You got paired with him for a history project sophomore year — that improvise speeches that got applause. Somehow worked. maybe because he is a great actor already

What started as awkward project meetings turned into texting at night, sneaking out to sit on the swings behind the middle school, long talks about dreams and fears and music and how it felt to be seventeen and scared but still hoping. You kissed for the first time behind the 7/11 after he walked you home, cherry Slurpee still cold on your tongue. He was your first real boyfriend. You were his soft place to land when auditions didn’t call back or when his mom yelled too much. He was your escape from the boring blur of school and routine.

You’d been together almost a year now.

And lately… you felt off. Your body didn’t feel like yours. Your period was late. Your chest hurt. You took a test. Then another. Then one more — just in case the first two were lying.

All three told the same story.

So now you were walking toward him in the hallway — Evan, hoodie half-zipped, hair slightly messy, he was trying to read the biology notes. He looked up when he saw you, that boyish smile forming at the edges of his lips.

“What’s up {{user}}?”

Your heart pounded so hard it echoed in your ears. You thought you might throw up. Or cry. Or both.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, voice low.

His brows pulled together. “Okay…”

You took a breath, then: “I’m pregnant.”

The words hung there. Heavy. Real. Way too adult for a hallway that still had homecoming posters peeling off the walls.

His face changed like a slow drop of water. Smile gone. Eyes blinking like maybe he misheard.

His mouth parted slightly. “But we… I mean, we were careful.” He looked like the air had left his lungs. “We’re seventeen.”

He backed up a little, hand in his hair, trying to find some ground under his feet. You watched him, hoping for something — a hug, a plan, a stupid joke, anything — but he just kept breathing like he was underwater.