Screwed (20 page)

Evidence of her cardinal sin was straining against her sweatshirt. Thirty-four weeks into her pregnancy, Grace felt like a planet with stretch marks and swollen ankles. Dirty looks and snide insults uttered in hushed tones had been replaced with outright rubbernecking and really loud cheap shots: “Nice abs, Warren!” and “Beep! Beep! Beep!” like the sound of a truck backing up. Nobody thought it was bullying because getting pregnant wasn’t like having a stutter or a lazy eye — getting knocked up had been Grace’s own fault. She had gotten herself into this fix, and now she had to stand there and take it. When she walked down the hall, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, everyone wanting to get a good look but no one wanting to touch her, like they thought that pregnancy was contagious.

Knocking frantically on Mrs. Evans’s office door, Grace tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. Her heart was racing after navigating the hallway of condemnation. Not that the taunting had been any different yesterday or the week before, but the straw had broken the camel’s back, and she couldn’t take it for another minute.

Mrs. Evans flung open her office door. “Grace, what’s the matter? Did something happen?” Eyes shiny with tears, face bright red, Grace looked like she was going into labor.

“I can’t stay here anymore. It’s too hard.”

“You’re okay? The baby’s okay?” Unequipped to handle emergencies beyond the hysteria students experienced when they were rejected by their first-choice college, Mrs. Evans reached for the phone. Her first aid skills were definitely a little rusty. She knew you were supposed to boil water when someone was having a baby, but she couldn’t remember why.

“The baby’s fine. I’m fine.” Grace’s voice was hoarse with pain, but not the kind that came from contractions.

Mrs. Evans collapsed into her chair with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Then come in and sit down.” She handed Grace a bottle of water and said, “Have a drink, and tell me what happened.”

“Everyone stares at me and laughs all day long, and I can’t concentrate on school. I feel like I have three heads or something. I don’t think I can deal with being a circus freak for the next six weeks.” Tears coursed silently down Grace’s cheeks. Spending most of her lunch hour every day crying in a bathroom stall, Grace had perfected the art of bawling without making a sound.

“Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry. I wish I could slap each and every one of those brats and tell them to tuck their eyeballs back into their heads, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything about it. You’ll just have to muscle through, or ….”

“Or what? I can’t muscle through. I really tried, and I thought I could do it, but I can’t.” Even though she was in the final act of her nine-month pregnancy play, the days seemed to be getting longer, and Grace was beginning to question her sanity.

“I get it. Kids can be incredibly mean. You could do independent study at home. With your grades, it probably wouldn’t be a problem to get approval. Other girls in your situation have gone to a night program in Chester, but they don’t offer any AP courses, so that wouldn’t work.” Most girls in Grace’s position were headed to beauty school or a cashier job at the local Walmart. None of the unfortunate girls Mrs. Evans had counseled over the years had been taking five AP classes and applying to Princeton.

“I promise I won’t let my grades drop. With the Internet, I’ll be able to send in all my papers and keep up with the assignments. Please, Mrs. Evans, don’t make me go back out there.” Grace sat on the edge of her chair, leaning towards her counselor’s desk, beseeching Mrs. Evans with her body as well as her words.

Knowing she couldn’t abandon this poor girl who was clearly at the end of her rope, Mrs. Evans said, “Fine. Let’s try it. I’ll send a memo to your teachers. I doubt they’ll mind. I’ve heard whispers in the faculty room that your, um, condition is a little distracting to the other students, so I’m sure everyone will make a sincere effort to make your homeschooling work.”

“Thank you so much. I knew school would be bad, but I didn’t think it would be this awful.”

“I think that because you are who you are, your pregnancy is more — how do I say this — interesting to your fellow students than if you were just any girl. You do realize you’re probably the last person anyone would expect to turn up pregnant,” Mrs. Evans said.

“I was the last person
I
would expect to get pregnant, but that doesn’t make it any less horrible to deal with,” said Grace.

