Immaculate (17 page)

“Sure,” I said, nodding to the empty tree house. “That would be nice.”

Nice
wasn't the first word that had popped into my mind. The idea of driving to school
with
him made me much more nervous than the idea of driving to school
without
him.

The mildly offbeat boy who grinned all the time and spent his lunches with sci-fi books rather than human beings made me so nervous, I realized, that the phone was suddenly hot against my ear, the hand gripping it prickling with sweat.

We hung up after I gave him my address, and I sat for a minute staring at my phone, replaying the conversation in my head.

Jesse? Was I . . . Did I
like
Jesse? I stared at my still-clammy palm as if it had betrayed me somehow. I couldn't like Jesse, not now, not when I was still just getting over Nate. And certainly not while I was pregnant and trying to sort out my already too complicated life.

Jesse was my new friend. That was all.

That had to be all.

My stomach growled, thankfully, because I was happy to think about something else, anything else. I realized I'd never thought to eat breakfast, not between the fight with Izzy and Gracie's confession. I stood up and stretched, my back aching from lying against the rough wooden floor. After doing my best to shove most of the note scraps into one of the buckets from the makeshift table, I gave the room one final glance and made my way toward the beaded doorway.

A flash of neon pink on the mossy ground below caught my eye and I froze, one foot perched on the top rung of the ladder.

“Gracie? What are you doing here?”

She looked up with a small, hesitant smile. “I was waiting for you. I wanted to see if you were okay, but I didn't want to bug you and make you even madder.”

“You've been sitting here this whole time?”

“Almost. Mom got on the phone with Aunt Vera a few minutes after you left, and then I snuck out. I followed you when you finally left your car. Are you angry still?”

“I'm not angry,” I said, slowly edging down the ladder on the heels of my feet, keeping my eyes on Gracie the whole time. And I wasn't. Looking at her rosy cheeked, freckled little face peering up at me from below, all I felt was relief that she was still there, even after I'd yelled at her.

“Everyone would have found out sooner or later, Gracie. Because of you, it's just a little sooner, that's all.” I grinned at her as I stepped off the last rung, and she ran over to me, a mesmerizing smile lighting up every last inch of her face.

“If anyone deserves an apology right now, it's you,” I said, pulling her in for a hug. “I've been so busy with worrying about the baby and about school, I haven't been spending enough time with you. And I'm sorry about that. I miss you. You need your big sister.”

“It's okay,” she said, wrapping her skinny little arms tightly around me. “I forgive you. I know you have to spend time on the baby now, too.” She pulled back and grinned up at me. “No, wait. I forgive you
if
 . . . you let me pick the baby's name!” She giggled, tugging at my sweatshirt sleeves as she twirled herself around in happy circles.

I laughed. “We have a few months to go, still, sweetie. And we don't even know if we're naming a boy or a girl yet. But you can start a list, and I promise to give your suggestions
very
serious consideration when the time comes.”

“Yes!” Her scream rang out through the quiet woods, and we both laughed again, listening as the echoes seemed to bounce along the trees surrounding us.

“Well, now that we've decided that,” I said, reaching out to grab her hand, “I think it's time we go make some peanut butter chocolate chip pancakes, and then we build a pillow fort and watch movies all day long. Sound good to you?”

“Sounds very good,” she said, dragging me as she skipped toward the grassy field waiting just ahead of us. I moved my legs faster to keep up, but then she stopped so abruptly that I bumped against her, almost knocking her to the ground.

She turned to face me, her little forehead suddenly scrunched in worry.

“Mina,” she said, her voice hushed. “I just thought of something bad. What if when people find out your secret, they get mad and want to hurt you or the baby? Like they did to Jesus in the Bible, when they . . . when they put him on the cross to die?”

Her question felt like stepping under an ice-cold shower, every muscle and nerve and thought seizing up in shock. My breath stopped, and my heart stopped, too, I swear—either that or the second itself became some strange, mutilated section of time that didn't have to follow any of the normal rules, didn't have to pass to the next second in any kind of predictable pattern.

“That's not going to happen, Gracie.” The words somehow found their way to my lips even if my brain hadn't consciously delivered them there. “I'm going to be fine.
We're
going to be fine.”

She nodded, but I could tell that neither of us really believed what I'd said.

Because Gracie was right. When the news got out, some people would be angry.

Very angry.

But she was wrong about one thing—no one would hurt this baby. Not unless they killed me first. I would leave if I had to, run away somewhere no one would ever find me. I'd be a new person.

