“Ethan,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, even as I’m feeling nauseous and sweaty, “I’m sorry I can’t be in your band. You can talk to me, though. Don’t listen to Del.” I lower my voice. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? Why are you so drunk? You hardly ever drink like this.”
“Why shouldn’t I drink?” he asks. “Everybody else does it.”
I don’t have an answer for him, but Ethan’s never been the type to bend to peer pressure before. And I’d certainly prefer it if he were sober right now. What is going on? Why is the entire world crumbling? Things are definitely going askew if Ethan Prince is drunk at the headmaster’s house.
“Why won’t you be in my band?” he demands, his voice a shade too loud. “You think I’m boring, don’t you?”
“Ethan, no, it isn’t that.” I feel like I have to get him out of here, and fast, before someone else—someone like my father—notices him.
“Why isn’t it enough for someone to be a nice guy?” he asks. He gives me a curious look. “Why doesn’t that get me anywhere?”
His antlers have slipped from his head a little bit, and are resting at an awkward angle. He looks sad.
The whole room seems to slip away as I take in what he’s saying, the way he’s looking at me. My body goes a little numb as I really look at him, into his big eyes, as he stares at me. Oh, Ethan.
“I really am sorry I can’t be in your band,” I tell him. “But it’s impossible right now.” I pause. “Everything is very complicated.”
He lifts a hand to scratch his head. The antlers slip a little farther. He looks disheveled, defeated, much more like a little kid than I’ve ever noticed before. I want to hug him, but I know I shouldn’t.
“I want you to know,” he says, “that I’m not as boring as you think.”
“I know that,” I say, breaking out in a cold sweat as I look around the room. “I know you aren’t.” From the corner of my eye, I can see Stephanie approaching. “You need to get out of here,” I tell him.
“Why?” He frowns.
Before I can answer, Steph is standing beside us. “What’s going on?” she asks.
I step away from Ethan. “He’s drunk,” I whisper. “You should take him back to Winchester.”
She nods. Her antlers, which also have tiny bells attached to their ends, jingle in agreement. “Okay.” She takes him by the arm. “Come on.”
As they’re leaving, she turns to look at me. “Thanks, Emily.”
And then they’re gone. If I don’t go back to the dorm tonight, I realize, I won’t see her until after the New Year. She didn’t even say good-bye.
Del seems to have disappeared, and the party drags on as I try to stay by myself as much as possible, while simultaneously keeping an eye out for him. But he doesn’t show, not until well after midnight, once the party is over and I’ve been forced to sing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” to a room full of people who have no idea what a mess my life is.
It’s still snowing outside, a few inches accumulated since the beginning of the evening, and I’m watching as the flakes drift toward the ground in the moonlight, when a snowball hits my window.
Immediately, I know it’s him. I hurry downstairs to let him in. My parents have been in bed for over an hour, but I’m still nervous they’ll wake up.
“Where have you been?” I ask, pulling him inside. “Hurry up, before someone sees you.”
He’s not wearing a coat. His head is covered in snowflakes; his cheeks are bright red. He looks so alive and gorgeous that I can hardly stand it.
We sneak upstairs to my room. I lock the door, and we sit cross-legged on top of the covers on my tiny bed, our knees touching.
Del reaches out to touch my hair. He’s always doing that. “How was your night?” he asks.
“It was fine. Where were you?”
“I was around.” There’s a pause. Then he says, “Ethan Prince is back at my dorm, sick as hell. He’s passed out on the bathroom floor.”
“Oh, really?”
Del nods. “Uh-huh. I saw you talking to him tonight.”
The idea that he was sneaking around, watching me, is slightly annoying. “What does that matter? We were only talking.”
“He’d steal you in a second if he could.” I see the slightest flicker of insecurity in Del’s expression. “Could he?” he asks.
I almost laugh. After all, I’m pregnant. But Del doesn’t know that.
Instead I ask, “Did you tell him he couldn’t talk to me?”
He gives me an innocent look. “I don’t remember saying that.”
He’s lying, which annoys me even more. “Ethan remembers.”
“Maybe I did. It’s possible.”
“Who are you to say who I can and can’t talk to?” My voice is light, but only because I’m nervous. I don’t want to get into a fight. But I find myself imagining Ethan over in Winchester, on the bathroom floor, sick and lonely. He doesn’t deserve to feel that way.
He stares at me. “I’m your boyfriend, Emily.”
It’s so quiet in my room, I can almost hear the snow falling onto the ground outside. The whole world seems muffled.
“Emily,” Del asks, “what’s the matter?”
I could tell him now. The words are on the tip of my tongue.
But then I realize he’s not going to know how to help me. Maybe he’ll only make things worse. I need to figure out a solution first, on my own.
Tears are stinging the corners of my eyes, though; I have to tell him something. “I had my precalc final today,” I say.
“Oh, right. How did it go?”
I shake my head. “Not good. I’m pretty sure I failed.”
“Emily,” he says, “but it’s so easy. Didn’t you study?”
“Yes! I studied and studied.” I’m openly crying now, wiping tears from my eyes. “But when I look at the test, it’s like I’ve never even seen the material before.”
