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Later, I can’t sleep, still thinking about Chris McNies. I click off Letterman and stare at the black television screen, the static sound a low hum. He’s just a normal teenage boy, right? I feel a chill run through me and pull the chenille throw tighter around my shoulders, although I know the blanket isn’t going to warm me. John was worried about Audrey too, but he’s in bed snoring right now. He was a boy with raging hormones once too, so he should know what Chris is capable of. But he wasn’t that type of boy—he wasn’t the type that would push it if you said no. Not the type I fear Audrey could be out with now. The type I convinced John she should go out with. The type I had had to deal with all those years ago. I push the thought from my mind and check my phone again. No texts, no calls. That’s got to be a good sign, right? When Audrey left, I fought the urge to run after her and ask her to check in with me later. But I couldn’t let Chris overhear that her mother treated her like a baby. And I couldn’t make Audrey feel like I didn’t trust her, not after everything I’d done over the past several weeks to rebuild that trust for Rachel.
But now with this nagging feeling in my stomach, I think I may have let the fact that I wanted to be cool put Audrey at risk. Should I call Rachel? I don’t want to worry her. After all, this is her daughter we’re talking about. If I’m this worried, I can’t imagine what she would go through.
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The sound of my cell phone ringing startles me out of a ragged sleep I didn’t realize I had given into. I fumble through the couch cushions and the blanket to find it. “Hello?” I answer tightly. Please don’t let it be her.
“Case, it’s me.” I hear the sound of my own voice and breathe in sharply.
“Thank God. I thought you were Audrey.”
I’m met with silence on the other end of the phone. “Rachel? Are you okay? Are you crying?”
“You need to get over here right now. I’m with Audrey. I don’t know what to say to her,” she whispers.
I race out of the house, not wanting to acknowledge what may have happened, but already knowing. My adrenaline is pumping at a speed I didn’t even know possible. I try to push the memories of my prom night out of my mind but I can’t. I still remember the smell of my Anais Anais perfume, the feel of my taffeta dress, the look in Mark’s eyes when I walked down our spiral staircase, my mom taking pictures with the same aggressiveness as the paparazzi do now. As I descended, I had mistaken the look in Mark’s blue eyes as one of admiration, which was really hunger. But how could I have known that? I didn’t know him at all. He was a popular upperclassman, who had never given me the time of day. I’d been so shocked when he’d leaned against my locker and asked me, a sophomore with braces, to be his date. I should have understood it was impossible that he wanted to go with me because he actually liked me. I’d gripped my Trapper Keeper tightly, covering his initials, which I’d doodled, with my hand; I’d had a secret crush on him for over a year, and the only person who knew was Rachel. I barely remember saying yes, and the week before the dance was a whirlwind as I frantically searched the combed-over stores in the mall for a dress.
We hadn’t stayed at the dance long. Just long enough for him to make an appearance and for us to share a flask of something in the parking lot with his friends and their dates, none of whom spoke more than two words to me. But I didn’t care. I remember looking at him with wide eyes, hanging on his every word, caught up in the fantasy of it all. I hated myself later for not having a sixth sense to know that something was off, to not understand what the winks and nods of his buddies in the parking lot had meant.
It took only about three minutes, but it felt like hours. He rolled off of me and I’d cried silently in the dark of the backseat of his car. He zipped up his pants and jumped into the front seat, leaving me in the back still pulling up my underwear. He drove me home like he was my chauffeur, as tears rolled down my cheeks. He never once looked at me in the rearview mirror.
When the pregnancy test came back positive, I told my mom even before I told Rachel. This very well may have been the worst decision I ever made.
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