Screwed. Part 2

His rage cut through her, splitting her heart in two. "I know, Daddy, and I don't know what I was thinking." That wasn't true. She remembered exactly what she'd been thinking as Nick slipped his hand inside her panties. I don't know him well enough to be doing this, but it feels so good, and everybody else is already doing it, and if we're careful, nothing will happen, and if I don't do this, he won't like me anymore, but if I do it with him, he'll be my boyfriend and he'll love me, and I won't be a weirdo anymore.

"And what do you and this Nick person propose to do about it?" Her parents were taking turns interrogating her, but neither offered up even a modic.u.m of sympathy or understanding. They weren't doing the good cop/bad cop thing; they were both bad cops.

"I haven't told him yet. I thought he was away for the summer, but he's here. I'm going to tell him tomorrow. I wanted to tell you first. I don't know what to do next." That was the truth, and that was why she had wanted to tell her parents. They would know how to handle this. They would make it all right again - that was what parents were supposed to do. "I want you to help me figure out what to do. Please?"

Her father grunted, and Grace could just barely make out his face in the dim light of the candles flickering on the gla.s.s-topped table next to his chair. His lips were clamped tight shut, almost disappearing inside his mouth, and his fists were clenched in his lap. Turning to her mother, he said in a monotone, "Betsy, I'm done. Take care of this. I don't want to hear another word about it." Saying nothing to Grace, avoiding her eyes, brushing past her hand as she reached out to touch him, he stormed back into the house, his shoes crunching on the pieces of broken pottery. The door slammed behind him, and the gla.s.s panes rattled.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I know it was stupid. I made a terrible mistake. Please forgive me," Grace whimpered as she crawled across the floor, not caring that pieces of the broken cup were cutting her palms, to where her mother sat on the old wicker settee.

Craving some sign that although she may not be forgiven - Grace knew that would probably take years - she was still loved, Grace reached for her mother's hand, tried to rest her head on her mother's lap. But Betsy pulled her hand away, crossed her legs, and stared out into the dark yard.

"Mommy, please, I need you." Grace was begging for what she felt in her heart was her right, in spite of what she'd done, but it was no use. A wall had been erected between them, and no amount of pleading would be enough to tear it down, or carve even a tiny doorway. Although her mother was less than a foot away from her, Grace had never felt more alone.

"You should have thought of that before. After all we've sacrificed for you, you behave like a common piece of trash. What will people think of us when they find out what you've done? Your father and I have a spotless reputation in this town, and with one careless act, you've managed to destroy that, you selfish ingrate. If I'd known this was how it was going to turn out, I never would've had a child in the first place."

Betsy's voice was stiff and distant, as if she were speaking to a stranger who had b.u.mped into her on the subway. The words burned Grace like acid. She had expected her parents to be angry, but she hadn't antic.i.p.ated total rejection, a total denunciation of her entire life up to this point. When she looked up at Betsy, it was not disappointment that she saw in her eyes, but stone-cold hate. Jennifer had been right all along about not telling them, but there was no way to unring this bell. Now her mother regretted Grace's very existence. As furious as Betsy was, Grace didn't want to believe that their relationship was really that fragile.

"Is he that good-looking boy with the hair and the eyes you went out with a couple of times at the beginning of the summer?" asked Betsy as she rubbed at her throbbing temples in vain.

She looked down on her friends who talked about how much they needed their evening gla.s.s of wine, grape-flavored grownup medicine for women who needed to dull the aches and pains of having it all. But right now she would have given her left arm to be on her second gla.s.s of Chardonnay. Condescending magazine articles sneered at avoiding your problems by self-medicating, but now Betsy understood: whatever it took to get through the night.

"Yes."

A woman would have to be blind not to notice all of Nick's outstanding qualities. Even her mother, seething with anger at what she saw as adolescent defiance, could recall the extraordinary features of Grace's fellow gutter rat. Had Nick been less physically attractive, less magnetic, would she be in this situation now? Probably not, Grace reluctantly acknowledged. The depth of her own shallowness shocked her. What more was there to say? Her grandmother, who had died the year before, used to say something about being careful not to fall for a sharp haircut. At the time, Grace had just nodded at yet another of her grandma's outdated aphorisms, which had made no sense, like cat's meow and giggle water. Now Grandma's warning words echoed in her ears. Nick, in all his Abercrombie & Fitch poster glory, was nothing more than a sharp haircut.

