Chapter 3

The morning felt . . . different. At first, Clarke wasn't sure why, but as she gradually opened her eyes and last night came flooding back to her, she realized why it felt different. For starters, she wasn't in her bed alone.

Peeking over her shoulder, she saw Bellamy sprawled out on one half of the bed, the same side he'd slept on in high school. Nothing but the thin sheet covered his waist and legs, and his gorgeous, tan chest rose up and down steadily with every breath. He was snoring a little, nothing major, and had one arm up above his head.

Oh my god, she thought, clutching the sheet to her chest. She'd really done all that last night, hadn't she? Slept with Bellamy Blake again. First time in five years. And it had been so good. But not exactly good timing.

As nice as it would have been to just continue lying there with him, maybe to fall back asleep or even to roll over and snuggle up next to him, she couldn't do that. There was . . . something she needed to do.

Reluctantly, she got up out of bed, careful not to make too much noise or movement, because she didn't want him waking up yet. She grabbed the Walgreens sack off her chair, feeling a bit foolish for just tossing it aside yesterday, dropping everything and taking off to go meet up with Bellamy. Bringing it into the bathroom, she sighed heavily and shut the door as quietly as she could. She set the sack down on the counter, grabbed her pink silky robe off the hook on the back of the door, and put it on, cinching it around her waist. Taking one long, hard look at herself in the mirror, she told herself, No more waiting.

There were some things in that sack that weren't important, like hand sanitizer and a new toothbrush. But there was one thing in there that was very important, one thing that had been giving her stress and anxiety all week.

She took out the small box that said Clearblue on the front and tried not to cry as the words Rapid Detection Pregnancy Test stared back at her. It was such a lightweight box, hardly seemed appropriate for something that could be so life-changing. There were two tests in there, but for now she was only going to take one. This was the brand that claimed to be the most accurate home pregnancy test of all, so hopefully she'd get an accurate result.

She opened the box and took out one of the sticks out of its packaging, then removed the cap to expose the part she had to pee on. There was no need to read any directions. She knew how to do this. They made it so simple even a monkey could do it. Pee on the stick, wait a few minutes, then check the result window. Easy.

Clarke sat down on the toilet, held the test stick down in between her legs, and did what she needed to do. When the tip at the end of the strip turned pink, she kept it under her urine stream for just a few more seconds, then set it down on the counter and started to wait.

She counted to sixty in her head as she paced around her bathroom. One minute. Then she counted to sixty all over again. Two minutes. A few more sixties later, she figured she'd waited long enough. Five minutes was plenty of time for the test to make its determination.

Bracing herself, she walked back towards the sink, clamping her hand down over the results window without looking at it. She picked up the test, squeezing her eyes shut momentarily, and tried to tell herself that either result was okay. She'd be twenty-two soon. She was an adult now. She could do this.

But still . . . that didn't mean she wanted to.

Forcing her eyes open, she then took a deep breath and uncovered the results window. And there it was: a plus sign.

The vertical line was dark, the horizontal line less so. But they were both there. Two lines. Even without the little key to the left of the window, she would have known what this meant. A plus sign was like a universal symbol of positive. The test was positive. She was pregnant.

Setting the test back down on the counter, she tried to keep herself calm. It wasn't like this came as some huge shock. She was late by a week, and that wasn't typical for her. Plus, five weeks ago . . . she'd done a stupid thing. A very stupid thing.

It's okay, she tried to tell herself. Everything's gonna be okay. But it didn't work, and the tears started to fall anyway. Her whole body shook as the reality set in, and she sank down to the floor. Sitting back against the counter, she just sat there and cried, as quietly as she could, of course. She wrapped one arm around her stomach and clasped the other over her mouth, trying not to have a full-on breakdown. But the tears kept coming.

She thought about how she would have to tell so many people, her parents among them. And of course the baby's father. He had no idea. They hadn't even spoken ever since the night they'd . . . They weren't even friends.

It took her at least ten minutes to get all the crying out of her system. When she started to feel really and truly pathetic, she made herself stand and checked out her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, and tear-tracks stained her cheeks. God, she had to get it together. Sitting here feeling sorry for herself wasn't gonna do any good.

