Disclaimer: I do not own Camp Rock or Wizards of Waverly Place.

Yes, I had to reupload this chapter about five minutes later. There was an issue. Sorry for the confusion.

4 reviews for last chapter? Really, guys? Come on, now. You can do better than that. I dare you…

Mitchie Torres sat on the floor of her bathroom, tears running down her face, like usual. She had her back leaning against the cabinet, her knees to her chest. Her long brown hair fell around her face, sticking to her cheeks occasionally because of the wetness. Her nightshirt was already soaked from using it to wipe her eyes.

"Caitlyn, I'm scared to death," Mitchie said as quietly as possible into her phone. She had been back from Camp Rock for about two months and had called Caitlyn nearly every day, her being the only person that knew her secret, the only person she could talk to.

"I'm sure everything will be okay," Caitlyn said. She told Mitchie this every single phone call, even if neither of them believed it.

"But what if, Caitlyn? What if this pregnancy test comes out positive?" Mitchie asked, holding the box in the hand that wasn't holding her cell phone.

"I don't think you're pregnant," Caitlyn said, cradling her cell phone against her neck as she flipped through pages in her magazine. When she got to a page with a picture of Shane Gray, she picked up a pen off her desk and stabbed the pop star in the face with it, feeling nothing but hatred for the boy who was causing her best friend nothing but pain.

"I think I am," Mitchie said quietly, crumpling the box in her hand. "I've been getting sick recently, right when I wake up."

Caitlyn stopped flipping through the magazine, this bit of information new to her. "You could just be literally worrying yourself sick."

"I've missed a few periods too, Cay." Mitchie poked her head back into her bedroom to check the time, seeing it was nearly midnight. She'd had to make this call after her parents went to bed so they wouldn't hear her. She'd taken the test at approximately 11:50. Her results would be ready around midnight.

The curly haired girl sat up straight, suddenly very alert. "How many?"

"I haven't had one since before we left Camp Rock."

"Fuck," Caitlyn said, the seriousness of the situation dawning on her.

"Gee, thanks," Mitchie said, eyes on her very nervous stomach. The idea that a life could be growing in there both amazed and terrified her.

"Well, you know, stress can cause you to miss periods, and you've been stressed ever since that night."

"That's a possibility, but would it last this long?" Mitchie chewed her bottom lip.

"I don't know," Caitlyn admitted. "Did you go get checked for any diseases? You never know what Shane has."

"No, I didn't." Mitchie sighed and lay down on her bed. "I don't think he had anything, though."

"You might be surprised," Caitlyn said. "You didn't think the punch was spiked, either."

"Thanks, Caitlyn, that makes me feel loads better!" Mitchie said bitterly into the mouthpiece of her phone. "Besides, most diseases take at least six months to show up, anyway. So I'll just get checked in December. Merry Christmas."

"So let's just say you were pregnant." Caitlyn tapped her fingers on her desk, trying to calculate. "That would make you how many months along?"

"Well, we had sex at the end of July, and it's almost the middle of October. So that would make it about two or three months."

"So that would mean you'd deliver in six months, then." Caitlyn thought about it for a moment. "You'd be due in April. If you were pregnant, which I don't think you are, once again."

"That makes one of us," Mitchie muttered.

"You only had sex one time!" Caitlyn said, standing up from her desk and starting to pace across her room.

"It only takes one time, Caitlyn! Don't you pay attention in health class?" Mitchie pinched the bridge of her nose, the current conversation beginning to give her a headache. She checked the clock again. 12:01. It was time to check the test. "Cay, my results are ready," she said quietly, barely able to talk past the lump in her throat.

"Just breathe, Mitchie," Caitlyn said, wanting nothing more than to be with her friend; but they were states away. "No matter what, I'm here for you."

Mitchie nodded, even though Caitlyn couldn't see her through the phone. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the bathroom. Her nerves were on edge and her stomach was in knots. She always hated getting test results back. She was always afraid she'd failed; although, this was a test Mitchie wouldn't mind failing. This was a little more serious than an F in history.

