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She pauses, catches her breath.

But I have to know, “What happened?”

By that time, I had come home,

found him missing. After a frantic

search, I called the cops, too.

They brought him home, and when

they tried to talk to Damian, he got

all belligerent—first sign of a doper

on the down. Next thing you know,

he was swinging at one of them.

They hauled him in, cooled him off

for a couple of days, then let him

out, awaiting trial. Somehow, in

his demented mind, it was all my fault.

She stops again, and I know it’s hard

for her to relive it when she says,

He beat me bloody. Broke bones. Teeth.

Little Chad tried to stop him. Damian

pushed him headfirst into the wall.

We were both unconscious when he left.

As the Story Goes

A neighbor heard the ruckus.

Called 911. The paramedics found

Cassie shattered and Chad close to death,

with a subdural hematoma—rampant bleeding

in the skull, which squashes the brain. The two of

them were in the hospital for days. Damian hid

out with his brother in Red Rock. Then his

brother’s wife saw the news reports and

put in a covert call to Secret Witness.

They threw every charge they could

think of at him, including attempted

murder. He got fifteen to twenty-five

years. I was there when they sentenced

him, and the look he give me clearly

said, “When I get out, I’m coming for

you.” Well, he’s out. That’s who I saw.

Older. Grayer. But it was definitely

him. I don’t know why I thought

he’d be in for the max ride. But, no.

Early release. It’s weird. But in

my mind, he was dead. Stupid, huh?

I’m Kind of Speechless

But . . . “You don’t really think

he’d try to hurt you, do you?

I mean, he wouldn’t want to

take a chance on going back

to prison, right?” Jeez, I def

can’t tell Mom, or no way

would she let me come over

to Dad’s anymore, even though

I can’t believe this Damian dude

is a danger to me. Or to Cassie.

I don’t know. I would hope not,

and I don’t want to live all paranoid.

Two more burning questions.

“Does Dad know? And does Chad

remember what happened?”

Could explain why he’s a little

chill.
I wouldn’t keep it from your

Dad. And how could Chad forget?

When We Get Back to Dad’s

He is all cleaned up, ready to go

out to dinner, and then dancing.

Cassie doesn’t want to spoil

his good mood, so she asks me

not to say anything.
I’ll tell

him when the time is right.

And please let me break

the news to Chad, too, okay?

I give her a hug and she goes

to get ready. I hate secrets.

Especially explosive ones.

Ones that feel ready to blow.

Dad and Cassie leave and Chad

is watching an awful Austin Powers

movie. I sit next to him, restless.

In fact, I’m almost ready to spill

when Bri calls my cell.
Promise

you won’t tell,
is the first thing

she says.
I heard Mikki talking

to Dylan. She’s pregnant.

Dylan

Pregnant

The very concept strikes fear

into the hearts of young people

everywhere. In fact,

it’s

right at the top of my
Do Not

Tell Me This
list, just above

“You’ve got cancer and are

not

a candidate for chemo.”

Un-freaking-believable!

When Mik called to tell me

what

the two-blue-lines thing

meant, I thought she was

joking. Ginormous mistake—

I

laughed, and that made her

cry. Not sad tears. Pissed tears.

Then I asked her what she

wanted

to do, totally expecting her to

say abortion. She said she wasn’t

sure, and that’s not what I wanted

to hear.

Mikayla

To Abort or Not to Abort

I have asked myself that question,

over and over, for the past few days.

First I had to fight the shock of finding

out I’m pregnant. I fought the idea,

even beyond the two blue lines.

But a second test confirmed it,

and the morning sickness is very

real. I am going to have a baby.

Only, wait. Am I? Oh, God. Why

now? If I do, I won’t get to finish

my senior year. No graduation. No

cap and gown. No senior prom.

Prom. Right. I can just see it now.

I waddle in, stomach big as a basketball.

Dylan and I hit the dance floor and

just as we start to slow dance,

my water breaks. (Thanks,
Teen Mom
,

for that fabulous picture.) Without

warning, my eyes burn and tears

overflow and hormones may be

to blame, but fear is the driving

force. I don’t know what to do.

Dylan isn’t much help. He says

he’ll honor my decision but I know

he wants me to get rid of it. When

I called to tell him, his first reaction

was to laugh. He thought I was joking.

Who would joke about something

like this? When it finally sank in

that I was talking real, he sobered

quickly.
Okay. Well. It’s not the end

of the world. We can fix it.
Fix it.

Like there’s a patch kit. His

fix would involve ripping me

wider. Digging the wound deeper.

There are no bandages big enough

for that. How did this happen?

We always used condoms, except

for once or twice. How could

two careless times equal a baby?

I Keep Thinking of It

As a baby. I’ve got to stop doing that.

Right now it’s just an embryo. Not

even a fetus. At least, I don’t think so.

An embryo becomes a fetus eight weeks

after conception. Which time did I conceive?

It doesn’t really matter, except if I decide

to have an abortion, it will have to be soon.

What happens to me if I do? If I don’t? What

happens with Dylan, either way? How much

pressure can love take before it pulverizes—

marble, crushed into dust. I need him more

than ever now. But ever since I told him,

he’s unreachable. Even when he’s sitting