Giftchild (23 page)

"Okay," Rodney said. He pulled some papers out of the back of the book—blank copies of the exercise charts. "Let's each fill these out from memory, and we'll see how much we already know."

I pulled out my own book. Truthfully, I hadn't even looked at this unit yet. Mr. Moore wouldn't start going over it in class until the end of the week. So I opened my book and glanced at the chart, trying to learn the names.

I squirmed on the hard bench. Rodney had taken a risk asking to study with me. It was my turn to take a risk back, to open communication with him again. I thought about asking him what he thought of my pictures, but I bit my tongue. If I brought that up, and things went wrong, he might stop posting them. I didn't want to talk about the baby, because that was too close to the heart of things, too tender and uncertain. I needed something around the edges of the problem. Something like letting him know I knew he was hanging out with Kara.

"I saw you at Carrows," I said. "A couple weeks ago."

Rodney looked up, his face entirely blank, like he was waiting for the rest of my statement.

"What?" I said. "I was with Athena."

Rodney nodded slowly. "You didn't say hi."

"Um," I said. "Right. We weren't talking."

He smiled sadly. "Touché."

My pen hovered over my notebook paper. I looked sideways at Rodney, but he squinted at his book. I'd tried to open the conversation up, so that him hanging out with Kara wouldn't be a secret. But if he didn't talk about it, that was even more uncomfortable than if I hadn't mentioned it at all.

Finally, Rodney sighed. "I didn't tell Kara," he said, "if that's what you're worried about."

I sat up straighter. That
wasn't
what I was worried about, but maybe it should have been. "She knows I'm pregnant."

"Yeah." He spoke sharply. "And she knows that your parents are adopting the baby. So I left it at that."

I'd seen the frustrated look on his face as he waved his hands across the table at her. He'd told her
something
else. I put my pencil down. Or maybe not. Maybe those two facts were enough to justify that reaction. The only difference was, he told her how he
felt
about it. "I get it," I said. "You need someone to talk to." Someone not me, apparently.

Then Athena's voice came back to me, loud and clear.
I'm sorry that you can't go back to being just friends.
I might never be the one he talked to again.

I wiped my palms on my jeans. "So," I said. "Are you and Kara . . ."

Rodney turned fully toward me, his eyes widening. "No!" he said, with so much force that I knew he meant it. He rubbed his forehead. "Jeez, Penny."

"What?" I asked. "It was a legitimate question."

He cupped his hand, and looked at it as if he expected to find in it the answers that he needed. "It's not really on my mind," he said. "I'm not going to go after someone else while my girlfriend is pregnant, you know?"

My heart did a cartwheel, and I stiffened, trying not to outwardly react. His girlfriend? Still?

Really?

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut, like he'd said something he wished he could take back. I picked up my pencil, breathing carefully, evenly.

I waited one breath. Two. Three. Four.

He didn't open his mouth. He didn't take it back.

He still thought of me as his girlfriend. I let myself smile. This didn't have to be awkward. I reached over and took his physiology book. "Here," I said. "Let me quiz you."

Rodney gave me a half-smile, looking down at the book. "I may have forgotten what unit was next," he said. "I guess I should have asked you to study last week, when we were still in the lungs."

I forced myself to laugh. "Yeah, well. Time to grow up, I guess."

Rodney's face grew serious. He looked at me, his chin tucked close to his shoulder. I turned toward him, our noses inches apart. His eyes met mine; I wasn't ready for what I saw in them: the pain, or the longing.

Rodney still loved me.

He held my gaze for a long moment, neither of us breathing. And I tried to answer back with my eyes what I saw in his—I still wanted him, too. He had to know that. He
had
to.

But that's the thing about looks—you never can tell if your message is being received the way you mean it to be. So instead I tilted my chin to the side, leaning closer.

Rodney looked down at my mouth, his teeth barely grazing his bottom lip. Our shoulders bumped together, and I closed my eyes.

A cold rush of air breezed between us, and I opened them again to see that Rodney had turned away, staring at his hands in front of him on the table. His shoulders were angled away from me, and that message I did get, loud and clear.