She went over to the little cup at the edge of the counter that held her urine, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She'd placed the stick so that she couldn't see the results until she actually picked it up.

"So, what is it?" Caitlyn's voice buzzed in her ear, startling her.

"I haven't looked at it yet," Mitchie snapped.

"How will you know if you're pregnant?" Caitlyn asked. "What kind of test is it?"

"Plus sign for positive, minus sign for negative, now hush!" Mitchie scolded. When she was met with silence from the other end of the line, she took another deep breath, bracing herself. Biting down hard on her lip, she picked up the little stick, shaking it slightly to dry it.

Funny how a little piece of plastic could determine her entire future. And if she'd just remembered to use a little piece of rubber, she wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

Shaking her head at her foolishness and closing her eyes, she flipped the stick over quickly, wanting to get it over with. Just like ripping off a band aid. Knowing she'd have to look at the test sooner or later, she peeked one eye open, looking down. As soon as she saw the result, her other eye flashed open and her phone fell from her hand.

Caitlyn had to take her phone away from her ear, the crash surprising her. After a few moments, she put the phone back in its previous position. She was met with no sound.

"Mitchie?" She asked loudly. "Mitchie, are you still there?"

Yes, Mitchie was there. She leaned her back against the tiled bathroom wall and slid down it into a sitting position. Staring blankly into space, she grabbed blindly for her phone.

"Mitchie, what does the test say?" Caitlyn nearly screamed into her phone.

Mitchie held the phone to her ear. "It's positive, Cay. I'm pregnant," she said, her voice barely above a whisper; she was holding the plastic test strip up to examine it again. A little red plus sign was staring back at her.

"Oh my God!" Caitlyn exclaimed, slapping her hand over her mouth. Slowly, she moved it away. "Are you sure? I mean, is there any possibility that you read it wrong?"

"Plus yes, minus no, I don't think it gets much simpler than that," Mitchie said, trying to keep her voice steady as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "What am I going to do?"

"Well… There's always, you know…" Caitlyn cleared her throat. "Nipping it in the bud."

Mitchie shook her head furiously fast, even though no one could see it. "No," Mitchie said, wiping her eyes dry. "I can't have an abortion. It's not my life to take; I could never."

"Thank goodness," Caitlyn said with a sigh of relief, putting her hand over her heart. "I hate abortion. But it is an option."

"Not for me," the brunette answered, her jaw set. "Next option."

"Adoption?" Caitlyn rubbed the back of her neck with her hand, knowing this was probably the best option for someone in Mitchie's situation.

"I don't know, Cay," she responded quietly. "I don't think I could ever give up my baby and never see it again."

"Well, Mitchie, there's open adoption, where the parents send you pictures and updates throughout the kid's life." Caitlyn switched her phone to the other ear. "You can even go see it, too. They'll raise it, but you'd still get to be a part of its life."

"How do you know so much about this?" Mitchie asked, standing and throwing the test in the garbage.

"I watch a lot of Lifetime," Caitlyn said, receiving a snort from her friend on the other line. "Shut up, some of the movies are good," she defended. "But seriously, I think open adoption is your best option."

"Hey, that rhymed. You could write a song," Mitchie said with no emotion in her voice, followed by a sigh. "I don't know, Caitlyn. I honestly don't think I could give it to anyone else. I sort of… Love it already." She placed her hand on her stomach, looking down at it in wonder.

"Then, keep it, I guess," Caitlyn said, her brain trying to adjust to the idea of Mitchie being a mother. "Hey, why aren't you crying?"

"I don't know." Mitchie picked up the cup of urine and dumped it in the toilet, then threw the cup in the trash. "Probably because it hasn't officially sunken in yet." She cradled the phone in her neck as she washed her hands.

"You've been thinking you were pregnant for weeks now, but it hasn't sunken in yet now that you've had confirmation?" Caitlyn asked skeptically; an idea dawned on her. "Mitchie…Do you…Want to be pregnant?"

