In sticky second week of March, Asia Mills trudged through the smudged glass doors of the local gas station in Brooklyn, and bought pregnancy test. Three cups of coffee, thirty minutes and several awkward conversations with the cashier later, she checked the carefully wrapped-in-a-napkin test and sighed.
"Positive?" the elderly man asked from across the store, he was eagerly leaning across the counter, this was the most exciting thing he had been a part of since 1967 when he accidentally shot his grandfather—but that was a different story.
"Positive." She mumbled, stuffing the stick in the trashcan behind two empty burrito wrappers and a pack of unopened cigarettes. "This is great. Just really great."
The old man, whose nametag had faded to a smudged line of ink over the extensive years he dedicated to his line of work, coughed slightly too loudly causing her to look up from angrily shredding the box that once contained the test in to small pieces.
"Oh yeah, um-" she rummaged through the frayed remains of her jean pockets and hastily produced a heavily crinkled twenty dollar, placing it on the counter quickly "-here. Keep the change."
"Keep the baby." Was all he said in return, before disappearing behind a stack of boxes.
As if on cue, the rain stared drizzle downward as Asia left the shop, her coat wrapped tightly around her stomach, her thoughts heavy with the future, and upending doom. The spring rain fell at a depressing rate as she continued down the sidewalk dodging puddles and drowning in her own dry sadness.
"A baby." She repeated to herself, absentmindedly touching her abdomen where soon there would be a bump, and in nine months—a kid. At the thought of herself being a mother, she set her mouth in a firm line and didn't think of the situation until she had gotten off the subway to 15th street and positioned herself in one of the only pay phone booths for blocks. The inside was covered in magic marker messages between lovers who undoubtedly found comfort in others arms now, phone numbers that belonged to the local high schools cheer captains and lyrics to songs that were no longer popular.
"Hi, uh it's me. Asia. I mean you might have been able to tell by my voice, but—well I mean it doesn't matter. That's not the point, the reason why I'm calling you, is...um, remember how on our first date we couldn't decide between watching Juno and the third Harry Potter? And we ended up not watching either of them because we took so long deciding? Well I'm pregnant. Wow, ok sorry I meant to build up to that, and like compare our situation to Juno, but I fucked it up.
You don't have to be a part of the kids life, I know you didn't want to be part of mine; I just thought you should...like, know.
And yeah, that's it. Sorry for bothering you—good luck tonight."
Hanging up the phone, Asia exhaled through her nose, and pushed open the shabby excuse of the booth door, and started down the sidewalk.
She would be ok.
Half way around the world, a stunned boy sat in the silent aftermath of the message, his thoughts racing a mile a minute as he quickly replayed the voicemail, once again faced with the feeling of cold panic seeping cross his chest.
"Mate, you ok? We have to go on." His colorful companion gently asked, easing his way on to the plush sofa that clearly only sat one. The boy—who would most likely be referred to as a man—met his eyes, and shook his head, no.
"I'm a dad."
Calum Hood would not be ok.
started: june 2014
completed: septemeber 5th, 2014 at 3:34pm
(As you can see, this book was written in 2014 - I was 15 & unquestionably obsessed with 5sos. Although I no longer listen to that band at all & I am obviously not 15 anymore, I adore this story. It reminds me of simple times & how happy writing this story made me. I love this book - I hope you do as well! But, as sappy as I am, do warn you: POSI+IVE was written by 15 year old me. By no means am I attempting to tell you that 15 years olds can't write, I'm just trying to say that this story is over 3 years old. I have done my best to go through & edit all the parts that made me question my writing ability, but I am - clearly - not perfect, and there will be mistakes. Read with kindness & enjoy.)
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the dedication is to believinmeee because QUITE honestly she is a superb author, and i may or may not have an overwhelming obsession with her.
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thank you so very much for reading the prologue to my story, i hope you enjoy the journey as much as i do :-)
with all the love i can manage,
wendy
