Non Pratt - Trouble

That makes a twisted, Katie-Coleman kind of sense. Her plan with Aaron backfired, so she’s come back to the identity of the dad. She knows it’s not Aaron, not Tyrone… somehow she’s finally worked her way round to Jay. Good job she didn’t start there. I wish she’d just leave me alone, but that isn’t Katie’s way — once she starts, she finishes and she hasn’t finished with me yet.

“Katie knows nothing,” I say, although there’s a little niggling doubt in the back of my mind. After all — she’s right. Maybe she’s just trying to get a reaction out of him and then she’ll know … “You haven’t replied, have you?”

“No. Why do you think I’m calling you?”

That sentence is so disappointing. Why would I think he’d call? He hasn’t so much as emailed since I saw him at Easter.

“Just tell her she’s mental or something. No one else knows.”

“Aaron does.”

I close my eyes. Jay can be so difficult. But when I picture him, I still fancy him. Hate my stupid hormones — now is not the time to get horny again. Besides, why am I giving him advice on how to hide the truth when I want him to face up to it? I’m such an idiot.

“I don’t care what you do, Jay. Goodbye.”

“Wait.” And like a muppet, I do. I shouldn’t. I should hang up right now. “Hannah?”

“Yes?” I try to sound like I don’t care, but he knows he’s scored a point.

“She really doesn’t know?”

“Not unless you tell her.”

“Good. It’s Dad’s birthday coming up and I don’t think he needs to find out like this…”

“It’s not like he’s ever going to find out, is it?” I say viciously and hang up before I can hear him tell me not to.

Jay calls back instantly but I reject it. He sends a text.

Ure not doing something stupid right now ru?

I text back.

Did something v stupid a long time ago. ANYTHING is a shitload more sensible than that .

He texts back: Dont tell them now, Han. Not now .

When?

But he has no reply to that.

And neither do I.

There’s something in the air as we gather outside the hall. No one’s in uniform and it’s interesting looking at some of the people I’ve never seen at the park or a party. There’s one guy who’s not in any of my classes, but I’ve seen around and always thought he looked pretty cool — the kind of person that in another life I might have ended up mates with. Judging solely on his faded Joy Division T-shirt, I come to the conclusion I was right.

Katie is wearing something that is meant to be Juicy Couture — only “Couture” is spelled with a double “O”. For a moment I feel sorry for her. She isn’t the person she wants to be and no matter what she wears or who she sleeps with, it’s not going to change that.

“What you looking at?” Katie mouths off and all my pity evaporates. I heard she tried to tell Nicole that Hannah’s stepbrother was the father. Nicole told her she was pathetic — oh, how the bitchy have fallen. It doesn’t matter that she’s telling the truth.

Everyone turns when the front door bangs against the wall as someone pushes it with too much force. It’s Hannah.

The word “radiant” springs to mind. It’s a pregnant woman cliché for a reason — Hannah is glowing. Her skin is clearer than Marcy’s and her dark hair looks model perfect. Everyone’s used to seeing her in an oversized school shirt that makes her look blousey and fat, but today she’s wearing her favourite outfit — a skin-tight khaki dress that displays her curves to full effect. Flip-flops show off perfectly painted toenails (courtesy of Anj) and pale curved calves lead up to her half-length leggings.

I watch other people as she approaches, the way they reassess the girl they’ve been sidelining since January. Fletch’s eyebrows hit his hairline and even Joy Division boy frowns, pondering a moment before remembering who the pregnant girl is.

“I’m bricking it.”

The spell is broken. This isn’t some fecund goddess. This is Hannah Sheppard. Only the Hannah in front of me isn’t the same one I met back in September — that one would have been hyper-aware of the glances her way, would have swung her hips a little and made eye contact with a minimum of three boys before reaching me.

Dad pulls open the door to the hall and calls us inside. There’s a pause, a gathering of breath, a steeling of minds and then the rustle of nerves personified as plastic bags and pencils as we make our way into our first exam. As we pass Dad, he winks at me, then at Hannah, who gives him a nervous smile.

On the way to our desks, I manage to catch her hand and give it a squeeze.

“Good luck,” I say.

“I’m gonna need it!” Hannah says in a rush. “Do I have to wish you luck too or can I keep it for myself?”

“You can keep it.” I squeeze her hand one more time, my fingers brushing across her palm as we part.

Week one:

English Lang .

Biology

French x 2 (Reading and Writing)

I’m finding this harder than I thought I would. Not the papers — which are exactly as hard as I thought they’d be — but the being pregnant at the same time. I thought all that stuff Mum said back in January about deferring was her hoping to give me more time to cram and the “You’re going to be very uncomfortable by then… won’t be getting much sleep… feet will swell up…” were all just excuses.

I was wrong.

Every night I wake up to go to the loo three times. Three times! I wouldn’t mind peeing all night if it meant I got back to sleep right away — only after piss-take-two I usually stay awake for ages. I can’t switch off. If my brain isn’t whirring over all the things it doesn’t know about whatever exam is coming next, then it’s wondering about Jay.

It’s a ticking time bomb of a problem that different parts of my brain keep chucking about faster and faster and faster, until I feel dizzy with worry. Then I think something like, “Stress isn’t good for the baby”, and I kick off another whole world of worry. I’m petrified of what happens next. In a month’s time I’m going to give birth and all the antenatal class taught me was that giving birth is the most painful scary thing in the whole entire world and I might die from it. (That and the importance of doing your pelvic floor exercises.) But that’s not the point because it’s not the giving birth I’m stressing over — it’s the bit that happens afterwards.

I, Hannah Sheppard, will be responsible for another human being. Not one I get to carry about conveniently in my tummy, but one that can wriggle and cry and be dropped (I’m so scared of that), who will want to eat all the time — and eating is breastfeeding because bottle-feeding sounds like a lot of faff and they say if you breastfeed you lose weight but the idea is totally freaking me out because that’s just not what I think my boobs are for, except they are and…

That’s usually when I fall asleep. I think it’s my brain short-circuiting and making me pass out.

Then I wake up for wee number three and pick up where I left off.

I nearly fell asleep during my first French exam on Tuesday. You know when you’re reading something and you just totally haven’t taken it in? So you start again and then you just sort of zone out? And you think, “I’ll just close my eyes for a sec. I’m not gonna sleep, just rest and then I’ll be fine.” Only you don’t rest. You fall asleep and slump forward and hit the desk with your face… Unless you’re so fat that this is a physical impossibility so you end up sliding down the gap between your chair and the desk until you get wedged.