"Jane," Joyce starts, and she rests a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder, keeping an eye on the road, "You can cry if you need to." She nods her head once, reassuring.
"You mean because I just, like, saw a M&M floating around in my belly, and TV taught us that that's the beautiful, so-called miraculous thing we call life?"
"Maybe."
"Well," El only frowns, and she sits up in her seat, feet sliding down from off of the dashboard, "Why would I cry about it?"
"I don't know," the older woman falters, and she taps one hand against the steering wheel, "Just, you know, if you feel overwhelmed or... or sad about anything."
"I don't feel much of anything." El tries for a smile then, but she can only grimace as her stomach breaks the silence for her, "Except for hunger, apparently. The kid's only nine weeks gestated and he's already a greedy little bastard."
"Have you told Mike?"
El nods, and she purses her lips, "Yeah. He got the gist of it. I told him to call me yesterday but then I never picked up, so I guess he's probably off cheesing again." She tells her stepmother with a shrug, casual and calm, "It's whatever."
"Why didn't you answer?"
"Because I already know what he'd say." She says, "He'd say something obnoxiously sweet and then I'd bust his balls about it for ten minutes until he got real serious and emo and I'd have to hang up because, you know, yikes, I don't need that kind of pressure right now."
"What kind of pressure?"
"The 'are we boyfriend-girlfriend?' kind."
"I thought", and Joyce frowns, "You aren't together?"
"Not exactly." El's nose crinkles, "I mean, really. Actually, not ever. I kind of just let him feel me up in the AV room a couple of times until I gave in to the pheromones."
Joyce's tone of voice isn't condescending, but she isn't exactly proud when she says, "Best not tell Hop any of this." She sighs, but there's a hint of amusement on her face, "I don't think he needs to know he's raising a sexual deviant."
"I'm not a deviant." El opines, hand flying out to tinker with the radio stations. She curls her legs up beneath her on the cloth seat, free arm hanging out the window as she changes the station to a folksy song, "I boned down with one nerd, Joy. I don't think I'm gonna have to start embroidering red A's on my clothing just yet." The girl places her hand flat against her tummy, lifting her gaze to stare out the front window. "Hey, Joy?"
"Yeah?" Joyce blinks, and she puts the indicator on as they come to stop at the lights. When El doesn't reply, she shoots the girl a quick look, finding her rubbing her stomach and licking her lips suggestively, "Am I picking up Max on the way?"
El nods, eagerly, and she lowers the volume on the radio to lean over and kiss Joyce on the cheek, "Thank you."
Max shoves a French fry past her lips, and she keeps it between her teeth. "How big is it?"
"I don't really know how it works, but, it's probably somewhere between a Skittle and a fingernail right about now." El scrunches her face, and she slurps at her milkshake.
Max rests her elbows on the table, "So it looks like a fingernail and it has fingernails? Gruesome."
El giggles, and she steals a fry from her friend's tray, "I think the fruity condom girl was lying about that part but..." She shrugs, leaning back in her seat with a deep breath, "I'm so full, Maximo."
The redhead just pulls a piece of the bun away from her cheeseburger and she flicks it in the other girl's direction, "Maybe if you hadn't of eaten half of my fries, you wouldn't look like you're in third trimester already."
"What the hell? You're supposed to tell me I look pretty or that I'm... you know, glowing or some shit." El shakes her head.
"No, that's Wheeler's job." Max tells her with a smirk, "It's on him to lie and tell you that you don't look like dog crap when you do." She nods, and then she wags a finger around, "Hey, please tell me I get to come with when you meet the impotent twosome next week."
"If only. Hop's already filled the position."
"You're taking your dad to meet the people buying your unwanted fetus? That's some dark shit." Max says.
"They're not buying it, they're adopting it."
"Wah, wah. That's just like when you 'buy' a puppy but you've gotta say you adopted it from the shelter because it's inhumane otherwise."
El reaches over for a final fry then, and she grins, dipping it in the puddle of ketchup she's made on her burger wrapper, "Speaking of which, I need to call Mike."
"Why?" Max pulls a face, and she wipes mustard from her bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, "Oh, my god, you're not taking him too, are you? It'd be like a traveling circus." The girl snorts, "Actually, you know, that's not a bad idea. You could tour the country, raising awareness and shit."
"Awareness? It's a pregnancy, not a freakin' viral disease."
