by Maggie Wells
Shawna
Nine Months: Book #5
Written by Maggie Wells
Copyright © 2016 by Abdo Consulting Group, Inc.
Published by EPIC Press™
PO Box 398166
Minneapolis, MN 55439
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.International copyrights reserved in all countries.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without
written permission from the publisher. EPIC Press™ is trademark
and logo of Abdo Consulting Group, Inc.
Cover design by Candice Keimig
Images for cover art obtained from iStockPhoto.com
Edited by Lisa Owens
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Wells, Maggie.
Shawna / Maggie Wells.
p. cm. — (Nine months ; #5)
Summary: Shawna, an 18-year-old living in Oakland, California waits to have sex for the very first time with her longtime boyfriend, Philippe, but the protection fails and she becomes pregnant. Philippe wants her to abort the baby but she can’t go through with it. Shawna finds juggling motherhood and college extremely difficult and makes a mistake that endangers her baby.
ISBN 978-1-68076-194-8 (hardcover)
1. Teenagers—Sexual behavior—Fiction. 2. Teenage pregnancy—Fiction.
3. Sex—Fiction. 4. Abortion—Fiction. 5. Young adult fiction. I. Title.
[Fic]—dc23
2015949414
This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.
To Allison for her inspiration
ONE
A COLD FOG HAD ROLLED IN FROM THE BAY AND BLANKETED OAKLAND. SHAWNA PULLED ON HER FLEECE sweats and stood in front of the mirror to inspect her body. She stared at her reflection. Her eyes rested on her belly. Pulling her top up and turning sideways, she looked for a telltale bump, but it was flat and firm, as usual. She unzipped her hoodie to examine her breasts. They looked the same but they were tender to the touch, as though they were bruised.
Shawna heard the sound of the bathroom door shutting out in the hall—her mother! She flicked the overhead switch and crawled into bed. She reached for the lamp switch on the nightstand and dug under her mattress for her journal. She paged back through the journal to reflect on what she had written each day over the past couple of weeks.
May 4. Weight: 123 (She weighed herself every morning.)
Dear Diary: Met Philippe at Heinold’s to play pool and hang with his posse. Sat in his car afterward and made out.
May 9. Weight: 126
Dear Diary: I’m late and I’m afraid to tell Philippe.
Her phone buzzed. It was Philippe.
Where are you? he texted.
Home, she replied.
Come out? he asked. Meet at Heinold’s?
Give me an hour, she replied.
Shawna watched as Philippe leaned over the pool table, lining up a shot. “Are you going to talk to me?” she asked.
Philippe glanced up from the pool balls, his green eyes meandering up the length of her body before reaching her eyes. She wore her hair up in a high ponytail, the tail of which fanned out over her shoulders.
“What’s up, baby?” he asked.
He laid down his pool cue and walked over to her. He leaned against her with his lips lightly brushing hers while he ran his hand over her hip and up her back, under her blouse. She leaned into him and the temptation of sensation, that full-body rush. But she pulled back, realizing that this was how she had gotten into this mess in the first place.
“Philippe.” Shawna pulled away before he could grab her breasts. She reached for his hand—to keep it off her—and began massaging his palm. Her thumbs dug deep into his flesh. She waited until he looked into her eyes. “We have a problem.”
“Really?” he asked.
Shawna could see that he wasn’t really listening to her.
“It can wait,” he said. “It’s been too long.” He leaned in to kiss her again.
“No,” she said.
“What?” he asked, impatient.
“It’s just,” she said. “You know I didn’t want to go all the way. But you said it was okay.”
“What?” he asked, incredulous. He pulled away from her and looked at her, a wary expression on his face.
“It’s just that I think I might be pregnant,” she said.
Philippe stared at her. She stared back. The desire in his eyes was gone; his eyes were stone cold. “Are you sure?”
“I’m three weeks late,” she said.
Philippe turned back to the pool table and lined up his next shot. “Have you taken a test?”
“No,” she said.
The cue ball careened off the table onto the floor and everyone turned to stare.
“Shit!” Philippe flung the cue onto the table. “Then take one. Go to the drugstore.” He stormed toward the door and then turned on his heel. “And don’t tell me this is my fault! You wanted it as much as I did.” He spun around and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.
Shawna was stunned. Seriously? “Fuck you, Philippe!” she screamed. They had been going steady since freshman year. Now that they were seniors, she thought they would be together forever—go to college together, get married, have a family. She thought that was his plan too. But now everything is ruined, she thought. And he was right; it was all her fault.
Shawna sat on the toilet and stared at the stick in her hand. Her own body had betrayed her. How could this be happening? Enormous responsibility weighed heavily on her. Responsible, she thought. I’m responsible for this—for a baby, for this life inside me—responsible for the next eighteen years.
The phone rang five times before he picked up.
“Philippe. It’s me, Shawna.”
“Uh-huh.” His voice was stone cold.
“I took the test.”
“Yeah?”
“I am,” she said.
For a second she thought he had hung up. Then she heard him mutter, “Shit.”
“I know,” she said. Tears burned her eyes and slid down her cheeks.
