Page 96 of Bump and Run

“Okay,” I finally answer. “Yeah, I’ll stop by.”

He smiles. “Good.”

“There’s, uh…” I fall silent, thinking better of it. I shouldn’t bring it up at all yet. I don’t know anything concrete. I’m still in stomach bug territory. I’m not—

“What?” he asks.

But I owe it to him to mention the possibility, right?

“There’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

He raises his brow. “Everything okay?”

I nod. “Oh, yeah. It’s just not…”

“Library study room talk?”

“Right.”

“Then I won’t worry about it until Saturday,” he says, grabbing his notebook.

“Well, I mean… there’s nothing to worry about, really… Unless you think I should be worried about something…?”

“No. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Good.” I tap my pencil on the table, feeling even stranger than I did before.

Junior Morgan invited me over to talk. Come to think of it, he hasn’t tried to kiss or grope me since he walked in here.

Does he already know?

No, that’s impossible. There’s no way he could know before I do. But why else would he be treating me so differently?

I pick up my book to read over my lines again but the words on the page are just a faded blur.

This is fine. I can compartmentalize this. Junior seems to be able to. He’s focusing on his math homework. I can do that until Saturday, too. No problem. That’s only three days away. That’s nothing.

This is totally fine.

* * *

I’vestood on this porch several dozen times already. Each time, it’s always been a rush to get inside before someone drives by and recognizes me but now…

I hesitate.

I associate the other side of Junior Morgan’s door with two things: orgasms and more orgasms.

Tonight, I have no idea what to expect because tonight I’m going to tell Junior Morgan that I might be pregnant with his child.

I exhale hard. Even thinking it knocks the wind out of me.

I roll my fingers into a fist, preparing to knock, but the door swings open before I get the chance.

“Hey, Ellie.”

Junior smiles at me and I pause.

His hair is combed and perfect — not the usual rugged, post-shower tuft I’m used to. He shaved, too. And recently. I can smell the aftershave from two feet away. And… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in that sweater before. Did he iron his jeans?

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