I gazed at the calendar, unwilling to accept what it was telling me. I wrote a lot of things on my calendar. I could see the date for when I had to finish reading Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and the Damned, the date of the Mistletoe and Holly Holiday dance, and the last time I had had my period. Once more I counted the blocks that meant days that had passed since I had last drew in a small red circle next to the number. Forty-two days. Six weeks. How much longer could I deny the truth? I had skipped my period. I took a deep breath. There were lots of reasons for missing one. I knew there were. Didn't it happen if your body was under a lot of physical stress? Or if you weren't getting enough to eat or something? Surely the answer wasn't the obvious. It wasn't possible. I couldn't be pregnant. I just couldn't be! I was in high-school! I had my whole life! I couldn't have a baby, not now! I opened my eyes again, but I didn't see the calendar.
I saw Drew's face. His real name was Andrew, but I always called him Drew because the name Andy annoyed him. I blinked the image away. Hadn't someone told me that you couldn't get pregnant the first time? There were always rumors and whispers in the hallway. "They did it?". . . "Who?". . ."She did?". . ."With him?". . ."But he's butt-ugly!". . ."If you take a whole bottle of advil, it'll kill the thing, really!" My eyes filled with tears and I sank down on my bed feeling sick to my stomach. What should I do now?

"What do I do?"
Melanie looked back at me, her dark eyes glassy and unreadable. As I met her unbelieving stare, I felt the same worthless fiery tears jabbing at the back of my eyes. As one tear slowly made its way to the surface, Melanie reached out two firm arms and hugged me. I leaned against her and cried on her shoulder. Melanie had been my best friend since before we could remember. Not only was she my best friend, she knew when to keep her mouth shut, stayed calm under just about any circumstances, somehow retained a firm belief in God, and always managed to come up with some sort of course of action. For these qualities and others, I admired and liked her. I've never been able to learn why she stayed my friend. I always felt somehow that she kept me under her wing, and protected me somewhat. Yes, Melanie was the obvious person to go to. She held me firmly, and let me cry, not asking any questions, not rebuking my bad decision, not even attempting to say anything comforting, because she knew that would only upset me more. I began to feel a little better. I had some vague idea that Melanie would fix everything, and put the earth back into the orbit it belonged in. If anyone could move heaven and earth, surely it was my friend. A voice intruded in on these semi-comforting thoughts.
"Hey, have you two gone lesbian?"
I caught sight of a shock of red hair and laughing brown eyes. Melanie whirled like a lioness defending one of her cubs.
"Why don't you just go fuck yourself Justin?"
"Why don't you do it for me?"
"I'd rather fuck a post!"
I slouched against the row of lockers, examined the floor, and pretended that I didn't exist. I noticed for the first time the way the floor wasn't actually one vague brown, but was really made to look like pebbles or something. I examined it, and for a moment I almost saw a pattern in the arrangement. Then Melanie put her arm around my shoulders and was leading me down the hall. We had turned a corner and were going down some stairs before I finally thought to ask where we were going.
"The nurse's office."
"What for?"
"She can help you."
I felt my blood turn icy and I stopped dead. "What do you mean?"
She stopped in front of the door. "Damn! She's not in." Melanie sat down on the green bench outside the office and gestured for me to sit beside her. I didn't move.
"What do you mean? She can help me do what?"
Melanie sighed. "Sit down. You're going to need to make a few very important decisions, and I always find it easier to think when I'm comfortable."
It sounded reasonable. I slumped beside her.
"Have you told your parents?"
I shook my head.
"Drew?"
I shook my head again.
"Anyone besides me?"
"No! I couldn't! I don't even know if I am," unconsciously I lowered my voice "pregnant. I just missed a period."
She nodded, her dark eyes serious and calm. I think that if the world was ending, Melanie would be totally calm about it. "All right. For now, let's just assume that you are. What are you going to do?"
"Do?" I repeated. I must have sounded like a parrot.
"Yes," she replied without even a hint of impatience. "Do you want to have the child, or do you want an abortion?"
Abortion. That word. I had heard so much about it. The most unjust killing, baby murder, slaughter, butchering. And then I remembered some other things. I was still in high-school. What would a baby do to my life? Would I be able to finish high-school? Would I be able to attend college? And what would my parents say? And my teachers and friends and neighbors and relatives? But if I had an abortion, I wouldn't have to worry about any of that. I would be free. A soft voice seemed to whisper in my ear, "But what about the child? Would you murder your own baby, just to be free?" More voices seemed to surge inside my mind. "If you take a whole bottle of advil, it'll kill the thing, really!" I felt more tears.
"I...I don't know." I faltered.
But before Melanie could even answer, another voice inserted itself into our conversation.
"Can I help you girls?"
We looked up. I'm sure I looked as guilty as sin.
Melanie nodded, alert and serene as ever. "Yes, my friend thinks she may be pregnant."
To my relief, the nurse showed no surprise, just said, "Well, come into my office and we can find out."