Philippe cleared his throat. “Here’s what we are going to do. We’ll go to the clinic after school tomorrow and get it confirmed. Those home tests are wrong sometimes, you know.”
Shawna knew the test wasn’t wrong but she didn’t argue. She was glad that he was taking charge—that he would be by her side. We are in this together, she thought.
“Do you want to do something today?” Shawna asked. She really didn’t want to be alone to think about it—maybe he would hold her in his arms and show her that he cared about her and what she was feeling.
“Do something?”
“Hang out, go for a walk on the Embarcadero,” Shawna said. “Do something.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“Fine.” Shawna hung up the phone before he could give her some lame excuse. What could be more important than being with her right now? Her tears of sadness had turned to fury. How could she have been so stupid?
Shawna logged onto Facebook and typed in teen pregnancy. She sifted through dozens of pages until she came across Nine Months. Girls as young as fourteen were posting photos, poetry, and music videos into a stream.
Candy: Watch this inspiring movie about Teen Moms and what they can overcome!
Jasmine: Did you know? Well before a girl even knows she is pregnant, her baby's brain has already begun to grow. By five weeks the cerebral cortex has started to develop, the part that allows all of us to move, dance, run, speak, and sing.
Aleecia: I can feel my baby singing along with me in church.
Izzy: Since I became pregnant, my breasts, rear-end, and even my feet have grown. Is there anything that gets
smaller during pregnancy? Answer—your bladder!
Luci: Is anybody here considering abortion?
Shawna: I am. I guess. My boyfriend wants to take me to a clinic.
Shawna sent friend requests to all the girls and then, hearing a noise at the front door, she shut her laptop.
TWO
“WHERE ARE WE GOING?” SHAWNA YELLED OVER THE rap song blaring on the car radio.
“West Oakland,” Philippe yelled back. “We don’t want to run into anyone from school.”
Shawna nodded and sat back in her seat. The heater in Philippe’s car didn’t work so she pulled her sweater tight around her and winced at the soreness in her breasts.
Philippe went back to singing along with the rapper and banging out a rhythm on the steering wheel. She began to think that he had done this before. He seemed so unconcerned. He pulled into a small parking lot and she saw the sign: Planned Parenthood. Was he taking her here for a test or for an abortion? Both, probably.
The receptionist told Shawna to add her name to the long list on a clipboard and to take a seat. The waiting room was full; the only two vacant chairs were across the room from each other. Philippe flopped down onto one, picked up a Sports Illustrated, and thumbed through it. Shawna sank down onto the remaining chair. On her right, a young black chick coughed—a hard, phlegmy, rattling cough. Shawna turned away just in time to see the small boy on her left hit his baby sister in the face with a toy truck. The baby screamed, the mother smacked the little boy and he let out a howl.
“Shawna Black.” She heard her name and approached the front desk.
“I’m Shawna,” she said.
“You’ll need to fill this out.” The receptionist handed Shawna a clipboard with a stack of forms. “I need a photo I.D. and your insurance card,” she said.
Shawna returned to her seat and filled in her medical history. She paused at the question “Reason for Today’s Visit.” This was so humiliating. She thought about the video she had watched on Facebook. A teen mom had said, “I wish health professionals would act like they were here to help us, instead of judging us.”
Shawna looked over at Philippe. Judging, she thought. Guys aren’t judged when their girlfriend gets pregnant. Only the girl is judged. She turned her focus back to the clipboard. She wrote in “pregnancy test” and handed the clipboard back to the receptionist.
After what seemed like forever, her name was called again. She looked over at Philippe, expecting him to join her. But he was engrossed in his magazine and didn’t even look at her. She followed the nurse down the hallway, alone.
The nurse drew some blood and left Shawna sitting on the examination table in a flimsy gown to wait for the doctor. The woman who came in after what seemed like an hour didn’t look old enough to be a doctor, but she shook Shawna’s hand and introduced herself as Dr. Yoon Chun. She looked over the paperwork on the clipboard.
“So you think you might be pregnant?” Dr. Chun asked.
“The EPT was positive,” Shawna replied. “And I feel gross. Bloated, my breasts are sore. I read about the symptoms on the Internet.”
“You are . . . how old?” Shawna could see her doing the math in her head. “Seventeen?”
“I’m almost eighteen.”
The doctor smiled. “So where’s the father?” she asked.
“In the waiting room,” Shawna said.
“Really?” Dr. Chun asked. “What’s he doing out there?”
“I don’t know,” Shawna said. “Waiting, I guess.”
“What’s his name?” Dr. Chun asked.
“Philippe,” Shawna said.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” Shawna could hear the doctor’s heels click on the tile floor of the hallway. She returned a few minutes later with a sullen-looking Philippe.
“Have a seat,” Dr. Chun said.
Philippe refused to look at Shawna as he slouched in the chair.
“So,” Dr. Chun said to Philippe. “Shawna is pregnant.”
Philippe looked up. “You already did the test?”
