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I am sad. Just like any other girl would be if they broke up with Tyga.

But I mean, why am I so stupid? I didn’t even let him break up with me—I broke up with him. Why didn’t I just work it out with him? Gosh, I feel so stupid!

But then again, he’s the one that brought up the whole ‘the spark’s gone’ talk. Sure, there was a spark or whatever when we first met. Though in every relationship, the spark never lasts. People just deal with it. So me and T should’ve just dealt with it.

“You’re not regular people.” Chyna says to me when I tell her that any regular couple would’ve just stayed together. We’re walking through the halls of a pregnancy store. We’re looking for fashionable clothes to wear while being pregnant, and books on having babies. Every soon-to-be mother buys baby books. That’s just the way things happen.

“Why aren’t we regular people?” I ask her as I examine a pretty long, black dress. It’s loose, and perfect for pregnancy.

“I don’t know. You’re just special. You and T were literally made for each other—there’s not a lot of people out there that are made for each other. They might think they’re made for each other, but they’re not. That’s why everyone is getting divorces.” Chyna explains.

When she’s not looking at me, I stare at her. I’m starting not to trust her. She’s being a little bit too nice.

“I like this one.” She says to me, referring to a loose blouse. But do I care? No. What I’m worried about is if Chyna has some kind of plan to mess up everything, even though it’s already messed up. And then I start thinking that if it wasn’t for Chyna bringing Tyga, we would have worked out our problems without breaking up. What if I was the one that went to him? Maybe we’d still be together now. There’s no way to know for sure—but I seriously think that Chyna’s up to something.

I hope not though.

* * *

When I got back to the Houston hotel, I sent Chyna out to buy us some food. I wanted to just get away from her. If I stayed around her, I’d freak out and ask her a bunch of questions. Then she’d probably think I thought she was being evil (which I do) and not be my friend anymore.

Then I’d be more than lonely.

I turn on the TV and start watching some documentary on Trey Songz. After a while, the phone rings. I don’t feel like talking to anyone besides T, but I answer it anyway.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!” Someone screams into the phone. I don’t even know what to reply. So then person keeps talking.

“I think you might as well kiss everything goodbye—that boy, your new friends, the fame, the money he’s giving you, everything. Cause this can’t go on no more. Uh-uh child, you coming HOME.”

Only one thought could go through my head at that moment: Jesus Christ, I hate my life.

* * *

So, yeah, my mother came to the hotel. And she dragged me out of the hotel room by the ear. She made me pack my things, turn off the TV, and she almost slapped me in the face. But I stopped her. I don’t know how, but she found out that I was pregnant.

As she pulled me into the lobby, she’s saying: “I can’t believe you’re just throwing away your life like this. I told you I didn’t want any teen pregnancy. Now look what you’ve done to me. You’re a damn disgrace! The whole neighborhood knows that my child is pregnant by some rapper.”

Everyone in the lobby is staring.

She’s about to drag me through the door. Then that’ll be it. I’ll go home; the best times of my life will just be simply left behind. No more T, no more Travie and Tony and Gator and G and Honey. No more sitting thinking about calling T, and then he walks through the door right then and makes you smile. No more having deep conversations with Drake. No more feeling special and on top of the world. Everything about the new Jaydi will be gone.

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