“I’ll help you,” he says. “Don’t worry.”
I sniffle. “I can barely do basic algebra. I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it through precalc, let alone calculus next year.”
“So you take statistics instead. It’s no big deal.” He frowns. “Why are you freaking out?”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“Yes, you are. Emily, are you sure there isn’t anything else going on?” He blinks. “Did Ethan say something to you? Did he do anything?”
“Would you stop talking about Ethan? I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Then stop fighting.”
“ …”
“ …”
“Listen, precalc will be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Uh-uh.” I stare at my comforter. “I’m too stupid. I can’t do it.”
“You can. I’m telling you, it’s easy.” He pauses, like he’s thinking about something. “Math is just a matter of manipulation. There’s nothing to it.”
I sniffle. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s just a matter of manipulating the variables. Once you figure out how to do that”—he spreads his hands, giving me a bright smile—“everything else is easy.”
His words, for some reason, make me break out in a sweat.
“What did you say?”
“I said it’s just a matter of manipulation.”
“Uh-huh.” He thinks everything is so easy. He always finds a way to manipulate things to get exactly what he wants.
An awkwardness begins to spread in the space between us. We stare at each other.
He glances at the clock on my nightstand. “I hate to say this, but I should go soon. I have to pack. My parents will be here in the morning.”
“Okay.” I feel almost relieved that he’s leaving. I just want to be alone.
I give him a kiss. “You should go, then.” I force a smile, even though I’m sick to my stomach, and the kerosene smell that’s always clinging to Del is making it more intense. “I’ll see you next year.”
&nb
sp; Since I’m pregnant, I obviously can’t take Dr. Miller’s pills anymore. As a result, the nightmares come fast and intense, making sleep almost impossible. With campus all but deserted, my nights are spent alone. More than once, way after she’s supposedly gone to sleep, I see my mother through my window, sneaking outside to smoke. Each time it happens, I consider confronting her. But what would be the point? I’ve got secrets bigger than hers.
Our house phone rings a few days before Christmas. I recognize the area code as a Colorado exchange. Stephanie.
I pick up the phone and say, “What’s up, sweetie?”
There’s a long pause.
“Emily? Is that you?”
It’s Ethan.
I can feel the blood rising to my cheeks. “Ethan. Yes, it’s me. Is everything okay? Why are you—”
“Why am I calling you? I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?” I ask, pretending to be oblivious.
“For the Christmas party. You know I was drunk. Steph is so pissed about it, she’s barely been talking to me. She said I made a total fool of myself.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad.”
I can hear the tension in his voice. I imagine him at home in Colorado, with his mom and Steph, spending their first Christmas without their dad. I feel sorry for him—and for Stephanie—and so selfish, in a way, for how distant I’ve been toward all my friends. Unlike them, at least I can say I’ve got my family.
“So I bet you’re missing Del,” he says.
“Yes,” I admit. “I am.” I imagine how furious Del would be if he knew I was talking to Ethan. And I can’t quite explain it, but somehow the fact makes me feel almost satisfied. Why should Del get to tell me who I can and can’t talk to? Beyond that, I’m excited to be talking to Ethan. He might have gotten drunk and acted stupid, but he’s still Ethan Prince.
“Your dad still doesn’t want you two together?”
“Nope.”
“That must be hard.” He swallows. “I mean, to not be able to really be with the one person you want more than anyone else.”
I don’t know what to say to him. I’ve never had a telephone conversation with Ethan before. He’s been so strange in the past few months; is it really possible that he likes me? It seems that way. Not that it matters—it isn’t like anything could ever come of it now. Ethan might not know it yet, but I am trouble.
“So … ,” I say, trying to move the conversation along, “is Steph there? Can I talk to her?”
“Oh,” he says, his tone almost surprised, “no. She’s not here.”
“She isn’t?” The awkwardness takes a leap. “Um. Does she know that you’re calling me?”
“Well, no. Should she?”
“ …”
“ …”
“Ethan … look, I should probably go. Don’t worry about the Christmas party, okay?”
“Thanks, Emily. There’s just one other thing.”
Oh, God. “What is it?”
“I missed hearing you sing. After I left, what song did you sing?” I can hear him smiling. “I remember last year you sang ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas.’ It was great. And the year before that, you sang ‘Jingle Bells.’ ”
I can’t believe he remembers all of this. “Thank you,” I tell him. “This year, I sang ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’ ”
“Emily?”
“Yes?”
There’s another long pause. “I just wanted to say merry Christmas. That’s all.”
“Oh. Well, merry Christmas to you, too.”
We hang up. I stand in the hallway for a few long moments, staring at the phone, thinking, what was that all about? But then I realize that I’m smiling.
When I go back up to my room, there’s an e-mail waiting for me from Del.
Emily,
How’s your lonely life on campus so far? I miss you terribly. My parents are going out of their way to make our first Christmas as a “real” family a superspecial one. I was trying to figure out what to get you as a present, and then it occurred to me. Attached is everything you need to ace precalc for the rest of the year. Don’t ask me how I got it; if I told you, then I’d have to kill you …
I’ll be in touch sooner than later. Merry Christmas.
