Wes doesn't call all weekend.

I wait and I wait, but the call never comes. The call doesn't come saying, I believe you. Let's talk about this. I'll come to you. That's all I want. Right now, that's all I want. But I don't get it. It never comes.

I look awful still. Tiffany and Maria both point the fact out to me while we drive to school Monday morning. Maria's slightly more polite about it than Tiffany. But manners no longer matter. Nothing does.

Amanda Kerner grabs me as I walk to World literature. She grabs my arm and jerks me into an alcove. She beams at me and holds out a plain white envelope.

"Congratulations!" she exclaims, as I take the envelope from her. She squeals and claps her hands.

I stare at the envelope. "What is it?" I ask without curiosity.

"Open it, silly!"

I tear open the envelope and unfold the pale salmon-colored paper. I stare at it.

Amanda doesn't notice my lack of enthusiasm. "The Senior Awards!" she cries, then drops her voice. "Of course, you don't know if you've won. You won't know until the yearbook comes out. But this is your appointment to have your photo taken," Amanda explains and points at the time written on the paper. "I'll take photos of the top three boy and girl nominees in each category. And of course, you can't know which category you've been nominated for. It's a surprise!" Amanda grins. Then she winks at me. "I'm sure you can figure it out." She places a finger to her lips.

Most likely to succeed.

I begin to cry.

This pleases Amanda even more. "Oh, I knew you'd be excited! Now, don't tell anyone about your nomination. It has to be a secret. I'll see you during third period. Um…try to brush your hair and put on some make-up." Amanda rushes off, clutching a stack of white envelopes in her hand.

I never make it to World lit. Or calculus. Instead, I lock myself in a stall in the girls' restroom. I sit on the toilet and cry awhile. When I can't cry anymore, I simply sit. I sit and stare at the stall door. Someone's written a dirty limerick about Bart Taylor on it. Probably Polly. It sounds like her work. The limerick must be new. Dr. Patek usually doesn't allow such things to linger around SDS. Dirty little blights on our school that tarnish our reputation. Like me. I won't be here much longer. Dr. Patek and the school board will make me leave. Girls don't get pregnant at SDS and stay very long.

At ten-forty, I leave the restroom and walk to the yearbook room. I don't know why I bother. Greer and Karl are just coming out, grinning and laughing.

"Hey, you too!" Karl cries and gives me a thumbs-up.

Greer stops laughing. She sucks on her bottom lip. She doesn't know what to say.

I say nothing and slip past her into the yearbook room. Amanda's the only person in there. She has a dark blue backdrop set up in front of the chalkboard with a chair positioned before it. She's wearing a camera around her neck. She grins when she sees me, but after a moment it flickers.

"Um…your hair," she says. "Um…I have a brush…" Amanda hurries over to her backpack and unzips it.

I sit down in the chair. "It's okay. I don't care."

"It'll only take a second," Amanda says and comes over to me with the hairbrush. She brushes my hair back away from my face. She catches some tangles and pulls too hard. "Oops. Sorry about that. Are you sick? Maybe you have mono like Lindsey. You should get that checked out."

"I'm fine," I lie.

Amanda steps back to admire me. "Do you want to put on some make-up?"

"No."

Amanda knits her brow, perplexed. "Oh, okay," she says. "You look nice without it, too." She raises the camera and steps back further. "Smile!"

I don't smile.

The camera flashes.

"Let me take a couple more," Amanda says. "I'm not the regular photographer and I know I'll screw this up. Hey, this is the last week of school, aren't you excited?"

I shrug just as Amanda takes the second picture.

"I can't wait for Christmas. Or for Shadow Lake. Of course, that's a couple weeks away still. I've never been during the winter. The softball team went up over the summer and we had a blast. Aren't you excited about that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Amanda frowns from behind her camera. She snaps a third picture, then lowers the camera. "Kristy said she was inviting you. We're going skiing after the New Year. Abby's going and I guess her twin. Oh, and some girl named Mary. Didn't Kristy ask you yet?"

I shake my head and stand. "I'm not going," I tell Amanda. Even if I were speaking to Kristy, even if she were still my friend, I wouldn't go skiing with her. I won't go skiing with anyone. And Mary Anne's going? She can't possibly be over what happened so quickly. Or maybe she is. I don't know.

"I hope you change your mind," Amanda says. She sounds sincere. "You look like you need a vacation."

I'll try not to take that as an insult. I lift my messenger bag strap onto my shoulder. "Thanks, Amanda," I mumble and start toward the door. I pass Al Hall on my way out. I don't respond when he greets me.

"Where have you been?" Sally asks when I slide into my chair in microbiology.

"Nowhere," I answer and take out my notebook. I am dismayed to see that Kristy's seated on Sally's other side. Have they been talking about me? Would Sally tell her my secret? I narrow my eyes at Sally. I really don't know her at all.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Sally asks, irritably.

I lean over. "What have you guys been discussing?" I whisper.

"Uh…the homework," Sally replies, flipping her packet to the first page. "Did you do yours?"

"Yes," I say and open my notebook. The packet is folded inside. I give Sally another suspicious look.

