In my dream, it's dark. The only source of light is a projector-like screen, just kinda...floating there. Everything's still until a sudden gust of air surges through the room, knocking me off my feet. The wind blows the screen back, then it springs to life. Color fills the room. Slides faster than light flicker on the screen, each printed with a single word. After a few seconds, my eyes adjust, and I'm able to read the screen clearly. Cheater, Liar, Quitter, and so on. It seems like everything I've ever done wrong in my life makes a guest appearence. A final slide pops up on the screen, this one bolder than the rest. In a clear, bigger font, reads "Teen Mother". I wait for it to go away, longing for the original darkness. It never comes. The slide stays up there, filling me with more shame by the second.

Mothers so young weren't common in Rosewood. No one younger than mid-twenties. No one to seek help from. No one to tell me it gets easier. No one to provide hope. I was back to being how I was before Ali came along; alone.

"Toby Allen Cavanaugh, what were you thinking?" Toby's mother asked, pulling him out of the room. Apparently, she was no fan of whispering. "What if it would have been your father, not me, who walked in? I love Spencer to death, but she can't stay overnight." Her voice lowered as she heard Toby's dad stir. "It'll just cause more problems for you and I both." Through the door a hear Toby sigh, but agree. He waits until his father is once again quiet and says, "I know, she kinda sprung it on me. Her sister doesn't want her at home anymore." "This isn't a home for troubled girls, Toby. This isn't foster care, this isn't a group home. Spencer doesn't belong here. If she doesn't have anywhere else, she could go to the shelter just a few blocks away. It isn't too bad there." Toby, outraged with his mother's words, swung the door open, almost causing me to fall flat on my face. "Why don't you tell that to her face? And all the other things you've said, about her parents, her sister, her apartment, and clothes, her personality and just about everything else? Oh yeah, I know why!Because YOU have nothing good to say, and can only say it behind other people's backs!" He yelled over his shoulder, while he pushed me put of the way. He grabbed his keys of the nightstand and grabbed my hand. "C'mon, Spence. We're leaving." I shot an apologetic look towards his mother, before being dragged down the stairs, and into the truck.
"What do we do now? Go find a motel? Go back inside? Drive until we cross the border?" I know the last one was just a joke, but I can't help thinking how perfect that'd be. A brand new start in a place where no one knows us. Just another strange face on the street.
"You want to go to Canada?" I ask, hoping he says no. When I was five I had an encounter with a moose at the zoo...it wasn't pretty.
"Maybe Mexico instead. The weather's a little warmer."
"Just drive, Carpenter. But don't take me out of this national border, please."

"Spencer, you haven't said a word for a good hour and thirty minutes. Whats going on? Is it about what happened earlier?" he asks, briefly taking his eyes off the road long enough to find my hand. "Please, baby, talk to me." I flinch at the word 'baby'. That wound is still too open, too new. Then again, if you don't pour the disinfectant on it right away, it'll only get worse farther along. "Actually, there's something really important I need to tell you. I understand if you hate me and never wanna see me again, or just wanna be a part of the baby's life and not get tied down yet but-" Toby slammed the brakes, causing me to fly forward just missing the dashboard my a few centimeters. After a few honks from drivers behind him, he swerves over to a nearby parking lot. "Spencer...did you just say 'the baby'?" he questions, turning to face me in his seat. I didn't respond, just looked out the window watching the birds search the ground. "Spencer, please. Tell me the truth, did you or did you not just say 'the baby'?" Toby's closer to me now, so close I hope he doesn't hear how hard my hearts thumping against my chest, or the panicky voice inside my head. "Yes...I said the baby. As in our baby. I'm pregnant, Toby." Instead if the simple sentence I planned, it comes out all jumbled together like one gigantic word. I reach to put a loose strand of hair behind my ear when my hand grazes my now-wet cheek. Had I been crying? I hadn't cried since I was eight; tear-free since oh-three. "Honey, calm down, please. You're pregnant? Like there's-a-baby-coming-in-nine-months pregnant? Are you sure? Oh my gosh, I'm a father? I AM the father, right? Of course I am, that was a stupid question. Oh my gosh Spencer a baby..." he rambles on and on, but I let him. I sure don't feel like talking, so I'll just let him do it for us both. "That's why Mel kicked me out; we can't afford another being." I say, barely above a whisper. Toby brings my hand to his lips and kisses it softly. "Well, you could always come live with me. My father has a soft spot for children, if you can believe it."
"Speaking of, don't you think you should tell him? Rip the band-aid off?" He laughs grimly at this and responds with, "The only thing that's getting ripped of is my head. He's going to kill me." He slams his head against the steering wheel, causing the horn to go off. "At least I'll be able to tell the baby their father died for someone he loved." He lifts his head, and for the first time since I've met him, I see tears falling down Toby's cheeks. He's always been sensitive about crying, careful not to do it in front of others. He leans in and kisses my lips, softly at first, then harder. I pull away and smile. "All right, lover boy, take me to the library. You have quite the story to tell your father, and I rather not see you get murdered."

Bailey wrote this one. :)