She says, "Idiocy catches, you know. That stuff spreads like wildfire. It's, like, worse than HIV."
"Are you comparing my pregnancy to AIDS?" El questions.
"No." Max starts, and she raises a brow, dodging a thrown fry when she says, "I'm just saying they both spread because of a total disregard to condoms. You're just lucky it was Wheeler's premature body fluids that infected you and nothing else."
"First of all, who said anything about him prematurely ejaculating?" The brunettes quips, "And, second, do you even know anything about biology besides how to navigate your way around a penis? He didn't infect me."
"Look, I'm not saying the kid's gonna burst out of your stomach or some shit, but-"
"Oh, that'd be cool." El snaps her fingers, smiling at the reference.
Max nods, wide-eyed, "Yeah, no, it would, wouldn't it?"
"Mom, I'm heading out." The boy shouts as he comes charging down the staircase, backpack slung over one shoulder. It's only when he reaches the bottom of the stairs that he finds his mom already stood in the doorway to the kitchen, right hand on her hip as her left foot taps against the carpeted floor.
"It's a school night." Karen Wheeler points out, brow raised in curiosity, "Where are you going?"
"Uh," Mike pauses, and he reaches down to snatch a fresh cookie from the container she's tucked under one arm, the lid nearby on the kitchen table, "Just to Will's." He offers the lousiest of smiles, eyes widening as his lips curl.
The woman just sighs, watching as he tightens the strap of his backpack, chocolate-chip cookie caught between his teeth. "Is that," she starts, pausing until Mike looks back down at her, attentive,"Is that girl going to be there?"
"That girl being his sister?"
"Step-sister." Karen corrects him, as though it's of any importance.
"I don't know," Mike shrugs, and it's a well-sold lie, "What does that matter anyway?" He swallows a breath, taking another bite of the cookie as his mom continues to stare up at him.
(Damn it.)
"You know how I feel about her."
Mike rolls his eyes, and his hand wraps tighter around the strap of his backpack then. He tries to not let his fist go too white as he grips the nylon in frustration, "And you know how I feel about her."
"She's just... She's strange, Michael." His mom tells him, "Always hanging out with that Maxine girl. That one's trouble, too."
"Max?" Mike squints, and he has to bite his tongue, "Max, who's dating one of my best friends?" His brows knit, and he's holding back a full-on scowl now, "Do you like any of my friends who aren't on the team?"
"That Jane girl isn't your friend, Michael. She uses you because you're smart and you know it. She's being holding you back for years now." The woman informs him, all knowingly with a shake of her head.
(As though he hasn't known Jane since he was eight years old.)
Karen leans against the door, "Stay home for dinner." She offers with a wiggle of her brows, "We can order pizza if you want. Holly will love it."
"No." He doesn't mean to, but his tone isn't as nice as he wants it to be, as it usually is. "No, I'm going to Will's." Mike tells her, resolute, "I'll be back later." Reaching forward, he quickly snatches one more cookie from the box before she can stop him.
(Will's totally not home.)
"Joyce let you in?"
Mike looks up once he's shut the door behind him, taking in the blanket fort built she's built in her bedroom. Her bed's been pushed to the side, as far back against the wall as it will go, and she's pulled two - what look to be - dining chairs out onto the fluffy rug in the middle of her room. There's a sheet hanging over the backs over the stools, and she's laid out some battery-powered twinkling lights on the plaid blanket she's spread out on the floor. There are two pillows by her head, and she's lay in the middle of them both, head flat on the rug.
Her curtains are drawn shut, the blinds open behind them, and the afternoon sun is still partially seeping into the room.
"Yeah." Mike's brows raise and he leans down to rest his backpack against the bottom of her bed, hands awkwardly sliding into his pockets, "She didn't say anything though. She just kind of let me in and walked off so..." He trails off, glancing around her bedroom in mild curiosity, taking in the movie posters and decorative stickers, "Did you do something different?"
"Oh." And El smiles then, flipping over onto her stomach so she can face him. "Max helped me with it like two weeks ago. We found an old can of paint outside that hobo dumpster near Old Cherry Lane." She licks her lips, nodding her head, "I think the blue was making me seasick."
"So you went with green?" Mike grins, running his hand down the patchy, messily painted emerald colored wall.
(His favorite color.)
