Because I Love You (3 page)

“No, it’s not the flu,” I said.

“Is it mono? Please tell me you don’t have mono.”

“I don’t have mono.”

“Pneumonia?”

“Heather, I’m not sick.”

She glanced at me from the driver’s seat, eyes wide. I gripped the side of the car as she jerked out of and back into her lane.

“You mean you
lied
to get out of church? That’s a first,” she said.

“I didn’t lie. I’m not feeling well, but I’m not sick.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

I sighed. Should I tell Heather now? I’d planned on telling Mom first—if ever—but the thought of telling Mom I even had sex was terrifying. Maybe having someone already in my corner would be good, someone I could talk to if Mom kicked me out of the house. Heather would be the most logical person. I mean, I had other friends and all, but not like her.

“Pull over,” I said. Last thing I needed was to die in the process of revealing my secret.

Heather scrunched her face. “You’re not going to puke, are you?”

I glared at her.

“All right. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” She pulled into the parking lot of McDonald’s.

I turned in my seat; the gnawing pain in my gut was back with a vengeance. Maybe I was going to puke, after all. This being-sick-all-the-time thing was really getting old, really fast.

I took a deep breath. “I have to tell you something, but you have to promise me you won’t tell a single soul. Especially not Carter.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Okay . . . ?”

Here it goes. It’s now or never. Spit it out. Just say the words.

“I’m pregnant.”

Heather’s mouth gaped so big that our whole town of River Springs could’ve moved inside and made our own country.

“How?” she asked.

“Well, you see, when a boy and a girl—”

Heather rolled her eyes. “I know the mechanics. I just always pictured this conversation a little different. Like me saying it to you.”

I tried to laugh, but, instead, my bottom lip quivered.
Not again.
“Oh, God, Heather. W-What do I d-do?”

“Well, have you told your mom?”

I shook my head.

“Okay, good. Don’t tell her yet.”

“What? Why would I not tell her? Don’t you think this is kind of a hard secret to keep?”

“I said ‘yet.’ Jeez, Drama Queen. First, you’ve taken a test, right?”

I nodded.

“Okay, well, sometimes those things are faulty. See, there are things they don’t tell you in sex ed. We need to have a doctor check in case there’s something wrong with you.”

I flinched. “What do you mean ‘wrong with me?’”

“Like, ovarian cysts or whatever. I don’t know. It’s happened before. Some chick thinks she’s pregnant, tells the world, and, turns out, she isn’t. So, we go see the doctor, and
if
you’re pregnant, we’ll figure out how to tell your mom.” She left McDonald’s
without even asking if I was okay with the plan.

A couple minutes down the road, Heather chuckled. “I still can’t believe
you
had sex.”

I rolled my eyes. There was no point in responding. I still couldn’t believe it either. It just happened. Carter admitted to having more feelings for me than he let on; we both were buzzed and practically naked in a hot tub; he kissed me; there was an empty room upstairs at the party . . . .

I closed my eyes as the memory flooded my mind. I’d slept with my best friend, and this was what I got in return.

Heather pulled her car into my driveway. “Tomorrow after school? Planned Parenthood does tests, and they’re confidential, so your Mom won’t know you were there.”

With a nod, I tugged on the car door’s handle. But Heather had hit the lock button.

“Hey,” she said, “you don’t get to leave until you tell me who the baby daddy is. I’d tell you.”

My heart lurched.
Will Heather forgive me if I tell her the truth?

I did something to Heather I hadn’t done in years. “You don’t know him. I met him over the summer when I visited my aunt and uncle in England.” The words felt like acid on my lips. I wanted to take them back, but if I did, she might hate me forever. Heather wasn’t the kind to ever let go of a grudge. And, I couldn’t risk that.

Heather laughed. “Wow. You’d told me your week in London was life changing. I’m totally coming with you next summer.” She hit the unlock button, and I flung the door open.

Before I got out of the car, I turned to her. “Please, don’t say anything to anyone.”

Heather crossed an X on her chest. She said the promise we’d made to each other in second grade after Beth Donaghue pulled down my pants in front of the whole class. It was corny, but we’d lived by it ‘til this day: “Cross my heart and hope to die, best friends forever, you and I.”

I sprinted up my driveway, needing to get away from her as fast as possible. I really was a terrible friend, and guilt kept me tossing and turning all night.

Exhausted and hollow, I climbed out of bed before my alarm and dragged myself into the shower.

Pausing in front of the mirror, I stared at my stomach. Still flat. I bit my lip as I pictured what my belly would look like when it grew to the size of a watermelon. I would look like I was standing in front of a funhouse mirror. After making sure the dark circles around my eyes were covered and my hair was styled normally—down and curled—I went to the kitchen and dug out a box of cereal.

“How are you feeling?” Mom asked when she entered the room.

“Good.” I drenched my breakfast with more milk than it needed and sat at the table.

She felt my forehead. “Looks like you needed all that rest. I don’t remember you ever sleeping that long.” She stepped away to let me eat and gathered her papers into her oversized briefcase.

“Yeah, I guess.” Truth was: I hadn’t been sleeping. Not all day, at least. And not most of the night, either. Still, I wasn’t going to tell her what I’d really been doing: reading pregnancy websites on my cell phone.

“Well, promise me you’ll take it easy this week. No late nights with Carter and Heather.”

“Fine. Oh, but I did tell Heather I’d help her with her French after school today.” Almost forgot the cover story.

“Two weeks into the year, and she’s already falling behind?” The judgment in her voice was so easy to hear. She’d never liked Heather.

“It’s a tough class.”

Mom sighed. “All right. But be home for dinner. You missed last night’s, and Doug and Kathy are flying back to England tomorrow.”