CHAPTER 4.

Each hour seemed to simultaneously drag on forever and pa.s.s in the blink of an eye. If only Grace could stop time or speed it up, or, better yet, go back to that moment in the back seat, right before Nick unzipped his jeans and Grace's brain ceded control to her body. Standing naked in the bathroom, staring at her stomach in the mirror, wrapping a tape measure around her waist to see if she had started to puff up yet was a total waste of time, but she couldn't stop herself.

Now that she knew Nick wasn't trekking across Italy, Grace had no excuse not to tell him about the little souvenir from their third and last date. How would she tell this guy she hardly knew that ten minutes of fumbling in the back of his Jeep had resulted in a potential lifelong connection between them? There were no words.

Jennifer's text was informative, and unwelcome. HE'S ON THE LAKE WITH SOME CHICK, ON ONE OF THE FLOATING DOCKS. GO GET HIM.

NOW? HOW DO I GET HIM ALONE? WHAT DO I SAY? Grace texted back.

Thanks to Jennifer, Grace didn't have the coward's luxury of claiming she didn't know where he was. In the eight weeks since she'd last seen him, Nick had become like someone from another planet - the popular planet - and Grace couldn't imagine how she could speak to him, let alone tell him what she needed to tell him.

TELL HIM YOU'VE GOT A BABY ON BOARD AND YOU NEED $500 FOR THE DR.

Grace knew that Nick had a right to know about the thing, the baby. Maybe he had intended to go to Europe, but somehow his plans fell through. Maybe he wasn't the skeevy guy she now thought he was. Maybe he hadn't called her because he'd lost her number, or he was too busy working at the local homeless shelter, which was nowhere near the lake where Jennifer kept spotting him, but still. Maybe he would be gentle and supportive, would help her through this, whatever she ended up doing. Maybe it would all work out for her. Maybe he was secretly in love with her. Maybe the chick on the lake with him was his cousin. Maybe he would propose on the floating dock in the middle of Silver Lake. And maybe pigs could fly.

$500?? Grace texted.

THAT'S HOW MUCH IT COSTS ON AVERAGE. Not one to leave anything to chance, Jennifer had researched the whole abortion process on the Internet. With the widespread availability of the procedure, in spite of all the well-publicized opposition, it was clear that Grace was not alone in her moment of weakness.

I THINK I'M GOING TO PUKE. I CAN'T DO IT, Grace's fingers clumsily texted back.

MAN UP, WOMAN!! I'LL MEET YOU AT THE SOUTH LANDING IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. WEAR YOUR BATHING SUIT.

Jennifer realized her friend needed to be held up and pushed forward, and there was no one else to do it. In the forty hours since Grace had broken the news to her parents, they had not spoken a single word to her. Jennifer had predicted Betsy and Brad would react badly - what else could you expect from the Cheerleaders for Chast.i.ty Belts - but even she wouldn't have guessed that they would be so coldhearted that they would shut Grace out with a total silent treatment right when she needed them most. So much for Christian charity and the Golden Rule. Jennifer had always known they were full of s.h.i.t, and it only confirmed her suspicion of religion and religious types in general.

BATHING SUIT!? DON'T MAKE IT WORSE.

HE'S IN THE WATER. YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO SWIM FOR IT. DON'T WORRY. YOU DON'T SHOW YET.

After she put her phone back in her bag, Jennifer floated in the water, keeping an eye on her quarry. There was no way she was going to let Nick Salter, a.k.a. Sc.u.m of the Earth, get away with this. If Grace couldn't talk Nick into doing the right thing, and paying for it, Jennifer was ready to castrate him with the pocketknife hanging from her key chain. Looking at her watch, she swam back to sh.o.r.e to meet Grace and give her a last-minute pep talk. Grace's car was already there, under a tree at one end of the lot. When Jennifer walked up to the parked car, Grace's forehead was resting on the steering wheel. The windows were all closed in spite of the August heat, and for a second Jennifer wondered if Grace was breathing. Frightened, she tapped frantically on the gla.s.s, and Grace lifted her head with a start.

