Plus One Read online

  Table of Contents

  Plus One

  Book Details

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  PLUS ONE

  SARAH L. YOUNG

  Junior year is hard for everyone, but especially for Lexi—and in about nine months, it's going to get a lot harder. She doesn't know what to do, how to do it, or who the father is.

  Lost and afraid, she calls the only person she can think of for support: her ex-girlfriend Emily, who recently dumped her. But if Emily isn't willing to help, then Lexi is afraid she'll be facing this all alone...

  Plus One

  By Sarah L. Young

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by V.E. Duncan

  Cover designed by Jennier Gavens

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition November 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Sarah L. Young

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684313723

  Print ISBN 9781684314249

  Dedicated to Planned Parenthood and everyone who fights for reproductive rights.

  Dedicated also to my cousin Andrew, because he asked me to dedicate a book to him one day.

  Thank you to all of my friends and family who have supported me and made this possible, especially my mom Robin, my dad Sam, and my brother Avi.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lexi

  "Chica, you okay?" my mom cried from outside the bathroom, knocking furiously at the door. I had lost track of time, but she snapped me back to reality. I gasped suddenly and wiped the tears from my eyes—odd, because I didn't remember crying—and flushed the toilet.

  "Yes, Mami," I told her, trying my very best to sound nonchalant. But thinking about my mom and how I had let her down, I broke out in a fresh set of tears. I looked around for somewhere to stash the test when my eyes landed on a box of tampons. Ironic, I thought. I wrapped the wand in several sheets of toilet paper and stuffed it in the box. I put the box in the closet, dried my eyes, and quickly ran out of the bathroom to greet my mom.

  "Chica mía!" Mami cried before I could even say anything. How does she know? I thought to myself, panicked. But before I could explain myself my mom was yelling. "Lex, I didn't hear you wash your hands! Were you raised by wolves? How do you expect to keep a house in order when you can't even keep yourself clean? Dios míos, I don't want to touch you until you've gone back in there and washed yourself. Then come downstairs to help me set the table, dinner is ready. Now go," she said, pushing me back toward the bathroom.

  In all the commotion I had forgotten to wash my hands. Typical Latina mama to worry herself with that, but I was glad for the distraction. I hurriedly washed my hands and rushed down the stairs to help set out the food, careful to keep a carefree smile plastered on my face like my biggest worry was forgetting to wash my hands, not forgetting to use a condom.

  I moved quickly through the halls, finding my way into the kitchen before scooping up bowls of different vegetables and putting them on the table. I went back into the kitchen a few times more to grab the chicken, the plates, silverware, and glasses. My mind was going over a million miles per hour in at least as many directions, but I tried to remain focused on my task. I had been setting the table since I was a little girl after all, being the oldest.

  Today though, the task seemed gargantuan. My hands shook as I arranged the bowls of food, and I put the kid forks in the wrong spots. I stepped back and looked at the table, examining my errors, and rearranged who got which forks. My two baby sisters liked to use little forks, though my six-year-old brother thought himself big enough to use an adult one. I made sure everything was in the proper order before heading back to the kitchen to fill up a pitcher of water.

  "Chicos, vamanos!" my mother cried, calling her children to the table. I rushed to fill the pitcher with water and ice as the little ones buzzed past me and into their seats. Hungrily, they began munching even before we said grace. As I brought the pitcher back to the table and started pouring water into the glasses, Papi appeared in the doorway.

  "Hey," he snapped at my siblings. "I didn't hear you thank God. Do you think he heard you?" The children mumbled vaguely as we all sat down, and my father led us in prayer with our hands intertwined. "Jesus, thank you for all that you have given us," he began solemnly. "Thank you for caring for these vegetables as they grew and ripened, for this chicken as it hatched and grew, and thank you for Mami who took what you gave her and made us this meal." There was a chorus of hungry "amens" as we dropped hands and began eating.

  It was as if nothing was different. To them, I guess nothing was different. Not so far as they knew, anyway. Some say that ignorance is bliss, so maybe not telling my family would help for now, help keep us blissful.

  I pushed around the food on my plate, contemplating the pros and cons of eating. If I ate, I would gain weight and start showing sooner. On the other hand, if I didn't eat, my parents would grow suspicious, and my baby would grow weak and small. I opted for the health of the baby and brought a forkful of broccoli to my mouth. Although it was one of my favorite foods, even opening my mouth to take a bite made me gag. Maybe this was morning sickness, or maybe I was nervous.

  Although, nervous didn't seem to be the right word for this feeling. You get nervous for a test. You get nervous for a concert. You get nervous when you get a call saying, "We need to talk." This wasn't that. This was a cold terror, ripping me inside out yet remaining unsatisfied and looking around for more to destroy.

  Pushing aside my nausea, I continued to eat. I fed myself forkful after forkful of broccoli, carrots, and chicken. As far as I knew, none of this could hurt the baby. I made a mental note to look up what I could and could not eat once I got up to my room and could go online. Again, Mami's shrill voice pulled me out of my thoughts and back to the real world.

