Only the Good Die Young

Chapter 21.2

Thoughts race through my mind like trees speeding by outside the window. I can barely focus on one before another replaces it. But every now and again, like the bus slowing to take a curve, one of them comes into focus.

I'm pregnant.

I'm going to die of AIDS.

I'm a slut.

I try to rationalize them as best I can.

I'm not pregnant. I can't be pregnant. Mom would find out and disown me. This is the last thing she's raised me to do.

Jesse didn't finish inside. I'll check the internet as soon as we get back to the school. There's got to be something about stopping early online somewhere. I'm sure I've heard about it on Sue Johanson's Talk Sex With Sue radio program where she called it the "withdrawal method."  

A terrible image of myself wearing giant sweatshirts to hide my ballooning body creeps into my head. I force it out and have peace of mind for exactly the width of a Douglas Fir.

AIDS.

The only way I have it is if either Jesse or Alex had it before. Jesse said something about using condoms with Alex, so even if she has it, I'm probably safe. But what if Jesse has it? I read once that the AIDS virus is so small it can travel through the pores in a condom, but that can't be right, can it? God, why didn't I ask him to use one?

Of course I know. I didn't ask him to use one because I was stupid and because I was mad at Mom and mad at Alex and that fucking song of Kyle's. Yeah, right. Accept no responsibility, Rebecca. If you die of AIDS it's totally your own fault.

I'm a slut.

Just thinking that makes my stomach twist. I am not a slut. I had sex with one guy. One guy.

God, I wish I could talk to someone. I can't tell Kyle and I sure as hell can't tell Mom. She always says character is more important than reputation, because reputation is what other people think of you and character is who you actually are. She does care an awful lot about what other people think, though.

No one can ever find out what happened. I have to tell Jesse that if anyone finds out I'll make his life a living nightmare.

Hell, AIDS doesn't seem so bad compared to the idea of Mom learning that her daughter had meaningless sex with a guy she barely knows. Her finding out is worse than the others combined. After Bill, the obituary, the men, the note, his money, having to move...and what happened when I was supposed to be at the movies.

Did Mom even want to have me in the first place? Am I going to have a kid when I'm still a kid myself? I'm going to Shopper's Drug Mart the second I get home. Imagine if Mom found me hunched over a toilet waiting to see if the stripe turned blue. I'd hang myself from the curtain rod.

"Hey, Rebecca," says Kyle, taking out his earphones. "Go easy on the weather stripping. I don't want to freeze to death."

I glance at my thumb. The nail is coated with black rubber.

* * *

The bus pulls in front of the school around lunchtime and the band disembarks to put their instruments away. Cars idle in the parking lot and white clouds of exhaust float upwards as parents wait for their children. Somewhere out there is a silver Honda Civic with Mom at the wheel. If only I played the trombone I'd have more time before I come face-to-face with her. Hell, even a tuba would get me five minutes.

Mom calls my name as I get off the bus. She comes through the fog like a murderer in a horror film. It feels like we haven't seen one another for a lifetime. The last time I saw her I had never been in a bar. I had never played a drinking game.