She splashed some water on her face, took some deep breaths to calm herself down, and then forced herself to look at the test again. Positive. A little plus sign. A lot pregnant.

You can do this, she told herself, once again looking at her own eyes in the mirror. She looked scared, definitely not strong, but she had to suck it up and be strong right now. And that started with walking out of that bathroom.

When she opened the door and saw Bellamy lying on that bed, her heart sank. Despite having a beard now and being a bit more muscled than he even was in high school, he still looked like the same guy. The same guy who'd always been able to make her laugh. The same guy who'd loved to sit and listen to her sing. The same guy who could send a charge through her whole body with one simple touch.

It would have been nice if she'd been the same girl he used to know, but . . . she was different now. And as natural and blissful as last night had felt, it'd probably been a mistake. She'd let herself get lost in him, let herself forget for just a few hours that there had been a pregnancy test in that sack, ready to be used. For a few hours, she'd let herself pretend that she was back in high school, and that nothing else had mattered but being with Bellamy Blake.

Making her way towards the bed, she felt like she had no idea how she was going to do this. It would've been a lot easier had they not slept together last night, but . . . well, they had, and now she owed him an explanation as to why it couldn't happen again. "Bellamy," she said, reaching down to give his chest a nudge.

He made some sleepy sounds, mostly just grunts as he stirred, and squinted against the sunlight coming in through the window as he opened his eyes. "Hey," he said, smiling as he looked up at her.

All she could manage was a small smile back. A sad one.

"Does this feel like old times or what?" he said, reaching out to grab her hand. "Come here," he said, moving over a bit so she had room to sit down. He probably wanted her to lie down with him, but she didn't feel like she should do that, so she just sat on the side of the bed instead.

"How long you been up?" he asked, rubbing his hand against her thigh.

"Not long," she replied.

He yawned and then inquired, "You got anything goin' today? 'cause I don't. Maybe we can just . . . stay in bed."

Oh, she so wished they could. But that just wasn't a possibility now. "I've got some things I need to do," she told him regretfully. Even if she hadn't been pregnant, she still needed to go fix up that bio test, get her dress for tonight, all sorts of things.

"Oh." He sounded disappointed, but he didn't question it. "Okay. What about tonight then?"

Tonight . . . would have been nice. But that wasn't possible, either. "Bellamy, there's . . . there's something I need to tell you," she mumbled, lowering her head, ashamed that she hadn't been upfront with him about this last night.

"You alright?" he asked, the concern evident in his tone.

She honestly wasn't sure, so she just blurted out one thing she knew she was: "I'm pregnant."

Bellamy's whole expression morphed into a shocked one. His mouth dropped open a bit, and his eyes immediately flitted down to her stomach, where she wasn't yet showing and wouldn't be for a while still. He withdrew his hand from her leg and didn't say anything, but he looked like he wanted to. He looked confused, and who could blame him? They'd just slept together last night, and now she was telling him this?

"I've been pregnant for a couple weeks now," she clarified. "I wasn't sure, but I missed my period last week, so I took a test and . . . it's positive." She tried to smile, but it felt like more of a grimace.

"Oh," he said, clearly dumbfounded. The poor guy. He'd just woken up, and now here she was dropping this bombshell news on him. He didn't seem to know what to say for a moment—neither did she—but eventually he cleared his throat and asked, "Do you know . . . who the father is?"

"My ex-boyfriend," she answered. "Finn." If there was a silver lining to this situation, it was that she at least knew who the father was without a doubt. She hadn't gone out and slept with other guys since then, thankfully. "We broke up this summer, but last month, we were both at the bar," she explained. "Had a couple drinks, one thing led to another . . ." She trailed off, figuring it was pretty much self-explanatory from there. Her memories of that night were a little fuzzy, but she did remember that Finn hadn't worn a condom, and she'd been too drunk and stupid to remind him to put one on. That plus the fact that she'd been a couple weeks late getting her birth control shot had all contributed to them . . . making a baby.

God.

"Wow," Bellamy said as his eyes fixated on her stomach again.

