A/N: A short chapter, but hopefully effective. ;) Thanks to all who read the previous chapter: Nan girl, Margaret A66, ChrisCorso (ch5), sm2003495, Al(fie), novembershowers, and Cherylann Rivers.

"Although Nancy's critics often lambast this very representation of life for its unrealistic message to readers, one must also ask: Does a star like Nancy Drew deserve anything less? Should young girls, if they aspire to lofty goals, stifle their dreams?" —The Nancy Drew Scrapbook by Karen Plunkett-Powell

Saturday, September 4, 2021

Frank spent the next week focusing on the beginning of his college semester, while Nancy and Laura focused on their writing project. Today promised to be another beautiful, sunny day, always a bit windy in Bayport due to their close proximity to the water. Their routine was to sit on the porch and write from early in the morning until lunch, take a break from 12:00 to 3:00, and then do three more hours of writing until dinner.

After a few days of outlining, Nancy's muse was on a roll. Laura had commented that Nancy's early days of drafting sounded like rats running around in the corner, from incessant and frantic typing. Nancy's first drafts were borderline unreadable as she got her thoughts out immediately and focused on word count; Laura preferred to take her time and write cleaner, so there wouldn't be so many revisions later. Laura outlined carefully and stuck to it, while Nancy tended to write the first several chapters, then realize what the story was about, and have to go back and re-write. She'd learned the painful lesson that the Delete button was her friend. Nancy found her own method of writing to be more fun, yet more stressful. The publishing world was kinder to authors who outlined: they could more easily prepare to meet their deadlines, plus send readable manuscripts to their editors at regular intervals.

And, at least once per session, Nancy felt a wave of surrealism and gratitude. Laura Hardy was still her writing hero, the professional author who'd written over forty books in three decades. Laura had been her writing coach, her mentor on a personal level, and now her writing partner. Although Nancy would never feel like her equal.

Nancy felt their shared porch swing vibrate and looked over at Laura. Laura had her hand over her mouth, her body shaking with suppressed laughter.

Nancy glanced at the laptop clock—9:20 a.m.—and grabbed another small danish. Fenton had picked up a box from the local bakery before he'd left on a case. "Break time. I've got to hear about what is so damn funny."

Laura drew in a calming breath. "There was a case a couple of years ago," Laura began, "in which the culprits attempted to kidnap Fenton right in front of our house in broad daylight. The driver pulled away before the door closed, while the other man was still wrestling to get Fenton in the backseat. So they couldn't shut the car door, they couldn't go very fast…Frank and Joe went running down the street after them and took them down with just a few punches…and I know I should have been more worried, but it was such a stupid thing to try, the whole thing was so ridiculous…I think we should make it a running gag."

Nancy swallowed her final bite and wiped the crumbs off her hands. She smiled and waited to speak until Laura had settled down from a second giggle attack. "Kidnapping should be a running gag?"

Laura wiped her eyes with her palms before answering. "The kidnapping of Fenton in particular. For the Nancy Drew series, Nancy gets an assignment from her lawyer father and then she's on her own. But readers of the Hardy Boys series don't want the adult character of Fenton to steal Frank and Joe's limelight, working alongside them throughout every case. If Fenton gets kidnapped toward the beginning of the story, then not only are Frank and Joe the sole heroes, but the mystery becomes personal to the characters."

Nancy considered this. "I like it, from a plotline perspective. But Joe would say that it lowers Fenton's status, if he's the buffoon that's always getting bested by the villains."

"Too bad. We also want to send the message to our readers that young people have the ability to be smarter and more resourceful than adults. And children's literature is more plot-driven than character-driven." Laura took off her reading glasses and looked at Nancy thoughtfully. "But you've worried about Joe's hypothetical reaction several times this week. I wonder if Joe has become your Ideal Reader."

Nancy cocked an eyebrow and waited for Laura to elaborate.

