Anything but Normal (16 page)

“I wish I could be there.” Mrs. Manchester sighed. “But I’ll be out of town for Thanksgiving.”

Mr. Young slapped his forehead. “That’s right. So will I.”

“Maybe we should schedule another meeting,” Mrs. Manchester suggested. “A town meeting. Maybe we could have it during the following week.”

“Great idea,” Mr. Young said. “We could get some media coverage too.”

The next thing Sophie knew, they were planning a meeting and she was agreeing to participate. Great, what would her friends think of her now?

“It was so nice of the Vincents to invite us for Thanksgiving,” Mom said as Dad drove them across town. “It would’ve been lonely just the three of us this year.”

“You did tell them that they have to have the TV on, didn’t you?” Dad said.

“Carrie Anne knows that Bart has a ball game today,” Sophie told him. “She promised that we’d watch it.”

“Otherwise I’ll be heading straight for home,” he announced.

“I think you’ve already made that perfectly clear.” Mom glanced back at Sophie. “Your father is such a social butterfly.” “I refuse to miss my own son’s football game.”

Sophie smiled. “Don’t worry, Dad, Pastor Vincent likes football too.”

“That’s another thing,” Dad growled. “Eating with church people—the pastor of the church even.”

“Oh, Dad!”

“Mind your manners, Bud.” Mom reached over and thumped him on the forehead.

“That means don’t touch your food until Pastor Vincent is able to say a blessing,” Sophie reminded him.

“And put your napkin in your lap,” Mom said.

“And hold my little pinky finger when I drink my tea?” he said.

“Just be nice.”

Dad parked in front of the Vincents’ house, and they got out of the car. “It looks like they’ve got more than just us for dinner,” Sophie said.

“Yes.” Mom handed a casserole dish to Sophie. “Darlene said they have some good friends joining them today.”

Sophie froze. “Good friends?”

“What’s the matter?” her dad teased. “You’re suddenly turning into a social phobic like your old man?”

“Come on, Sophie,” Mom called. “I don’t want those yams to get cold.”

Sophie’s feet felt like cement blocks as she trudged after her parents to the front door.
Please, please, please
, she actually prayed—for the first time in months—
please, please, please,
God, don’t let it be the Morrises. And if it is, don’t let Dylan
be there. Please, please, please!

“Hey, Sophie,” Carrie Anne chirped as she let Sophie and her parents into the warm house. “Guess who’s here?”

Sophie felt faint. And hot. She shoved the casserole toward Carrie Anne. “This is supposed to stay warm.”

“Let me take your coat, Sophie,” Mrs. Vincent said.

Sophie didn’t want to remove her coat, didn’t want to stay, wanted to think of some excuse to dash off, but Mrs. Vincent, the consummate hostess, was already peeling it off.

“The fellows are in the den, Bud,” she told Sophie’s dad. “Watching football.”

“I’ll bet they’re not drinking brewskies,” he whispered to Sophie as Mrs. Vincent disappeared with their coats.

“Be good,” Mom said sharply.

“Want to watch the game too?” Carrie Anne asked Sophie. “It’s not your brother’s game yet. But the guys are in there.”

“I’ll get this in the oven first.” Sophie grabbed the casserole back from Carrie Anne and made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Little Susie Homemaker,” Carrie Anne teased. “Meet ya in the den.”

As they parted ways, Sophie knew she had to think of an excuse to leave. Maybe she could fake appendicitis. She wondered which side had the appendix and what the symptoms were like.

“I can take that for you,” Mrs. Vincent said.

Sophie surrendered the dish mutely, staring in horror as Mrs. Vincent introduced Dylan’s mom to Sophie’s mom. The two grandmothers . . . in the same room.

“Sophie, I see your chin recovered,” Mrs. Morris said.

Sophie reached up to touch her chin.

“From your fall at the lake. Remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Sophie just stood there dumbly.

“You go watch the game,” Mrs. Vincent said. “We’ve got plenty of helping hands in here.”

“But I could—”

“No, no,” Mrs. Morris said. “Go join the kids and the guys. We want to talk about things like menopause and Botox now.”