  "Someone is being quiet," Mami announced, suddenly breaking the silence. She looked at me. "Tell them the good news, chica!" My mind drew a blank. What was she talking about? And then I remembered.

  "I got a 100 on my math test," I told my family. I received smiles from all around the table, but inside I felt nothing but dread. I had told my mom about the test earlier that day, before I had taken the other test. It seemed like a dream, almost, only a few hours before. That was back when my life had been my own, when my body had been my own, or at least so I had thought. Now math was the farthest thing from my mind. "Mami, Papi," I began, clearing my throat. "May I be excused to my room please? I have a chemistry test tomorrow and I want to prepare for it, please?" I looked at them pleadingly. I wasn't sure for how much longer I could stay at the table, pretending that everything was the same. Pretending that anything was the same.

  "Sure," Papi said after Mami gave her nod of approval. "Make sure you keep up those grades, maybe you'll get a scholarship," my dad teased. Tears began to well in the back of my eyes, but I managed to fake a smil
e as I kissed my parents each on the cheek, cleared my dishes, and headed upstairs to my room.

  Once in my room I threw myself onto the bed, buried my face in my pillow, and began to cry silent tears. The fear, the dread, and the nerves had pushed me to that point. Maybe also the hormones, or maybe it was too early for all of that. I didn't know.

  I didn't know anything about pregnancy, or sex, or anything. I had told my parents a half truth when I came out to them—I'd never specifically said that I was bisexual, just that I had a girlfriend. They were less than thrilled but had joked at the time that at least they didn't have to worry about me getting pregnant. I laughed wryly to myself, shaking my head and thinking back to how much less complicated things were when I was with Emily. Only a few months ago the plan had been to finish high school strong, get a scholarship to college, become a vet, marry Emily, and live happily ever after. Having a kid my junior year of high school wasn't in that plan. I laid my head down on the pillow and closed my eyes, breathing deeply to calm my tears.

  After a few moments, I had collected myself enough to sit up. I pulled out my iPod touch, ignoring the messages from my various games and apps, and clicked on the Google chrome icon. I opened a new browser, an "incognito" one so even if my parents could bypass my password, there would be no record of my search.

  I checked to see that my door was still tightly shut before typing the words "what do I need to know if I'm sixteen and pregnant" into the search bar. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I continued with my search. This was so not part of the plan.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emily

  I know it had been two months, but I still felt guilty. I missed her every day, even though I was the one who broke it off. I needed time to focus on my college applications, and she was getting way too clingy. Maybe it was because she was younger. She wasn't mature enough to have a real relationship. All summer she'd wanted to spend time with me, which I'd appreciated, but I'd had a job. She didn't seem to understand that I had more important things to do than coddle her, so I told her that enough was enough. It broke my heart; I could hear her crying over the phone.

  I think the biggest problem was that I had to act like the bad guy. Like always. I had to be the responsible one, canceling dates for work, sending her home because I needed to get some rest, and skipping her family camping trip last minute because I was so swamped with my early applications.

  Still, I missed her. I missed her warm cuddles, and how she looked in my big sweaters. She'd taken the breakup hard, harder than I had anticipated. Hard enough to pull at my heartstrings and make me regret my decision to end it. I couldn't bear the thought of having hurt her this much. After all, I still loved her.

  Love isn't something that disappears overnight. I still loved her, but I had to push it aside. Sometimes, while I was asleep, she crept into my dreams. In those dreams, we watched a movie and cuddled. All those times I had blown her off because I thought I was too busy, I wished I could have them back. I missed her, no matter how much I tried to ignore it and move on.

  A text notification snapped me out of my self-pity. I went over to my bed and checked the screen. It was her. I didn't know whether or not to answer it. Before I did, I turned off the receipt feature in my phone. That way, if I didn't want to respond to it, she wouldn't know if I had read it or not. With shaking hands, I checked on the notification. I don't know whether I was relieved, disappointed, or what when it was just a one-word message. "Hey." So I texted back, "What's up?"

  Just as I clicked send, I got another notification. "We need to talk," she said. Even though I didn't know what she was talking about, reading those words made me anxious. I felt a little pain in the pit of my stomach, knowing I had caused her the same feeling. I owed it to her to be there for her now. After all, it was the least I could do.

  I clicked the phone icon on my screen and typed in her number from memory. It was like a habit, almost instinctual. In reality I knew it was muscle memory, but my fingers found themselves along the keypad, eager to talk to her, to hear her voice. The phone rang once, twice, three times, before she answered.

  "Hello?" she whispered into the phone. "Em, is that you?" she asked. I had forgotten that she didn't have caller ID on that crappy little flip phone of hers. I took a deep breath before I replied. I could hear in her voice that she had been crying, and again I felt a sharp twinge of guilt deep in my gut.