"I can't look. Is it changing color?"
Neither replied for a moment. Then the nurse said, "Sweetheart, I think you should call your parents."
I opened my eyes and looked at the tiny slip of paper that would answer the terrible question, but I didn't need to. I already knew the answer. I was pregnant.

My mother cried. She's like me. She always cries at the least provocation. My father just looked blank and startled. He finally just turned away and said, "I thought we raised you better than that."
I was crying. I felt sick. My face was red, and I knew I looked a sight. When I spoke, my voice rasped like sandpaper. "If you wanted to rip my heart out and jump up and down on it, why didn't you just getting the carving knife from the kitchen," I shrilled at him, scarcely even knowing what I was saying. My mother's eyes went wide with shock, then softened with understanding.
"Hush Charles." She put her arms around me and pulled me into a pillowy embrace. "Can't you see she's been punished enough?"
"What do I do, Mama? What do I do? I'm so scared!"
"Oh honey." I could feel her heart beating behind her soft breast, and wished for a time when I had been small and had curled up on her lap, safe and warm. But even this thought led me back. There had been a time when I had been smaller, and had been inside her, as safe and warm as anyone could ever be. But she had let me stay, and hadn't thrust me out into the world to die so that she could live. But she had been married! And she had been ready for a baby.
My father finally gave in and sat down on my other side on the bed and held my small cold hand in his large warm one. We stayed like that for a long time.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us no into temptation, but deliver us from evil. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen." I crossed myself slowly. My finger touched my forehead with icy cold touch, then it swept down the length of my body like a surgeon slicing my neatly open. It then traced a line, as if to show that imaginary surgeon where to cut of my head. Each shoulder was lightly touched. If only I could just sprout wings and fly away from all of my problems. I bowed my head before the altar of my God. My faith had been taking a beating from about seventh grade onward. I had lost a lot of faith in my creator. Uncertainly, I began to pray, the only way I knew how. Bluntly. "God, I could really use some advice right now. I don't really expect you to come down off your damn high horse, or your heavenly throne or whatever. I screwed up, no pun intended. I'm human. You created me, so you should know my faults. Can you just lend me little bit of your strength, or something? I need whatever I can get right now. Thanks." I stood up, and brushed my knees off. Whenever I prayed, I always had this feeling like I was talking to some sort of distant uncle over a weird telephone, and that I was just asking for some help in persuading Mom or Dad to raise my allowance, or something.

As I left the church, I was nearly blinded by the brilliant sunshine outside. Suddenly the entire thing seemed like some sort of a dark nightmare. I almost hummed as I skipped down the steps and...crashed directly into Drew. As he helped me up, our eyes met, and the momentary feeling of relief fled as the weight of what I had done crashed down directly onto my head again. Then I realized something. Drew didn't know!
"Thanks," I muttered, and started to shoulder passed him. He gripped my arm.
"Hey wait! Are you mad at me?" He looked at me with puzzled eyes.
I shrank from him, and for a moment I loathed myself. I hadn't actually been ashamed of having sex out of marriage. What bothered me was that I had rushed into having sex headlong, without using some kind of birth control. But as I looked at him, I was furious with myself. I had wasted my virginity on him. He was a nice guy and everything. He was very good looking, and a great athlete. But that was all there was to him. He was, 'selectively deep,' as it were, or if one doesn't bother with pleasantries, shallow.
"I have to get home," I said sharply.
He looked startled. "Sure, I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the movies this Friday."
"Look, Drew, I'm sorry, but I can't."
He hesitated, then asked, "Are you sure you're not mad at me? I mean, about what we..."
I did not want to deal with this. I could not deal with this. "No, I'm not mad at you, Drew. I have other things on my mind right now."
"Oh." He sounded relieved. "Like what? Maybe I can help."
My nails bit into my palms. I was not going to cry. "No...Drew...please."
"Just tell me!"
I gave in and told him. "I'm pregnant, Drew. I don't know what to do. I'm terrified of having a baby, I don't want to kill it, I don't want to have it, and I'm sick and scared." My voice broke off in an undignified sob.
His eyes grew bigger and bigger, and his faced paled dramatically. Finally he croaked, "Mine?"
I nodded.
"Oh my God."
I nodded again.
His eyes dropped. Then he started to say, "I'm so sorr-"
I cut him off. "Don't say you're sorry. It won't help. We can't be sorry Drew. What sort of thing would that be to tell this child, that the first thing his or her father said when he heard the news, what that he was sorry?"
Drew swallowed. "So you're not going to have an abortion?"
It could have been my imagination, but I thought he sounded relieved.
"I'm not sure yet. But I don't think I have what it takes to do that. I'm too emotional, I guess."
"I think I'm glad." He put his arms around me. "And I won't abandon you and...the baby."
The wind picked up and blew around us making me shiver. Then I turned and faced directly into the wind, refusing to hide my face in his shoulder. We stood there, the two, no, the three of us. We were young. That title of Fitzgerald's book came back to be with irritating appropriateness. The Beautiful, and the Damned.