I nodded, finishing my cereal, and then dumped the leftover milk down the sink. Then I slipped on my white cheerleading sneakers and watched morning cartoons with a very drowsy Micah until Heather’s car horn beeped in the driveway.

As soon as I sat in the front seat, Heather handed me a wad of cash.

“What’s this?” I asked, closing the car door.

Backing down the driveway, she replied, “Money.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I can see that it’s money. But what is it for?”

“The doctor. We’re still going, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, did you think it’d be free? I know your mom checks your debit card statements.”

Mom
could
be a little overbearing.

“Heather, I don’t need your money.”

Heather waved. “Pay me back later. There were some really cute shoes at Willard’s I want to wear to Homecoming.”

I frowned. Would I even get to go to Homecoming? It was still four weeks away. How fat would I be in a month? “Fine. I’ll buy your shoes.”

Heather smiled. “Hey, do you care if I ask Carter to go with me? As friends, of course. Oh, and only if you get a date. Which you will. You always do.”

My heart sank to my knees. Did I care? Heck yes! But if I told her that, she’d want me to give her a reason why. And I really didn’t feel like spitting out, “I’m carrying his baby.” I’d have to let them go and make up some excuse for not being able to attend. Maybe I’d wake up with morning sickness again, and it wouldn’t be hard to pretend I was ill.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I replied.

Heather patted my knee. “Maybe you can ask Mr. England to pay you a visit.”

Ugh.
She’d named my imaginary baby daddy. “Maybe.”

She pulled into the parking lot of River Springs Prep. Heather linked arms with me as we walked into the school, wearing matching uniforms.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said. “I’m not leaving your side.”

A lump formed in my throat. Would she say the same thing when I told her the truth about Carter?

chapter three

The halls of River Springs Preparatory School were covered in maroon and gold. Streamers hung from the ceiling, lockers were enclosed in wrapping paper, and everywhere students were dressed in some variation of school colors. Even Heather and I added to the ambiance in our cheerleading uniforms. We played our rival in football on Friday, which meant it was time for Spirit Week. Last year, it’d been one of the best weeks of my life. This time, it would be the opposite.

Heather paused in front of my locker so I could exchange my backpack for the first half of the day’s books. I loaded my arms with textbooks then followed her down the hall. As we neared her locker, Carter approached us from the other direction, dressed in jeans and his football jersey. I fought every urge to run and duck for cover and instead forced a grin.

“Feeling better?” he asked, stopping with us at Heather’s locker.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Just some twenty-four-hour stomach bug thing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Wasn’t it more like forty-eight hours? You had me take you home on Saturday, remember?”

Oops
. “Oh. Yeah. Guess it was.”

“Regardless”—Heather closed her locker—“Andie’s feeling back to her perky self. Which means she can shake her little pom poms and shout like a crazed lunatic all day. Because apparently that’s what cheerleaders do.”

Carter walked with us as we made our way to first period. “
You’re
a cheerleader.”

“Only because Andie made me.”

“I didn’t
make
you,” I chimed in. “You could’ve joined marching band.”

Heather made a
pssh
sound. “And pass up the chance to look
this
hot in a skirt? Puh-lease.”

Carter shook his head with a chuckle and dropped us off at our first class of the day—AP English. We were the only two juniors in the entire class. Well, us and Gwen, another one of our fellow cheerleaders. Where I excelled at science, Heather’s best subject was English. And as my love of reading knew no bounds, it’d been easy to keep up. Would I have to switch classes when—
if
—she realized who I’d slept with? My stomach did a backflip.

Heather and I grabbed our seats in the middle of the room. I shook my head when she sent me raunchy texts about Tower-of-London-sized penises and English fetishes. She was trying to lighten the mood, but when I read,
Did Mr. England have a whale boner
? I tossed my phone in my purse. We’d hear enough about sex when we visited the clinic after school.

Ten seconds after the second bell, Mr. Bingham began his lecture. “Over the weekend, you should’ve finished reading
Of Mice and Men
. Now, who can tell me one of the main themes of the story?”

I raised my hand. The book had been an easy read for me. “Loneliness?”

“Yes, that’s part of it. But let’s look a little deeper.”

The room went back to silence. I racked my brain, searching for a better response, unwilling to admit that I hadn’t uncovered the larger theme. I loved books, and after the science classes, English was my favorite subject.

“All the characters, at one point in time, not only suffered from loneliness but isolation.”

I turned in my seat at the sound of Neil’s voice. He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed and his hands behind his head.
Typical.

He continued, “And because of that isolation, they sought out those who also suffered and demoralized them as a way to attempt to make themselves feel better. Therefore, one can assume that oppression is not only caused by the strong and powerful but also by those who are oppressed. And so, the vicious cycle of loneliness and isolation continues to turn.”

Mr. Bingham raised an eyebrow. “Well, look at that. Mr. Donaghue did his homework.”

“Nah, I just read Spark Notes.” He opened his eyes long enough to give me a wink then resumed his I-don’t-give-a-crap position.

I fought the urge to chuck my pen at his head. I’d broken up with him two years ago after only a month of dating, and he still only responded in class when I got the answers wrong.
Jerk.

“Of course you did,” Mr. Bingham said. “Well,
Spark Notes
is correct. Oppression is one of the major themes in
Of Mice and Men
. So, here’s tonight’s homework: What are some of the ways we, today, persecute those around us? And how might we reverse it? Take the last twenty minutes of class to start working. I expect ten pages, typed, double-spaced.”

After writing all those pages, the rest of the morning was uneventful. Only lunch and afternoon classes remained between Planned Parenthood and me, and one of them was Advanced Chemistry, my favorite subject and a double period that would keep my thoughts preoccupied for over an hour. I’d take possibly-explosive experiments over thinking about pregnancy any day. For the hundredth time, I shouted a silent prayer that I just had an ovarian problem.