“I heard you were pregnant, and I just assumed it was true. It seemed as if the girl knew what she was talking about, but that was still really out of line for me to say to you. It’s your business, not mine. I just got nervous when I saw you trying to lift such a heavy box, and I didn’t think before I spoke, that’s all.”

The words fell on me like a collapsing ceiling, as if the whole restaurant were crashing down, beam by beam and brick by brick, burying me in the wreckage. But I had to keep going before I was cut off completely. I had to know everything.

“Is that all she said? If she said more, I really want you to tell me. I can handle it.”

His cheeks turned an even more intense shade of red. “The girl, she said that you were claiming to be . . . Jesus, this is hard to say out loud. I mean . . . shit, no, not Jesus. No. Bad word to use there.”

He winced, cursing under his breath before he composed himself and started again. “The girl said that you’re claiming to be a virgin. That you didn’t have sex, and there’s no actual dad. That’s why you had some big breakup recently, because the boyfriend didn’t believe you.” His body slumped as he exhaled, emptied of all the details. I watched as he reached out to touch my arm and then stopped his hand midair, shoving it back into the pocket of his jeans.

“What did they look like? The girls who were talking about me?” I forced myself to ask, even though I already knew the answer. There was really only one possibility.

He shook his head at me, his eyes glazing over. “I didn’t pay that much attention at first, and after I overheard them, I kind of rushed off before they could realize I’d been there. But they were our age, I guess. The girl who was talking had dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and I don’t really remember the other girl. She didn’t say much, just a lot of gasping and squealing while she listened. I wish I could give you more. I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t know anyone around here yet.”

Dark hair was enough evidence to clinch it. Though he could have said red or blonde or white or even hot pink for that matter, and I still would have found a way to link it all back to Izzy.

Tears started pricking at the corners of my eyes, and I turned toward the door.

“Thanks for telling me. Really. It was only a matter of time before it got out anyway, and you just confirmed my suspicions. It’s almost a relief to know that there’s nothing I can do to stop it now. Do you know how impossible it is to keep secrets in this town? Everyone in Green Hill will probably know about this by the time the first bell rings on Monday.”

“So . . . it’s true then?” His question was so faint, I almost missed it under the hiss of the old air vent on the ceiling above us.

I opened my mouth to respond, but something inside of me snapped before I could speak. I couldn’t be standing here in this dingy back room for a second longer, crying loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear me. I ran through the kitchen and out the back door, but I only made it as far as the stoop before I couldn’t go any farther, not without completely falling apart along the way. I sat down on the cold cement step and cradled my head in my knees, rocking myself back and forth as the tears ran in sloppy streams down my arms and legs. I heard Jesse step out and close the door behind me, but I didn’t move or look up to acknowledge him, even when he sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. I heard Carl come and go, too, and heard Jesse mumble something about him needing to cover the front for the rest of the night.

After what could have been ten minutes or an hour, the tears finally seemed to reach their peak—all of the water had been drained from my body into a puddle on the pavement beneath me. The orange light of the streetlamps sparkled against the slick asphalt, lighting up my tears with a fiery glow.

“You didn’t have to be out here with me,” I said at last, when I was able to speak again. “But I’m glad you were. Thanks for that.”

“No problem. I didn’t want you to be alone. You can talk to me if you want. Or we can just sit here. Your call.”

I sniffed, wiping my dripping face and nose against the sleeve of my T-shirt. “You don’t have to believe me, of course. I don’t expect you to. But everything you heard that girl say was true, even the part about me claiming to be a virgin.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just sat there staring out at the fields across the street, a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was on some other stoop, in some other place entirely.

I realized suddenly how much I wanted him to believe me. Needed it, even. It didn’t matter that I barely knew him, that I’d ignored his existence for the last few months. There was something about him, the sense that he was so much older and wiser than his years, maybe, or the feeling that there was something so genuine and real and good about him, despite or even because of his quirks. He didn’t seem to care about what other people thought, at least not superficial high school kids. I wanted him on my side. I wanted him to trust me. Before I could stop myself or rethink what I was actually asking, I opened my mouth.

“Do you remember your first night here at Frankie’s? The old woman I made you more or less kick out while I ran away through the back door?”

He nodded, and I could see the surprise on his face, that of all the questions or things to say about what was happening, I was babbling about that strange old lady.

“I was running because she scared me. What she said to me scared me.” I paused, picking at a hangnail on my thumb while I collected my thoughts. “She told me that I would be pregnant, and that it was her job to keep me safe. To protect me. She said that it was time, and that they were ready—whoever they are—that the whole world was ready for it to happen. For me to have this baby. Then she asked for my approval, and I said yes. I said yes to her. You were there already when that happened. I ran out saying yes, just to make the getaway easier. I didn’t have time to think about any of it. Not that any amount of time thinking about that question could have helped me to answer better.”

I watched his profile while I talked, trying to gauge at least some tiny piece of what he was thinking. There was no gaping jaw, no crinkled forehead, no squinting eyes. That alone gave me hope.

“Something happened that night. I don’t know why or how or any of the questions that really matter to everyone, but it did. I had a strange dream afterward, too, strange but beautiful, with all sorts of bright, amazing colors I can still see every night when I close my eyes.” I sighed, wishing that those colors would suddenly light up the whole sky above us—that life and God or whatever and whoever was in control of all this would give me some kind of sign. Give me some kind of proof that I wasn’t just creating some insane fairy tale in my mind. Didn’t I deserve that? Didn’t I deserve some reward for trying to believe? For fighting through the doubt? But the sky stayed dark, the same old stars and the same old moon shining down on me. I guess that was maybe how faith worked, though. Faith was trusting in the absence of all the facts; it was an active, constant attempt at believing in someone or something I couldn’t understand.

Faith, I was learning, wasn’t easy. But then again, wasn’t I carrying around the proof of a miracle, every minute of every day for these nine months? Wasn’t that why I had a bump that I couldn’t hide anymore? Maybe it was selfish of me to think that I needed more evidence than what I already had. Maybe this baby had always been more than enough.

After all, people had believed—had had faith—without this kind of tangible proof for thousands of years. People had believed enough to start wars over it, to lose their lives for it. Faith in something more had been part of the human race from the very beginning of existence. If anything should seem strange to me now, shouldn’t it be that I’d never believed in anything more than my everyday life before this baby?