Finally she was done. But as she was getting back into her car, she realized that she’d splattered vomit on her shoes. Just great. Now she could go to the yearbook meeting smelling like barf. Maybe Wes would be sorry he’d coerced her into another year of working on the yearbook.
7
For the next few weeks, Sophie lived in a constant state of fear, anxiety, and general hopelessness. Just to be sure, she’d purchased another home pregnancy kit, only to get the same positive results. Why they called the results positive was a mystery to her. Being seventeen and pregnant was anything but positive. It was, in fact, the most negative thing she’d ever experienced. Seriously, she would have rather been diagnosed with terminal cancer or run over by a freight train. Anything would be preferable to this.
Naturally she disguised these raw emotions in a cloak of humor, wit, and sarcasm. Then she topped it all off with a big umbrella of denial. Despite bouts of “morning” sickness, which occurred at various times of the day, and despite a “very late” period and sore breasts and a need to use the restroom more frequently, she continued to tell herself that this wasn’t really happening. She wasn’t really pregnant. And she certainly was not going to have a baby.
She focused her attention on other things. Like being selected as the yearbook editor and working on the school paper. She put all her energy into these activities—almost as if her journalism success might somehow erase the reality she was unable to face.
“So how about you?” Carrie Anne was looking directly at Sophie, kind of like she was directing that question to her.
“Huh?” Sophie blinked.
“You’re such a space case,” Jenny teased.
“It’s because she’s too smart,” Kelsey said. “You know, one of those airhead genius types.”
“Thanks a lot.” Sophie looked back at Carrie Anne. “So what was it you were asking me?”
“If you’re going to the homecoming dance.”
“Well, let me see.” Sophie held up her hand and counted on her fingers. “First Jeremy Brock asked me to go. Next was Caleb Stanton. And then there was—”
“Yeah, right.” Jenny laughed.
“How the jocks love me,” Sophie continued. “Let me count the ways.”
“There are guys besides jocks,” Carrie Anne pointed out.
“Duh.” Sophie made a face. “Do you honestly think I’d go out with a jock anyway? I mean, I’ve turned down at least a dozen invitations—”
“So I’ll take that as a no?” Carrie Anne said with a sly smile. Sophie nodded. “That is definitely a no.”
“Good.”
Sophie frowned. “Thanks a lot. I thought you were my friend.”
“It’s good because I have something to ask you.”
“You’re asking me to go to the dance with you?” Sophie shook her head. “Sorry, Carrie Anne. I mean, I like you. But not like that.”
Jenny and Kelsey laughed, but Carrie Anne did not look amused.
“Seriously, are you guys going to the dance?” Sophie looked at her friends.
“If you’d been paying attention, you’d know the answer to that one.” Jenny gave a smug look.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m going with John Hendricks,” Jenny said. “And Kelsey is going with Timothy Banks.”
Sophie frowned. They were a couple of guys from their youth group. Nice guys, but pretty shy. They rarely spoke to girls. “How’d you swing that?”
“Jenny asked them.” Kelsey started to giggle.
Sophie stared at Jenny. “You asked them?”
“Yeah. And they agreed. It’ll be a double date.”
Sophie shrugged. “Well, good for you.”
“Anyway . . .” Carrie Anne still seemed to have something on her mind. “Do you want to go to the dance, Sophie?”
“Like I said, Carrie Anne, I like you, but—”
“Not with me, you moron!”
“Who then?”
“Wes Andrews.”
“Wes Andrews?” Sophie was shocked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he wants to ask you, but he’s afraid you’ll turn him down. Or that you won’t want to be friends with him. Or something.”
Sophie frowned. “So he talked to you?”
“Yeah, he asked me to sound you out. Of course, he didn’t want me to tell you that he wanted to know.” She laughed. “Like that was going to happen.”
“For a smart kid, Wes is a little slow on the uptake,” Jenny said.
“Or maybe he’s just shy,” Sophie said in his defense.
“So, what do you think?” Carrie Anne looked hopeful.
“Why do you care so much?” Sophie studied her friend. “I know—you like Wes and you want him to take you to the dance?”
“You are so lame.”
Now Sophie felt indignant. “Are you saying you’re too good for Wes?”
“No. I’m saying he wants to take you. And I want to know if you’ll go or not.”
“But why do you care?”
“I know why,” Jenny said.
“Why?” the others all said at once.
“Because Carrie Anne likes Drew.” Jenny nodded.
“Drew, as in Wes’s best friend, Drew?” Sophie asked.
“Drew Valdez,” Kelsey said. “Of course, it makes perfect sense.”
“You like Drew?” Sophie asked Carrie Anne.
She kind of shrugged. “He’s nice. He’s an academic assistant for Mr. Cromwell. He’s been helping me with my math.”
Sophie chuckled. “And if you don’t pass practical math, you can kiss your diploma bye-bye.”
“Thanks for reminding me. But I’m doing just fine.” Carrie Anne looked hopefully at Sophie. “So, will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Go to the homecoming dance with Wes?”