I'd live a new life, if that was what it would take to keep my baby safe.

• • •

After three back-to-back Disney movies, two towering stacks of syrup-drenched pancakes, a plate of brownies, and one very buttery bowl of popcorn, Gracie and I were curled up in her bed, my eyelids heavy from too much fatty food and too many corny love ballads.

“How did you know, Mina?” she asked, my eyes blinking back open. “How did you first know about the baby?”

I held my breath, trying to decide how much Gracie actually needed to be told. I was surprised it had taken her this long to ask, though I suppose seven-year-old brains processed the
why
s and
how
s of miracles differently than the rest of ours did.

“Well . . .” I started, flipping onto my side so I could see Gracie's face. “One night while I was working at Frankie's, I met an old lady named Iris. She was very strange, and very old, with bright white hair and a funny-looking ragged old jacket.” Gracie curled up closer against me, and I relaxed. I pretended that I was just telling her a made-up story, as if Iris was just another magical character from a fairy tale, and the words rolled easily off my tongue. “She didn't quite seem real to me from the second she walked in that door. There was something different about her. Something special. She ordered a water with sugar and lemon,” I said, smiling to myself. “She asked me to sit with her for a little, and then she told me that I had been chosen. That the world needed me and this baby. I don't know why, Gracie, but that's what she said to me, and when she asked if I would do it, I said yes.”

Her golden eyebrows crinkled as she very solemnly considered everything I'd said. “But why did you say yes, Mina? If she was strange and you didn't really know what she was saying?”

Nothing slipped past her—I sometimes didn't give my little sister enough credit. “Honestly, Gracie, I don't know exactly.
Yes
just felt like the only answer. Maybe because I was a little scared of telling her
no
. But I think also because I just needed to get away from there, and saying yes seemed like the easiest, fastest way out.”

She looked up at me, her blue eyes squinting as big, heavy thoughts shifted around inside of her head. And then she nodded. “I think I would have said yes, too.”

“You would have?” I asked, feeling relieved at her approval. “Why?”

“She said the world needed you,” she said simply. “You can't say no to that.”

“No,” I said, leaning back against the pillows. “No, when you put it that way . . . I guess you can't.”

chapter ten

I woke up
to my alarm Monday morning feeling stiff with dread and exhaustion, though I was relieved that I'd managed to get any sleep at all. I'd spent most of Saturday night and Sunday working dutifully on schoolwork, burying my nose in textbooks and trying to ignore Gracie's scary question, that terrifying vision of Jesus dying in agony on the cross. I had hoped that I could somehow shove it back out of my mind if I just distracted myself enough, pretended that it had never been there at all.

But I couldn't. Now that the seed had been planted, the fear was there to stay.

I refused the plate of sunny-side up eggs and bacon that my mom held out to me when I walked into the kitchen, my stomach churning at even the idea of eating. But I did allow myself a small cup of milky vanilla coffee, a habit I'd otherwise cut after all the prenatal research I'd done. I squeezed my eyes shut and savored each sip, trying to visualize the caffeine slowly flowing through my body, working its glorious magic. Gracie was perched on the chair across from me, elaborating on her schedule for school that day in great detail, and I was trying my best to focus on what she was saying. Trying and failing, apparently.

“So which of those ideas do you think I should use for the diorama, Meen? I can't pick.” Gracie stared at me over the table, her face and lips scrunched up in a look of agonized indecision.

“I . . . um . . .” I squeezed my mug and frantically tried to pull up what Gracie had just been saying. Science, I think. Ocean? Space?

A cheery loud knock came from the front door. My mom dropped the spoon she was rinsing and Gracie jumped from her chair, the question over the diorama already forgotten. I exhaled, relieved to be off the hook. But then I remembered.

Jesse. My heart thudded. And my palms—those damn palms—were already sweating again. I had never mentioned Jesse's offer to my mom. And now he was here, on my porch, ready to take me to school.

“Oh, right. Mom, I forgot to tell you that a friend was picking me up today.” I pushed my chair back and stood up so fast, I almost spilled the rest of my coffee on Gracie's curious upturned face. “A friend from work. Jesse. The boy who, you know . . .”

Recognition flashed in my mom's eyes before I had to finish, along with a suspicious glint that made my cheeks burn.

Jesse knocked again, and I grabbed my backpack from the floor as I rushed to get the door. I looked over my shoulder to say bye, and jumped when I saw that my mom and Gracie were both right behind me, following me down the hall.