“Teenagers are cruel, there’s no doubt about that, and when a girl who is otherwise perfect — smart, beautiful, nice — stumbles, you’re going to get a lot of attention and a certain amount of schadenfreude. It’s not fair, but it
is
human nature.”

“Schadenfreude? You really think me being pregnant is making other people happy because I’m
me
?” Grace was dumbfounded. “I’m getting worse treatment because I was the teachers’ pet? I just thought they were being cruel because that’s how kids are.”

“Unfortunately, on some level I think that your accomplishments, your specialness, have made you a compelling target.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Grace said. Kids she didn’t even know were teasing her, pointing and laughing as she struggled down the hallway, belly sticking out in front, backpack behind.

“Jealousy is a pretty basic emotion, and although I doubt you were ever aware of it, a lot of people were jealous of you.”

“Jealous of
me
? That’s impossible. Who would be jealous of a misfit like me?”

“You may see yourself that way, but that’s not how your classmates see you. Take my word. As a guidance counselor, I hear everything. For some reason, kids think they can say anything to me. It’s like this office is a confessional.”

In spite of the fact that Mrs. Evans’s primary duty was to ferry students through high school in the context of college applications, most kids treated her like their own personal psychologist, seeking her advice about boy trouble, bullying, and birth control. No matter how many times she referred them to the school psychologist or the nurse’s office, they would inevitably wander back in, only sometimes taking the trouble to ask her a question about the SAT before launching into the real reason for their visit.

“I wish I’d known that before,” Grace muttered, mostly to herself. If she’d had more self-confidence, she likely wouldn’t have gotten herself into this dreadful situation. If only she’d been less concerned with what other people thought about her, especially when she’d been totally wrong about what they’d
been thinking.

“One thing I’ve heard many times over the last few years is how kids look up to you, what you’ve achieved. Unfortunately, that also means they feel better about themselves when you fall.” Trying to explain the mixed-up adolescent mind to a very mixed-up adolescent was like trying to explain the terrible twos to a toddler.

“Great. I tried to get a boyfriend so I would be less of a loser, when nobody actually thought I was a loser, but now, because I was totally clueless and insecure, I really
am
a loser,” Grace said.

“Just because you made a mistake — and it was a doozy, don’t get me wrong — it doesn’t make you a loser. You have to believe that,” Mrs. Evans said.

“But I can’t see my feet anymore, and people make foghorn sounds when I walk down the hall.”

“It’s all just temporary. In not so many weeks, your life will start to get back to normal. Just be patient for a little longer.”

“Each day feels like a year,” Grace sighed.

“Look, you have my permission to hide out until this is over. I agree that your mental health is important, and I’m sure you can handle the workload on your own with no trouble. But I expect to see you back here in April … afterwards.”

“Okay. I really appreciate you backing me up, Mrs. Evans. I promise I’ll work really hard,” Grace answered, although at that moment she couldn’t imagine ever going back.

“You’d better. Those AP exams in May are for real. If you mess those up, you could jeopardize your college acceptances.”

“I know.” Grace stood to leave, and Mrs. Evans came around from behind her desk, arms outstretched. Grace was one of the good ones, and she was sorry to see her go.

“Good luck, Grace. You’re in the home stretch. Just hang on. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Bye.”

Although Grace had gone to Mrs. Evans so that she could withdraw from school, now that she had done it, she felt sad and kind of scared. Grace hadn’t discussed it with Helen beforehand, fearing she would talk her out of it, but now that it was done, Grace wondered if she’d taken the coward’s way out. Now she had to go back to the house and break the news to Helen
and Charlie.

“Okay, if that’s what you want to do,” Helen said when Grace told her, clearly surprised, but as usual, not judging or scolding. “They’re going to send your work home?”

“Everything is online, so as long as I have my computer, I can do all the work, and Mrs. Evans said the teachers will send me the tests. Since I’ve always been a good student, I don’t think anyone’s worried about me cheating.”

Charlie was less receptive. “But you look fine, and who cares if a few morons act like a bunch of ten-year-olds? You shouldn’t quit school just because of them.” In truth, Charlie was going to miss driving back and forth with her every day.