“I don’t—”
“Have a heart, Sophie,” Carrie Anne pleaded.
“Yeah, don’t be such a wet blanket,” Jenny said.
“It’s not like we’re asking you to marry the poor guy,” Kelsey chimed in.
Jenny nodded. “Yeah, just go to the stupid dance.”
“Come on,” Carrie Anne begged. “You’re my best friend. How often do I ask you to do anything for me?”
“Seriously?” Sophie was about ready to list all the things. “It’ll be fun,” Kelsey said. “It’s our senior year, and we should do some of these things. Come on, Sophie.”
“Fine,” Sophie snapped at them. “I’ll go.” She turned to Carrie Anne. “But only if it’s a double date with you and Drew. Otherwise count me out.”
Carrie Anne stuck out her hand. “Deal.”
Sophie shook it halfheartedly. “Yeah, whatever.”
The other three began talking about what they would wear, and Sophie stood. “Later,” she said quickly. “I have to get something from my locker.” She hurried on her way. She hoped she could make it to the restroom near the locker bay. It was usually the least busy. But before she could round the corner to get there, she knew it was too late. Fortunately there was a trash can handy. She grabbed hold of it and promptly lost her lunch.
“Nasty!” A girl nearby made a disgusted face.
“That’s one way to lose a couple pounds,” her friend said. “Nice shot, babe.” Naturally this came from a jock. Then he plugged his nose as he hurried past.
Sophie ignored them and continued on to the bathroom, where she rinsed out her mouth, splashed her face with water, and fished a box of breath mints out of her bag. She popped two in her mouth and headed for class.
As she walked by a bulletin board, she stopped. There, right next to a flyer about homecoming queen elections, was a totally different sort of flyer.
Unwanted pregnancy?
• Your body, your choice
• A woman’s right to decide
• You have questions, we have answers
• Don’t wait until it’s too late
She stared at the bold slug lines.
These people were not beating around the bush. She looked at the very bottom of the poster to see, in a much smaller font, the address and phone number of the free family planning clinic.
Sophie turned away and sighed. She knew exactly where that particular clinic was located. She’d gone there numerous times with Carrie Anne and her family. They would gather on the sidewalk in front to pray and to protest against the abortions performed. She had even carried a sign with a colored photograph of an unborn baby while picketing there. She’d tried to talk young women out of going inside that terrible place. She’d tried to make them understand that just because a baby was unborn didn’t mean that it wasn’t a living human being.
But she wasn’t so sure anymore. Not about anything. Mostly she was confused and frightened. And she was beginning to understand why a woman would even consider such a horrendous act. Not that she was considering it herself. Not really.
Sophie honestly did not remember driving there. She didn’t even remember leaving school, getting into her car, driving across town, and finally pulling up into the parking lot in back. But as she got out of her car, she knew exactly where she was. And as she went through the back door and down a dimly lit corridor, she knew exactly what she was doing. At least, that was what she told herself.
Her hands shook as she filled out the form. But it was like a part of her had shut down. She wasn’t sure whether it was her head or her heart, or perhaps it was both. She filled out the lines in a mechanical way, as if she was on some kind of automatic pilot. Or as if she was dead.
Maybe she was dead. If she was, then what she was about to do could not be considered murder. Because you couldn’t kill something that wasn’t even alive. Right?
Like a robot she went to the counter and slid the clipboard to the receptionist. The woman smiled, but it was a sad smile, a knowing smile—a smile that had probably given up a long time (and a lot of babies) ago.
“You might want to read these while you wait to see the counselor,” the woman said as she slid a couple of pamphlets toward Sophie.
Sophie nodded. “Thanks.” Then, still moving on autopilot, she made her way back to the seating area, which thankfully was empty. She sat down and attempted to focus her eyes on the material in her hand, but it seemed to jump out at her in blips and spurts. “Half of all pregnancies are unplanned . . . one in three women have had abortions . . . morning-after pill . . . aspiration . . . vacuum . . .”
Sophie set the pamphlets on the coffee table next to a bunch of others. Maybe everyone left the pamphlets behind. Who would want to take that with them? Who would want anyone to know?
“Sophie Ramsay?”
Sophie jumped, then looked around. Who knew she was here?
“Sophie?”
Sophie realized it was the receptionist. “Yes?”
“The counselor will see you now.” She nodded toward a hallway. “The second door down.”
Sophie slowly stood, glancing left and right and wondering if she should just make a run for it. Get out of there before she was sorry. But she’d left her name and phone number on that form. What if they called her at home? What if they told her parents? Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? She’d always heard that these places kept people’s names anonymous. But what if she was wrong? What if that was just a trick?
“Excuse me.” She paused by the receptionist’s desk.
“Yes?”
“I forgot to ask you something.”
“Well, the counselor is the best one to answer your—”
“No, I mean about the form I filled out.”
“Oh, was there a mistake?”
“No. I mean, is it confidential?”