Sophie left the kitchen, but instead of going to the den, she went to Carrie Anne’s bedroom and sat down on her bed. What to do, what to do, what to do?

“What are you doing in here?” Carrie Anne asked. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Sophie just sat there.

“Are you sick or something?”

She nodded.

“Seriously? What’s wrong?”

Sophie didn’t respond.

“Want me to get your mom?”

She shook her head.

“Really, Sophie, what’s wrong? I mean, you actually do look sick—”

“I think I have mono,” Sophie told her. Yes, it was a lie. A big fat lie. But it was all she could come up with at the moment. It wasn’t like she could confess to Carrie Anne that (1)she was freaking that Dylan was downstairs, (2) she’d had sex with him, and (3) she was pregnant with his child. Seriously, Carrie Anne would totally freak. Or, worse, she wouldn’t believe her.

“Mono?”

Sophie just nodded.

“How’d you get it?”

“Probably from Wes.”

Carrie Anne giggled. “You’ve kissed Wes?”

Sophie started to cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you. But it’s just that you never told me.” Carrie Anne frowned. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me, Sophie. We’re best friends and you keep something like that from me?”

Sophie flopped facedown on the bed and continued to cry.

“What should I do?”

“Nothing,” Sophie sobbed. “Just leave me alone.”

“Does your mom know you have mono?” Carrie Anne’s voice was quieter now. Like she didn’t want anyone in her family to hear her.

“No,” Sophie muttered.

“Did you go to the doctor?”

“No.” Sophie sat up, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

“So how do you know?”

“Because Wes has it. And I have all the symptoms. Remember how tired I’ve been?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, before, I did. You seem more like your old self lately. Well, except for now.”

“Right.”

“Why don’t you stay up here and have a little rest,” Carrie Anne suggested.

“Thanks.”

“I need to go back down. I promised Dylan that I’d whoop him in Ping-Pong.” Carrie Anne giggled again. “Don’t tell Drew, okay?”

“Tell Drew what?” Sophie shook her head. “Huh?”

“You know, I wouldn’t want Drew to think I was flirting with Dylan.”

“Are you?”

“Duh.” Carrie Anne stood up and went to the mirror, where she put on some lip gloss and fluffed her hair. “Wouldn’t you?” She held up her hand, examining her delicate gold purity ring. She paused to polish the small diamond on her slim-fitting jeans, checked it again, then smiled and looked at Sophie. “Feel better, okay?”

“Okay.”

As Carrie Anne left, Sophie thought about the purity party that Pastor Vincent had hosted when Carrie Anne turned twelve. Naturally all of Carrie Anne’s girlfriends were invited, plus their dads. And naturally Sophie’s dad declined the invitation. He had to work, he’d said, but Sophie knew that if it had been one of Bart’s ball games, Dad would’ve made the time.

Pastor Vincent had made a sweet speech about Carrie Anne, then he’d presented her with the beautiful ring and they’d danced together. The other fathers, all members of the church, followed suit. Then, as if he felt sorry for Sophie, Pastor Vincent made a little speech and danced with her too. But there was no ring. Not that she’d expected one.

“Sophie?”

Sophie looked up from where she’d been daydreaming to see Mrs. Vincent peering into the bedroom. Why hadn’t Carrie Anne shut the door?

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sophie forced a smile. “Just cramps, you know?”

“Oh, don’t I. Did you take some Advil?”

Sophie nodded. “Yeah. I should be fine in a few minutes.” “Good.” Mrs. Vincent frowned slightly. “I read your article in the school paper, Sophie.”

Sophie braced herself.

“Mrs. North asked me to read it.” She made a faint smile.

“It was well written . . .”

“But?”

“But . . . I think Mrs. North could be right about the message it sends.” She waved her hand. “Oh, not your article so much, Sophie. You’re simply reporting what’s going on. In fact, we should be thankful that you’ve brought this issue to the surface. Because it does seem that the school is encouraging promiscuity.”

“Encouraging promiscuity?”

“Well, that might be an exaggeration on my part. But for the school to give pregnant girls special attention, special classes, child care . . . well, it does raise some questions.”