No
.

I clamped my teeth down on the inside of my cheek.

So much for things not having to be awkward.

Rodney ran his fingernail over a groove in the table. "I'm sorry," he said.

"No," I said. "No, you have
nothing
to apologize for. It's me. I'm the one who sucks at this."

He didn't deny it.

I sighed. "It would help, though," I said, "if you could tell me how to make it better. It's hard, not knowing what you want."

Rodney sucked his lips in, and I kicked myself. There I went again, picking at the wound, when it had only barely begun to heal.

Rodney sighed. He looked up at the sky, and down at the ground, and then finally, finally at me.

He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I think it's probably best," he said, slowly, "if we go back to being just friends."

I gripped the edge of the bench. I wanted to point out that we kissed all the time when we were "friends." But that wasn't what he meant, obviously.

What if Athena was right? If there was no going back, and he couldn't bring himself to be with me again, what would that make us?

Nothing.

I tried not to let that eviscerate me. I should count myself lucky that he still believed we could give friendship a chance. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

He took a deep breath, his back straight. "Yeah. I am."

I felt a stabbing sensation, starting in my heart, and angling down through my chest. Maybe I was having a heart attack; maybe I could just die right here, and have it over with.

Shut up
, I thought.
Pull it together.

The groove in the table was growing deeper. It was a wonder he wasn't wearing a hole in his finger, as well.

I got it. He still loved me, but he didn't trust me. We were too much of a mess; regardless of how he felt, he didn't want me back.

I could walk away from him now. But Rodney's friendship was worth something, even if he couldn't bring himself to be with me. Whatever we felt for each other, I was still going to have this baby, and I was still going to give it to my mother. Much as I hated it, Mom was right; Rodney couldn't afford to get attached. Besides which, he'd promised my parents he'd stay away. Under the circumstances, I was spectacularly lucky he was offering me friendship at all.

And though I couldn't see it now, I had to believe that there was some way for the two of us to survive this—to work out our relationship, even if it had to be after the baby was born.

"I can respect that," I said. "Just don't stop talking to me again."

Rodney nodded, and pointed toward the physiology book. "So, quiz me?" he asked.

I handed him a practice sheet and pulled the book between us.

I'd quiz him all day. Tomorrow. The next day. Whenever. Forever. And somewhere along the line, I'd learn to stop feeling like dying, because we used to be so much more than friends. Somehow, I'd learn to be grateful that I still got to have him in my life at all.

But telling myself that didn't stop me from worrying about the future.

And no amount of just-friendship from Rodney would keep me from wanting to curl up and cry.

Chapter Seventeen

Week Seventeen

That weekend, I barely got out of bed. Mom came in to check on me several times, but I sent her away, telling her I was tired. "That book says fatigue is normal," I told her. "So I'm just going to sleep."

Sleep didn't help, though. Eyes open, eyes closed, asleep or awake—I just kept hearing Rodney's words echo through my mind.
I think it's probably best if we go back to being just friends.

He still loved me. I knew he did. But, like the decent guy that he was, he was trying to do the right thing and respect my parents' wishes. He was trying to be what I needed him to be, even if it wasn't what I wanted.

The more I thought about it, though, the more impossible it seemed that we'd ever be able to work it out. It wasn't like I was going to give the baby to a stranger. The child would still be in my life, but not really in his. How long would that make my mother nervous? How long would it bother him that my brother or sister was biologically his child?

Oh, man.

Probably forever.

If it did, where did that leave us? I believed him about Kara, but how long would it be before he wanted to date someone else? And then what would I be? The friend he asked for advice?

I buried my face in my pillow, trying to shut out the noise, as if it wasn't coming from inside my own head.

Friends or nothing. Those were my choices. I had to figure out how to be friends in a way that didn't tear us both apart. If I could do that, maybe it would prove to him that I could be trusted.

Maybe it would convince him to change his mind.