"Yeah." Wow was definitely a good word for it. "I'm sorry, I should've told you I might be . . ." She felt horrible, felt like she'd lied to him even though she hadn't intended to. "I mean, I didn't know for sure until just now, but . . . I still should've told you I had suspicions. I wasn't trying to keep anything from you. It was just . . ." She blinked back tears, not able to look him in the eye as she spoke. "I got caught up last night, and . . . I didn't wanna think about it."

Bellamy didn't say anything for a few seconds, but when he did, it was a super understanding "That's okay."

"No, it's not," she argued. "I should've told you."

"Clarke, don't worry about it," he said.

Oh, but she was worrying. She was worrying about a lot of stuff right now.

"I'll just . . . I'll just get dressed and leave then," he decided. "You got a lot goin' on."

She nodded, hating that such an amazing night had to end like with a morning like this. "I'll be downstairs," she said, standing up. She pulled her robe shut a little tighter and started for the door.

"Hey," he said, causing her to turn back around. He smiled at her slowly, then said, "Congratulations."

With tears stinging her eyes, she managed a "Thanks," wishing she felt like it was a congratulatory thing.

When she went downstairs and began to whip up some breakfast, she was hyper-aware of her sense of smell. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary yet, but it wouldn't surprise her if soon she started hating the smell of scrambled eggs, if she got to the point where she couldn't even eat them. And maybe pancakes, which she wasn't a big fan of, would start to taste good. Everything was gonna get out of whack.

Bellamy strode down the stairs a few minutes later. He must not have taken a shower, but he had gotten dressed. "Nice bathroom," he remarked. "Nice house. Thanks for, uh . . . having me over."

She wondered if he regretted it now, but . . . ultimately, she just couldn't. "Thanks for texting me," she said, knowing that she wouldn't take back last night for anything. Maybe she'd been meant to have that one last perfect memory with Bellamy now that everything in her life was going to change.

Standing by the front door, he looked so uncharacteristically awkward as he said, "So I guess I should go."

"Yeah." She supposed he could have some eggs, if he wanted to, but . . . who was she kidding? Bellamy probably just wanted to get out of there, and she couldn't say she blamed him for that.

As he reached for the doorknob, she said, "Oh, Bellamy, will you not tell anyone about . . ." She couldn't even really say it all that well yet. "I just don't want it to get around and then get to Finn or my parents before I get a chance to tell them."

"I won't say anything," he promised.

"Thank you." She knew she could trust him. She'd always been able to trust Bellamy.

"See you around, Princess," he said, giving her one more small smile before he ducked out the front door.

"Bye," she whispered sadly well after he was gone.

...

Bellamy felt like he'd been hit by a two-ton truck as he drove home that morning. When he'd woken up, he'd felt great, on cloud nine even. Naturally, he'd assumed that last night was just the tip of the iceberg, that he and Clarke would get to spend a lot more time together now that he was back. Hell, he'd fallen asleep planning to wake her up with his head between her legs. But none of that had happened, and now none of it was going to happen, because . . . Clarke was pregnant. With some other guy's kid.

Damn, that bummed him out.

He lumbered in the side door of his house, feeling let down. There was no other way to put. The whole reason why he'd texted Clarke and wanted to meet up with her last night was because he'd missed her these past five years, because he'd never forgotten about her or forgotten how much fun they'd had. When he'd found out she didn't have a boyfriend, he'd assumed that was good news for him, cleared the way for the two of them to maybe start something up again. But apparently fate had other plans.

"Well, well, well," his mother's voice rang out as she poked her head out of the kitchen. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"Sorry I didn't make it home last night," he apologized, stepping out of his shoes. "I should've called."

"You're a grown man, Bellamy. If you wanna stay out all night, stay out all night," she said. "Who'd you meet up with?"

"A friend," he replied, following her back into the kitchen.

"Miller?" she asked.

"No, not yet."

Even though she was in the process of doing dishes, she stopped with a spoon in her hand and gave him a curious look. "Clarke?"

He didn't say anything, but he couldn't fully suppress his smirk.

"Oh." His mom nodded. "Well, at least that explains why you were out all night."

"No, it's not . . ." He scratched his eyebrow, trying not to go too much into detail with what had happened. His mom was cool and everything, but she was still his mom. "We're not starting back up again," he informed her.

