I slowly look up, turning to Maliah who’s still watching me, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun. It takes less than five seconds for realization to hit as her posture stiffens and her expression sobers.
“Zalea,” she breathes. “Is it possible?”
My hands start to shake, my chest tightening like I’m tipping into shock. “I mean…it’s always possible, right? No preventative is one hundred percent effective, not even birth control.”
“Right,” she says, nodding, looking a little green herself. “We should check. Before the competition and before Gabriel leaves.”
My throat closes, unshed tears burning my eyes, and I nod. Maliah calls out to Koa to watch our boards, grabs her bag, and hops onto the back of my bike. I push off, peddling us toward the only convenience store in town.
When we get there, I can’t bring myself to go inside.
“Saltwater Springs is a small town, Mal,” I say, panic setting in. “If anyone sees me buying a pregnancy test, my parents will know before I even see the results.”
Not to mention Frankie, the convenience store owner, is best friends with my parents.
“I’ll buy it,” Maliah says, gripping my shoulders. “My dad’s off living his best life somewhere in Europe, and everyone here hates him anyway. He’ll never find out.”
I nod, grateful, and we settle on a plan before heading in.
I go first, grabbing a bag of chips, a protein bar, and a litre of water. I make small talk with Frankie about the competition later today, pay, then head to the restroom. As soon as I’m inside, I twist the cap off my water and start chugging.
Three minutes later, Maliah slips in after me. “I swear Frankie almost called the damn church when she saw what I was buying,” she hisses, quickly pulling the pregnancy test box from her reusable bag.
I bite back a smile. That sounds exactly like Frankie. She never misses a Sunday and truly believes prayer can fix anything, and anyone.
“Do you want me to stay?” Maliah asks. “Or wait by the bike?”
Part of me wants her here, but the other part knows I’ll fall apart if this comes back positive, and I don’t want her to see me like that.
“I’ll meet you outside” I say, taking another long swig of water. I definitely need to pee now.
She nods and heads for the door. “Tell the church I say thanks Frankie,” she calls out. “Looks like I got my period the moment I walked into that restroom, so I guess I’ll just save the test for another day.”
I chuckle when I hear Frankie release an exaggerated sigh of relief. But once the door clicks shut and I’m alone again, my heartbeat spikes.
“Alright,” I whisper to myself. “Let’s just get this over with.”
I step into the stall, and do the damn thing.
A few seconds later, I’m back to standing in front of the sinks as I stare down at the stick in my hand. Nothing happens right away, but when a line appears, I’m flooded with an overwhelming amount of relief.
“I’m not pre?—”
Slowly, but unmistakably, a second line forms right after it.
“No,” I whisper.
I shake the stick, like that might change something, and my hands begin to tremble so badly I have to sit down. I slide back until I’m on the dirty bathroom floor, my shoulder pressed against the wall, knees pulled to my chest. The tiles are cold through my shorts, and the air smells vaguely sour, but all I can do is stare at those two lines until they blur together.
Positive.
There’s no other word for it.
My chest tightens as I press my forehead into my knees, my breathing shallow, counting nothing and everything all at once. I read the instructions again to make sure I’m not wrong, but it says it right there—in black and white. Two lines means I’m pregnant.
My stomach flips, dread and disbelief tangling so tight I can barely separate them.
Gabriel’s face flashes through my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut, like that might erase the test, erase the way my entire future just shifted.
