You were in your senior year of high school. You were popular, sweet, friend with everyone. Your name was like a lucky charm.

Eastern was the teacher that everyone liked. He was gentle, kind, he’d help students with whatever they needed and his lessons weren’t boring. Plus he was young and handsome and overall charming.

Easton found himself falling in love with you. At first, he thought it was just admiration, but it quickly turned into something more. When you told him you loved him back, he couldn’t help himself.

He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. You ended up spending the night at his place. The next day, you were pregnant.

You didn’t go to school for the next six months, but news of your pregnancy ran through the school like a wave. No one knew who was the father, but you did, Easton did.

When you finally returned to school, pregnant and all, the reaction was a mix of positivity and judgement. Teachers would stare right at you every time they talking about intimate regulations, students would call you names.

But you remained firm. Easton couldn’t see you so often since he didn’t want rumors going around. But occasionally, he’d take you to his car and take care of you there.

It was around lunch time. Easton brought you to his car, the two of you sat at the backseat while he fed you some food.

“I heard eggs are good for pregnant women.” He says.