"How can you ask me something like that?" Mitchie snapped, drying her hands with a towel. "Of course I don't! I'm sixteen." She switched off the bathroom light and walked back into her bedroom/

"Hey, I was just asking!" The girl flopped down on her bed.

"I don't know, Cay," Mitchie sat down on her own bed. "But, the idea of having something to love and someone to love me back… It's tempting."

"That's what a lot of girls think, until the baby comes and does nothing but eat, sleep, cry, and shit," Caitlyn said, a yawn escaping from her mouth as soon as she finished her sentence.

"You're tired," Mitchie said guiltily. "I should let you go."

"No, I'll stay on the phone with you as long as you need."

"Caitlyn, no, you've done enough," Mitchie argued. "Go to sleep. Text me tomorrow, okay?"

"Fine," Caitlyn agreed reluctantly. "But before I go, when do you plan to tell your parents?"

Mitchie bit her lip, considering. "Tomorrow. Better get it over with."

"Wow. Bold. Let me know before you do it so I can be on standby near my phone in case you need support."

"Can do. Bye, Caitlyn," Mitchie said softly. "Love you."

"Love you too, Babe. Get some sleep." And with that, Caitlyn hung up.

Mitchie closed her phone and stared at it for a few seconds, letting the conversation sink in. She dropped her phone on her bed, then looked down at her stomach, placing a hand over her small belly, knowing it wasn't going to stay that way for much longer.

"Oh my fucking gosh," Mitchie swore, reality settling in, bringing about a fresh round of tears. She'd been swearing and crying a lot since that night she spent with Shane. Just thinking about him put a bad taste in her mouth. Closing her eyes, she could still see his face, smirking down at her as she undid his belt. "Why did you do this to me?" She asked his memory, tears escaping her closed eyelids. Leaning all her weight on one side, she fell face-first into her pillows, curling up into a ball immediately after. She sobbed into her pillows, just liked she'd done every night since the party, until her eyes were so heavy and her body was so exhausted that she fell into an uneasy slumber.

The next morning, Mitchie woke with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed, slapping her hand over her mouth. Her stomach was twisting and turning. Mitchie knew she only had a few more seconds before morning sickness took her over, so she jumped out of bed and dashed to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time. She had to hold her own hair back as her stomach emptied itself of all contents, like it had been doing every morning for the past week. When she was finished, she stood from her kneeling position on the floor with a groan. She went over to the sink, placing her hands on either side of it. Looking up at her reflection in the mirror, she saw that she had tears running down her face again, but this time not from sadness. This time it was from the misery of the situation and from vomiting. She'd always cried when she threw up, even when she was little.

But she wasn't a little girl anymore, she realized. She was sixteen and on her way to becoming a mother. How could someone who still depended on her mother for so much be one? She shook her head at her reflection.

"Way to go, idiot. You screwed up your life, and the life of someone who hasn't even been born yet," she muttered to herself, reaching for her toothbrush.

Once she'd brushed her teeth and cleaned her face from any traces of vomit, she changed from her pajamas into a simple, purple t-shirt and black sweatpants. She figured she better get used to wearing sweatpants, since that would be all she'd be able to fit for a while.

Wringing her hands the entire time, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Her mother was busy at the stove, pushing a few slices of bacon around on a pan. Her brown hair was tied up, away from her face. Mitchie could see that she looked peaceful, like she always did when she was cooking. The young girl hated herself, knowing she was about to divulge information that could quite possibly never allow her mother to have peace again.

"Hey, kiddo," Connie said, looking up with a smile when she heard her daughter enter the kitchen. "I'm almost done with this bacon, then I'm going to start on the pancakes."

"Not hungry," Mitchie said with a look of distaste, her hand going to her unsettled stomach. She frowned down at it, upset that she had no appetite for her favorite breakfast: her mom's famous pancakes. Thanks a lot, she thought, not daring to say it out loud.

Connie watched her daughter curiously. "You haven't been eating breakfast all week. Are you feeling okay?"

