Non Pratt - Trouble

I’m not sure what disappoints me the most: the fact that she’s saying this, or the fact that I’m not surprised.

I’m too sad to even cry. I just hand over my phone with the ultrasound image opened.

“Abortion not something you’re considering, then?” she asks, mildly.

“Not exactly.”

“You’re telling me all this now.” Her finger taps close to the tip of her fag. Katie fidgets when she’s angry. “And…?”

And I’m growing a person inside me.

And I’m still at school.

And I’m not with the father.

And I’m lonely.

And I’m scared.

“Nothing,” I say as I stand.

Katie squints up at me, her face twisted slightly as she studies me. Maybe she realizes what a cow she’s being, but this is Katie we’re talking about, so I’m not over-hopeful. Having three brothers teaches you how to be stubborn.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” she asks.

“Didn’t know how.” That sounds so weak.

“I’m your best mate, Han. You should have said something.” Katie gets up and grinds out the stub of the cigarette. My heart does a double bounce — I’m your best mate, Han.

I wait for something more.

So does she.

“You’re not even going to say sorry?” she says.

“You what?”

“About not telling me until now.”

“Er, fuck off!” I say, thinking she must be joking, but, even as I say it, I realize I couldn’t be more wrong.

“You should have come to me sooner, talked things through before you did anything stupid.”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “Like?”

“Like keeping the baby. You’re fifteen. Do you even know who the dad is?” She doesn’t leave me enough of a gap to respond. “Doesn’t really matter. You’re on your own now.”

“I know,” I say in a pathetic little voice that I wish wasn’t mine.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Katie steps closer and I think she’s going to hug me. She doesn’t. “I’m not trying to make you cry.”

Am I crying? I hadn’t realized.

“You’ve been pushing me away and now it’s… it’s just a lot to take in.”

Finally, when I’d stopped hoping, Katie pulls me in for a hug so that I have to hold my breath against the smell of stale smoke. Then I feel her slipping her phone out of her pocket and there’s a whispered, “Bollocks.”

When I step back she looks set to sprint. “Late for Rex?”

“The game finishes in ten minutes and I was going to go and change…”

“Going somewhere nice?”

She looks shifty. “Just out.”

“Who with?”

“Come on, Han. You don’t want to come out with us lot, do you? Not in your condition.” And she nudges me, giving me a smile that’s all teeth and no heart.

I wave her off, pretending I haven’t noticed that she has become part of “us lot” and I have become “you”. It’s been a seamless re-invention of Katie, Hannah’s BFF, to Katie, B-ball WAG and Marcy-clone. As she walks away I notice that her fingernails are painted, not bitten, and the foundation tidemark has been subbed-out for a more subtle fake-tan fade. The hair was just the Cherry Crimson Tide on the cake.

I’ve been so caught up in my own problems that I hadn’t noticed she was drifting away.

My day starts with a text:

Hey Hannah, u might want 2 check FB. Hope ur OK, Anj

A text from Anj that does not contain a question about French homework is big news.

It takes me about ten seconds to log in to Facebook.

Fifteen minutes later I’m still there. I don’t think I can move, let alone put my clothes on. It’s like my body’s in shock or something. Even my brain seems to be broken — I actually can’t believe what I’m seeing. I keep hoping that I’m having one of those dreams where you think you’ve got up but you haven’t.

It took me a while to work out that a lot of the comments on my newsfeed were about me. Then I clocked the posts on my wall — some nice, some not so. I’ve got a few messages too. I don’t read them.

There’s another text on my phone. It’s Gideon.

Not sure if congrats is what ur after, but JIC — yay! Gx

My throat catches as I read it, but I grind my teeth together and tell myself to focus. I need to know how this happened. I only told… and she… she couldn’t? She wouldn’t…

I open Katie’s profile. She’s changed her picture — it’s now a close-up of her cleavage with faces drawn on each boob winking at each other. It used to be a photo of me and her dressed up for Jay’s party. I check out her status, but it’s the same as when I last checked:

No longer an airplane blonde

Comments are split between people who get the joke and people who don’t. I notice that Marcy has liked Rex’s comment — about having first-hand experience [pun intended] — and I go through to her page. Marcy hasn’t bothered sorting out her privacy settings so it doesn’t matter that we aren’t friends.

And it means that the whole world can read her status:

OMG. Hannah Sheppard is 4 months pregnant. Hands up who saw that one coming!

There’s something in the air. I missed registration because the car wouldn’t start, and the people I share a bench with in Chemistry wouldn’t know what was on the grapevine unless someone plucked the information off and turned it into a smokable substance. I hurry to Geography, hoping to catch Anj before the lesson starts.

As I turn the corner I see that she’s standing with Gideon, who should be the other side of the school in my dad’s class.

“I always thought she was exaggerating…” Gideon is saying when he sees me coming and shoots me a grin.

“She was. You only have to sleep with one guy to get pregnant.” Anj has her back to me, but I heard her loud and clear.

