Giftchild (7 page)

In the locker room, I stashed the predictors and the pregnancy tests underneath my long gym pants. It was still too warm to be wearing those anyway. Unless they did some spontaneous locker search, no one would find the tests there.

I unwrapped one of the predictors, pulled out the stick and the instructions, and carried them up my sleeve into the bathroom. I passed a couple girls coming in to change for first period gym, but if they noticed anything, they didn't speak.

I unwrapped the predictor with shaking hands, peed on the stick, and stayed in the stall, checking the time on my cell phone and waiting the two minutes for the results.

Only one line appeared. I wasn't ovulating yet.

Relief rushed through me, followed by a wave of guilt. I
wanted
to be ovulating, didn't I? The longer I had to wait, the longer Mom had to suffer.

But I'd also have longer to talk to Rodney about it—longer to figure out exactly the right thing to say.

I held the stick with two fingers. I couldn't flush it—it was too long, and probably wouldn't even go down. Instead, I wrapped it in the instructions and stuck it in the little metal box inside the stall where you're supposed to put used pads. A janitor probably wouldn't look too hard at the contents of that. Plus, if they did find the stick, there wouldn't be any way to tie it back to me.

It's not like anyone was going to run a DNA test on the locker room trash.

Rodney had chess club again at lunch, so I spent the day thinking about what I was going to say to him. I drummed my fingernails on the classroom desks, rehearsing.
You know my mom has been trying to get pregnant forever. You know how hard that's been on my family. Well, I was thinking . . .

In history class, I took furious notes. By the end of the period, I'd written down about every word of the lecture, but I didn't remember a bit of it. Instead, these words kept running through my mind:
Hey, we're friends, right? So let's have sex and give my mother a baby.

Shoot me now. Rodney was a sensible guy. There had to be a way to explain this that didn't sound like he needed to check me into a psyche ward.

I was no better off at the end of the day, when I found him waiting at my locker.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he said back. He didn't even look up—just finished shoving his books into the locker and then held it open for me.

It's just a normal day, I thought. A normal day on which we might kiss or we might not. A day like any other in the history of our friendship.

I wiped my palms on my jeans. What if he was. . .
over
me? Could you get over someone you'd never actually crushed on? Was that a thing?

As we headed out to the parking lot, Rodney gave me a sideways glance. "So, are we not talking about it, then?" he asked.

My heart picked up pace. "About what?"

Rodney raised his eyebrows at me. "The test?"

My eyes went wide. How could he know? The girls from the store? Had someone seen me in the locker room? Did half the school know already?

Rodney looked confused. "Didn't you get yours back?"

My face flushed. Physiology. Duh. The test Rodney was supposed to know about.

Way to act like a spaz, Penny.

I let my hair fall into my face, trying to cover my blush. "Yeah," I said. "I got it."

Rodney waited for a long moment. "And?"

I sighed. "C plus."

Rodney winced. "Ouch," he said. "No wonder you didn't bring it up."

Yeah. It totally wasn't because I was distracted by other things. "What about you? B?"

"A minus."

Ugh. His usual half a grade was funny. A full letter and a half was just sad. "Like, ninety percent, squeaking by?"

"Ninety-four percent."

"That's not even a minus."

"Depends on the scale." Rodney bumped me with his shoulder, like he was waiting for me to laugh, but I didn't. Even on a regular day, it wasn't that funny.

We reached Rodney's car, which he'd parked at the back of the parking lot. His mom had given him her old station wagon, which still had a bumper sticker announcing that his kid was on the honor roll. Rodney tried to compensate by hanging a stuffed Moogle from his rear view mirror, but it didn't work. The upside of the car was that we could have fit just about everyone we knew into it, even though it was usually just him and me.

Rodney unlocked the door for me, and I climbed into the passenger seat and leaned back, putting my feet on the dash and taking deep breaths. This was my opportunity to talk to him, and I knew it. But my heartbeat kept thudding in my throat, and I didn't get the words out. I just kept thinking them over in my head:
I was wondering . . . I was thinking . . .