"You need to knock that off," Sally informs me, then turns to Kristy and resumes whatever conversation had been going on before I showed up.

I know I should be embarrassed. Sally has been…nice…for Sally lately. I fold my arms on the table and lay my head down after we've handed in the homework. I half-listen to Dr. Clark's lecture. Sally and Kristy watch him and their notebooks intently, copying down the notes he writes on the board. This is their main concern right now. Microbiology class, that's what weighs on their minds. I wish it weighed on mine. I wish that's all that weighed.

"Hey, Shannon," Kristy says, casually, when the bell rings and we're packing up our things. "We're taking this trip to – "

"Shadow Lake," I cut in. "I heard."

"Do you want to come?"

"With you? No." I turn and walk away.

Sally catches up with me. "Kat must really like you," she says.

"She really likes to pester me."

"She must really like you if she's so willing to forgive your constant rudeness. Man, Starshine, when I think you're rude, that's pretty appalling."

"You know what I'm dealing with right now," I snap.

"Yes. I do, but Kat doesn't."

"Since when are you on Kristy's side?"

"I'm not on anyone's side. I'm neutral. I'm Switzerland. I like you. I like Kat. And I think you're being unfair to her. She wants to be your friend. You need friends right now."

I can't believe Sally White is lecturing me about friends. "I don't need Kristy. I don't need a Thomas-Brewer. I have you. I have Greer. You'll do." I sit down at my desk and take out my Italian textbook.

Sally pauses beside my desk and puckers her lips. "Oh, I'll do," she says. "Don't worry, given your current state of mind, I won't hold that against you." Sally passes and slides into her desk behind mine. She leans forward. "Have you made a decision?"

"I'm waiting for Wes," I reply, softly.

"Oh, God!" Sally cries much too loud. The entire class turns around. Signore Chancey gives us a sharp look. It's a good thing class has not yet begun. "You told him?" she hisses.

I nod.

"And?"

I bite my lip and close my eyes. "He didn't believe me," I answer in a whisper.

"I don't blame him."

"He'll come around."

"Shannon…"

Luckily, Signore Chancey calls the class to order and Sally can't finish. I work diligently the rest of the period, concentrating hard on the assignment. It takes my mind off other things. Sally doesn't bother me. Behind me, I hear her pencil scratching on her paper. Every so often, she snaps her gum. At least until Signore Chancey comes over and makes her spit it out into the wastebasket. These are the problems in Sally's life – microbiology notes, Italian translations, and getting caught chewing gum in class. When did my problems become so much bigger? So much bigger than myself?

I avoid Sally and Greer during lunch by hiding in the library, losing myself in all the homework I still have to make up. When Ms. Shellback isn't looking, I choke down a granola bar. I can't manage to eat anything more. I'm constantly on the verge of throwing up. Throwing up and crying. These are my constant threats.

Greer and Sally try to speak to me after school, but I blow them off. I have to get to the Stoneybrook Public library. That's the truth. I want to bury myself in all the homework I've dismissed for weeks. I want to bury myself and forget.

It works to a degree. I make it through part of an assignment, then gradually, everything drifts back. I remember what I am hiding from. I remember what I am hiding. Once, I leave all my things on the table and go into the restroom, where I lock myself in a stall and sob for ten minutes. I don't want to be pregnant. I can't be pregnant.

Maybe I'm not.

The thought appears like a flicker. After all, I only took two tests. I should take more. One might be negative. That one might tell the truth. Hurriedly, I cram my books into my messenger bag and practically run out of the library. It's dark outside and I trip on the library steps. I fall to my knees, but push myself up, hardly noticing. I sprint to my car and jump into the driver's seat. I check the clock on the dash. Five-thirty. The pharmacy doesn't close until six.

It's a short drive to the pharmacy. I think I make it in less than thirty seconds. Of course, I'm driving about sixty miles an hour. I skid to a stop, parking crookedly in front of the pharmacy, taking up two spots. The lights are on inside and I see the female pharmacist behind the counter, shoving stuff into her purse. I hop out of the car and throw open the door to the pharmacy, nearly knocking over a white haired woman coming out.

The pharmacist looks up. "We're closed," she tells me.

"You don't close until six!" I protest. "I only need one thing!" I dart into the contraceptive aisle.

"We're closing early. It's the first night of Hanukkah and Mrs. Hemphill has already made me late enough. I have to pick up my daughter, then drive all the way to Stamford to my in-laws'. You need to leave. You can come back tomorrow."

I slide to a stop in front of the pregnancy tests. I find the test I bought on Friday. There are three on the shelf. I grab all three and rush up to the counter. "I need to buy these," I tell the pharmacist, urgently.

She peers at me over her glasses. "I already sold you two of these. What happened to them?"

"They were defective! They said I'm pregnant!"

"Then you're pregnant. Congratulations. Now, please leave. I've already closed the register and like I said, we're closed."

"Do you have any more of these?" I ask, ignoring her comment.

"Of course. There's an entire case in the back. Why?"

"I'd like to buy it."