"I was inspired."
Mike smiles, ducking his head as his cheeks flush. He doesn't the mention the fact that she never replied to his calls, didn't call him back herself until a day later.
"Or you saw an opportunity."
(Double entendre. Touché, Wheeler.)
El smiles, and she waves a hand about, "Either way, it's you-inspired," she says, "maybe you've tapped into my subconscious and we can do that thing they did in E.T."
"A psychic connection?"
She nods, "Yeah. It'd be cool," then stops, "Or, I don't know, maybe then it'd be more masturbation than intercourse."
"Are you okay?"
She blinks, staring up at him from her spot on the floor. "Way to kill the vibe, Wheels."
"What, I'm just," He approaches her slowly, two steps when he could have taken four, "Are you?"
(She almost feels bad for not feeling bad.)
"Yeah," El shrugs, "I mean, I'm fine. My body just isn't being very cooperative so don't expect, like, a hug or anything." She rolls over on the blanket, patting the space beside her as an invitation for Mike to come and join her. "Joyce took me to the doctor today."
He doesn't say anything, but the boy makes his way over to the fort, and he sits down beside her, all awkward long limbs and stiff shoulders as he ducks beneath the overhead sheet. Then he swallows, and breathes out, and she has half a mind to wrap her hand around his throat when his Adam's apple bobs, reminding her of that time she'd kissed him there - and it pisses her off.
"You can chill, you know?" She says, choosing instead to nudge him in the arm rather than strangle him, "It's not like I'm gonna be hitting you up for baby cash or anything. I found a couple." El lays back down properly on the duvet then, staring up at the ceiling of her fort as her lay flat at her sides.
"A couple of what?" He asks, voice almost muted, and he blinks as he turns to face her.
"A couple of ex-convicts who are gonna do me a solid and sell the thing on the black market. White babies are a hot commodity, I guess. Should bring in a pretty penny and they said they'd go halfsies with me so that's a plus." The girl grins, "I could probably get you a slice." She moves into a comfier position so she can turn and face Mike with drawn lips. She pulls at the edges of her short overalls, fingernails catching on the frayed denim.
Mike rolls his eyes, shuffling over until his head is next to hers, taking over the pillow, "Have you met them?"
"The felons?"
"The... parents?" He squints, the space between his brows creasing in consideration, "The couple."
"Not yet." El tosses around for a second, stopping in when her arm comes into contact with Mike's chest. Her forehead is pressing against his chin, and she closes her eyes, "Had to make sure I was totally preggo before I got their hopes up. I'm seeing them next week. The wife's at some sort of resort for a few days. I don't know, I think she's one of those prissy, shiny types that likes highlights and happy endings."
"So you've spoken to them?"
"Only to the dude, over the phone. He sounded nice enough, a bit of a doormat maybe, but," she pauses, "Did you... did you want to have a say?"
(Shit.)
"Oh," Mike gulps, and she can hear his stop breathing momentarily. His hand on her waist slips down to her leg, and he squeezes her thigh absentmindedly, "No." She can feel his eyelashes flutter against her cheeks when she leans up, eyes still closed but seeking his warmth, "I think you know best. But, you know, I'm still here."
"For me." She finishes for him, cheeks rose, "I know, Mike. In case you couldn't tell, I'm kind of clinging to you like a koala at the moment. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have anyone to hold me."
"Like a koala?"
"Like a koala."
Mike snorts, and he cranes his neck to glance down at her then, pushing up on his elbows. He takes in the sleepy, familiar smile on her lips, "Do you want me to leave?" He moves his hand up from the floor of the fort to her waist, purposely keeping his touch against the denim of her clothes and nowhere else.
"It doesn't matter." El tells him, and she peeks one eye open up at him, "It's not like Hop has anything to worry about anymore."
"Shit." The tall boy drops back down on the blanket down, and he gulps, stills when she shuffles closer into his side. "He's totally mad, isn't he?"
"He's surprised."
"That you got-"
"That you were the one who did it." El cuts him off, and she shrugs the shoulder not pressed against him, "But, like, if it wasn't you then I don't know who he thought it would've been." Before he can reply, she throws out, "And he's seen you at practice, so like he should know your little swimmers are just as fast as you are."
"Thanks."
"You're very welcome." She sniffles, snuffles closer until she practically on top of him. "We don't have to make this complicated, do we?"