The woman frowned. “Well, the counselor and the doctor will have to—”
“No, I mean confidential outside of this office. Like will my parents be informed that I came—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, dear.”
“Really? You don’t notify them at all?”
“Not unless you ask us to.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly. Your secret is safe with us.”
Sophie sighed. “Okay.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Right.” Sophie nodded.
“The counselor is waiting, dear.”
She nodded again. As she walked down the hallway, she tried to grasp what she’d just heard. How was it possible that she, a minor, could undergo a surgical procedure that ended a human life while her parents remained totally clueless, yet just last spring when Sophie had gone to the school nurse due to menstrual cramps, the nurse had refused to administer Advil without calling Sophie’s mom first? Not that she’d wanted her parents to know exactly. But it just didn’t make sense that an abortion was perfectly permissible without parental consent when a simple over-the-counter pain reliever was not. It was actually kind of creepy when she thought about it.
“Sophie Ramsay?” A short, dark-haired woman extended her hand. “I’m Mary.”
“Hi.” Sophie attempted a weak smile.
“Come into my office and let’s chat.”
Chat? Sophie wasn’t really sure she wanted to chat. Mostly she just wanted to end this thing. But perhaps it was required to chat first.
Mary sat down at a cluttered desk and looked at the form still on the clipboard. “You’re seventeen?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
Mary smiled faintly. “I guess it depends on your perspective.”
“You mean seventeen and pregnant?”
She nodded. “And you’re certain that you’re pregnant?”
Sophie explained the test. How she did it once with only six seconds of flow, then did it again, and then did it a third time with another test. “But it was the same result every time—they were all positive. Do you think I did it wrong?”
Mary just made another note.
“I thought the first test was an old one. The box looked kind of old, and I got it from this weird little drugstore, and . . . well, I wondered, do those tests have some kind of a shelf life?”
“Sometimes a test can be faulty.”
“The second test, well, I accidentally dropped one wand in the toilet. And then the other one was, well, positive.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to be retested.”
“Like maybe I’m not really—”
“When was your last period?” Mary skimmed the form, then pointed to the line that Sophie had filled in. “The first week of August?”
“I think so. I wasn’t really paying attention, you know. But I’d been at this camp—a youth camp I worked at during August— for about a few days, I think.”
“Uh-huh.” She read down the form. “And you were sexually active afterward?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it that. I mean, yes, I had sex. But it was the first time. I mean, I’d been a virgin until then.”
“You got pregnant the first time you had sex?” Mary looked dubious.
“I’d heard you couldn’t get pregnant the first time.”
Mary shook her head. “That’s not true.”
“Oh.”
“So you got pregnant the first time you had sex?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t think it was possible. And then I had sex again.”
“So you were sexually active.”
“No. I only did it twice.”
“So . . . ,” Mary looked slightly impatient, “. . . you’re saying you had sex twice and you got pregnant?”
“That’s what happened.”
“Okay.” Mary picked up a pencil and fluttered it between her fingers. “So, can I assume that you didn’t use protection?”
“Not the first time.”
“The second time?”
“He had a condom . . . but it broke.”
“And he didn’t have a spare?”
Sophie just shook her head.
Mary wrote something down on a little pad. She ripped it off and handed it to Sophie.
“What
’s this?”
“A prescription for birth control.”
“I don’t need this.” Had Mary even been listening to her? “Maybe you don’t need it right now, but after—”
“No. I won’t ever need it. I don’t plan on having sex again.”
“Ever?”
“Not until I get married. And I don’t plan on getting married until I’m . . . at least thirty.”
“You don’t say.”
“Seriously.” Sophie shoved the paper back at her. “I don’t need this.”
“You didn’t need it before . . . before August?”
“No. I just should’ve stuck to my pledge.”
“Let me guess—you made an abstinence pledge?”
“A purity pledge.”
“Would you be surprised to hear that a lot of girls make and break that same pledge? And that a lot of girls end up sitting right where you are telling me the exact same story?”
“The exact same story?”
“Well, not exactly. But they don’t plan on having sex. They’re committed to wait until marriage. But then something happens. A boyfriend pressures them. They have an irrepressible urge. Even date rape.”
Sophie sat up straighter. She could feel tears coming on again.
“Then they’re pregnant. And scared and desperate.”
“Like me.”
“Yes.” She held out the prescription again. “You’re sure you don’t want this?”
“I’m positive.”
“It’s your choice.”
“My body. My choice.” Sophie heard the sarcasm in her voice.
“So you’re positive you want to terminate this pregnancy?” Sophie nodded, trying to appear confident. And trying to shut down that little voice that was inside of her, screaming, Stop! Stop! Stop this nonsense and get out of this place NOW!
“Because adoption is an option.”
“Not for me.” Sophie resisted the urge to cover her ears with her hands—not that it would make any difference, since the words she wanted to block were on the inside, not the outside.
“I understand.” Mary made a note on Sophie’s form, then looked up. “Do you have any questions about the procedure?”
Anything but Normal Page 6