It wasn't until we'd driven a couple of blocks that Rodney broke the silence.

"Seriously, what's up?" he asked.

I dug my nails into the armrest. "What do you mean?"

"You're all quiet again. That's the second time this week."

"Sorry," I said. "I'm just . . . steaming about the test."

Rodney waved an arm at me, and for a second, I thought he was going to touch me, but he didn't. "What do you need physiology for anyway? You're not going into medicine."

I crossed my arms. "I need it to get into college." Oh, jeez. College. My grades. What if I was really sick in the mornings and missed school? Junior year was supposed to be the year colleges cared about most.

Rodney shrugged. "What's the worst that can happen? Say you fail physiology, and that messes up your applications. Then you have to go to a community school for a year or two first. Would that be the end of the world?"

I took a deep breath. Rodney always knew how to put things into perspective. "You're right. Thanks."

Rodney smiled. "That's what I'm here for."

I squirmed in my seat. I had to talk to him about what was really bothering me, but I would die if I asked him to sleep with me, and he turned me down.

What we needed was to do something normal. Then I'd be able to work up some nerve.

"Do you have your camera today?" I asked.

Rodney nodded. "It's in the trunk."

"The leaves are turning at the park," I said. "Maybe we could stop on the way."

"Done," Rodney said, and he took the next right, driving the few blocks to the park near the city center.

The leaves weren't just turning. They were also falling. We walked beneath the towering trees on a carpet of red and yellow and orange, each with our cameras in our hands. I aimed my lens at the treetops, taking pictures of the branches backlit against the sky. I focused on my camera, avoiding eye contact with Rodney. I kept glancing at him and then glancing away, but he just fiddled with his own settings, like he didn't notice.

I couldn't believe so many leaves had dropped when the trees looked as full as ever. Still, leaves rained down around us. One caught in my hair, and Rodney turned his lens on me.

I lowered my camera. "What do you want me to do?" I asked.

Rodney smiled. "Just hold still."

I turned so the sun would fully light my profile, to give him more to work with.

"Check it out," Rodney said, inclining his screen toward me so I could see the shot. "Once we color correct that, it's going to be awesome."

Rodney had tilted the lens, so I looked off balance. The line from my forehead to my nose pointed to the vibrant red leaf.

"We'll have to brighten the leaf," I said. "Make it look larger than life."

Rodney grinned. "Exactly."

I turned my camera back to the sky, and then thought again and flopped down in the leaves.

"Are you getting anything from down there?" Rodney asked.

My heart thudded. "Come down here and see."

Leaves crunched as he lay down beside me and leaned into my shoulder so he could see my screen. I squinted at my camera, letting the exposure alternate bright and dark, depending on whether I focused on the branches or the sky.

"Switch it to manual," Rodney said.

I fiddled with the settings, finally bringing out the crisp, dark branches against the bright sky. I punched the shutter, taking bunches of shots at a time. My skin prickled, like every hair was aware of how near he was.

"Nice," Rodney said. He turned his camera along the ground away from me, focusing on a leaf four feet away. I propped my head on his shoulder so I could see, and he snapped a picture. The foreground and background blurred, but the leaf looked crisp, on the small screen at least.

Rodney turned back toward me, his face only a few inches from mine. I held my breath to keep from hyperventilating.

"That's a keeper," he said, still looking at the camera screen.

The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, and a tendril of hair fell into his eyes. This was my moment. My heart beat faster. What was wrong with me? Was I laying a trap for him? Sneaking up to surprise him?

No. I was just trying to relax. Then we'd talk. I held my breath, and leaned in until my nose brushed his.

Rodney's face faded to serious, and he lowered the camera. His eyes wavered on my lips. A breeze picked up, scattering a bucketful of paper-thin leaves over the top of us. One caught behind Rodney's ear, and as he reached up to grab it, I kissed him. Leaves crunched under my hair as he leaned into me, rolling over me on the grass. More leaves tumbled over us, and our hips pressed together. Rodney's arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me closer. For a moment we moved in tandem—my mouth against his, his knees wrapped around mine. The world blurred like an out-of-focus picture as we disappeared beneath the shifting pile of leaves.

