Seventy dollars worth of pregnancy tests later, I finally push aside my denial and accept I'm pregnant. It's a quiet acceptance, almost a resignation of sorts. I sit on the edge of the bathtub, and gently rub the first one with my fingers. It's there, two pink lines across the white surface. Pregnant. I outlined my future on my notebook with very specific goals, and having a baby wasn't a goal at sixteen. Come to think of it, I can't remember if it's even on there. I'm not even sure if I want children. I've never considered myself as maternal, as a mother.

I put my head in my hands, restlessly running my fingers through my hair. I'm not sure what to make of the whole situation. Obviously, I'm pregnant and I can't imagine having an abortion. That terrifies me more than actually having a baby. I can't see myself giving up the baby for adoption but I also can't see myself becoming a mother at sixteen. That's frightening and I have no idea how my fathers will react. They've tried so hard to raise me the proper way and I can't help but feel as if I've disappointed them, somehow. I don't even know what's going to happen to my dreams, to my goals for the future. This, this baby, has thrown everything off the equilibrium.

I don't even know how to tell the father, or if I even should. We're not in a relationship, and I don't think that he's even interested in one. Truth be told, I'm a little worried about him becoming a father to the baby, should I keep it. Then again, he may not even want to acknowledge the baby. We just happened, and it wasn't planned. Well. Thinking over that sentence in my head, nobody plans to have a baby at sixteen. I've dug myself quite a hole here. I have to schedule myself an appointment, determine how far along the pregnancy is before I make any firm decisions.

I'm too preoccupied with my ricocheting thoughts to notice the doorbell ringing until my father, Alan, knocks on my bathroom door, telling me someone is downstairs. I get a little worried and am puzzled at the unannounced visitor, throw all my pregnancy sticks into the bathtub and walk, not run (running may not be the best thing for the baby), downstairs.

"Hey, Finn. What are you doing here? I didn't know we had plans to rehearse. Is everything okay?" I start to ramble on because I'm a little nervous, and he's eying me weirdly.

"We didn't, really. I decided to stop by after Glee Club to see how you're feeling. You looked a little green during rehearsal and I became worried when you didn't answer your phone earlier."

"It's probably just the stomach flu that's been going around lately but I appreciate the visit. I think I may have left my phone in the car but I could use the company if you want to stay." Given my current situation, I decide it may be a good idea to let him stay. He nods and starts talking off his jacket and shoes, declining my offer of a beverage or snacks, and following me upstairs to my room.

Normally, I don't allow boys into my room, except the one time I broke that rule and ended up pregnant. I'm already pregnant, and can't get pregnant a second time so I figure nothing else negative can come of this.

Wandering inside my room, he trips on the carpet, landing on my incomplete poster for the English project drying on the floor. When he stands up, I giggle since he's covered in glitter and glue.

"I'll be right back. I have to wash this before it stains." Finn stands up, hitting his head on my ceiling light, and wanders off into my bathroom. Less than thirty seconds later, he walks out holding one of my tests. He looks at me.

Oh, shit.