"Isn't it already complicated?" Mike asks, honest, "I mean, not to sound like a total wastoid or anything, but we did dive right in at the deep end. You know, kind of like we skipped four steps." His voice is lowered, but she catches the small, nervous crack all the same.
The girl's smile falls, "Does it really count as skipping steps if we were never going to take them in the first place?" Her eyes flutter open then, and she turns her face into the crook of his neck. Her arm slides over his stomach, dipping past the hem of his sweater.
"Weren't we?"
(Crap.)
El ponders her thoughts for a moment, evening out her breath, "I mean, I didn't think making out a few times meant we were on route to becoming lovers or anything." She teases, and thankfully he doesn't take it as badly as she thought he might.
Mike just inches his fingers up her thigh, scratching the short hems of her overalls, "Probably because you have a skewed outlook on what romance is supposed to be."
"We can blame the broken home for that one." She frowns, "Wait, you think romance is just me shoving my tongue down your throat and your hand groping my boob?" El smirks, peering up at him. She bends her knees, bringing her sock-clad feet up flat on the blanket, and she kicks at the string of lights as they tangle around her ankles.
"We're teenagers; that's like the very definition of romance."
"That's pretty effed up, you know."
"Doesn't mean it's not true." The boy mocks, "Blame the broken home."
"No, you can't play that card." El pinches his waist, over the sweater, "My mom left before I was six so I win by default. Your dad only bailed two years ago."
"And all I got was the lousy La-Z-Boy."
"What are you talking about, that thing is bitchin', son." El tells him, and she flips back over onto her back, flat against the duvet. "I'll take it. It'd go great with my dumpster paint splattered walls." She searches for his hand then, tugging on his wrist and he lets her.
"I'm pretty sure my mom would notice if it disappeared from the living room." He says, blank, and he casts her a look. "What are you thinking about?"
El sucks at her bottom lip, thinking, "What are doing for prom?"
"You know it's only October, right?"
The brunette makes some kind of noise, a huff, and then she nudges his shoulder with hers again, "Humor me."
"How?" Mike pulls a face, "I don't know what I'll be doing in, what, like, eight months?"
"Don't think about my situation, think about..." El dares a look up at him, staring at his mouth, "I don't know, think about who you're gonna bang one out with on prom night."
Mike doesn't say anything to that, and when his breathing slows and she knows she's said something wrong, El can't help but shove her foot even further into her mouth, "Oh, I know," El starts, and she crawls up the duvet so they're at eye-level, "What about Jennifer Hayes? You should go with Jennifer Hayes. Everybody loves Jennifer Hayes." She pokes him in the chest.
"What? No. I don't like Jennifer Hayes." Mike protests, and he wraps his hand around her wrist, careful and soft. His voice lowers and he smiles faintly, distantly, "She smells like soup. Have you ever smelled her?" He frowns, shaking his head, messy hair falling into his eyes, "I mean, her whole house smells like soup."
"You've been to her house?" El reaches up, brushing the hair from his eyes. She keeps her fingertips pressed to the curve of his ear, thumb against his jawline.
(She's totally not jealous.)
"I haven't been to her house. I've been outside her house." He explains, "Like, I just dropped off a casserole once because my mom made me, and it kinda smelled like onion soup."
"Maybe it was the casserole." She doesn't want to sound bitter, petty, but it just slips out.
(Fuck Jennifer Hayes.)
(Don't fuck Jennifer Hayes.)
Mike rolls his eyes, and he smooths one hand around her cheek, palm flat against her warm skin, "It wasn't the casserole. It was my mom's casserole, and they always smell delicious and you know it." His brows wiggle, playful, "Never like soup."
"Your mom hates me. She'd never make me soup."
"She doesn't hate you." Mike tells her, sincere as ever, "She just doesn't understand you."
"Still, she'd totally like it better if you went to prom with Jennifer Hayes. She could probably make you both a casserole before you left."
"And do we eat this casserole at my house or Jennifer Hayes' house?"
"Your house." El smirks, and she runs her hand from his face to his shoulder, "If you ate it at her house then it'd smell like onion soup."
"Well, what if I wanted to eat casserole here," his bottom lip twitches and he's staring at her mouth, "with you, instead?"
(Shit.)
"Then you'd be an idiot because I hate casseroles."
Mike smiles.