Then my stomach started to tingle, like a wriggling worm.

I giggled. Our mouths broke apart.

"What?" he asked. "Is my breath bad?"

I laughed harder. Rodney rolled over and watched me struggle to catch my breath. "No," I said finally. "It's nothing."

Rodney turned back to his camera. "Sure," he said. "I totally believe you."

But he didn't push. Rodney never pushed.

I brushed the leaves from my shirt, and they skittered away, becoming part of the traveling detritus.

Rodney held his screen up, pretending to look at it, but I caught him eying me.

"What?" I asked.

He smiled and shook his head. "You still have leaves in your hair."

I shook my head, trying to free them. "Help."

Instead, he held up his camera, snapping a picture of me.

I threw a fistful of leaves at him. "Sure," I said. "Take my picture when I look ridiculous."

Rodney bit his lip.

"What?" I asked.

"You look gorgeous," he said, looking down at his screen. "You always look gorgeous."

I collapsed in the leaves, the wind knocked out of me.

Kissing, check. Attraction, check.

Sex couldn't be that big of a jump from here, could it?

Now I just needed to find the right words.

Three days later I was lying on Rodney's bed with his laptop open in front of me, watching his pictures upload while Rodney played a game on his handheld, oblivious to my repeated glances in his direction. That morning, just after gym class, two lines had appeared on my ovulation predictor. According to the instructions, this meant I had about a three-day window to get pregnant, and I still hadn't talked to Rodney about it.

Rodney eyed my hands, where I'd been unconsciously balling his comforter in my fists. "How's your mom?" he asked.

Mom had driven me to school that morning, her eyes puffy and red, like she'd fallen asleep crying. "Meh," I said. "The usual."

My heart lodged in my throat. This was my cue. I had to tell him. But my voice froze. I couldn't speak. Rodney's photos finished uploading, and I opened one, stalling. "You were right about this one of me with the leaves," I said. "It's striking."

Rodney fiddled with his game. "Don't fish. I already told you you're gorgeous."

I squinted at the screen. "I'm not fishing. It's obviously your camera skills at work here, not
me
."

"Ugh," Rodney said. "Now you're really fishing."

I threw a pillow at him. "I am
not
." Even though I totally was.

I pulled that picture into an editing program. Rodney flopped down on the bed next to me, watching me work. He was so close, I could feel his body heat through my jeans.

"Seriously," I said, tilting the screen toward him. "Look at that. Someday you're going to be famous."

"Please," Rodney said. "It's not that good a picture."

"
I
like it."

"You have questionable taste."

"I must," I said. "I like
you
."

Now he whacked me with the pillow. I took it from him and shoved it under the laptop.

"Besides," I said, "I'll be your business partner, and I'm
clearly
a genius."

"And we'll do what? The money's all in portraits. I don't want to be taking pictures of people's kids for the rest of my life."

I turned back to the photo. "Some people make a living taking pictures of objects."

Rodney looked skeptical. "Sure. Product photography. I could make ads forever. That's
lots
better."

I looked at Rodney's walls, which were hung with his art and mine, but no one else's. "People buy art."

"But they only buy Ansel Adams."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine," I said. "Abandon me. I'll start up our photography business on my own."

Rodney looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "You start a business, and you can hire me.
If
you can afford me."

I laughed. "You can't ask much, if you refuse to do portraits."

Rodney leaned toward me so his shoulder was against mine, looking at the picture he'd taken of me. My whole body tingled in response. I held perfectly still.

"I'll do portraits," he said, "if they can all have leaves in their hair."

His eyes ran over the image of me, and he smiled.

My pulse picked up. Okay, I thought. Tell him. I tilted my head so our faces were only an inch apart.

But I waited a moment too long. Rodney's chin tilted toward mine, and then he kissed me. My body melted into his, every muscle responding to him. His body swallowed me, his intensity leaving no room for argument.