Opening the car door, Grace said, "I'm sorry. I was trying to psych myself up. But I think I just ended up hyperventilating."

"You'll be fine once you confront him." Jennifer didn't believe that for a second, but what else could she say? Telling Grace this was only the beginning of her nightmare might be a more accurate a.s.sessment, but it would definitely not encourage her friend to march into the water. At the moment, Grace needed all the help she could get, which included lying.

"I haven't seen him since the night we ...." Grace's voice trailed off.

"Don't think about that. Just give him the facts. Try not to cry. Ask him for the money. Arrange a time to get it from him, and let's move on. The sooner you talk to him, the sooner you can get him, every little piece of him, out of your life." At the moment, the only thing Jennifer had to offer was a confident voice and her a.n.a.l-retentive organizational skills.

"If you see me flailing around on my way out to the dock, promise me you'll let me drown." Grace was only half-joking.

"As your best friend in the whole world, I promise to let you go to a watery grave." Jennifer held out her hand, and the two girls sealed their pledge with a pinky swear. After giving Grace a light kiss on the forehead, Jennifer gently swatted her b.u.t.t. "Now scoot. Get it over with."

Silver Lake had been Grace's favorite place to spend summer afternoons since before she could swim, but after today she wondered if she would ever want to come back. Now the late summer sun glinting off the water was like a spotlight highlighting her mortification. There was no place to hide, and she felt certain that all the kids sunning themselves on the patch of rocky beach could see inside her to that tiny bean that was growing larger every minute, every hour. Feeling vulnerable and fat in her skintight Speedo, Grace waded into the cool, clear water. No breeze ruffled the lake, leaving the surface like a sheet of smoky gla.s.s, and Grace cut cleanly through it as she swam toward the floating dock, wishing lakes had sharks and that one would appear and bite her in half - anything to avoid what came next, which she knew was ridiculous, because how could she be afraid to talk to someone who had already seen her naked, been inside her, and how could she be afraid when the scariest thing in the world had already happened?

Five yards short of the floating dock Grace treaded water, watching Nick and some girl wearing a bikini that consisted of a few strings and four impossibly tiny triangles of fabric. They were pa.s.sing a joint back and forth. Nick inhaled deeply, and then leaned over the girl, blowing the smoke directly into her mouth. They both burst out laughing, collapsing on each other, as if shotgunning were the funniest thing in the world.

Suddenly Grace could easily see through the sparkling sh.e.l.l that had shone so brightly two months ago, obscuring her ability to see who he really was. Disaster had given her clarity, and now she marveled at how she could have been so into him. Yes, he did have the most incredible body, every muscle perfectly outlined under flawless skin, and his face belonged on the cover of a magazine, but was Grace really so one-dimensional that she would mortgage her entire future just to get next to that? She would never have thought so - she still didn't think so, but what other explanation was there? But this wasn't the moment for serious introspection; Grace's legs were getting tired, and there was no time for cold feet. The countdown clock was ticking, and there were no timeouts in this particular game. Putting her head down, Grace propelled herself the last few feet and grabbed the slippery wood, pulling herself up so that her head was visible over the edge.

"Hey, Nick," she called out, sucking in her stomach even though it was still under water.

"You want some?" Nick looked in her general direction and flashed his even white teeth, holding out a half-smoked joint. For a second he wasn't sure who it was, his pot-fuzzy brain moving in slow motion, trying to remember. Oh yeah, Girl Number Seventeen, Grace, who reminded him of the little wooden angel his mother always put on top of the Christmas tree. So cute, so young. Like a warm peach, she had been so fresh, so ripe, so ready to be devoured. And those jeans, painted on - she was asking for it, and he had simply obliged. What the f.u.c.k does she want with me now? he wondered. Maybe he could convince her to do a three-way, but even as the fantasy started to take shape in his mind, he realized it could never happen - she was too much of a prude.

