Tilt (62 page)

We’ll be collecting pillowcases

from, um, some volunteers,
says Kurt.

I have no idea what he means

until we get out of the car. Chloe

and I follow the guys, who scope

out the action on the street. They

wait for the kids with parents along

to go by. But when they spot a group

of older kids walking unaccompanied,

they motion for us to hide behind

a tall, unlit hedge. As the kids

pass by, the guys jump and yell,
Boo!

It scares the bejesus out of them.

Then the boys swipe their candy and run.

Nothing else to do but run, too.

It was mean, but it isn’t the worst

trick Lucas and Kurt play tonight.

Chloe

The Worst Trick

The guys play tonight

isn’t stealing candy from

middle schoolers. That’s

funny,

really, especially the way

those kids yell to come back,

like we would. What’s sort of

unfunny

is smashing jack-o’-lanterns

on pretty front porches and

squishing chocolate bars into

Depends,

and leaving them on the front

seats of unlocked cars. Still,

we laugh and go along. But

on

the far side of funny is when

Harley says she’s going to be

sick, and Lucas asks Kurt,
Is

your

phone handy?
And when

she falls on her knees and

pukes up her guts, it’s in full

view

of an active camera.

Mikayla

Funny

How fast word spreads

when the word that’s spreading

is “pregnant.” I told one friend

and by the next day pretty much

the whole school knew. Okay,

maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.

Let’s just say by the next day,

people who used to admire me

seemed to be looking down on me

or avoiding eye contact completely.

There were some notable exceptions.

Audrey marched straight up, gave

me a big ol’ hug.
I know it’s hard.

But you’re doing the right thing. I wish

I would have been as strong as you.

She’s the only person who has told

me I’m doing the right thing. It’s good

to know someone is in my corner.

Still, I wasn’t happy about Emily

opening her mouth. I caught

her at lunch. “Why did you tell?”

You didn’t say it was a secret,

and I only told Margot. She’s got

a big mouth. I’m sorry, I guess.

“A huge mouth, apparently. But

whatevs.” It was going to happen

eventually. I’ve got to get used to it.

And it might not have been so bad

except I had to bump into Kristy.

I expected smugness. I got sympathy.

Hey. I heard about the baby,

she said, examining me for signs.

I’m sorry about Dylan. He’s a pussy.

Don’t know if that means they’re

together or not. And, really, what does

it matter? But I had to say something.

And What Slipped Out

Of my mouth was, “Yeah, he

totally is.” And in that moment,

it hit me. Yeah, he totally is.

Weeks of hurt exploded in a flash

of nuclear anger—a mushroom

cloud stamped with the word “pussy.”

He’s nothing more than a fucking

pussy, and who needs one of those

for a father? Not my baby, for sure.

Except, it’s still
our
baby. And why

should he be able to deny that? No

freaking way. He can’t. He won’t.

Goddamn it, what happened to my

clear-cut life? Goals. Forward

movement. Being in love. Swamped

with love. Six months ago I would

have laughed in the face of anyone

who claimed my love for Dylan—and

his reciprocal devotion—was all

in my mind. It
was
real. It
is
real.

I love him now more than ever.

Even if he is a pussy. Even if

he is screwing Kristy. He can’t love

her. And how can he possibly not

love me? Just because there’s

a baby—half him, half me?

How do I convince him to come

back? How can I make him see

that the two of us can only be

better when we become three?

I tried seducing him. It worked—

for fifteen or twenty minutes. I tried

cajoling him, which only got his back up.

I go for my ultrasound this afternoon.

Will seeing a picture of our—his—

baby make him understand the stakes?

I Sit Alone

In the waiting room. Other women

are also here solo, reading magazines

or checking their phones. The lucky

ones wait with their men, most

of whom look excited to be included.

They hold their partners’ hands,

bounce them on their knees, as if

those hands are promises of what

will be in the aftermath of what has

already been. Some of the ladies

look ready to pop. Will I really get

that big? Have a giant balloon belly?

Right now, it’s just a little pooch,

but it is noticeable and it’s growing.

A nurse comes to the door.
Mikayla?

I get up and follow her, excitement

building. I’m going to see my baby.

We go into a small room and the nurse

says,
There’s a hospital gown.

Put it on, open in the front. You

can keep your undergarments

on. I’ll be back in a few minutes.

She closes the door and I do as

instructed, really wishing I could

go pee. They made me drink four

glasses of water. A full bladder

is supposed to make baby viewing

easier. I get back up on the padded

table, just as a knock comes on the door.

The tech pokes his head in.
All ready?

“Sure.” The guy is kind of cute, and

I’m most of the way naked, which

makes me a little uncomfortable,

even if he
has
seen it lots of times

before. The nurse returns and watches

as the tech rubs a cold gel substance

on my belly.
Okay,
he says.
This device

is called a transducer. It sends sound

waves into your body, where they reflect

off internal structures, including your baby.

He moves the transducer around

my tummy, tells me to hold my breath

several times.
Now the sound waves

reflect back to the transducer, which

creates an on-screen image of your baby.

Look at all those fingers and toes. Ten

of each, I’d say. And . . . do you want

to know if it’s a boy or a girl?

“Yes. Please.” It comes out a whisper

and when he says it’s a girl, I start to cry.

Something About Knowing

She’s a girl—that I can use the word