"Just not hungry, that's all." Mitchie shrugged, sitting down at the table. "Where's Dad?" she asked, examining her father's empty seat. It was Sunday morning, which meant he didn't have to go to work, so should be home. In fact, on Sunday mornings he was usually seated at the table, reading the morning paper.

"He went to the store to get milk; we were running low. Should be back any minute now."

As if on cue, Mitchie's ears picked up the sound of keys jiggling in the lock, followed by the front door opening and closing.

"Morning family," Steve Torres announced, walking into the kitchen carrying a plastic shopping bag. He went over to the stove, where his wife had started with the pancakes, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then, he stopped to give his daughter a kiss on the top of the head on the way to the fridge. "Morning, princess," he said, opening the fridge door to put the milk inside.

"Morning, Dad," Mitchie said, playing with the salt and pepper shakers in front of her, needing something to occupy her hands. She kept her eyes focused on the tiny chef-shaped shakers, their little, paint-on smiles creeping her out. She sighed and set them aside, racking her brain for a way to break the news to her parents that they were going to be grandparents in six short months.

She glanced over her shoulder at them. They were talking quietly to each other by the stove, frowning slightly. She was wondering what they were discussing when they both looked at her. After making quick eye contact with each of them, she turned away, cheeks flushing. So they were discussing her…

Mitchie took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. It was now or never.

"I have to tell you guys something," she said, turning around in her seat again.

Steve and Connie exchanged a concerned look, then walked over to the table, sitting on either side of their daughter.

"Actually, we wanted to talk to you, too," Connie said, placing her hand on top of her daughter's.

"You did?" Mitchie asked. What could this be about?

"Yes, Mitchie." Steve cleared his throat. "Your mother and I have noticed some…Changes…With you."

"Changes?" Mitchie asked slowly.

"Like the depression, and the lack of appetite," Connie clarified. "We're beginning to get worried, Honey. You've hardly smiled since Final Jam." Mitchie's heart raced at the mention of that night.

"We think it has something to do with that boy." Steve looked at his wife. "What was his name again?"

"Shane Gray, dear," Connie answered, then looked at Mitchie, who had gone pale. "He left the day after Final Jam, and you haven't been the same since. You cry all the time."

"You're always sad," Steve added. "You've stopped eating breakfast."

"And your father heard you throwing up yesterday morning." Connie squeezed her daughter's hand, trying to convey her concern. "I know you miss him and you're upset he hasn't called, but you can't live like this."

"Mom-" Mitchie began.

"Hurting yourself is not the answer," Steve said, cutting her off.

"Dad-"

"Did Shane hurt you that badly that you resort to bulimia because you think it will make you thinner and more appealing to guys?" her mother asked.

"Mom, Dad, I'm not bulimic! I'm pregnant!" Mitchie exclaimed, slapping her hand over her mouth as soon as the words flew out of it.

"What?" Connie asked, her voice barely audible. Mitchie couldn't answer, so she just hung her head. "Oh, Mitchie, how could you?"

"I don't know! We forgot a condom, and I was drunk!" the girl said loudly, tears forming in her eyes yet again.

"That doesn't make it any better!" her mother scolded.

"Was it that Shawn kid?" Steve asked, his jaw tight with anger.

"Shane," Mitchie corrected, wiping a few tears away as they fell. "And yeah, it was." She nodded.

"How did this happen?" Connie asked. "How did you get drunk at camp?"

"Shane, Nate, and Jason were having a party to celebrate after Final Jam." Mitchie said, embarrassed to be explaining her stupidity to her parents. "Someone spiked the punch, but I didn't know that. I didn't think anyone could have smuggled in alcohol, but someone managed."

"Who?" Connie asked, a dangerous look on her face.

"I, uh… I don't know," Mitchie lied, not exactly sure why she was protecting Shane. After all, he was the reason she was in this mess in the first place. "But I drank several cups of punch. Then Shane and I went back to his room, and one thing led to another, and it just sort of…Happened. I didn't plan it, and I didn't want it."

"So he raped you?" Steve growled, standing up. "Wait 'til I get my hands on that little punk. I'll kill him!"