Grace was his seventeenth. If he kept up this pace, he would easily reach his arbitrarily chosen goal number of twenty-one before he graduated. He knew his square jaw and perfect proportion were the result of a lucky draw from the gene pool, but his way with the ladies wasn't only attributable to his physical beauty. It was hard work; it took skill and patience. Coasting on natural ability was egotistical and didn't guarantee success. Piles of books had been published on the subject: how to touch a girl in just the right place in just the right way to make her beg for it. Like teaching himself to place the ball in the corner of the soccer net - not too hard, not too soft, right between the goalie's outstretched hands - after lots of study and plenty of practice, he had it down. Banging a girl was no different. Most teenage guys would probably admit to wanting to screw as many girls as possible, and who cared whether they enjoyed it - coming was for guys. He knew he was unique in his desire to make the girl think it was her idea as much as his. For this talent and dedication, his friends had dubbed him the p.u.s.s.y Whisperer.

Through his pot fog, Nick thought back to the moment when he'd first slipped his hand inside Grace's jeans, wiggling his index finger just the right way, feeling how warm and wet and ready she was. That moment, right before they did it, when he could feel how much she wanted him - that part was almost better than the actual f.u.c.king ... almost, but not quite. Maybe he could convince Grace to let him back in; the second time would be way better for her than the first. She'd been so uptight, and he had to admit he'd been too focused on his own enjoyment. This time he would make sure she came.

"What? No, I don't want any." Grace's clipped voice jarred him back into the present. No, she clearly wasn't going to be up for any water aerobics.

"Okay. Whatever," he replied, taking another drag. Maybe if he inhaled hard enough, and held his breath long enough, she would just disappear, and he could get back to, um, whatshername ... Amy, that was it. Grace was a pain in the a.s.s anyway. She was the kind of girl who wanted to make love, when all he wanted to do was f.u.c.k.

Okay? Grace was surprised that was all he had to say. He must be so baked that he was simply incapable of registering any surprise, or discomfort, at seeing the girl he had screwed barely two months ago and never bothered to call. As he delicately pinched the tiny white cigarette, which was now so short it threatened to burn his fingers, he started to laugh again.

Bikini Girl, known to the rest of the world as Amy, put her hand proprietarily on Nick's tanned, ripped stomach and glared at the interloper. "Can't you see we're kind of busy?" she fumed. Nick had just been whispering in her ear all the wicked things he was going to do to her, right here in the middle of this lake, and there was nothing better than messing around high.

Grace shook her head and breathed through her mouth. The sickly sweet smell of the pot made her queasy. She prayed she wouldn't throw up. Ignoring the unbelievably hot girl whose hand had slid from Nick's stomach down to his bulging crotch, Grace said to Nick, "We need to talk ... now."

"Why so serious? We're seniors. It's summer vacation. Come on, have a hit. It's really good s.h.i.t. Whatever's bugging you, it'll go away like that." Nick snapped his fingers unsuccessfully, giggling at his own inept.i.tude.

"About that. You told me you were going to be away all summer. Why did you lie to me? Jennifer told me you've been here the whole time."

Fearing she sounded like a jealous girlfriend, Grace bit her lip and stopped talking. There were way more important things to talk about than some stupid fib about a backpacking trip. It wasn't like she was trying to get him back, to salvage a relationship that had existed only in her Disney Princess imagination. This was a business meeting - she needed a financial backer - and nothing more.

Nick hesitated. Clearly he hadn't expected someone as timid as he believed Grace to be to call him out. "It fell through last minute, that's all. You sure you don't want some? It's really good weed. From California." Nick wished this girl would just chill. When he didn't call, he'd been sending the message loud and clear that it was just a summer thing, a pre-summer thing, really, and she needed to move on.

"No, thank you."

