A/N: StudyInViolet, I realized I left a pretty major question unanswered and, although I knew the answer to that question myself, it was important to inform the readers. So thank you! Once again, Misery Loves Sarah (awesome name) has given me a lot to think about in writing future chapters. And JustRelax, most people who are good writers like yourself suck at math. ;D
"Dude, amazing job tonight," Devon said, slapping me on the shoulder as Micah unloaded my wheelchair and bass out of the trunk for me.
I grinned from the passenger seat, barely able to hear him over the blaring music. Directly behind me, Michelle, Gavin, and Abbie were belting out Lady Gaga. In the way back, Nick and Rider were shamelessly berating Gavin for being a "homo." If Kurt knew what my band friends were like, he'd be horrified, to say the least. It was one of many reasons I didn't mix friends outside of Glee practice.
I got into my chair and said my goodbyes, realizing I was ten minutes past curfew right as I rolled in the front door. "Mom?" I called out as I closed the door behind me, unsure of what would happen. I had never stayed out past my weekend curfew before. I figured it was best to start explaining right away. "I lost track of time and they all wanted to get ice cream. I didn't mean to be late…"
She came rushing to the door, shushing me as I spoke. "It's fine, sweetheart, just call next time," she told me. "Keep your voice down. Tina fell asleep on the couch."
Tina was here? I thought, or rather hoped, that she'd made plans with Mercedes or Quinn or Kurt or someone. I rolled into the living room as slowly as possible, trying not to make noise as Mom headed back into the kitchen. Sure enough, Tina was curled up on our couch snuggled under an afghan. A bowl of popcorn sat in the middle of the table next to a glass of chocolate milk that was almost empty. Tossed haphazardly on the table was a square of light blue fabric that she'd been crocheting. Sitting next to that was a pregnancy book I'd seen Tina reading. Her place was saved with a picture. I rolled myself up to the couch and picked up the book, opening it to the bookmark. She'd been reading about week twenty-two of her pregnancy.
"At eleven inches and almost one pound, your baby is starting to look like a miniature newborn," it read. I shifted my gaze to Tina, who looked so peaceful curled up on the couch with that one pound, eleven inch replica of Mike Chang growing inside her. My focus changed from the book to the paper I held that had been marking her place. I realized right away that I was holding her latest ultrasound. The picture did, indeed, look like a profile of a miniature newborn. My eyes scanned down to the writing in the middle of a picture. An arrow was drawn that pointed in between the baby's legs. Beside the arrow were the words: "I'm a boy!"
A boy. So Tina was having a boy.
I replaced the bookmark and learned forward to return the book to the table. As I did this, Tina stirred and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled when she saw me and then stretched, yawning and pushing the afghan off of her body. "What time is it?"
"Twenty minutes until midnight," I reported, keenly aware of the time. I gestured at the book and the blue fabric. "So, it's a boy?"
"That's what I was told last week," she said, drowsily, pushing herself into a sitting position and adjusting the couch pillows behind her.
"Last week?" I echoed. "And you didn't tell me when you found out?"
Tina averted her eyes. "You seemed kind of busy," she said. "Anyway, it's not like it's going to be my baby. It's not like I'm keeping it. So I might as well not make a big deal about it."
I wondered why she was making a baby blanket if she didn't plan to keep the baby or make a big deal out of it. Perhaps she wanted to give her son a memento to remember his birth mother. This was the first I'd heard of a definite plan for the baby. Her voice shook slightly as she told me, but she did not cry. I studied her for a moment before transferring myself to the couch. She pulled up her feet to make room.
"Have I been ignoring you?" I asked, knowing the answer to that question before it even left my lips. Overwhelming feelings of guilt surged inside of me. Tina hadn't even sought me out to tell me it was a boy. She was spending more time with my mother than with me. I was going out with all my band friends and leaving her behind.
"You're just distracted," she said, sighing a bit. "Quinn told me the hardest thing about being pregnant is never being able to completely distract myself, especially now that I can feel the baby moving. But it would have been nice to have a distraction tonight."
In other words, why didn't you invite me to your gig, Artie? I could hear what she wasn't saying. I'd learned, from spending so much time with Tina and her pregnancy hormones, that she wasn't always saying everything she was thinking. She'd developed a way of telling me without directly telling me, and I was expected to decode.
"The club we played at was kind of smoky," I hurried to explain, supposing that this reason sounded sincere enough. "I was worried about you and the baby being in that environment."
But she frowned, clearly not buying it. "You said it was teen night," she pointed out, negating my argument. "So no one would have been smoking. Are you sure that maybe you just didn't want me and my baby in that environment? I know they still think its yours, Artie, and that it makes you uncomfortable."
"So correct them, will you?" I blurted out.
