Anything but Normal - Melody Carlson [38]
She let out a long, exasperated sigh. Why was it that some women (ones who really wanted babies) experienced miscarriages, and others didn’t? What was fair about that? If God was truly the Creator like she believed—if he was the giver of life—why had Sophie wound up with this unwanted pregnancy, while other women who longed for children would never have any? And what about those who were grieving for babies they’d lost? How was that even close to fair?
Sometimes Sophie wondered how God could even sleep at night. Okay, she knew that he never actually slept at all. But how did he justify all of this?
Really, if God was as smart as she thought he was supposed to be, why had he designed females to be capable of reproduction while they were still teenagers? Seriously, what teenager was responsible enough to have and raise a child? Not her. And she was actually fairly mature for her age. Or so she used to think. But as she considered the other girls in her school—the ones who wore pregnancy like a badge—she only felt more confused.
Not that she had time to think about all those things just now. She had an op-ed piece due tomorrow and no idea of what to write about. She’d already covered most of her favorite hot topics.
Then it hit her. Why not write about teen pregnancy? She certainly had some opinions about that!
So she did. She wrote and rewrote and finally thought she’d said what she wanted to say: teens should not be sexually active because it could result in unwanted pregnancies, and teens were not mature enough to be parents. She didn’t spare anyone’s feelings in the piece. Good grief, she was lecturing herself as much as anyone.
But the next day, when it was time to hand her piece over to Mr. Young, Sophie felt unsure. Maybe she’d overstated it a bit. Been a little vehement.
“Are you giving that to me or not?”
“Oh.” She frowned down at the paper in her hand. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Sounds like you’re not too sure of yourself, Sophie.”
She just shrugged, then turned and went to her workstation. Soon she was lost in editing a poorly written assignment that Justina had turned in late.
“Interesting piece, Sophie,” Mr. Young said.
“What?” Sophie looked up from her computer screen.
“Your op-ed.” He shook his head. “Too bad you didn’t have much of an opinion on that one.”
“I didn’t?” She blinked.
“I’m kidding. You expressed yourself quite well.”
“Oh.”
“But you could take some flak with that one.”
“And is that supposed to make me back down from my opinion?”
He grinned. “No way. You’re chief editor, Sophie. Your job is to call it like you see it. Controversy is what makes an editorial section interesting and outstanding. I hope we get some responses on this one.”
“Okay.” She nodded with satisfaction.
As it turned out, they did get some responses to it. It seemed that Sophie had hit a nerve with a number of people. Including Mrs. Manchester, the woman who headed up the teen pregnancy center at school.
“I’d like to meet whoever wrote this piece,” she told Mr. Young the day after the paper came out.
“Certainly.” He motioned Sophie over and quickly introduced them.
“Well.” Mrs. Manchester just shook her head. “It’s clear that you have no idea what you’re writing about, young lady.”
“What?” Sophie frowned at her, then turned to Mr. Young for support.
“Feel free to use my office to discuss this if you’d like,” he told them.
“Actually . . .” Sophie glanced back to her workstation. “I have work to do here, Mrs. Manchester. If you have an opinion to express, I suggest you write a letter to the editor. We’ll be happy to print it in our next edition.”
Mrs. Manchester looked like she was about to sputter. “Yes, I can certainly do that. Since it’s obvious that you’ve given very little serious thought to what you chose to write about.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes at the woman. “How do you know that?”
“You’re so judgmental. You come across as Miss Know-It-All, but I suspect you’re clueless when it comes to how it feels to be a pregnant teen. You wrote as if you thought girls get pregnant on purpose. Or as if they