"Oh, really?" She sounded skeptical.

"Really." Unfortunately.

His mom turned back around to the sink and resumed the dishes. "That's too bad," she remarked. "You know, I always liked her. She was spunky, sweet. Parents were a bit high and mighty, but you always seemed really happy with her."

"I was," he recalled. He hadn't been exaggerating last night when he'd told Clarke that his senior year had been the best year of his life. She'd made that year for him, and he hoped she knew that. "But it's been five years," he added, more so as a reminder to himself than his mom that they couldn't just pick up where they'd left off. "Things change."

"Hmm," she said. "Well, we'll see."

As much as he would have liked to share his mother's skepticism . . . he couldn't just barge in on Clarke's life now that she was having a baby. She and that guy, Finn or whatever . . . they were gonna have some stuff to figure out, and he had to give them space to do that.

Feeling like he needed to shower and get a little more sleep, Bellamy trudged back to his bedroom, cringing when he got in there and took a good look at it. It'd been nice at first, coming back to the house he'd grown up in and seeing that nothing had really changed. But now that he'd seen Clarke's place, he sort of felt like an idiot. The same posters of the same celebrity women he'd had a crush on back in high school still decorated his walls. The same football figurines he'd had on his desk were still there. Hell, his jersey was probably still hanging in the back of his closet, unworn and untouched for years.

I gotta get my own place someday, he thought as he flopped down on his bed. He loved his mom dearly, but he was turning twenty-four in a couple of months, and it was sort embarrassing to be living with her again.

He lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he should give Miller a call today. A lot of the friends he'd gone to high school with either hadn't ever left Arkadia or had moved back. It'd be good to see some of them. Maybe not as good as it had been to see Clarke, but . . .

Dammit, he swore internally. He was gonna have to try to stop thinking about her.

...

The knock on his bedroom door wasn't enough to distract Bellamy from the film of last Friday's football game. "I'm watching porn, Mom," he lied.

The door slowly creaked as it opened, and when Bellamy cast a quick glance over his shoulder . . . "Clarke." Definitely not his mom. "Hey."

"Hi."

Fuck, she looked cute. She was wearing jean shorts and a long-sleeved red top. Screw cute; she looked hot as hell.

"That doesn't look like porn," she said, motioning to his computer screen.

He paused the film of the game, right as he was about to throw for a few yards, and said, "Sometimes I just say that so she'll leave me alone."

She laughed a little.

Spinning his computer chair all the way around, he asked, "What're you doing here?"

"Nothing much," she said with a shrug. "Just thought I'd stop by. Your sister let me in. She was on the phone with someone. She sounded angry."

"Yeah, she has rage problems. We're workin' on that." He looked her up and down, not even bothering to disguise his desire, then asked, "So did you have fun at homecoming?"

"It was alright," she answered. "Kinda boring."

"Yeah." He'd been bored, too, what with having to take pictures for the paper and the school website and the school's Twitter account with that dumb crown on his head. He'd ended up finding the time to make out with Bree and another girl—both at the same time, actually—but he'd been so exhausted because of the game the night before that he hadn't even bothered taking either of them home.

"I wish you hadn't had a date," he told her. "We could've fooled around a little bit."

"Well, that's why I'm here," she said.

"To fool around?" His interest was piqued then.

"Yes, I wanna . . . I wanna return the favor that you did for me the other night."

"You mean when I went down on you?" That was hardly a favor. More like a privilege.

"Mmm-hmm."

Slowly standing, he grinned at her and teasingly asked, "Are you saying you wanna go down on me?"

A tint of red crept to her cheeks. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. Clarke's pretty mouth wrapped around his cock . . . god, he'd jacked off imagining it last night. "Have you ever given a blow-job before?" he asked her, feeling like he already knew the answer.

"No," she admitted. "But I thought you could teach me."

He suspected he'd taught a few girls over the years, but none of them had liked to publicize the fact that it was new for them. "Yeah, I can do that," he said, enjoying how Clarke was so open about never having done this before. "Right now?"

"Yeah," she said. "If you want to."

