Page 1 of Pucking Secret

CHAPTER ONE: TWO PINK LINES

STACEY

Dread pulsesthrough me and my whole body trembles with it.

I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.

I pace back and forth across the dulled tiles of my bathroom floor. I can’t get my racing heart under control. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Like a weight pressing down on your chest so hard you can’t breathe? Like the world is spinning around you so fast you can’t focus on anything except the thing that’s making you panic in the first place?

Part of me wants to call Mom to come upstairs and calm me down. To guide me through this situation, tell me everything’s going to be okay, but I know that’s not what will actually happen. There would be no words of comfort or assurances that everything will be okay. Instead, there would only be disappointment and a lecture criticizing me for making such a colossal mistake and throwing away my future.

I can’t stop looking at the little pink box sitting on the bathroom counter. Why does the box have to be pink? It’s way too cheery. Doesn’t it know my whole world could be falling apart?

Fuck… I should’ve bought Clearblue instead. I wasn’t really thinking about how annoying the color of a pregnancy test could be when I hurriedly picked it out at the drugstore after school. It’d been the cheapest one, but now that I really think about it, was that the right choice? What if it’s less accurate? Damn it! I can’t think clearly! When I was buying this, I’d just wanted to get out of the store as quickly as possible. I’d thought buying tampons was bad, but this has me wishing it was a box of Tampax I’d dropped on that counter. The look on the cashier’s face… ugh! It sticks with me, even though I have way more important things to worry about than what anyone thinks of me.

I could be pregnant.

I could befuckingpregnant!

How could this happen?

Well, okay, I know how it happened. Duh. And I might be getting ahead of myself. Maybe I’m not pregnant! Sure, my period is three weeks late, but there are a lot of reasons it could suddenly be screwy, right? Maybe the stress of my senior year is getting to me. That could be it. There are only two months left of school. I’ve been so busy with college applications and getting ready for graduation that my whole body is probably totally out of sync.

Oh God, please, just let it be stress.

A sudden knock on the bathroom door startles me so badly that I jump and release a yelp.

“Stacey? Are you okay? You’ve been in there for almost twenty minutes. This is our only bathroom, remember? You can’t monopolize it like this.”

Blood drains from my face so fast that I sway on my feet, dizzy and lightheaded. Shit, it’s my mom! My eyes dart from the pregnancy test to the door and back again. If she finds out about this…

“Um… I’m okay,” I call back, wincing at the way my voice cracks. “I’ve just got a stomach ache. No biggie.”

“Oh really?” She doesn’t sound as concerned as she does impatient.

“Yeah,” I try to assure her. “I, uh, just think I ate something off at school. Too much dairy, maybe.”

“What did you eat?” she asks, going into medical mode. “Is your stomach pain sharp or dull? What’s your poop look like?”

“Mom! Gross! I’ll be fine. Stop being so weird. I’m not one of your patients!”

Mom sighs. “All right. I’ve got to get to the hospital for my shift. I’ll be home in the morning, so if you need anything, text me and I’ll bring it home for you, okay?”

Her tone is no-nonsense. She sounds more like a nurse right now than my mother, but that’s nothing new. Sometimes I think it’s easier for her to deal with me if she thinks of me as a patient instead of her daughter.

“Okay,” I croak. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I’ll call later to check on you..”

“All right.”

With that, she leaves. I listen to my mom’s footsteps as she makes her way down the hall toward the stairs. When I can’t hear her anymore, I slip out the bathroom door. Easing my way to the second floor landing, I hide behind the hallway wall and wait until I hear the front door open and close before turning and running to my room. Slamming the door shut behind me, I dive for my phone, which is lying on my bedside table.

There’s only one person I can trust right now, and I can’t do this alone.

Bringing up my friend Grace’s number, I hit the dial button and press the phone to my ear. As it rings, I nervously chew on my thumbnail. I can’t stay still, so I start to pace again, nervous energy pulsing through me.

“Hey, girl!” Grace answers, her voice cheery. “What’s up?”

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