“I suppose it does.”

“And sometimes it’s up to us as a church to stand up and be a moral compass to the community. Don’t you think?”

Sophie nodded.

“Oh, I could go on and on, but it’s about time to check the turkey. I hope you feel well enough to sit down to eat with us, Sophie.”

“Me too . . . but I’m not sure.”

“Well, you just rest. I’ll let your mom know you’re under the weather.”

“Thanks.”

This time Sophie closed the door. Then she curled up on the bed, covering herself with Carrie Anne’s thick pink chenille throw. If anyone else came in, she would pretend to be sleeping. She would pretend to sleep the entire day away.

“Hey, wake up, sleepyhead,” Carrie Anne said.

“Huh?” Sophie sat up. Apparently she’d fallen asleep for real.

“Mom wants to know if you’re coming down for dinner or not.”

“Not.”

“Man, what is with you people?”

“What?”

“First you’re not feeling well. Then Dylan gets sick and leaves—”

“Dylan’s gone?” Sophie tried not to look too happy.

“Yeah. Your brother’s game had just started, and your dad is pointing Bart out and asking why you aren’t there to watch, so I’m making excuses for you, saying that you don’t feel so great. And the next thing I know, Dylan has this severe headache and takes off. What a bunch of party poopers.”

Sophie patted Carrie Anne’s shoulder. “Sorry about that. But the nap actually helped. I feel okay now.” Sophie had no doubt that Dylan had left after realizing she was here. Still, that surprised her a little. Was he suddenly having an attack of conscience? Or did he just hate her as much as she hated him?

15

Although no one had actually invited Sophie to attend the church’s “town meeting,” she went anyway. She decided that, as a journalist, she needed to be there. She sat in the back, with her coat and her mini recorder on, and listened. What she heard didn’t surprise her in the least. It was similar to the rhetoric that she’d heard at school from Kelsey, Hannah, and Carrie Anne, only now it was mostly the grown-ups talking. And they made a bigger effort to “Christianize” the words.

“We’re not judging those poor pregnant girls,” said Mrs. North, Kelsey’s mom, in response to Pastor Vincent’s challenge to be more like Jesus. “If anything, we feel sorry for them. And we regret that they are being raised in a society where morals, values, and standards keep getting lower and lower.”

“That’s right,” said Mrs. Johnston, Hannah’s mom. “As adults and as Christians, we have to take some responsibility for the warped messages our children are getting. Think of what our children watch on TV or movies, or what they see on the Internet. It’s no wonder that girls are getting pregnant all over the place. And for the school to provide special treatment, well, it’s just like giving teen pregnancy the
Good Housekeeping
stamp of approval.”

Of course, everyone laughed at that.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mrs. Vincent said. “As Christians, we need to take a stand and let our views be known.” She glanced at her husband. “For Carrie Anne’s sake as much as all the children in our community.”

“And we need to do it in love,” he added.

“Of course,” Mrs. North said. Then she went right back to her previous diatribe, telling them about a popular TV show with a pregnant teen in the cast. “For all we know, teen pregnancy could be the latest fad. It’s time we as parents draw the line.”

On and on they went. It seemed everyone wanted to be heard, but there was hardly a dissenter in the group. Well, except for Sophie. Not that she was saying anything. To be fair, it wasn’t that she disagreed—in fact, many of the things they were saying were true. It was just that they didn’t get it. Not fully. Sophie had seen how the girls needed the pregnancy center. And she couldn’t imagine where the girls would be without it.

Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. “May I say something?” she shouted out during a brief pause.

“Of course.” Pastor Vincent waved Sophie forward. “It would be great to hear a teen’s view.”

Sophie could feel the eyes of her friends’ parents on her. She suspected they weren’t pleased to see that she was here or that she was speaking out. Not that she cared. “Some of you know that I wrote a human interest piece about the pregnancy center for our school paper. Maybe that’s why some of you are here.” She glanced at Kelsey’s mom. “But what you may not know is that I spent time with these girls. They are real girls who are going through a very difficult time, and I just don’t—”