My stomach flipped and I almost tumbled over the step leading up to the front door. I forced myself to smile as I swung the door open.

“Hey, Jesse.”

“Hey, Mina.” Jesse smiled back at me, of course, and I couldn't help noticing that he looked especially adorable, standing there in a faded vintage bomber jacket and dark green pinstripe pants, his curly hair still wet and tangled from the shower. His warm brown eyes shifted from me back to my mom and Gracie, who opened the door wider as they huddled behind me.

“Hi, I'm Jesse,” he said, reaching out his hand to my mom. Gracie latched on first, pushing her way past me as she pumped his arm vigorously up and down.

“I'm Gracie. Mina's little sister. Well, not that little anymore. But still her sister.”

I could tell Jesse was holding back a laugh, but he caught himself, mirroring Gracie's own very serious expression. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mina's not-so-little sister.”

My mom gently pulled Gracie away from Jesse. “Thanks for picking Mina up, Jesse. I hope it wasn't too far out of your way.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Dietrich. I actually just live a few roads over, so I'm happy to give Mina a ride whenever.”

My mom chuckled and draped her arm around my shoulders. “That's lovely, really, because between you and me, Mina's father and I breathe much easier when she's in the passenger seat. A little too skittish to be behind the wheel, if you ask me.”

“I am standing right here, Mom, so I can actually hear you,” I said, shooting her what I hoped was a subtly threatening look. “On that note, time to go.” I kissed my mom and Gracie on the cheeks and darted across the porch, motioning for Jesse to follow me.

He still beat me to the passenger side of his fire-engine-red pickup truck, which, based on the rust around the headlights and the dents clustered along the rear, was quite the antique.

“I wouldn't have pegged you as the pickup truck type,” I said, ignoring the hand he held out to help me climb up to the seat. “Seems too—I don't know—rural and uncivilized for you.” I cringed, wondering if that had sounded more judgmental than I'd intended. “I just mean that you seem like more of an old rusty Beetle or Saab type of guy. You know, smart, edgy, a touch of Euro cool.”

He laughed as he started toward the driver's side. “It's the newsy cap, isn't it? Or maybe it's the whole mysterious loner thing, am I right? I'm just one big walking stereotype.”

“No, not at all, I . . .” He was right, it was
exactly
that. I was kicking myself for saying anything about the truck at all—kicking myself because once again I'd assumed I'd known more about Jesse than I really did. I'd assumed he was just that easy to read.

He saved me, though, continuing on as he climbed into the seat next to mine. “Well, my dad's certainly not a Beetle type of guy, and this was his for the past fifteen years or so before he bequeathed it to me. He's in construction, so it's always a pickup truck. And it's not so bad, really; it's actually pretty useful. I have an uncle on my mom's side of the family who does a lot of camerawork in the Philly area for low-budget indies—documentaries, things like that—and I help him out a lot on nights and weekends when I'm not at Frankie's. The truck comes in handy for carting around cameras and props and whatnot. There's no money in it for me and I'm basically everyone's slave, but I want to major in film at college next year. I figure I should soak up whatever experience I can.”

“That's really cool,” I said quietly. My lips suddenly felt too dry to speak actual words. What was wrong with me?
Pull yourself together, Mina.
I glanced around the front seat as he pulled out of my driveway, searching for anything that could possibly be the next subject of conversation. It was surprisingly nondescript and neat for a guy's car, especially compared to the scattered hoodies and empty coffee cups that rolled around my backseat every day.

He reached out for the radio, twisting the knob until the static dimmed and the sound of “Sweet Home Alabama” covered any awkward silence. I grinned and rolled down my window, letting the cool morning air mix with the smell of soil and metal that hovered in the truck. There was something about the scent that I liked—it smelled real and earthy and made me feel protected from the world outside.

We didn't talk the rest of the way to school, though we both tried our best to sing along with the random oldies station he'd landed on—me humming through the vague parts, Jesse creatively improvising the lyrics he didn't know. For those ten minutes I could almost forget that it was a Monday morning, that we were on our way to school, and that I'd soon inevitably be seeing Izzy and a whole crowd of other undesirable faces. Almost.

I resisted the urge to slouch down and duck as we pulled into the school parking lot.

I had no one to hide from. I hadn't done anything wrong.

Jesse turned the music down to a barely audible buzz. “Are you okay, Mina?”

“I'm fine,” I said quickly, more for myself than for Jesse. “I'm totally fine. Really.”

