with her bag. “Any way I can, Annie. Seriously. I'm here for you.”

“I know you are,” Annie said, and she gave me a little hug before rushing past me. “I just need some time to think.”

I stayed in the bathroom and watched her go, feeling as if the world were spiraling away from me. How could something so momentous happen in this dingy little room? I gathered my stuff and headed for the door, passing the trash can on the way out. I didn't want to look inside but couldn't help myself. The plastic stick was sitting there, right on top of the wastebasket for anyone to see. It looked almost obscene, and I couldn't believe she hadn't hidden it at the bottom of the trash or wrapped it in the plastic bag before throwing it away. I stopped, debating, and then grabbed some paper towels and threw them on top, pushing the test down and hiding it from view.

Before now, I'd always thought that people who couldn't make up their mind about something were full of shit. I figured they knew what they wanted but didn't have the balls to admit it and so pretended to be torn. I'd never been torn before.

I am now.

Some days I fall asleep willing myself to miscarry in the night. I don't want to deal with this shit. I think of my dad finding out, or Madge's face when she hears . . . even of Scott's reaction, and I want to be sick, I'm so scared. On those days, I know I need to figure out how to have an abortion. I lie in bed imagining I'm starting to feel cramping coming. I close my eyes so tight I can see flashes of light on my eyelids, and I put all my energy into ending this pregnancy. I send every negative thought I can muster down into my belly and try to push the little baby out of me along with all my frustration and fear and anger.

And then there are days like today. Today, I swear there is a little ball of light inside me. It's like . . . like I have a treasure no one knows about but me. And it's something so precious that I have to protect it no matter what. On days like this, I start to think about other ways this story could end. I imagine myself having the baby and giving it up to some fabulous couple who are dying to have a child. They're smart and rich and young, and they give my little girl or boy the best of everything, and I get to go through the rest of my life knowing I did something selfless and beautiful.

Or I could keep the baby. I imagine myself holding my little one for the first time. In that fantasy, it's always a girl. I look into her little eyes and fall in love and know that no matter what happens, we'll have each other. I keep the memory of my own mother alive by being exactly that type of mom to my baby. It's us against everyone else—everyone who doubted or abandoned me when I got pregnant—and she grows up never having to know anyone like Madge.