"Sure." He tried to play it cool, but inside, his libido was doing backflips. "Lock the door, will you?" he said as he began to undo his pants. Didn't need his seventh grade sister walking in on them. Clarke turned the lock on the doorknob while he pushed his jeans down to the floor and stepped out of them. His boxers went next, and then he sat down on the side of his bed and spread his legs. "Come on," he said, motioning her over. "Come right here."

If she was nervous, she didn't really show it as she came in front of him and got down on her knees. Hmm, maybe that meant she'd been fantasizing about this, too. Here she was with his cock in front of her face, and she didn't look unsure at all.

"Maybe start off with your hand," he suggested, leaning back on his forearms, "get it hard."

She nodded once before gripping the base of his shaft with one hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze, and he groaned. Then she began to slide her hand up and down his full length, pumping him. "Like this?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's good." He watched intently as her small hand stroked his length, and he felt himself getting hard because of her touch. Her hand, her fingers were so light compared to his skin. He was darker than her everywhere, but with the blood pooling in his cock right now, the contrast was even more noticeable. Her hand was a lot softer than his, too. It felt nice.

After she'd been at that for a couple minutes, she asked, "Now should I . . .?" and trailed off. But the question was obvious.

"Yeah, go ahead," he invited. "Just take a little at a time."

She scooted forward on her knees, keeping her hand around the base of his dick while she brought her face closer to his crotch. She hesitated for a second, closed her eyes, and then then opened her mouth to wrap around the head of his cock. As she released it, she almost kissed the tip of it and . . . damn, that was good stuff.

He began to suspect Clarke may have done a little porn-watching herself when she licked the tip of it, gathering up all the pre-cum with her soft, wet tongue. Then she opened her mouth wide again, wide enough to take a little more than just the head of him this time. It felt so good, and it was so hard not to just hold her head still and fuck right into her mouth, but this was her first time doing this. He didn't wanna hurt her.

When she released him again, she asked, "Is that alright?"

"It's good," he said, feeling kind of glad now that he hadn't taken Bree home after homecoming. Lately, this kind of thing was a lot more fun with Clarke. "Keep goin'," he urged, loving that he could just lie there and watch her. She looked so pretty with his cock in her mouth, and he really admired that she seemed to be trying to fit as much of it as she could in there. "Yeah . . ." he groaned low in his throat, reaching down to tangle his hands in her hair. He pressed down on her head, guiding her movements a bit, helping her understand exactly what he liked, and when he let go, her head was full-on bobbing.

At one point, he felt himself hit the back of her throat, and even though it felt fucking amazing for him, it triggered her gag reflex. She coughed and had to pull away for a moment.

"Careful," he cautioned. "Don't try to take too much."

With almost a look of determination on her face, she opened her mouth and began sucking on him again. She picked up the same exact pace and rhythm, and Bellamy felt himself getting closer.

"Move your hand at the same time," he instructed her. When she began sliding her hand up and down the lower half of his cock, he groaned, "Yeah, like that." He shut his eyes for a few seconds and just reveled in the sensations. Her mouth was like this small, hot cave, and it kept pulling him deeper just like her pussy had a few nights ago.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned her.

Again, she pulled back, this time to ask, "Should I . . . keep going?"

He shook his head. "Just use your hand. You don't have to swallow."

"I can," she offered.

"You don't have to." As nice as it would have been to cum in her mouth, he'd seen plenty of girls, some with a lot more experience than her, try to swallow and end up hating it.

"I'll try," she decided, lowering her mouth down onto him again.

"Oh, shit, Clarke." Part of him wanted just pull her head away, because he didn't want her to feel pressured, like she had to swallow. But the other part of him just couldn't help but let it happen. He'd told her she didn't have to, after all, so he hadn't pressured. If she wanted to try, then who was he to stop her?

It only took a little longer, and suddenly, he felt like his brains were shooting out through his cock. She tried her best, but while he was cumming, she had to tear her mouth away, and the rest ended up squirting all over her hand and a little bit on her cheek and chin. He wasn't offended or anything. Semen wasn't exactly known to be fine dining.

"Sorry," she apologized when it was over.

"That's okay." Hell, she didn't have anything to be sorry for. She'd gotten him off, and she'd probably still swallowed a little bit in the process. He was proud of his eager little sex student for that.