"What, and get those awful pitying looks when I tell them my baby's father was killed in a terrible accident?" she shot back, piercing me with her words. "Artie, I'm sick of explaining it, okay? You explain it to them."
"Why should I have to be the one to explain it when I didn't do anything?" I countered, noticing my mother as she snuck in to hover in the corner. When she caught my eye, she shook her head slowly, willing me to shut my mouth. I did not. "Besides, it inevitably leads people to ask whether I can have kids, and that isn't a question I like to address with people who are practically strangers."
Tina glared at me before jumping to her feet, wadding up the afghan and throwing it at me. "Oh, I forgot," she said, her words dripping with bitter sarcasm. "It's all about you, isn't it? Just like it always was."
She stormed out in a hurry, muttering her thanks to my mother on the way out. When I dared to look up at Mom, she was glaring at me, too. I braced myself for a lecture, but surprisingly, she said nothing. Instead, she sighed deeply and walked back into the kitchen. In some ways, that silent disappointment was even worse.
A strange thing happened to me on Monday at school. I got slushied. Getting slushied is something that happens to me, on average, every two weeks. The jocks only have so much ice and corn syrup to go around, and sometimes they overlook me because they forget to look down as they're walking. The strange part was not being slushied. The strange part was that my tormentors were two fellow Glee clubbers.
"Mine was for Tina," Quinn snarled at me, hovering over my chair as I backed myself straight into a corner, hitting the wall. "And the one Mercedes hit you with is for her baby. You're lucky I'm not a hormonal mess myself or I'd probably kill you."
"Less is more, Quinn," Mercedes pulled Quinn away from me ever so slightly, but after taking a second to apparently think it over, she then stepped forward to empty the remaining liquid right over my head. "That is for Mike," Mercedes added, as purple corn syrup seeped under my shirt color and down my back, causing me to shiver.
I would not give them the satisfaction of provoking a reaction from me. Instead, I muttered, "Fair enough." Giving my wheels a hard push, I barreled right between them, knocking them both to the side as I hurried to make my escape. To my extreme relief, they let me go.
"LIMA LOSER coming through!" I heard Quinn call after me.
Karofsky and Azimio passed me as I rolled by and roared with laughter. Other than this, no one reacted because to them, it was just another typical day of seeing a geek get slushied. I stopped by my second period class to obtain a pass to the boys' restroom. I could feel their eyes on me as I avoided looking at my classmates. I especially didn't want to see Tina, who I knew was lurking in the back on my class, watching me along with everyone else.
As I rolled off to the restroom, I became aware that she was following me down the hall. I expertly ignored her, feeling justifiably angry over the fact that she'd ratted me out to her mob of angry girls. (Okay, two angry girls, but when they're as vicious as Quinn and Mercedes, it might as well be a mob…)
She followed me right into the boys' restroom, inciting me to turn sharply and order her out. "You can't be in here."
"Like hell I can't," she fired back, crossing her arms across her bump. Today, she was wearing a long sleeved grey thermal that clung to her middle, clunky black jewelry, a blue and grey plaid skirt, black knee socks with skulls on them, and her combat boots. The sight of a pregnant Asian vampire was sure to scare any wandering boys out of the restroom. She pulled a towel out of her messenger bag and thrust it at me. Realizing that this was the one day I'd actually forgotten to bring my own towel, I reluctantly accepted it.
"Mercedes and Quinn did this to me," I informed her, sharply, as I dried my face. "They were defending your honor, as well as your Asian spawn and the baby daddy."
She sighed. "They shouldn't have done that…"
I gave her an exasperated look, but just nodded and continued to dry off in obstinate silence. Since there was no couch, she simply leaned against the wall and watched me quietly.
"Have you even told Mike's parents?" I blurted out. She looked at her shoes and I scowled at her. "Yeah, I thought so. Matt told me you don't go to church with he and Mercedes anymore. Is it because the Changs are there?" She nodded miserably. "Tina, you have to tell them."
"I was kind of hoping I could have some support when I tell them," she said, after a moment, raising her chin to look at me with an air of insolence. "But lately, you're never even around. You never even asked how my sonogram turned out, Artie! You don't care what happens to me or my baby..."
She was crying again, which instantly bought her a way out. I couldn't tell if she was crying to manipulate me or crying because of the hormones or crying because that was what Tina Cohen-Chang always did. It affected me, in spite of my determination to be hard and uncaring with her.
"I do care," I said, meekly. "I just don't know how to help."
"Stand by me," she said. "Or sit, whatever the case may be." Tears swam in her eyes, but she kept them at bay now. "Just please don't make me do this alone."
I sighed and rolled forward, opting to take her by the wrist instead of the hand, not wanting to send the wrong message. "You're not alone."