"I'm not sure if Stephen King coined the term, but he does talk about the concept in his writing book," Laura explained. "Since writers can't possibly make every reader happy, they chose one particular reader to try to please. His Ideal Reader is his wife. The whole time he's writing, he's thinking, 'Oh, Tabby will love this,' or 'Time to change the scene, Tabby's going to get bored.' The problem with Joe becoming your Ideal Reader is that he never read for pleasure until the end of high school, past the age of our target reading audience. All Joe read as a kid was assigned reading for school—occasionally—and pages that I assigned to him from Emily Post's Official Guide to Etiquette, after his more egregious offenses."

It was Nancy's turn to enjoy a laugh. "But I think that's also why I chose a harsher critic as my Ideal Reader, so I can think, if even Joe likes the books, then maybe everyone—" Suddenly Nancy clamped a hand over her mouth and ran inside.

She barely made it to the closest bathroom before she began to throw up both cups of coffee and all three danishes. She soon felt gentle hands in her hair, holding it back from her face, but didn't have a moment to feel either gratitude or embarrassment until her stomach was entirely empty.

Then Nancy flushed quickly, regretting her colorful choice of unhealthy breakfast. Her digestive system had been sensitive ever since her drunken escapade last week, and this wasn't the first time a morning session had been interrupted by it. She rocked back onto her heels and was surprised to see Laura crouching on the linoleum next to her. "Sorry," Nancy mumbled, smiling sheepishly. "Acidic coffee, plus that third danish—"

"Nancy," Laura gently interrupted her. "Congratulations."

Nancy frowned at Laura in utter bewilderment. Then the truth hit her and she plopped onto the bathroom floor in shock. "B-but I can't—I mean—I just—not now—oh, my god." Her teeth chattered, her hands shook. She'd thought nothing of her late period; it had always been irregular, arriving every six or seven weeks.

"It's a surprise, that's all. Let's sit in the living room and talk about it." Laura smiled at her and began to stand up.

Nancy did not want to talk about it. Not the conception, not decisions regarding the future, not who to call first, none of it. If they talked about it, it would become real, and something to be planned for. "Wait." Nancy reached out and grabbed Laura's hand, a little too tightly.

Laura remained on Nancy's level, waiting.

Nancy swallowed, ignoring the unpleasant taste. "I'm not ready to talk about this yet. Hopefully I'm not really… please don't tell anyone. Not anyone at all. I need to think about my options. I don't know yet...what I'm going to do about this."

Laura's hand stiffened in Nancy's. Her expression changed, her mouth tightening into a hard line. "Nancy," she said sharply, "is there any chance at all that you're carrying my grandchild?"

Nancy stared at the other woman in shock. It took her a moment to remember to respond. "No. No," she sputtered.

Laura visibly relaxed, then appeared confused and a bit chagrined by her own behavior. "Oh. And of course, even if that were the case, I couldn't make your choices for you even if I wanted to. The first step is—"

"Yes. The first step." Nancy needed space. She stood up quickly, ignoring her own lightheadedness, and slipped past Laura. "I just need to, uh, go to the nearest store."

"No driving," Laura said firmly. "I'll go."

"I'll walk. Anyway, I need to get out. I need air, I need time to myself, I need to think." The next minute was a blur of yeses and promises that Nancy wasn't listening to, almost leaving without her purse until Laura ran after her with it. She didn't know where she was walking toward, and then she found herself walking the long way out of downtown, looking for a convenience store where no one could possibly recognize her. But, no matter how far she walked or where she went, she couldn't escape from her own body. She held a protective hand over her belly, as if the baby would fall out otherwise.

She was heading toward single motherhood, at twenty, with no college degree. And no detective work; how could she take cases around the world with a squalling infant who needed her?

The condom had broken during her and Tony's rough first session, but they'd immediately stopped and replaced it. This really wasn't fair.

She thought of Ned and winced. She'd broken up with Ned because she hadn't wanted a family, and yet, here she was, later that same year, pregnant with another man's child. Then she winced again, remembering her alcohol consumption a week ago.

Nancy arrived at a very distant CVS and bought one of every brand of pregnancy test. That way, even if the first four tests were false positives, maybe the fifth test could still be a negative.