“Thank you, but I look like the Goodyear blimp, and it’s more than just a few. Every day feels like a public stoning, and I can’t even focus on what the teachers are saying anymore. What’s the point of going to school just so I can have a nervous breakdown in the cafeteria?”

“Grace is right, Charlie. No matter how sympathetic you are, you can’t possibly imagine what she’s going through. Besides, the decision has been made, and it’s our job to support Grace in whatever she does. That means you can bring home her work from school and help Grace however you can,” Helen instructed. When she put it that way, Charlie realized Grace’s hermit period might not be so bad.

It had been a long day. Dropping out of school had been exhausting. “I think I’m going to turn in early. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my entire life.”

“You do look like you could use a good night’s sleep, dear. Everything will look brighter in the morning. I promise,” said Helen, opening her arms for a hug. Dr. Needleman always said that nothing was more therapeutic than the touch of another human being, and Grace needed to feel that she was loved, even if it wasn’t the loving embrace of her parents.

“Thank Vera for a delicious dinner. Night, Charlie.” As Grace passed his chair, she briefly rested her hand on his cheek and he tipped his head back, smiling sadly, wishing for the thousandth time that he could do something to take away Grace’s pain.

“Goodnight, Grace. Sleep well.”

He wanted to run upstairs and tuck her in, but he realized that might frighten her. Although he knew he needed to stow his emotions on a high shelf, Charlie was having trouble compartmentalizing. Every time he looked at Grace or heard her voice, he thought of their incredible kiss in the attic. It had been etched in his brain, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the feel of her, the taste of her, flashed through his mind. Knowing he was acting like a girl who couldn’t get over her first kiss, Charlie wondered what it had meant to her. He watched Grace trudge up the stairs, desperate to know if she spent half as much time thinking about him as he spent thinking about her.

When she heard Grace’s bedroom door shut, Helen said, “You like her, don’t you?”

She wasn’t at all sure whether or not she should even broach the subject. How many teenage boys would be willing to discuss their love lives with their old widowed aunts? The last thing she wanted to do was make her cherished nephew uncomfortable.

“Is it that obvious?” Charlie had thought he’d been hiding his emotions pretty well.

“All those longing glances? I can practically see the little hearts floating over your head.”

Thinking back to the early days of her relationship with Abraham, Helen sighed. That feeling was probably the thing she missed most about being young. If her heart started to pound at her age, she would be more likely to think she was having a heart attack than falling in love. But she would give anything to experience that again, even for just a moment.

“Are you mad at me?” If Helen disapproved, Charlie wasn’t sure what he would do. As much as he cared about Grace, it would break his heart to disappoint his aunt.

“Why would I be angry?” Helen asked.

“Well, she’s not Jewish, she’s pregnant, her parents have disowned her — the girl has a few issues.” Although on paper Grace was radioactive, Charlie was transfixed by the real, live girl.

“That she does, but she’s a wonderful person, and I firmly believe that a person should not be judged for any single act, and certainly not for the acts of her parents. Grace is much more than a young girl who’s gotten herself into trouble. Besides, you can’t control what your heart feels, can you?” Helen ruffled Charlie’s hair.

She didn’t have a problem with her nephew falling in love with a semi-homeless, pregnant
shiksa
, but she wasn’t so sure his parents would be so open-minded. Having seen the worst of human nature during the war, Helen wasn’t one to get bogged down in the minutiae of religious differences and social convention. Life was short, and such prejudices were nothing more than a waste of precious time. But not many people, thank goodness, had witnessed hell on earth, and therefore few people possessed Helen’s clarity. As much as she regretted having gotten caught up in the horrors of the war, her childhood literally up in smoke courtesy of the Nazis, it did have one major benefit: it allowed her to view the world completely without preconception or intolerance.

“I can’t. And it’s not just like; I think I love her.” Charlie hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but if anyone would understand, it was Helen.

“Have you told her that?” Helen asked

“Of course not. I kissed her, though, and I think that scared her, so I’m kind of in a holding pattern until the baby comes.”