Page 48 of Surviving You, Scotch and Sammy 1

She smiles and presses her plump chest against me. “I feel a little queasy, actually,” she snickers. “But other than that, Mrs. Turner sounds really cool.”

I press my hand onto the side of her belly. I’ll always work to make her feel better, even if a simple massage is the answer. “Happy birthday, Ricci. I love you so much.”

“Best birthday ever.”

– Sammy –

Find Sam. He’ll Fix It.

A few days after my birthday, I shoot up in my large four poster bed and my hand goes to my stomach. Nausea rolls through me like hot oil, and my brow sweats as my stomach jumps.

Throwing my legs quickly over the side of my bed, I run to my bathroom, skidding along the shiny tile on my knees and throwing my head into the toilet as the first river of bile surges.

My belly hurts from the first heave, like I’m going to throw up so much, my stomach will turn inside out. My throat burns and my body shakes. Sweat beads down my spine and I shiver from the cold.

I groan as my body aches. I feel like I’ve caught the flu. Not just any flu, but the flu to end all epidemics. My hands shake, and I lay my head on the closed toilet seat, craving the cool ceramic even though I shiver from the cold.

I breathe heavily through my mouth, and tears sting my eyes as my phone vibrates on my nightstand in my room.

Shakily climbing to my feet, I stiffly walk to the sink, turn on the faucet and wash my clammy face. This can’t be happening to me. Not now. Not today – or even this year.

My head whips up at the knock on my door. “Get up, Samantha. Time for school.”

I groan and look to the clock in my room. My eyes turn to the windows and squint at the sun that’s already high. I missed my swim. I missed my time with Sam.

“Samantha! Did you hear me?”

I take a deep breath as my stomach continues to rebel. “Yes, Mom. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Get dressed. You’re running late.”

“Okay.”

I press my lips together and swallow as I shuffle to my closet and painfully step into a pair of jeans and sneakers. I pull a sloppy shirt over my head, and my arms shake as I drag my hair into a ponytail. Then I gingerly sit on my bed and wish the sickness away.

I was feeling mildly nauseous all day yesterday, just an insignificant niggle in my stomach that Sam massaged away, but today it’s come full force. I blamed it on a million things; high school graduation jitters. Packing my bags to leave town jitters. Making love at the lake in the early morning dark and hoping we don’t get caught jitters. But this is different. This isn’t jitters.

Taking another deep breath, I stand on shaking legs and brush errant wisps of hair from my face as I pick up my key card and cell and I ignore Sam’s text.

I can’t right now. I can’t talk to him right this second.

I shuffle to my bedroom door and slowly turn the handle, then poke my head into the hall and look for my mom.

Tiptoeing out, I continue to swallow heavily in an attempt to keep the sick at bay, but it’s there. It’s right there waiting for a single moment of unpreparedness.

I move through my home quickly and out the front door without seeing my mother. As I slowly walk into town, I cry softly about what’s happening to my life. I’m not stupid. I’m not naïve.

I walk to the drug store closest to my home and buy a box of pregnancy tests. It hurts how expensive they are. Turning around, I trudge back the way I came, and tiptoe and trace my steps back into my quiet home.

My mom flitters around the ‘guest’ living room, humming softly and setting out fresh flowers. I want to roll my eyes. I want to think she’s an idiot. But my stomach heaves and my eyes water as I hold it in, so removing my shoes to be quiet, I rush to my room, skidding along the tile in my bare feet and close myself in.

I should be at school.

She can’t know I’m here.

I move quickly through my bedroom and into the bathroom, then throw my head back into the bowl and vomit until my nose and eyes water, and my stomach whimpers in pain from the continued heaves.

Blowing my nose on toilet paper and flushing the toilet, I shakily stand, wash my hands and pull my jeans down.

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