All my love.
I open the attachment. I put a hand to my mouth. It’s a huge PDF document, and from what I can tell it’s every quiz and test for precalc for the rest of the year. With all the answers filled in.
I’d like to believe that it’s the pregnancy making me feel a little sick to my stomach as I stare at the document on my computer screen. But it’s not.
I am the headmaster’s daughter. I might not be a great student, and I might be seeing Del behind my father’s back—and, of course, there’s the whole illegitimate baby thing—but I am sixteen years old and I’ve never cheated on a test in my life. I know it sounds absurd, but if I did cheat, and I got caught, I couldn’t stand how it would humiliate my dad. I have already let him down so much, and he doesn’t even know it.
How could Del think I would ever use those answers? What is the matter with him? I delete the file. Then I lie on my bed, the door to my room locked, and stare up at my canopy. Without thinking about it, I start to sing quietly.
Dashing through the snow …
I remember that night at the party, although it seems like it was much more than two years ago. I remember the way my friends and I all wore Santa hats and the way my father tugged me under the mistletoe to plant a kiss on my cheek. I remember drinking nonalcoholic eggnog with Steph, Franny, and Grace until our stomachs hurt so much that we could barely move.
There is my life before Del, and there is my life with Del. The thought begs the question: what will life be like after Del? Eventually, something has to give. Something will break. Someone will learn my secret.
For now, I take comfort in the fact that my door is locked, that campus is deserted, and that my parents are both downstairs, with no idea of what’s truly going on in my life.
I open my eyes and look around at my room, which has not changed for as long as I can remember. I try to ignore the fact that my legs have grown almost too long for the bed.
From downstairs, my mother begins to play the piano. I can hear her just well enough to make out the song: it’s “Junk,” by Paul McCartney.
I join in with my voice. It’s the strangest feeling, there in my bedroom: she probably can’t hear me, and I can barely hear her, but for the moment we are in harmony. Just for the moment.
chapter eleven
On the Sunday before school starts after winter break, I go back to my dorm after breakfast to wait for my roommates. Since they’re taking the school van from the airport together, they all arrive on campus at the same time.
They sound like elephants on the stairs. I’ve been lying in bed, holding my belly with one hand, sweating in the dry heat of our room, waiting. I didn’t want to be at home with my parents, but now I don’t want to be here with my friends. There’s nowhere to go.
“We’re baaaack!” Grace bursts through the door. “Emily! You’re here!”
I force myself to smile. “Hi, sweetie. How was your Christmas?”
“Super.” Grace tugs off her hat and fluffs her hair. “How was yours?”
“It was good.” It was torture. I’d spent most of my time hiding in my room. My parents think I’m still upset with them about not being allowed to see Del.
Franny hurries in next. “Whatever you do,” she says to me, “don’t ask Stephanie how her vacation was.”
I’m out of bed. Grace gives me a hug. “Are you okay, Em?” she asks. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine. I only seem pale because you’re so tan.” Her cheeks are red and windburned. She looks healthy. She’s probably been skiing a lot.
“Did you miss Del?” Just as Franny asks the question, Stephanie strolls into the room. She doesn’t look healthy like Grace. She doesn’t even look well rested. She goes straight to her room,
drops her luggage on the floor, opens the window, and lights a cigarette.
“Hey.” More than ever now, I don’t want to be around smoke. “Please don’t do that in here.”
“It’s my room,” she says. “I can do what I want.”
“It’s our quad,” I say, “and I’m asking you to stop.”
She takes one last drag from the cigarette before tossing it out the window. “There,” she says, glowering. “Happy?”
“You just walked in a minute ago. Are you seriously in a bad mood already?” I pause. “Would you rather be at home?”
Her hair is in a messy pile on her head. She pulls it free, and it spills over her shoulders and down her back. Even when she’s angry, her eyes puffy, her skin dry, Steph is beautiful. “I would rather be at home with my family,” she pronounces, “but that’s impossible.” She closes her eyes for a moment. Then she asks, “How about you, Emily? Did you have a perfect Christmas with your perfect parents?”
I could laugh. I want to cry.
I am terrified for school to start again. As soon as everyone is back from break, I feel overwhelmed by this kind of paralysis, an inability to act or fully understand, to tell anyone but Renee. At first, I’m anticipating that my body will go through everything a person sees in the movies and on television: morning sickness, odd food cravings, mood swings, weight gain. But instead, after a month of nausea, all I’m left with is the constant feeling that something isn’t quite right in my body, the reminder that something is growing inside me. I couldn’t be more scared. I still have no idea how I’m going to tell Del.
On the weekends, when we can sneak away for appointments, Renee drives me to the free clinic in New Haven, where I hear a heartbeat and see a tiny blur on a black-and-white screen that appears hopelessly outdated. It doesn’t look like a baby; it seems impossible that the wriggling, breathing form I see onscreen is inside me. When the ultrasound tech asks if I want to know the gender, I just shake my head. At almost every appointment, tears run quietly down my face. Renee has gotten over her initial anger, and now she is not judgmental or pressuring or anything that you might expect a person to be. She just stays beside me, holds my hand, and waits for things to sink in.