"I wasn't expecting . . . so much," she said as she wiped off her face.

"It's okay. You did good," he assured her. A little more practice and maybe she'd even get to the point where she could deep-throat him. He wasn't gonna push her too far too fast, though.

"I'm gonna go clean up," she announced, getting to her feet.

"Alright." He was gonna just lie there and come down from his orgasm for a moment. Fuck, that'd felt good.

An idea occurred to him as he was recuperating, an idea about something they could try next if she was up for it, and since he just had to tell her about it, he tugged on his boxers and left the room.

"Hey, Clarke? Maybe sometime we can try a sixty-nine," he suggested on his way to the bathroom. Unfortunately, there stood his mother in the kitchen doorframe, a brown paper sack full of groceries in her arms. "Hey, Mom," he said, wishing she hadn't overheard that. She must've just gotten home.

"Son," she said tersely.

From inside the bathroom, he could hear Clarke washing her hands, but when she turned the water off, she asked, "You really think I'm ready for a sixty-nine?" A few seconds later, she came out into the hall and came face to face with his mother. She looked mortified as she said, "Oh. Hi, Mrs. Blake."

"Hello," his mother responded.

"Mom, this is Clarke. Clarke, my mom," he quickly introduced the two of them.

"Nice to meet you," Clarke said, extending her hand in greeting, but then she pulled it back just as quickly. Even though she'd washed her hands . . . yeah, she'd still just jacked him off with it.

"You, too," his mother returned. As always when she caught a girl in the house, she wasn't saying much.

"Well, I was just leaving," Clarke said, side-stepping down the hallway. "But Bellamy, we can meet up later and study. On page sixty-nine in our textbooks."

Oh god, she couldn't have been more obvious if she'd tried, but it was adorable that she was trying to cover it up. "Bye, Clarke," he said, smiling at her.

She waved hurriedly, then dashed towards the door. Like she couldn't get out of there fast enough.

"I don't even wanna know," his mother grumbled, shaking her head as she went into the kitchen.

He retreated back to his bedroom, happy to not have to tell her.

...

Bellamy slithered out of his pants, then took his shirt off, too. He kept his underwear on, rolled over onto his side, and got under the blankets, closing his eyes so he could try to fall back asleep. He'd probably dream about Clarke again, but oh, well. At least he could dream about last night now.

...

The charity event at the hospital was . . . like any other charity event at the hospital, really. Clarke had been to too many of them to keep track of. But she knew her mom was the driving force behind this one, knew it meant a lot to her, so she put on her happy face, picked up her dress from the dry cleaner, and went to the charity event that was so near and dear to Dr. Abigail Griffin's heart.

"This is a really good turnout," her mother remarked.

"Yeah," Clarke agreed, swiping yet another cheese cube off of the food table. "Better than the last one." In mid-chew, she realized that she'd probably eaten about ten cheese cubes at this point, so she decided to slow down, even though she was really hungry. No need to give her mom any reason to suspect anything.

"I like your dress," her mother remarked.

"Thanks." It was a floor-length, form-fitting maroon thing, strapless, and because she'd had it tailored to her measurements, it fit her like a glove. She doubted she'd be able to fit into it much longer, though. After Bellamy had left, she'd gotten online and found out that first-time mothers often began developing a baby bump between twelve to sixteen weeks. And if she kept knocking back these cheese cubes, she'd probably start showing even sooner.

As attendees verbalized and vocalized all around them, in came Marcus Kane, Clarke's mom's boyfriend. He was wearing a nice suit, of course, but his Jesus hair was extra Jesus-y tonight, and he hadn't trimmed his beard like his girlfriend had asked him, too. "Hi, sweetheart, sorry I'm late," he said, giving Abby a kiss on the cheek. "One of the kids at the center was having a hard time. I had to stay."

"That's okay," she said. "You're here now."

As far as excuses for running late went, a kid in crisis was a pretty good one. Back when they'd first met Kane, he'd been a big businessman and their next-door neighbor. But nowadays, he ran a mentoring program for troubled youth and had moved in with her mom. Clarke liked the guy and everything, but walking in on him and her mom doing it on the kitchen table had pretty much made her want to gouge her own eyes out. All the more reason to live in the beach house.

