Tilt (54 page)

stay in school as long as it’s viable.

He studies me with creeping eyes.

When are you due?
When I tell him

mid-March, he nods.
We have a good

virtual academy available. Really,

the question becomes when to move

you into it. I’m not sure how you feel

about everyone here knowing you’re

pregnant. If you don’t care, I’d suggest

moving at the semester break. If you do . . .

Do I Care?

I still don’t know, and I’ve thought

about it a lot. “I . . . I haven’t figured

that out yet. I have time to decide.”

Some time,
Mr. Taylor replies.
But

it will go faster than you think.

I assume Dylan Douglas is the father?

Now any sense of embarrassment

segues to anger. “Of course he is!

Why would you think anything else?”

Calm down, Mikayla. I’m not judging

you, and it wouldn’t be the first

time a fling resulted in unwanted

pregnancy. . . .
His pause can only be

translated as,
It
is
an unwanted

pregnancy, right?
Which pisses me

off even more. “It was just a mistake,

and it’s Dylan’s baby, if that’s your

concern. Why is it important, anyway?”

Mom starts to interfere, but Mr.

Taylor lifts a hand.
Look. I don’t

know where Dylan stands on this,

but the fact is, he might not want

the rest of the school to know

about the baby, either. He has a right—

“Bullshit! It’s my baby and my life

and, hey, if Dylan is concerned

about how his friends feel, well,

he should have thought about that

before he convinced me the rhythm

method would work fine one or two

times. What is it with men, always

cheerleading for the guys in this

situation? That’s totally fucked up!”

Mikayla Jean!
huffs Mom, as if

she never heard me swear before.

You apologize to Mr. Taylor right now.

As If!

Mom glares at me, and Mr. T. looks

like “fuck” is a foreign four-letter word.

“Did I offend you? You know, I really

don’t care. And I don’t care who else

I might offend, either. This is a baby,

not some kind of a burden. And, while

it might have taken two of us to create

this baby, the only opinion that matters

here is mine. I’ll stay in school for now,

unless you want to suspend me for f-bomb

usage. If so, write me up. If not, I’ll see

you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

I don’t wait for an answer, but as I go,

I hear Mom apologize for me.
I’m very

sorry. She’s a bit emotional. . . .
Her voice,

and his response, fade into the ether.

When I Pass Through

The office this time, I tip my head high,

meet everyone’s look with a straight-on

glare. Apologize? When hell freezes

solid. The last bell rings as I swing into

the long corridor, now swarming with

kids. I wind my way through them and

nobody gives me a sideways glance.

How will I feel when that changes?

When everyone stares at me? I turn

down the hallway toward my locker.

Skid to a halt when I see Dylan shoulder

to shoulder with Kristy Lopez. She reaches

her own locker, and when she stops to

open it, the way he watches her is almost

protective. Simmering anger boils

into fury. I stomp right up to them. “Can

I talk to you, Dylan? Or, are you too

busy to give me a couple of minutes?”

Kristy Smiles Triumph

And suddenly I understand

that I have lost Dylan. Still,

he follows me outside.

I turn into him.

Fall against him.

Look up at him.

Imploring him.

So in love with him.

“Talk to me, Dylan.”

What do you want me

to say? I told you what

would happen if you

decided to keep the baby.

“You never said you’d

leave me. Never said

you’d go back to her.”

I am not going to be

a father, Mikki.

Anger and sadness melt

into one. “Yes, you are.”

I Gentle My Hands

Against his cheeks. Find sadness

in his eyes, too. “Even if you never

once see this baby, you will be its

father, Dylan. You can’t change that.”

So what do you want from me?

I have no way to pay child support.

“I’m not asking you for money.

I’m asking you to stay in love

with me. Begging you, in fact.

How can I do this without you?”

He pushes my hands away.
You

figure that out. It’s all on you.

He pivots, and I watch him walk

away. “You said you loved me!”

I call after him. “You promised.

Love doesn’t just die, Dylan.”

He turns back long enough to say,

Maybe not. But sometimes people kill it.

Stunned

Stung, as if I just disturbed a hive

of yellow jackets, I stumble

to my car, slide under the steering

wheel and rest my head against it.

All my earlier bravado fades

into a black mist. I let myself sob

until a knock on my window coaxes me

out of the dark cloud. Mom. I lower

the glass. “What do you want?”

I just want to know if you’re okay.

“Do I look okay?” It slips out softly.

I don’t want to yell. I want someone

to hear me. “Dylan just broke up with me.”

Do you want to talk about it?

I nod, and she says she’ll drive me

home. I scoot over and she takes

the wheel. I want to talk about it more

than anything, but as we’re backing up,

I notice Dylan walking Kristy to his car.

My voice drowns in a downpour of tears.

Kristy

I Want to Talk

To Dylan about why he has

made this one-eighty.

When summer started

he and Mikayla were

inseparable,

twisted together so tightly

I thought they’d smother.

But now, it seems their

indivisible

days were numbered. Part

of me is gleeful, grateful for

another chance. But I also

need to know what made his

incessant

devotion to her dissolve, sugar

into vinegar. Clearly, he loved

her, and I thought he loved me

once. How can I believe that

emotion

is something he’s capable