I ran my clammy hands through out my hair, then gripped my hands together in an effort to calm down, breathing heavily. As usual, I was unsuccessful. "How could this happen," I thought. This couldn't be possible. There was just no way. I remembered that night like it happened yesterday.

It was the day after Ezra and I's anniversary. Since my mom unexpectedly joined us on our real anniversary, we decided to redo it the next night, by making enhanced macaroni and cheese in his apartment and watching "To Kill a Mockingbird". We ended up marking the end of the night by making out by his bathroom sink, except it didn't stop there. That night, we went all the way. We didn't feel a need to stop. We were in love, and that's what people who were in love did. Especially if you've loved them long enough that you're celebrating your anniversary.

But that was 3 weeks ago. We were careful, but now I wasn't so sure. I just had to make sure. All the symptoms were obvious. I'd thrown up a few times, but thankfully nobody saw me. I'd had some cramps as usual, but they were only to my left side, which according to Ms. Allen, the health teacher, was common during early pregnancy. I had to pee twice as often, another sign of pregnancy. But biggest of all, I had missed this month's cycle. I never missed it, so that's when it struck me. That I might be pregnant.

I uncrossed my legs from my bed, stood up, and put on my old, raggedy converse, the ones I saved for things especially like this. I walked over and glanced at myself in my floor length mirror. Staring back at me was a petite brunette with raccoon eyes, hair that certainly contained golf-ball sized knots, a "The Fray" concert t-shirt with a tiny hole near the collar, and blue and white polka dotted shorts. Also staring back was somebody who looked troubled by guilt, shame, and worry.

This would be the hard part. I had to sneak out to get to the store, but my dad was sitting in his office, which was obvious because it was right next to my room, so I could hear the whirring of the fan. I knew he was in there because he always complained about how the air conditioner didn't work in there. That meant I would have to sneak into Mike's room, which was all the way down the hall, without getting caught, let myself out of his window, since he was sleeping at a friend's house, then let myself back in. That would take a lot of time, and effort. Thank God for coffee.

I got out of my room and shut my door as quietly as possible. There was the loud click from the old doorknob and I panicked, so I got down on my stomach and tried sliding across the slick wood floor, but apparently I wasn't fast enough.

"Hello," I heard my father yell, "is anybody there?" I stopped all movement and scrunched up my face, hoping that he thought it was just a random sound from our old, rickety home. Nope. Not a chance. I breathed slowly once I heard the footsteps coming from the doorway. Then, on came the dreadful flicker of the lightbulb that was in dire need of replacing. "Aria?" I winced, rolled over, and stood up, knowing that I'd been caught. I opened my eyes to a very confused dad staring at me. "What are you doing," he asked in a stern tone.

I clutched my stomach, trying to seem as real as possible. "I wasn't feeling very well, so I was going to go to the Walgreens and get some anti-nausea pills. " I hoped he would buy my story. It was kind of true.

"You know how I feel about you going out this late at night," he said, glaring at me," ever since-" he said, but I cut him off.

"I know. Since you've known that Ezra and I were dating. Well, guess what? I've been under so much stress, that I can't believe you. You're so worried about me seeing Ezra, that you don't realize that somebody's stolen Alison's body, I have to testify against Garrett in court in 2 weeks, and the fact that we're still grieving over Maya?" By then I was yelling in anger and frustration, and my dad's neck was getting all red and tight, and his expression was changing from mad to constipated to super angry and super constipated. "I'm out of here." I said, running down to the front door, feeling the tears begin to well up and my throat begin to tighten. I heard him calling my name, but I slammed the door and kept running. I ran all the way to the store, too angry and upset to look back.

I stopped running long enough to wipe off my eyes and catch my breath before taking off into the nearly empty drugstore. Arms crossed over my chest, I wandered around until I found the pregnancy tests. I took three, just to be sure, and grabbed some anti-nausea pills, just in case my dad asked. I handed my items over to the cashier, looking down as he rang them up, knowing he was judging me. I grabbed my bag, and headed to the bathroom in the back of the store. I didn't plan on taking the tests there, but I took each test and put it between my skin and the waistband of my shorts and threw away my receipt before starting the walk home.

As soon as I got home, I took our recycling bin, stood on top of it, and reached for the key to the front door that my dad had not so secretly hid. I saw him put it up there last week when my mom was moving out. After returning everything to it's proper place, I let myself in. My dad was sitting in the living room, so he must have been trying hard to ignore me. I pulled the pills out. "See, dad? Got the anti-nausea pills," I said, flashing them in one hand as I climbed the stairs.

Upstairs in the bathroom that connected off of my room, I concentrated deep in my thoughts while I peed on the little sticks. Would I give up my child for adoption? Would my dad kick me out of the family? How would I finish high school? Pacing, I realized that I probably wasn't pregnant. I'd probably just had some bad fish for lunch. As I was beginning to calm down, I heard 3 monotonous beeps.

I picked up the tests, and I was wrong. There was nothing to be calm about, because in front of me, lying on the edge of the sink, were 3 positive pregnancy tests.