"How'd your exam go yesterday, Clarke?" Kane inquired. "I know you were worried about it."

"Well, I forgot to answer an essay question, but luckily my professor let me do it today," she said.

"See, I told you there was nothing wrong with being the favorite student."

Definitely nothing wrong with it, except for the fact that people had always called her the teacher's pet and assumed she just got good grades without even having to work for them.

Clarke spotted a familiar main of black hair weaving through the crowd, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes when Callie Cartwig, her mom's supposed 'best friend' approached. "Abby," she said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Beautiful event. And I see you've got a lot of donations already."

Probably none from you, Clarke thought. Callie was a social climber, had a penchant for gossip, and always made bedroom eyes at Kane when Clarke's mom wasn't watching.

"What's this raising money for again?" Kane asked.

"A pregnancy counseling program we'll be starting up at the hospital," Abby explained. "It's meant to assist expectant mothers who perhaps don't have the financial or emotional support they need."

Dear God, Clarke thought, trying not to tense up. That was what this event was for? What a great fucking coincidence that, on the day that she took a pregnancy test, she just happened to find herself here tonight. Not that she needed financial support or anything—her parents were loaded. But emotional support . . . yeah, she'd probably be in need of that.

"That sounds like something worth toasting to," Kane declared, plucking a glass of champagne off of a tray as a waiter walked by. "To the new program. Let's hope it helps lots of women out there."

"Cheers," both Abby and Callie said, raising their glasses up and tapping them against Kane's. Clarke did the same with the drink in her hand, except she couldn't drink it. So she just stood there, hoping it wasn't too obvious. Her mom was a doctor, though. If anyone could connect the dots between the cheese cube binging and the lack of alcohol-drinking, it was her.

"Excuse me," Clarke said, feeling like she needed a momentary escape. She brought her very full glass up to the bar, needing something non-alcoholic in it.

"What can I get for you, miss?" the bartender asked.

"Club soda," she replied. She just wanted to blend in tonight and not draw any unnecessary attention to herself. And everyone there was drinking, so she had to drink something, too. Maybe after she went and had her first ultrasound and confirmed that the baby was still . . . there . . . then maybe she'd tell her mom what was going on. But for now, she didn't want her to suspect anything.

...

As the event was winding down that night, Clarke made an excuse to leave—a big exam to study for all weekend. Yeah, right. It was early in the semester. They weren't having that many exams yet. But her mom didn't question it, so she said goodbye to her and Kane, then left. Instead of going home, she drove over to Raven's apartment. She was pretty sure she heard her best friend run to the door after she knocked on it.

"I'll get it!" she heard Raven say. When she pulled open the door, she exclaimed, "Hey, you! What's the occasion for this dress? You look so pretty."

"My mom's charity event," Clarke explained succinctly, stepping inside.

"Oh, I see. I thought you were meeting up with Bellamy again or something."

"No, not tonight." Not for a long time, she thought glumly, if ever.

"Well, give me all the juicy details," Raven said, muting the volume on the TV. "I wanna hear everything."

Clarke cast a quick glance over at Raven's boyfriend, Murphy, who was sitting at his desk, talking to his computer screen. He had a very expensive camera attached to the top of it, and a light was on to show it was recording.

"Is he filming?" she said.

"Yes, I'm filming," Murphy answered for Raven, "and now I have to start all over because you ruined my introduction."

"Sorry," she apologized. She knew Murphy took his YouTube videos very seriously.

He pressed a button on his camera, then pressed another one and started in all over again. "Hey, what's up, you guys? It's your man, Murphy, and I'm back with another rant," he said. "Now when I woke up this morning, I thought to myself, Murphy, what're you gonna rant about today? Politics? Music? Society in general? And then, two words came to mind: bleu cheese."

Clarke made a face. What the fuck?

"Just ignore him," Raven said. "That's what I do." She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside her. "Sit."

As Murphy continued his video, Clarke took a seat next to her friend, not sure she could say everything she needed to while a camera was rolling.

"Okay, tell me all about it," Raven said eagerly. "Is he still a hottie? Does he still make your knees go weak? Does he still have a really deep voice?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Clarke answered.

