Chapter 1"Why can't you get her father to watch her?" my mother suggests, as I'm once again trying frantically to make my way out the door in time. I'm rushing around the kitchen, putting Gerber snacks into a container, and making a lunch for my daughter before I have to drop her off at daycare. Every morning consists of the same level of chaos, no thanks to the aforementioned Aiden Dennison – whom my mother always simply refers to as "her father". Thankfully, my mother is making sure my daughter is being cleaned up from breakfast and is willing to put her on the potty while I'm running around like a chicken with my head cut off.
"Mom, you know perfectly well that Aiden still has school, just like I do!" I reply. Under my breath, I mutter, "wouldn't want to mess up someone's precious basketball career, after all," and notice that my voice is filled with sarcastic undertones. I'll be the first one to admit that I told Aiden that he didn't need to be of any help to me or our daughter from the moment we got pregnant, but he managed to stick around – at least for the pregnancy. Now I'm lucky that I'm even receiving child support and her yearly essentials – a birthday card and presents, an infrequent visit every now and then, and the few emergency packs of pull-ups that I have managed to beg out of him. Don't get me wrong, we made this baby together during freshman year and I don't expect him to do everything for her – but still, it would be nice if he could do something every once in a while.
"You're going to run yourself ragged," my mother insists. I stop for a moment and take a look at myself in the hallway mirror. I'm going to? It appears as though I already have. Between caring for my daughter and going to school full time, not to mention working full time, I barely feel as though I have enough time to do anything, let alone anything fun. But that's the price I pay for choosing to keep my daughter.
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You're probably wondering how it happened. Well, Aiden and I had been going out for awhile, and one night the stereotypical passion overtook both of us, and we ended up having sex. He was gentle, and sweet, and it was amazing, to say the least. But all of that changed once we'd realized that the condom broke. I could kick myself now, but I distinctly remember him even asking if I wanted to take the morning after pill the next day, but I politely refused, certain that my birth control pill would back me up. And guess what – I was wrong.
Aiden was the first person - that I'd ever slept with, and it managed to happen on the first try – so despite all of those popular myths – yes, you can get pregnant the first time. Our parents were pissed. Aiden's were obviously upset that we had just ruined his opportunity at a basketball career (he was a freshman, and the scouts were already out stalking him) and my mother was angry that I had ruined her life – which basically meant that she was more afraid of what people would say about her, since I made it look like she was the type of mother who "allowed" her daughter to demonstrate such reckless behavior. Aiden's parents were advocating for an abortion, offering to pay for it, and my mother was on the other side of the fence, petitioning for adoption – "think of all the nice young couples out there who are unable to have a baby of their own, Ashley". But in the end, I was the one who made the final decision – I was the one who won – and the prize ended up being my beautiful daughter, Sara. I tend to miss out on a lot of the "typical" things that high-schoolers like to do, but then again, I've never really ever been what most would consider to be "typical". But I will never regret my decision that I made about giving birth to my daughter and keeping her. Many adults that I run into on the streets always glance over at me and shoot me a look of pity or remorse, or will be gossiping with their other friends, referring to Sara as "an accident" or "a mistake". But I am her mother, and I will never see it that way.
You see, to me, Sara is a miracle. I had a lot of complications with my teenage pregnancy, which eventually resulted in me being on bed rest for the last two months. My teachers sent my assignments and final exams home to me, and I completed them in between reading what I lovingly refer to as "my baby bible" – most of you are more familiar with the actual title – "What to Expect When You're Expecting". By the time I was 7 months along, I had smoked and drank for the first month, not knowing I was pregnant (typical reckless teenage behavior) and then later started spotting, and even managed to get into a car accident with my father (it figures, one of the few times a year I actually get to see him – he passed away, and somehow Sara and I had managed to survive) Against all odds, on delivery day, after 13 hours of labor, my daughter Sara came out with the right number of everything (fingers, toes, limbs, etc) and she also managed to score a perfect rating on the Apgar scale. I had spent months worrying about how my behavior at the beginning of the pregnancy and the car accident would affect her, but even today, she seems to be progressing at an above-average rate – and I couldn't be more proud.
But I digress.
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Anyways, now I'm driving (okay, speeding) down a busy street in Los Angeles, California – trying to get my daughter to her daycare center in time. My mother and I both have obligations during the day (I have school, and she has work). She picks Sara up and helps watch her while I go to work before coming home to do homework until approximately 2 in the morning. All of the sudden, I hear and see the police sirens come up behind me.