“Who’s pregnant?” I say, breathing a little too heavily after my semi-sprint from the Science block.

It’s Anj who tells me.

“Hannah’s pregnant.”

“Hannah who?” says my mouth because it’s not actually connected to my brain.

“Sheppard.” But I knew that.

“How?” I say. Which isn’t what I mean. I wish my mouth and brain could communicate. Gideon gives me a cheeky smirk and says something about a “special cuddle”, but Anj elbows him.

“It’s all over Facebook,” Anj says.

“He’s not on Facebook,” Gideon tells her before I can. It’s the first time I’ve heard someone’s looked for me and I feel awkward. Best to focus on Hannah.

“Is that how she told everyone?” I can’t believe this is true.

“Not exactly…” Anj looks uncomfortable.

Gideon fills me in. “Apparently Katie told Marcy whilst they were out last night. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t meant to be a global announcement, but then Marcy put it as her status and now everyone’s talking about who the father is.” He slides a glance through the open door at Fletch, who’s at his desk, head in hands, but it’s me that Anj is looking at.

“Anyone tried asking her?” I say.

“No one’s seen her,” Anj says, getting out her phone. “I texted this morning…”

“I think she might be lying low. There’s loads of people posting on her wall and saying some pretty harsh stuff,” Gideon says.

I wish I found this hard to believe.

Anj taps on her phone, breaking school protocol, before emitting a shocked, “Oh my God!” We look at her and she turns the phone towards us so we can see the screen.

It’s a Facebook page called “Whos the Daddy? Yous the Daddy?” Normally I’d be appalled by the terrible English, but for now I’m more horrified by the content.

There’s a picture of Hannah in her school uniform and someone’s drawn a cartoon bump over the top with a question mark inside. There’s loads of members — presumably all from our school — and people have already started posting suggestions as to who might be the father. One of the posts near the top catches my eye.

Whoever suggested Mr Tyler is way off — his son’s deffo the daddy!

I don’t know the kid who wrote it, but he looks about ten in his profile pic. Nice.

Anj clicks on the pictures page and I glimpse a few familiar faces badly Photoshopped onto some less familiar bodies doing… well, doing the nasty. Why would anyone do that?

I’m all cried out for the moment and I feel sick. Mum offered to miss her hair appointment and stay home with me, but what’s the point? It’s not like her being here will change anything. I’ll still be pregnant. I’ll still have a giant knife wound where my best friend stabbed me in the back. No need for Mum to have crap hair as well. This is the first time Mum’s ever let me stay off school without taking my temperature. She’s beside herself with rage about Katie telling Marcy — I’m guessing that’s what happened, anyway; I can’t imagine it was anyone in my family.

The doorbell rings.

“Go away,” I whisper.

It rings again after a while. I risk peering out of my bedroom window and see Aaron at the front door, fiddling with his phone. If he’s ringing me, he’ll be disappointed. I turned my phone off an hour ago. I head down and open the door though.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

I open the door wider and he steps inside. He smells nice, safe.

Then he does something unexpected — he hugs me. As I lean into him and rest my head on a shoulder broader than Mum’s, I think how strange this is. We’ve not hugged before today, we’ve not really even talked that much, but Aaron’s the only person who’s hugged me during all this without being pushed.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I say into his blazer.

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Point taken.” I let go and walk towards the kitchen. “How’d you know where I live?”

“Anj. And Fletch asked me to send his love. Well, something like that. I think he’s convinced himself that he’s about to become a dad.”

“Oh God,” I mutter and shake my head as I offer Aaron a drink from the fridge.

“How are you?” Aaron asks, as he cracks open his can of choice. (Diet Coke — huh.)

“Pregnant,” I say. This is so weird. I feel like I’m having tea with the queen or something.

“So I hear. How’s that working out for you?”

I look at him. He’s a funny one. I can’t figure him out. He’s so direct about stuff but at the same time it’s as if he’s far away from it all, not a part of things.

“Pregnancy’s fine — it’s just my friend that’s a bitch.” I sip a glass of milk. MILK. I used to hate milk, but these last few days I can’t get enough of it.

“You know most people are just curious, they’re not actually hating you or anything.” He looks away, embarrassed almost. “I guess you’ve seen the Facebook page?”

“What Facebook page?”

I show her on her laptop upstairs, hating myself for it, figuring it’s worse not to know something like this… but I’ve seen more expression on my dad’s face when he’s checking the BBC weather page.

She clicks off the page and shrugs.

“You OK?” I’m the epitome of lame.

“Not really.”

“As I said, most people…”

“…are just curious,” she finishes. “Well, it’s none of their fucking business, is it?”

Hannah gets up and kicks the chair out of the way before storming downstairs and, since I don’t know what else to do, I follow her. She’s opening the back door and rushing outside, then she’s standing in the middle of the lawn and screaming so loud I think her voice will break.