"Oh my god, this is so exciting!" Raven exclaimed. "So is he, like, back back, or just visiting?"

"No, he's back. For good."

"You're kidding. Clarke!" Raven slapped one hand down over her heart. "This is perfect."

Was it, though? It would've been perfect five weeks ago.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Murphy growled, throwing his hands in the air as he spun his chair around. "How am I supposed to make this video with you two yakking in the background?"

"Just go in the bathroom," Raven suggested. "It's gonna be a babble-fest out here."

He sighed and shook his head, then unplugged and picked up his whole laptop. "One hundred and ninety-eight thousand subscribers, and I'm still exiled to the bathroom," he grumbled, dragging his feet on the way in there. He slammed the door shut, pretending to be all pissed, but Clarke was sure one little kiss from Raven would make him into nice Murphy again.

"Is he really gonna rant about bleu cheese?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah, Murphy can rant about anything," Raven said. "But enough about him; he's boring. Tell me about Bellamy. What all happened?"

"Well . . ." She was still trying to wrap her mind around everything herself, to be honest. "We met up at the bar, talked for a little bit. He told me all about what he's been up to these past five years. Traveling the world, basically. And then we went on a walk around town and talked some more and laughed about a bunch of stuff. And then he came over to my place, and I showed him the house, and . . . that was it." Except for the fucking, she thought. And Bellamy had made her cum three times, so it'd been some really good fucking.

"Oh, no, that was not it," Raven said, able to see right through her immediately. "Fess up, Clarke Griffin. You slept with him, didn't you?"

She looked down at her lap, then met Raven's eyes again. "Maybe a little bit."

"I knew it! You two never could resist."

Nope, Clarke thought, never could.

"So does that mean he doesn't have a girlfriend?"

Clarke shrugged. "He didn't say anything about one." Bellamy wouldn't do the long-distance thing with any Italian girls, so she felt safe in assuming that he was totally on the market.

"And you don't have anyone, either, so . . . perfect timing," Raven declared again.

Oh, if only it had been. "I don't know about that," she said, not sure how she was going to explain to her friend that, no, this was not the reunion of Bellamy and Clarke.

"What do you mean?" Raven spat. "You're single, he's single. I take it the physical attraction's still there."

"Oh, yeah, definitely." Bearded Bellamy was definitely the hottest Bellamy she'd ever seen.

"So what's stopping you?"

She sighed, wondering if she should tell Raven everything that was going on. Five weeks was hardly anything, and most couples didn't even share the news until that first ultrasound confirmed everything. But she and Finn weren't a couple anymore, so she had no one else to talk to about it.

Even though she knew that Raven would be encouraging and supportive and everything that a best friend was supposed to be, Clarke just didn't feel like delving into that conversation right now. She'd done pretty good today, kept herself busy with errands and stuff. But if she let herself stop and think about this for too long, if she let herself talk about it, then the waterworks would spring up again. And she really didn't want to both start and end her day crying.

"It's just that five years is a long time," she said. "A lot's happened. I don't know if he and I should just jump right back into things."

"But you've already jumped, both of you," Raven pointed out. "You did the bone dance."

"We did," Clarke said cringing a bit. "We really did. But that doesn't mean we're getting back together."

Raven's voice rose in volume when she demanded, "Why the hell not? You guys were so great together."

"That was high school," Clarke rationalized. "This is now."

"Clarke . . ."

"Look, I can't really stay," she said, getting to her feet, "but I just thought I'd swing by and tell you how it went. I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?"

Raven sighed exaggeratedly, obviously annoyed that there wasn't more good news to chatter about. "Okay."

"Bye." Clarke waved as she saw herself out. Well, that hadn't accomplished anything, had it? She hadn't told her mom, hadn't told Raven . . . hell, so far Bellamy was the only person she'd told. And that had been hard enough. She didn't even want to think about what it was going to be like telling Finn.

When she got home that night, she left the lights off downstairs and headed up to her room. At the top of the staircase, though, she stopped, looked at the closed door to the one empty room in her house and let out a heavy exhale. What was perhaps meant to have been a guest room was now going to have to become a nursery.