I pushed open my door before Jesse could ask any other questions. I scanned the lot and saw Hannah standing alone at her car in the next row, lost in her usual morning daze as she mentally ticked through the list of everything she might have forgotten already that day. All her books and assignments? School ID, lip gloss, lunch money? I smiled to myself, relieved that Hannah was still so completely familiar to me—relieved that some people and some things in my life hadn't changed.

“Hannah!” I called out, my hands cupped around my lips. She looked up, turning her head left and right as she searched for my usual silver Jetta. When she zeroed in on me standing in front of the red truck, her head tilted in confusion.

I'd talked to Hannah on the phone the day before, but I'd been too distracted by other things to mention Jesse—I told her about Gracie and Izzy, of course, but most of the conversation revolved around the fact that Hannah had finally become an aunt that weekend. She'd spent most of the time at the hospital with her sister, Lauren, and her precious new baby niece, Ella, and was busy cooing to me about everything I had to look forward to—and how much love I would instantly feel for such a tiny little human being.

“Babies are such miracles, Meen!” she'd screamed into the phone, cracking up when she realized the irony of her words. “Though maybe yours qualifies just a
bit
more than Ella.”

So, comparatively—Jesse's offer to drive me to school ranked low on the list of pressing news. I mean, really, it was just a ride to school. Her sister had had a
baby
! That had clearly been a terrible oversight on my part, though, given the evil squint she was giving me as she marched across the parking lot in my direction.

“Mina,” she said, her voice probably sounding calm and even to a casual observer, though my well-trained ears could detect the angry questions swarming just beneath the surface. Before I could make any quiet pleas for forgiveness, Jesse came up behind me, my backpack dangling from his arm.

“Oh, hey there,” he said, giving Hannah a small wave with his free hand. “I'm Jesse.”

“Of course.” She beamed at him before glancing at me, lips pursed and hands perched on her hips. “I've heard
so
much about you already.” She turned away and focused her bubbly golden energy back on Jesse. “It's great to finally meet you. I'm Hannah, Mina's best friend.”

Jesse looked back and forth from me to Hannah, eyebrows lifted in amusement.

“So . . . are you ready to go in, Mina?” His question was discreet—he wasn't sure what Hannah knew or didn't know about Arielle and the whole story coming out. But he locked his dark eyes on mine, and I could feel the full force of his concern pour over me, making me more nervous than I already was.

“It's okay, Jesse,” I said, looking toward Hannah. “She knows everything, too, so you can say whatever you want in front of her.”

Hannah nodded at both of us, her eyes softening. “I'm here for you, Meen. We're both here for you.”

Her anger at being left out of the Jesse loop had passed, at least for the moment.

They both stayed close as we pushed through the crowded front doors and walked along the main hallway to our lockers. We didn't talk much as we went, too preoccupied watching and listening to everyone around us, waiting for that moment—that first accusation, that first sharp bite of reality. They both stood with me while I emptied my backpack and piled up everything I needed for the first half of the day. When I was finished, we made the rounds to both of their lockers, too, Jesse only just clicking in his combination when the first bell rang.

“You guys go,” Jesse said, yanking his locker open. “Don't worry about me. I'll catch up with you later this morning sometime.”

The idea of leaving Jesse behind felt wrong somehow, made me feel oddly unbalanced, but Hannah nodded and started dragging me behind her to European History.

Nothing happened anyway, not during history, not during lit or my drawing class either. Hannah was in total mother bird mode all morning, fussing and hovering so much that I almost wanted something to happen, anything that would distract her long enough to give me a second's breath of alone time. We were in all the same classes, a feat we'd pulled off for sophomore year and junior year, too. Izzy was only in our lunch, a detail that had horribly disturbed me when we first set up our schedules last May, but now was an incredible relief.

By the time I was at the sandwich bar in the cafeteria, layering thick globs of peanut butter and jelly onto slices of whole wheat bread, the day was starting to feel like every other Monday. Hannah was complaining next to me about the mysterious clear flecks of gel on the turkey lunch meat, even though she still ate a turkey sandwich, gel and all, almost every day.

We steered our trays toward our table in the back of the cafeteria, where I saw that Jesse was already waiting for us. He had a massive forkful of the cafeteria's crusty orange macaroni and cheese in one hand, and a small handheld camera in the other. The lens was pointed toward the tables near the trash cans, the area where he usually sat. He gave a shy smile as we settled into the seats across from him, clicking off the camera as he shoved it back into his messenger bag.