“Seriously, Meen, little kids are like a litmus test for right and wrong. She believes you because she knows that you’re a good person and that you wouldn’t lie to her. She’s not old enough or jaded enough to question it.”
“And you’re not old enough or jaded enough, either, I take it?”
“I have a uniquely optimistic sensibility. I like to hope for the best in people.” She smiled and squeezed my hand under the table.
I smiled back at her, a real smile, even though I still sensed her uncertainty. “I can live with that answer.”
And I meant that—for now, at least. I didn’t know what she did or didn’t believe, but as far as I could tell, she didn’t know either. She may have still thought that I was repressing the real explanation, locking the traumatizing truth away so deep and dark in my mind somewhere even I wouldn’t know where to find it again. But in that case, she wouldn’t think I was straight out lying to her, or at least not any more than I was lying to myself. I wanted her to know as absolutely as I did that that was not what had happened, but I had no proof. I could accept whatever doubts she had, though, because she was still sitting there next to me. That mattered most.
“So your dad . . . He isn’t budging at all, then?”
My smile evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. “Nope. Still a total stalemate. I don’t think he’s looked at me, not once. He won’t even sit at the dinner table with us, just gets his food and goes straight to his office and shuts the door. My mom and Gracie both keep a straight face and chatter away while we eat as if everything’s all normal, but I know they miss him, even if they’re angry at him, too, for my sake.”
“I’m sorry, Meen . . .”
“Don’t be. It’ll be fine. He has to come around at some point.” I hoped that if I thought and said that out loud enough, it would inevitably become true. I could make it true; I just had to want it and will it with everything I had in me. But I couldn’t know anything for sure, obviously. I couldn’t predict how my dad or Nate or Izzy would ever come to terms with my pregnancy, or if they would ever come to terms with it at all. There wasn’t exactly a precedent to guide me for this type of real-life drama. Except for the Bible, I suppose, but the people in my life didn’t seem to swallow the magic miracle pill quite as easily as they did back in the day.
Go figure. Mary had it so easy.
Not that I thought that I was actually the next Mary. I didn’t know what I was or what I was doing, but to even think for a second that I was carrying some world-altering gift from God—not just a gift, but the next Jesus, the next Messiah, the almighty savior of the whole damn universe—seemed like total blasphemy, a surefire way to send myself straight to the Devil’s flaming lair of tortured souls. If I even believed there was a Hell to be sent to, anyway, let alone a God, or at least a God in the way that the Bible described.
I didn’t know what I really thought or what I really believed about anything anymore. I couldn’t separate absolutes from myths, facts from fiction. I couldn’t say what was real and what wasn’t real.
How could anything in the world ever be predictable after this?
How could there ever be any certainty? Any guarantees?
Maybe I’d wake up tomorrow and the sky would be tangerine orange and dotted with fluffy green clouds. Grass would be hot pink, puppies would be singing, kittens would be dancing with top hats and canes, and we’d all be soaring like eagles through the sky, flying with our arms fanned out behind us to catch the gusts of wind.
If a virgin like me could suddenly wake up pregnant, wasn’t anything possible?
A nearby chair slammed against the tile floor—along with the unlucky but deserving football hero who had been leaning too far on its back legs—and the cafeteria broke out in its typical round of applause and catcalls. I shook off my questions like an odd, hazy dream and looked back over at Hannah. She still seemed caught up in our conversation, hesitant to say anything too hopeful or too positive for fear of misleading me. I saw the struggle going on behind her eyes, the internal battle as she tried her hardest to think of an optimistic follow-up.
“Hannah . . .” I started, then stopped, debating what I actually wanted to know and what would be better left unknown. Curiosity won out—I was never one for tucking questions away for later. “Can you tell me what people are really saying about me and Nate, and me and Izzy? They must be coming up with some sort of creative explanations, right?”
She sighed and stared out the big bay window next to our table. I already wished I hadn’t asked—I didn’t want to push between her and everyone else at school any more than I already had. Her reputation and social ranking were in free fall, plummeting just as fast and steadily as mine were, like a tiny, fragile hummingbird chained to a massive barbell. Not quite the golden senior year we’d been anticipating.
“I’m sure they are, Meen, but no one’s saying anything in front of me, either,” she said, turning back to look at me. She didn’t seem angry that I’d asked, thankfully, but I could still see unfamiliar shadows on her face—it was like a sparkly, glowing piece of the Hannah I’d known forever had somehow gotten lost, had faded away. Because of me and because of everything she was putting herself through to make my life easier. “I think I’ve made it pretty obvious whose side I’m on. And to be honest, I don’t even want to know, since it’d be all lies, anyway. Hearing it would just make me hate people for gossiping about something they know nothing about. It’s easier to pretend that they’re not talking, to smile along like everything’s fine, everyone’s okay, and just get on with this last year together.”
She was right: it was probably better not to know. But I still couldn’t help the urge to find out more. I could ask someone else, but I had barely talked to anyone but Hannah and my teachers since classes had started. I didn’t want to do or say anything that would put the spotlight on me, at least not more than it already was.
“Yeah, we’ll see. But you’re probably right. Best not to know.” I looked over at the clock and leaped up, scrambling out of my chair. “We should head out now, ahead of everyone. The more I can avoid all their beady eyes in the hallway, the better.”
We grabbed our trays and started toward the exit, my head ducked to avoid any accidental interactions.
“Hey, Meen, isn’t that the busboy from Frankie’s? What did you say his name was? Jesse Spero?”
I jerked my head up, almost smacking straight into the bright yellow trash can in front of me. It was Jesse, wearing the same green cap and another blazer, though this one was a faded camel brown with a matching bow tie at his neck.
“Shhh!” I hissed at her, turning my back to him. “I don’t want him to see me.” I threw the rest of my sandwich in the garbage and ducked behind a nearby pillar. “I didn’t realize he went here. I thought he was homeschooled or something like that.” Not that we’d had much actual conversation—but I could have sworn I’d overheard him mention homeschooling to one of the guys in the kitchen. Obviously, things had changed, because here he was at Green Hill High.
He was sitting alone at the table closest to the trash and the dirty tray counter, which was, hands down, the least desirable property in the cafeteria. It was the zone where all the loners sat, scattered a few seats away from one another at the long rectangular tables, a random mix of goth hermits and special needs kids and the occasional new student, like Jesse, who either hadn’t found any potential friends to rescue them, or didn’t care to be rescued in the first place. I had always felt a small burst of shame when I rushed passed their tables, wondering if there was anything I could or should do to make their lunches even just a little bit less lonely and miserable. But I was realizing now that that was probably presumptuous of me—that maybe they didn’t mind being alone. That maybe not everyone cared about everyone else’s opinions as much as I did. Jesse certainly didn’t seem to notice or worry that his social status was at any sort of risk. He had a thick book in his hand with an unmistakably sci-fi cover, and he looked far more interested in that than the fact that he was potentially hurling himself into isolation for the rest of his high school career.