I curled up tighter on my bed, as if I could will myself back into the womb. This baby might have a lot of problems coming, but it didn't know about them yet.

I wished I could be as blissfully ignorant.

On Sunday night, Mom sat down on the foot of my bed. "That bad, huh?" she asked.

I groaned.

Mom shook her head. "I'd have thought you'd be moving out of the morning sickness. If it's getting worse, maybe you should see the doctor."

I shook my head. "I'm sure it'll pass," I said. "The book said it's normal." As normal as a depressed girl who screwed over her boyfriend could be. I scrunched down on my pillow. I couldn't look like this for Rodney. I had to be happy the next time I saw him, so he'd get that I respected his wishes. I looked up at Mom. "Can I stay home from school tomorrow?"

Mom pursed her lips. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

I couldn't tell her the truth. I wasn't even supposed to be
talking
to Rodney. "No," I said. "I just want to sleep."

"Okay," Mom said. "If you feel the same in the morning, I'll call you in."

But I already knew that I would.

Mom did call the school on Monday morning, and then she stood in my doorway, making a sympathetic face. "I'm going grocery shopping," she said. "What can I bring you?"

I lay back on my pillow. "Corn flakes?"

Mom smiled. "You want the kind with the frosting?"

She knew me too well. "Yeah. But not if it'll hurt the baby."

"I think you'll be fine," Mom said. "You're eating much better these days."

Since my nausea had subsided, I'd been trying to eat everything Mom offered me—smoothies and whole wheat bread and all. I still couldn't stomach eggs, though. I didn't want to even
think
about eggs.

"Try to take a shower before I get back, okay?" Mom said. "You'll feel better." And then she shut the door again.

I wondered if that was a subtle hint that I smelled. I'd been lounging in the same set of pajamas for the last forty-eight hours, so I probably did.

When I heard Mom leave the house, I dragged myself out from under the covers and into the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, at my ratty bun, and my wrinkled PJs. I turned on the shower, inhaling the steam. I ran my hand over my abdomen—my pants still fit fine, even my jeans, but my abs felt firm where they'd once been soft.

I left my hand there, hoping for that moment you see in movies, where suddenly the baby kicks and the mother jumps, all surprised at the movement inside her. But I didn't feel anything, except the slightest twinge of a cramp in my back, no doubt from spending all weekend in bed.

I turned, stretching my arms up to outline the slightest hint of a bump across my belly. I hadn't felt the baby move at all yet, but I had to admit I was looking forward to that part. And as I stood there, looking at the crazy thing my body was doing on behalf of my mother, I couldn't help but feel like I'd done this one little thing right.

There was a little kid growing inside of me. A child Mom had always wanted but never got to have. Soon, Mom wouldn't have any reason to freak out anymore, and I could work on getting things with Rodney back to where they used to be.

Things would work out. I just needed to hold on a little longer.

I pulled off my shirt. My whole body felt achy, like I'd been still for too long. I stripped off the rest of my clothes, but as I took off my underwear, I froze.

They were soaked through with watery red dots.

Blood.

More dripped down my thigh, spotting the white tile. My stomach turned. I couldn't be starting my period. I hadn't had one of those in four months.

Miscarriage
. My mom had had several. One day, she'd be fine, and then she'd start bleeding and wouldn't stop. Incompetent cervix, they called it, as if her very anatomy needed to be fired.

I closed my eyes. Was that
genetic
?

No
. I'd read about this in the baby book. Spotting was normal. But how much was a spot? How many spots were okay?

I changed into a pad and new underwear and searched for the baby book. This was probably nothing. But the number of times I had to repeat that over to myself told me I didn't believe it.

I found the page where I'd read about spotting—the book listed the signs that meant bleeding was serious—abdominal pain, back pain, gushing blood, dizziness, fever.

See
, I thought.
I'm fine.

I'd just finish my shower and by the time I was done, the bleeding would stop. I went back in the bathroom, the mirror now fully fogged, and undressed again, stepping under the hot water. It poured through my hair, and I closed my eyes, drawing the steamy air deep into my lungs.