Anything but Normal - Melody Carlson [31]
“Sophie?” her mother said with impatience.
“Huh?” Sophie looked up from her bowl of soggy Cheerios and frowned.
“I just asked you if you knew what time it is.”
“What time it is?”
Her mother shook her head and pointed to the clock. “You’re going to be late for school.”
“Oh!” Sophie stood up, reaching for the bowl.
“Just leave it,” her mom said.
“Thanks.” Sophie pulled on her denim jacket and grabbed her bag.
“Don’t drive too fast either.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And don’t be such a space cadet!” she called out as Sophie ran for the door.
As Sophie drove to school, she thought about Dylan. She didn’t want to think about him, but she couldn’t help herself. After all, wasn’t he equally to blame for her condition? Shouldn’t he have to share some of the trouble she was enduring? Shouldn’t he feel a little freaked-out too? Not for the first time, she considered calling him up and telling him the news. How would she say it?
“Hey, Dylan, just wanted to congratulate you.”
“For what?” he’d ask.
“You’re going to be a daddy.”
Yeah, right. In her dreams. And in her dreams, Dylan would come to his senses and offer to do—what? Marry her? No, she definitely didn’t want to marry a guy who had not only deceived her and used her but totally messed up her life. A guy who probably couldn’t care less. She knew that, according to the law, he bore some responsibility, but did she really want some court to force him into paying? And really, what would he pay for—her medical expenses? Not that she had any. Her maternity clothes? Like she was even going there. An abortion, perhaps? No thanks!
The truth was, there was one major reason she was not telling Dylan about her “delicate condition.” Plain and simple, she did not want to tell him because that would be the beginning— the beginning of the end. She knew that if she told Dylan, his parents would probably have to be informed as well. And that meant her parents would find out. Then everyone would find out. Then her life would be, well, basically over. She just couldn’t handle that. Not yet.
No, she decided, the best thing was to pretend this wasn’t happening, and to do so for as long as humanly possible. She would attempt to enjoy (a gross overstatement) the last shreds of her totally ruined life. If she got lucky, maybe she would get in a car wreck or fall down some stairs and suffer a miscarriage, and no one would be the wiser. Well, no one except her. And God. Of course, God knew everything. Not that he seemed to care much.
She parked in the school lot and jogged toward the building. There by the front door, watching her like he knew what she’d written last night, stood a grim-faced security guard.
“Looks like someone slept in this morning.” His voice was pseudo cheerful, but his expression was coated with disapproval.
She just rolled her eyes and hurried past. As she whizzed by the counseling center, she nearly collided with Mrs. Phelps, who was coming out the door.
“Sophie!”
“Sorry.” She stopped. “I’m late.”
“I can see that.” Mrs. Phelps put a hand on Sophie’s arm. “Everything okay?”
“Just peachy.”
The counselor frowned.
“I really am late.”
“Hurry along then.”
As Sophie slipped into the classroom, taking a seat in the back, she suddenly remembered a sweater that Grandma Ramsay had knit for her when Sophie was in first grade. The pullover had been pale pink and softer than a kitten, and Sophie had loved it. Then one day she noticed a string of yarn hanging from the sleeve. Wanting to get rid of the messy thing, she tugged at it. But the yarn only grew longer. She pulled more, and as the yarn grew longer, the sleeve grew shorter. Fascinated by the growing pile of yarn in her lap, Sophie continued to pull and pull until her sweater eventually became sleeveless on one side. She knew the sweater was ruined, and with no idea of how to fix it, she tossed the tangled ball of soft pink yarn in the trash. Naturally she was teased without mercy that day—the girl in the one-armed sweater. Then at home, embarrassed that she’d destroyed her beloved sweater, she had