The pharmacist stares at me. "You want to buy a case of pregnancy tests?" she repeats.

"Yes."

"There are thirty-six tests in a case."

"One of them might be negative."

The pharmacist continues to stare at me, expressionless. She smoothes the front of her violet sweater, then turns to her right. "Bernie!" she screams. "Get out here!"

The male pharmacist appears. "Are you ready to leave?" he asks, then sees me and looks surprised. "Oh, hello."

"This young lady," his wife says, looking at him, turned away from me, "would like to buy a case of pregnancy tests."

It's his turn to stare at me. "Are you giving them out as gifts?" he asks.

Everyone at this pharmacy thinks they're so funny.

"She thinks that one of the tests might come out negative," his wife explains.

He strokes his beard and stares at me still. "It doesn't work that way, you know," he says.

"I can't be pregnant!" I shriek at them.

"Well, you are," the woman says, briskly. "Now," she lays her hand over mine. It's colder than a block of ice. "you need to make an appointment at the Stoneybrook Health Clinic. You also need to speak to your mother and your boyfriend. I can't do anything else for you. It is time for you to leave."

"Just sell me the pregnancy tests!"

The woman's patience has worn out. "No," she says, firmly. "I've closed the register and besides, I am not selling you thirty-six pregnancy tests. Do you have any idea how much that would cost you? You could have an abortion for less."

"Don't advise her to terminate her pregnancy!" the male pharmacist exclaims.

"I'm not!"

"You are! That's basically what you just said and frankly, it's rather unprofessional, Marian."

"Are you calling me unprofessional?"

"Will you two just shut the hell up and sell me the damn pregnancy tests?" I screech.

Their mouths fall open.

"No!" the woman bellows. She points to the door. "Please leave!"

I point back at her, my finger in her face. "I cannot be pregnant," I tell her, choking back tears.

She bats my finger away. "Get your finger out of my face! Go home and talk to your mother! You're wasting our time and ruining Hanukkah! My daughter is waiting!"

"The girl who was in here the other day? Yes, I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you!"

"Get out!"

I grab one of the pregnancy tests off the counter. The pharmacist lunges forward and grabs the other end. I pull. She pulls. For such a skinny woman she's certainly strong. Finally, I let go and we both stumble backward.

"I'm calling the police," her husband says.

"Fine! I'll leave!" I shout. As an afterthought, I swipe the pregnancy tests off the counter onto the floor. Then I turn and start to walk away. The telephone rings and the male pharmacist answers. I hear him say, "Hello?...oh, hi, Jeanie…what do you mean remain calm?" Then I push through the front door and step out into the night.

I'm crying as I back out onto Essex. I'm crying so hard I almost don't see the ambulance roaring toward me, lights flashing. I wipe my eyes and continue to cry the entire way home. What's wrong with me? Fighting with middle-aged pharmacists? Sticking my finger in their faces? When did this happen to me? I pull into the garage and sit awhile. I've stopped crying. I just sit. I sit and wonder how I got to this point in my life. I sit and wonder how to pull myself back up. I don't think Wes is going to save me. He thinks I am a liar. I am a liar. I rest my hands on my stomach and close my eyes. I'm having his baby and he doesn't believe me. I need him and he doesn't believe me.

I don't know what to do.

Finally, I climb out of the car. I walk into the house through the laundry room. Tiffany and Maria are in the living room, sprawled across the couch with Astrid, staring at the television. They barely acknowledge me. I go upstairs, dragging my messenger bag behind me. I'm so tired. I'm so weak. I want someone to make everything better. That someone won't be Wes. Not now. Not until I can convince him to believe me. And even then, he may never want me again. I want someone right now. There isn't anyone. Not anyone good.

"Mom?" I say, stopping in the doorway of her bedroom.

Mom's bustling around, removing suits and dresses from their dry cleaning plastic. She's still dressed in her work clothes, a plum-colored miniskirt and white blouse with a plunging neckline. I guess those are work clothes. Mom doesn't notice me, or at least pretends she doesn't.

"Mom?" I repeat.

"What is it, Shannon?" she asks, exasperated. She doesn't stop to look at me.

"I need to talk to you."

"Fine. Talk."

"I need to tell you something."

I want to tell my mother. I want to tell my mother and have her magically transform into the mother I once had.

"Fine. Go ahead."

"Will you stop moving? Will you look at me?"

Mom spins around and sighs. She crosses toward me and places her hands on her hips. "I'm looking at you," she says.

I lose my nerve. I stare at the floor, at the points of Mom's black heels.

"Well, what is it?" Mom asks, testily.

I look up and stare at my mother. The words strangle in my throat. They strangle and die there.

"Fine then," Mom says and whirls around. She starts to walk away.

"I'm pregnant!" I shriek. I can't hold it in any longer.

Mom freezes. She turns slowly back around. Then she raises her hand and slaps me hard across the face. "How could you do this to me, you little bitch?" she screams. "What are people going to say?"

I press my palm to my stinging cheek. It stings like the tears in my eyes. "Well," I say, loud and clear, "at least you finally noticed me."