Even in moments of extreme stress, Grace's manners never wavered. Manners. If only she had remembered the etiquette book's advice to keep her legs crossed at the ankles at all times. On her thirteenth birthday, Grace's mother had given her the Guide to Manners and Dating for the Proper Young Lady. It had been published sometime in the 1960s, but according to Betsy, breeding and social skills were timeless. If Grace read this book, Betsy was sure she would be prepared for anything. Not entirely true, although if her petticoat tore, her bouffant frizzed, or she got frosted lipstick on her Peter Pan collar, Grace would know exactly how to handle it. Unfortunately, the book hadn't offered any advice about what to do when the hottest guy in school had his tongue down your throat and his hand inside your panties.

"By the way, this is Amy. Amy, this is Grace."

Now Amy was no babe in the woods. She wasn't the kind of girl you took home to Mother - he actually thought about stuff like that, though he wouldn't admit it. Grace was the kind of girl you took to Sunday night dinner: good grades, perfect manners, kind of preppy. Amy, on the other hand, was the kind of girl you had fun with. She knew as well as he did that this wasn't going anywhere serious, and she was fine with that. When she slipped her hand inside his bathing suit, it was because she wanted to, because she liked the way his c.o.c.k felt, not because she thought he would like it and she was doing it just to please him. That made all the difference for Nick.

Grace, on the other hand, was complicated. She was someone who needed attention, who wanted a boyfriend, someone to talk to and someone to listen to her. It wasn't all about living in the moment for a girl like Grace. In her mind, every guy was potential husband material. Not what he was looking for the year before he went to college. Amy just wanted to smoke pot and get naked. It was no contest. He probably should have thought about that a little more before he worked his charm on Grace. It had been too easy, like trapping a helpless little bunny, and now, looking at her, a ma.s.s of dripping wet hair and chattering teeth, he kind of regretted taking advantage of her. Somehow she had been more virginal, and vulnerable, than most virgins, and he should have hit the brakes. Now she was coming to tell him off. It had probably taken her the whole summer to work up the nerve to come tell him, in perfectly grammatical English, what she thought of him. Well, he guessed Amy could wait a little. If she was as h.o.r.n.y as he was, a quick swim while he listened to Grace vent for a few minutes (he knew he owed her that, after what he'd taken from her) wouldn't be enough to take the edge off.

"Could we have a minute alone?" Grace said to Bikini Girl as she pulled herself onto the dock, still sucking in her stomach, feeling extremely self-conscious next to this waif in the handkerchief that pa.s.sed for a bathing suit. She was so thin, her stomach was practically concave. Grace wondered where she kept her internal organs.

"Who is this toad?" Amy asked, furious that an otherwise perfect afternoon was being interrupted by some doofus in an old-fashioned one-piece who looked like she'd escaped from the day camp at the YMCA. The fact that Amy didn't recognize Grace, even though they'd gone to the same high school for three years, and the same middle school for three years before that, confirmed to Grace everything she already knew, and everything Jennifer had reiterated: the kids who sat in the cool section of the cafeteria were completely unaware of those who sat in the social ghetto next to the kitchen.

"She's n.o.body. Give me a minute, and I'll get rid of her." Nick ran his hand across Amy's chest and she shivered with pleasure. "Don't go too far."

Nick was definitely worth the wait, so she shrugged, and said, "Fine, but you'd better have more pot." Giving Grace a withering look, she executed a flawless dive and disappeared under the water, surfacing about ten yards away. She swam effortlessly towards sh.o.r.e.

At Nick's characterization of her as a "n.o.body," Grace's heart fell to somewhere down by her feet. While she hadn't expected a kiss and an apology, she hadn't been prepared for such a royal dis, and she wished with all her might that she were anywhere else, anybody else.

"So, what do you want?"

Nick waited. He figured he knew what was coming, and although he didn't understand why Grace needed to swim out to the middle of Silver Lake to scold him for not calling her all summer and lying about going to Europe, he could understand how she must feel. Getting dumped sucked, even when in his mind they'd never really been together. Nice girls required too much effort. He made a vow, which he already knew he probably wouldn't be keeping, to avoid such complications in the future. Definitely not worth having to stare into those puppy dog eyes after all was said and done, and he knew there was no way she would ever go down on him.