“The lab results won’t be back until tomorrow but Shawna is sure and I’m ninety percent certain that she’s right,” Dr. Chun said. “Have you considered your options?”
“Options?” Philippe sounded incredulous. “I’m eighteen, she’s seventeen, so there’s nothing to consider. She has to get an abortion.”
“Abortion is one choice,” Dr. Chun said. “There’s also adoption, and parenthood.”
Philippe snorted. “Why would you try to talk a seventeen-year-old into having a baby? It can’t be good for her or the baby.”
“I’m not trying to talk anybody into anything,” Dr. Chun said. “But you need to have all the facts to make an informed decision.”
Philippe shook his head. “I can’t believe this,” he said.
“Why weren’t you using birth control?” Dr. Chun asked.
“We were!” Philippe exclaimed. “I’m not stupid. We used a condom. And we only did it once.”
“It only takes one time,” Dr. Chun said. “And I’m sure you know that condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective. Nothing is—nothing but abstinence.”
Dr. Chun looked at Shawna. “Call me tomorrow to get the results. And don’t forget, Shawna. This is your choice. Your feelings matter.”
Philippe was silent on the ride home. He had cranked the radio up to the max again.
Shawna turned down the radio and asked, “What are you thinking?”
“You know what I’m thinking,” Philippe said. “You need to get an abortion. There is no other choice. You know that. Why are you being so difficult?”
“I’m not trying to be difficult, but can’t we talk about this?” Shawna asked. “You told me that you loved me. You told me that we are going to get married someday.”
“Nothing has changed,” Philippe said.
“Well, this is our baby we’re talking about,” Shawna said, raising her voice. “Why would you want to kill our baby? We always talked about having kids. This is our kid, our first child. Think about that. How could you live with yourself, knowing that you had forced me to abort our baby? What if it was a boy and we never had another son?”
“Forced you?” Philippe cried. “Why am I the bad guy here? If you decide to get an abortion, that’s your choice and I’d support you in that decision. Look, here’s the truth—I could never face my father with this news. He would be so ashamed of me—he’d probably throw me out and he wouldn’t pay for college. My life would be ruined. Is that what you want? And what about your family? You think they’ll be thrilled?” He reached over and cranked up the radio again.
What do I want? Shawna wondered. I don’t want to ruin his life or mine, that’s for sure. Would this baby ruin our lives? I don’t know his father. Would he really cut Philippe off like that? What about my father? What would he say?
She reached over and slipped her hand into Philippe’s. He looked at her sadly and squeezed her hand.
Shawna opened her journal.
May 20. Weight: 128
Dear Diary: I’ve already gained five pounds this month. Shit! I’ve really fucked things up. For me, for Philippe. I hate myself.
THREE
SHAWNA PICKED UP THE PHONE AND BEGAN PUNCHING IN the numbers for the clinic. She stopped before punching the last digit. Her hand was shaking and her pounding heart was wedged in her throat. She couldn’t catch her breath. There was no way she could get a word out. She sat on the bed, breathing deeply, and started to feel light-headed. I’ll just lie down for a little bit, she thought.
Shawna woke up an hour later and checked the time. Shit! I need to speak to Dr. Chun before she leaves for the day. She quickly dialed the number and waited while it rang.
“Planned Parenthood,” the voice said. “How may I help you?”
Shawna cleared her throat. “This is Shawna Black. I saw Dr. Chun yesterday and I was calling to get my test results.”
“Date of birth?” the voice asked.
>
Shawna recited the numbers.
“Yes,” the voice said. “Your results came back. I need to schedule a time for you to speak to the doctor.”
“Just tell me!” Shawna cried.
“I can’t, dear,” the voice said. “Only the doctor can speak with you.”
“Ask her to call me?” Shawna asked. “Right away, please?”
“I’ll give her the message,” the voice said. “What’s the best number to reach you?”
Shawna recited her cell number and hung up. She paced back and forth in her bedroom. Call me, call me—I need to know, she thought, trying to hang onto any shred of hope. If the results were negative, wouldn’t the receptionist have been able to tell me? Maybe not. Give her the benefit of the doubt.
Her breasts ached in her too-small bra. She unzipped her too-tight jeans and embraced her flat belly. Was something growing inside of her? Was she just imagining it or she did actually feel different?
The ring tone made her jump. She clicked the green button.
“Hello?”
“Shawna, it’s me.” She recognized Philippe’s voice. She knew why he was calling.
“I’m waiting for the doctor to call,” Shawna said. “I thought you were her.”
“Call me as soon as you know something,” Philippe said.
As soon as she hung up the phone buzzed again.
“May I speak with Shawna?” It was Dr. Chun.
“It’s me,” Shawna said.
“It’s Dr. Chun. I have your results.”
“Uh-huh.” Shawna held her breath.
“It was positive,” Dr. Chun said. “You are pregnant. Can we schedule you . . . ”
Shawna felt her stomach heave. “I need to go,” she said and ended the call. She ran for the bathroom and retched into the toilet. She lay down on the floor and pressed her face against the cool tile, waiting to see if it was over. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, rubbing her face roughly with the terrycloth towel.