"Shit!" I announce under my breath, but my daughter still manages to hear me as I pull over to the side of the road. "What's shit?" Sara asks from her car seat in the back, but I'm so pissed that all I can do is grit my teeth and ignore her as I roll down my window as the cop approaches my vehicle.
"Are you aware that you were driving 60 miles per hour in a 45 mile per hour speed limit zone?" the officer asks. His breath is tainted with the smell of doughnuts, and he's coming way too close for comfort – especially with my daughter in the car.
"I'm sorry," I fake-sputter, and then realize to my surprise that I'm actually about to lose it for real. "I'm just trying to get my daughter to daycare so I can go to school, and then work and…" my voice starts to crack. "I didn't mean to…" The officer's face softens a bit, and glances at my daughter in the backseat. "Hi!" she chirps. The officer chuckles to himself a bit before turning his attention back to me.
"Listen, I'm going to let you off with a warning this time," he decides, much to my relief. I wouldn't have been able to afford to pay for any sort of ticket that he would've given me. "I understand how stressful things can be. But please drive carefully – especially for your daughter's safety," he adds. But his eyes are staring straight at me.
"Oh I will….I promise!" I assure him. Suddenly, it doesn't even matter to me that he has been up in my face for the past few minutes. If he wasn't a stranger, I would've probably hugged him. But I've been working on the whole "Stranger Danger" concept with Sara, and I don't want to mess any of that up.
He lets me leave, so I pull carefully back into traffic, and get my daughter to her daycare facility. I'm in the process of dropping her and all of her things off when I realize that I've managed to forget her packed bag at home on the kitchen table. It figures. Why does this surprise me so much, though? I mean, seriously – it's like, the story of my life.
"I'm sure we can find some spare things for Sara to use today," her teacher tries her best to comfort me, because she knows how hard I have been trying, but I still feel like a horrible mother at the same time. A good mother wouldn't have forgotten her daughter's things at home. A good mother would be on top of things – not losing it, and not getting pulled over by the police for speeding.
"Thanks," I reply with embarrassment. I bend down to give Sara a kiss and then stand up to leave. "Bye sweetie, I love you!" I'm waving as I slowly make my way towards the door, bracing myself for what may or may not happen.
Just my luck. Today, it happens. I brace myself as I notice her lower lip start to tremble. She bites it for a moment as tears fill her eyes. "Mommy?" she asks, with a tone of uncertainty.
"Grandma's picking you up," I try to tell her helpfully. "Maybe she'll let you bake cookies again. Won't that be fun?"
"I don't want Grandma – I want you!" she says, and this is when the sniffles start. Her little nose is already impossibly clogged up.
"Shh, shh…" I say, wrapping her into a bear hug. I know that this too, is my fault. I've been working extra shifts because I know that Christmas will be here soon, and I need the extra cash. Sara's too young to understand that even when I'm spending so much time away from her, I'm still doing things for her. My whole life is devoted to her. When she's older, I hope that she'll grow up to appreciate that. "Mommy has to go to school and work today," I tell her. "I'll be home to tuck you in, I promise." As I'm quietly soothing my daughter, I want to kick myself for wanting to glance at my watch.
"Can we read a bedtime story?" she asks, still sniffling a bit.
"Any book you want, sweetheart," I assure her. "Make sure you have it picked out for when I come home," I tell her.
"Okay," she replies, wiping the last few tears from her face. I am silently congratulating her on not going into one of her full-blown tantrums that could wake the dead. "I love you."
"I love you too," I say, and she goes toddling off with some of her friends that she's made at school. I watch for a moment behind the closed door as my daughter and two other little girls make their way to the "learning carpet" and then I start back to my car.
And that's when I notice it.
"Shit!" I yell out loud this time, because my daughter is not in my presence. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Arrgh!" I step back, kick the deflating tire, and instantly regret it. Now my whole foot is throbbing, and I've probably broken my toe. It starts to feel numb and turn colors almost immediately.
"Last time I checked, that's not the way to fix a flat tire," someone remarked from behind me. I spun around, ready to give a piece of my mind to whoever was making jokes about my already horribly bad morning.