Taking a deep breath and looking him square in those clear blue eyes, which, even after all that had happened, made her heart pause, Grace stammered, "I'm ... I'm pregnant."

The warm sun, the deliciously wooly dizziness, the antic.i.p.atory throbbing between his legs - all gone in an instant as his blood turned to ice, seemed to stop flowing through his veins. Inside his bathing suit, his hard-on, courtesy of Amy's practiced hand, wilted.

"What did you say?" Nick had heard exactly what she'd said, but he needed time to let it seep into his brain.

"I'm going to have a baby, your baby. I'm almost eight weeks pregnant."

This wasn't nearly as bad as telling her parents had been. Nick had no moral authority over her. Her only fear had been that he didn't care about her, but she already knew that he didn't, that she had just been one of many back seat conquests - definitely not the first, and certainly not the last. Her shoulders fell as the tension left her body and her breathing returned to normal.

When he felt he could speak without his voice shaking, Nick said, "It can't be mine. I used a condom. I was careful." He didn't doubt for a second that it was his - until he got to her, she'd been convent material. It was a knee-jerk reaction. That's what guys were supposed to do. Deny, deny, deny.

"That was my first ... and last time. Apparently condoms don't work all that well. It must have been defective, or you put it on wrong."

Although Grace had vowed not to lay any blame, since she had willingly gone along with the program, he had been the one wearing the condom. Closing her eyes for a second, she waited for him to reach out to her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay, that they would figure this mess out together. But she wasn't in charge of his feelings, and Nick just sat there, mouth hanging open, his hands balled up in fists, glaring at her with anger and frustration.

This couldn't be happening to him. "What are you going to do about it?"

Nick wanted to grab her by the hair and drag her to the nearest clinic, but he knew that ultimately it wasn't his choice. He could see his whole life slipping away through what must have been a microscopic hole in the f.u.c.king condom, like sand sliding through that tiny opening in the center of an hourgla.s.s. Since he was fifteen, he'd been a loyal Warrior Condoms customer, buying the giant box at PriceSaver, coasting on their reputation as the protection you can depend on when you march into battle. There was no way he had put it on wrong - he could unwrap it and get it on in the dark in under ten seconds, including blowing into it to check for any holes. But in spite of that extra step, the Warrior Corporation had failed him. He wondered if he could sue them for wrecking his life. The way he saw it, Warrior should have to pay for the abortion, or the baby, or the hit man.

"I don't know."

She noted that he hadn't asked what we were going to do about it. Whatever happened, she was going to have to handle this on her own. But she wished he would at least ask her how she was feeling, if she had morning sickness or if she was scared. It wouldn't have cost him anything to show a little sympathy.

"Did you tell your parents?"

Nick's family, although not nearly as devout as Grace's, belonged to the same church as the Warrens. He was well acquainted with their very public abstinence outreach program and their prim, first-pew sensibility. In fact, although now he felt embarra.s.sed to admit it, that had been a large part of her appeal. Nailing Grace had been like winning the Heisman Trophy of s.e.xual conquest. She wasn't just your run-of-the-mill virgin - she was an uber virgin. Sticking it to her was an ego boost for an ego that needed very little boosting.

Bile rose in his throat as his new reality took shape. If Grace's parents knew about the baby, Nick was sure he was doomed to become a father. Panic engulfed his body as he thought about the lacrosse scholarship that had been a certainty until this second. He didn't know anything about becoming a father - could he still go to college, or would he have to get a job to support Grace and her kid? His mind spun out of control as he started adding up the cost of diapers and formula and rent. For a second he hated being a guy, because being the guy meant he had all of the responsibility (except for carrying the thing for nine months and pushing it out and taking care of it), and none of the rights.

"I did. They're not speaking to me." Just thinking about that made the tears well up and Grace wondered if she would ever be able to stop crying, or whether the baby had turned her into a blubbering ma.s.s of blubber.