  "Yeah, I'm here, Lex," I replied. "It's okay, what's up?" Even to my own ears my voice sounded strained as I tried to take back my role of comforter and confidant. I heard her take a deep breath, and then let out a cry before she answered me.

  "Meet me at my house," she said into the phone. Was she crazy? It was a school night, and it was freezing out. I checked my watch, which let me know that it was a quarter to eleven. Way too late to be making a booty call, or even a regular trip... there was no way of knowing what this girl wanted.

  "No," I told her calmly. "It's dark, and it's cold, and it's a school night. I'm not going to break my neck sneaking out my window to run across town in the pitch black to be with you. We're not dating, that means that you don't get to ask me to do things like this anymore." I felt cruel for even having thought those words, let alone having said them, but chica needed some tough love. She had asked so much of me throughout our relationship, and that was one of the reasons it was over. She asked for more than I could ever give. I waited in the uncomfortable silence as she sniffled some more before responding.

  "Please," she said. I could hear the desperation in her voice. She hadn't sounded this bad since she had begged me not to tell the school guidance counselor that she had been self-harming. I recognized the pure need in her voice and immediately thought the worst: that she was going to kill herself.

  Before I even knew it, I heard myself say, "I'm on my way, I'll be right there. Don't do anything stupid." Grabbing a sweatshirt the second I hung up the phone, I put it on over my clothes, opened the window, and quietly snuck out and climbed down the thick oak tree. I deftly maneuvered myself down the trunk and slowly to the ground. I looked back up at my house, so peaceful-looking in the dark. I knew my mom was asleep. Her lights had been out for an hour and having to be at the factory for her six o'clock shift, I knew she wouldn't be wasting time checking on me in the night. She hadn't done that since I was a little girl. Back before dad left and she'd had time for things like me.

  As I got on my bike my thoughts flew back to Lexi. She had struggled with depression for years, and self-harm had constantly been a threat. I had always feared getting a phone call in the middle of the night, begging me to talk her off the ledge. I didn't know for sure, but I had a feeling that that was what was happening.

  I had known the breakup would be hard on her, so I had waited for a time when she was mentally stable, or at least not at her worst, so I could be sure she wouldn't do something terrible and stupid because of me. I prayed to the universe that she was ok, and I even prayed to the God she believed in, just in case. I wished and hoped that she would be ok when I got to her house, because I didn't know what else to do. I pedaled faster and ignored the cold wind as it whipped across my face and stung my eyes.

  My eyes were either watering or crying as my bike carried me to her house. In the back of my mind all I could see was her sitting there, on her roof, ready to jump. Or maybe she had drawn herself a nice bath and was about to slit her wrists. These images terrified me to my very core but refused to leave my mind. I pedaled as hard as I could and reached her house in record time.

  I jumped off my bike, leaving it where it fell, and ran to the tree by her bedroom window. I scaled the tree in under a minute and knocked rapidly at the window, hoping and praying I had made it in time.

  When I saw her standing there as I peered through the window, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. She hadn't done anything. She was okay. She walked over to open the window and help me in. I hadn't come up with a plan of what to do when I saw her, but the relief that swept ove
r me convinced me to give her a hug. She crumpled to the floor and began crying. I found myself on the floor with her, also in tears.

  We laid there on the floor for who knows how long. I held her in my arms and wiped her tears as she wiped mine. After a time, she began to get up. She grabbed something from her desk drawer and slowly revealed it to me. At first, I was unable to make out what it was in the dim light, but the shape soon began to take form. It was a pregnancy test, and I gasped as she brought it toward me. I took it from her hand, examining it. There was a blue cross colored in on the test.

  My first thought was relief; she hadn't called me here to talk her off the ledge. My second reaction was worry. She was sixteen, barely able to take care of herself, let alone care and provide for another human life. Finally, a third thought entered my brain: who the hell was the father?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lexi

  When Em came through the window, I couldn't help it. All this time apart, I had missed her so much. Seeing that she still cared meant the world to me. I didn't want the moment to end. Of course, it had to. I had to tell her why I had called her here.

  I crept to the corner of my room and retrieved the pregnancy test. Then I presented it to her. I couldn't find the words to explain it all. A hot feeling of shame spread from my neck to my face, and I couldn't help but burst into a fresh set of tears.

  "What...when...how?" Emily barely managed to ask, trailing off after each word. I couldn't blame her for her confusion. I didn't quite know how to answer her questions. Truth be told, I didn't have all the answers myself.

  "After you broke up with me," I began. Her face crumpled, and I knew she would blame herself. I tried to start over again. "After we broke up...I was really upset. I wanted to forget about it. About all of it. A kid I knew from school who goes to the community college now told me that there was a party, so I went, and I drank, and there was some guy—I don't know who he is—and he asked me if I wanted to have sex. I wasn't thinking, I was so—"