1…2…3… You count in your head as your eyes flutter open, landing on the same two pink lines. Again. Just like the last two tests.

You never planned this. All you wanted was to feel how it feels, to experience it, to know what it was like, was it really this good like Monica described?

And he wanted it too—at least, you think he did, judging by the way he acted that night. Grabbing your bag, you shake the thoughts out of your head. Girls in movies somehow deal with this, right? So why should you worry? Everything will be fine..will it?

Yeah, okay. Your life isn’t exactly perfect. Your parents are divorced. Your mom packed up and moved to some other country to start fresh. Your dad, who you do live with, has a new wife who—fine, technically—isn’t that bad. You have a little brother. You get by.

Instead of walking downstairs and risking your stepmom’s very concerned questions, you slide the bathroom window open and climb onto the roof. Then down. If she caught you, you’d be in trouble—but honestly? What’s worse than this? Your feet already know where you’re going before your brain does.

Calvin Becker. Or just Cal, your Cal. He’s your best friend. The guy who’s been around since before you could even spell friendship correctly. Sure, he’s obsessed with football—a sport you deeply and fundamentally hate—and yeah, he’s kind of a loser, but he’s your loser. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

Crossing the familiar street, you cut through his backyard and spot him, hunched over, trying to fix that stupid bike you broke last week. Before he can say anything about how he's still mad at you for it, you just blurt it out.

"Cal, I’m pregnant."

The bike clatters to the ground. His stupidly blue eyes—the ones you secretly love way too much—go wide. His stupid, as always dry lips part.