"I bet. f.u.c.k." Although he was furious with Grace for not telling him first, letting him have some say in what came next, Nick felt a little bit sorry for her. The Warrens's numerous high-profile good works had made them minor celebrities in Silver Lake, and Grace's little foray to the dark side in the back of his Jeep was likely an unforgivable crime. Based on his limited knowledge of them, it wouldn't surprise Nick if they never spoke to their daughter again. That last night with Grace, the night they had apparently made a baby, Grace's main worry had been getting home before curfew, because she didn't want to get in trouble with her parents. "What about me? Did you tell them I was the father?" Not that he was scared - no one was going to force him to do anything - but it would be nice to know if Grace's dad was going to show up at his house with a shotgun and a marriage license. And what would Nick's parents have to say about this? If he had to give up his scholarship, his parents would likely cut him off as well. He could hardly comprehend how a perfect day could fall apart so fast.

"I told them I was pregnant, they said some mean, horrible things to me, and now they're giving me the silent treatment. That's pretty much it. My mom knows it was you, but I don't think she cares - it's the fact that I did it at all. I'm the one who's related to her, and I'm the one who's going to have the evidence under my shirt for the world to see. I've humiliated her and my dad. Apparently that's an unpardonable sin." As miserable as she was, Grace felt slightly better talking it out with Nick. Not that he was saying anything kind or comforting, but as her accomplice, he had to have some empathy, even though he was doing a good job of hiding any feeling at all. How she wished she'd seen this side of him before her panties came off.

"So why didn't you just have an abortion and leave them out of it? They didn't need to know what happened. You should have come to me right away, and we could have taken care of everything ourselves. What did you think was going to happen when you told your f.u.c.king parents?"

"I don't know," Grace said quietly. She didn't want to admit that she'd stupidly thought that telling her parents would make it better.

"Now that you've dragged the moral majority into this s.h.i.t show, my future's about to drive off a cliff, and for no good reason. It could've been a dented fender, and now it's going to be a f.u.c.king ten-car pileup," Nick seethed.

"That's what Jennifer said, but how could I keep it from them? They would figure it out. Besides, I thought you were on the other side of the Atlantic, and I don't have five hundred dollars for an abortion." Grace was already regretting her decision to own up to her sin to Betsy and Brad. Jennifer had vigorously advised against it, and now Nick was raking her over the coals.

"They wouldn't have figured it out if you'd gotten rid of it right away." Calling the baby, or fetus, or whatever it was, it, felt wrong somehow, but it was much easier to distance himself from an 'it' than from the soft, round, blue-eyed baby that 'it' would become in a matter of months. "f.u.c.king idiot," he muttered to himself. "So your friend Jennifer knows. You haven't told anyone else, have you? You saw what happened when you told your stupid-a.s.s parents. This mess is n.o.body's business." If word got out that he'd knocked up the poster child for the purity pioneers, his life would be over.

Frustrated by Nick's failure to focus on the actual problem of what to do right now, Grace let out a small shriek of exasperation. Although his reaction was not surprising, she had hoped for something different. But she could be tough if that's what was called for. "Don't worry, I won't tell another soul you're the father. I'd sooner die than have anyone know what I let you do to me in the back of your s.h.i.tty car. But right now, we've got bigger worries than who's privy to our dirty little secret. We both screwed up in a big way eight weeks ago, and I need to figure out what to do today. You need to help me. It's your baby, too."

Nick flinched at the words "your baby." He lay back on the warm, wet wood and stared directly into the sun. The white light burned his retinas, but he refused to blink. Athletic scholarships and hot girls who spread their legs when he smiled at them were no longer a given. This was really happening, and for the first time in his life, Nick Salter felt like a total loser.

CHAPTER 5.

It was still dark outside when Grace's mother shook her awake on the Friday before Labor Day weekend. "Get up. Get dressed." Her voice was stern, but at least Betsy was speaking to her. Those were the first four words either of her parents had addressed directly to her since the night she'd confessed to her terrible crime.

"Mom? What's going on?"

The strain of her parents' hostility and the needs of the baby growing inside of her were a draining combination, and sleep was Grace's only escape. If the sound of a car backfiring or a door slamming didn't wake her, she could sleep fifteen hours at a stretch. At four in the morning, she was nowhere near ready to face the day.