𝒴oung Junior graduated from high school in '79, but he wasn't alone. You were there with all his other graduating classmates. But you weren't just a classmate; you were a good friend, and sometimes something more. You two were very close, but it wasn't anything serious yet. However, people were talking, even the media.

You both wore mortarboards on your heads and long black gowns. There were paparazzi; no one wanted to miss young Kennedy's graduation.

Junior smiled at you from across the field where all the students were lined up, waiting to hear their names called to go up on stage, receive their diplomas, and shake the professor's hand.

But you—you were acting different. You didn't respond to Junior's smiles, you listlessly threw your cap up in the air when the time came, and you didn't even attend the celebration parties your classmates and friends threw. You didn't answer Junior's calls either.

You stayed locked in your room until you heard a few knocks on the door. And he came in: Junior, with his curly brown hair, his piercing brown eyes fixed on you as his perfect smile appeared. He was dressed more casually: a sweater and jeans.

— "What ya’ doin’ sittin’ here? Ya’ said we were goin’ party the night we graduate." — he said, closing the door of your room behind him.

He walked over to you and sat down next to you. You were acting strange, barely looking at him.

— "Now what's wrong with ya’?" — he asked, placing a hand on your knee and stroking it with his thumb.

What's wrong with you?! To recap, two or three weeks ago you started vomiting in the early mornings, and you went to the doctor for a test. Result: pregnant. And whose is it? The former president's son. The press would go crazy, and you don't want to damage his reputation or his family's, or yours either.