One of the fathers had just dropped his child off at the daycare and happened to be parked next to me in the lot. "I know," I sighed, as the fight instantly went out of me. "It's just been a bad day.
"I hear you," he replied sympathetically. "Listen, do you have a spare in the trunk? I could help you change it."
"I know how to change a tire, I just didn't want to have to do it right now!" I shot back, instantly regretting it. This man had done nothing to ruin my day, and I was being such a bitch to him. "Sorry," I offered weakly.
"Suit yourself," he said in a tone that clearly indicated he wasn't going to bother helping me now, or anytime soon. "Have a great day." And with that, he got into his car and sped off, and I groaned in disbelief and bent down to fix my tire.
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Satisfied with the job that I've done, I get into my car and drive like a maniac to King High School. It's my first day of senior year, and I've already missed homeroom. In fact, I've missed the first 15 minutes of 1st period as well. I open my car door and retrieve my notebooks and my lukewarm coffee, and slam the door shut without instantly realizing that I've locked my keys inside. It will have to wait until after school, which means that I'm going to be late for my job.
Trying to put the unwelcoming idea of more disasters, I rush into the school, realizing that I have to use a different door in order to be allowed into the building now – which means I've paraded around practically the entire outside of the school. I finally make my way into school, rushing down the hallway to my locker when someone collides with me.
"Hey!" I yell as my precious lukewarm coffee and my notebooks fall to the floor, the pens spilling out of their spirals. "Watch where you're going, will you?"
The poor girl that I've managed to knock down looks frightened, and I instantly regret being so rude. But there's no filter on me when I'm angry – unfortunately for her. "I'm sorry..." she stutters. "I didn't mean to…"
"Well you did it anyways," I snapped, finally gathering all of my things up off of the floor and managing to open my locker. "And look – my outfit's ruined!" I glance down hopelessly at my saturated T-shirt, realizing that I've forgotten to put on a bra this morning. I can hardly wait for all of the cracks to start being made about wet T-shirt contests. "These were expensive, you know."
"I…I can pay to have them dry-cleaned," the girl stammers, looking entirely more sorry than she needs to be. "I'm new here, I was just trying to find my locker, and…"
"Tell it to someone who cares," I interrupt, putting my hand up to signal her to silence. I stomp off towards the attendance office so that I can get a late pass. This is not how I wanted to start my senior year – at all.
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I walk to my first period class with the tardy slip in my hand, and the teacher just shakes his head and shoots me a look of pure disappointment. "Glad to see we're starting the year off on the right foot, Ashley Davies," he remarks as I slide into my seat – the only empty desk left in the classroom, and try to become invisible. I may act all rough and tough at times, but I do actually have feelings on the inside – somewhere deep down.
Just as he finishes bawling me out in front of everyone who is now staring at me with various levels of smirks on their faces, the classroom door opens once more. This time it's the principal and that new girl that I ran over in the hallway earlier. Shit, she's in this class?!
"Class, I'd like you to meet Spencer Carlin," the principal announces in his deep, authoritative voice. The girl standing next to him has her head down towards the floor. She doesn't like being the center of attention.
"Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?" my teacher asks.
"I'm from Ohio?" Spencer offers lamely, glancing up to see if that was enough information.
"Yes, well welcome to our class," he says as the principal turns and leaves our room. "We don't have any free desks right now, but I can assure you that by tomorrow, we will find you one."
"No problem," Spencer replies. She scans the room for a second, and I wonder what is going through her mind. She must be so nervous. I would be, if I was the new kid. I would be, if I managed to locate the person who bitched me out earlier.
After a brief moment, her eyes lock with mine, and she smiles triumphantly. "No problem," she tells our math teacher. "I think I'll just take a seat right here." And the next thing I know, she's planted herself awkwardly on my lap, because the bulky desk doesn't leave much room.
"Spencer Carlin!" our teacher remarks, looking shocked and appalled at the amount of spunk the new student actually has. He is about to say something else, but the bell rings, interrupting his thoughts.
I'm resisting the urge to push her off of me because I'm aggravated.
"Thanks," she whispers to me as she slides off of my lap and goes up to the front of the room for her textbook and the first homework assignment. I stay behind in my seat and wait for it to be my turn.
As I'm sitting there, I feel a spark of adrenaline rush through me. I smile to myself. This girl might be promising after all. She's got guts. And I've instantly got a crush.
Oh…did I forget to mention that I'm bisexual?