"No, Dad, he didn't rape me!" Mitchie yelled, putting her hands up. "I consented, but had I been thinking clearly, I wouldn't have."

Mitchie's father sat down again, running a hand through his short brown hair.

"How did you find out?" Mitchie's mother asked.

"I took a home pregnancy test last night," the young girl answered. "It came back positive."

"Those things can be wrong, you know," Connie said. "You didn't plan to make a doctor's appointment to find out for sure?"

Mitchie shook her head sheepishly. "No."

Her mother sighed. "I'll call and make you one for this week." She flashed her daughter a disapproving look and shook her head.

"Look," Mitchie said, fighting more tears, "I'm sorry. I know, it was stupid, and if I could take it back, I would."

"But you can't, Mitchie!" Connie threw her hands up in exasperation. "You can't. What's done is done, and now we've got to deal with it."

Mitchie hung her head in shame, her jaw shaking and a tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm not proud of it. I feel like such a fool. I let him use me, only for him to run away the next day. I'm such an idiot." She put her head in her hands, tears flowing freely.

"No, honey, you're not an idiot," Connie said softly, putting her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You made a mistake. We all do at times; some of us just make bigger mistakes than others."

Mitchie lifted her head from her hands a little. "So you're not mad?"

"Oh we're plenty mad!" Steve said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Connie nodded her agreement. "And disappointed." Mitchie dropped her hands to her lap, staring at them, and nodding slowly, understanding their disappointment; she was disappointed in herself as well. "But we're going to support you, in whatever decision you make here. You're still our daughter, and we still love you. We want you to know that. Right Steve?" She looked at her husband.

He nodded. "We love you very much, Mitchie. Nothing could change that."

Mitchie swallowed the lump in her throat that seemed to always be there nowadays. "I love you too."

"Have you given any thought to your options?" Connie asked.

"No abortion!" Mitchie said, her tone final. "I am not killing my baby."

"No one's asking you to," Steve said, thankful she'd come to this decision. As much as he didn't want to see his sixteen year old have a baby, he hated the thought of ending a life that hadn't even started yet. Plus, this was his grandchild, after all. "What about adoption?"

"If I did an open adoption, I could go see it and the parents would send me pictures and stuff," Mitchie said, running her foot back and forth across the kitchen tile.

"That sounds nice," Mitchie's mother said. "That wouldn't be so bad."

"Yeah," Mitchie said softly, playing with her hands. "But I was thinking…Is there any possible way you guys would consider letting me…Keep it?" She looked up shyly.

"Mitchie, this isn't a stray dog or cat you found on the street," Steve said.

"You father's right. This is a baby we're talking about." Connie looked at her daughter. "A human being, a life you'd be responsible for. You'd have to feed it, change it, take care of it, and, well, raise it! That's a lot of responsibility for someone your age."

"But lots of girls do it!" Mitchie pointed out.

"Yeah, at the expense of their families," Connie countered. "We barely had enough money to send you to Camp Rock, let alone feed another mouth. Not to mention buy a crib, a stroller, changing table, clothes, bottles, toys, diapers, formula…"

"Actually, Connie, we still have all of Mitchie's stuff in the attic, so most of that is taken care of," Mr. Torres said, looking at the ceiling, as if trying to see through it into the attic.

"Steve," his wife said sternly. "Don't encourage this."

Steve locked eyes with his wife, then quickly shifted his gaze, looking at his daughter. "What do you want to do, Mitchie?"

"I want to keep it," Mitchie admitted quietly. "I know it would be hard, but I really want to do this. If money's an issue, I have a savings account. I was going to use it for college, but with my grades, I'll probably get a great scholarship. And I could always take out loans." She took in a breath, looking back and forth between her parents. "Just please, think about it."

Steve and Connie locked eyes, silently communicating.

"Fine, we'll think about it." Connie sighed. "But don't get your hopes up. We're not promising anything. Now go do your homework or something." She waved her hand toward the stairs.

"Okay," Mitchie said softly, standing and going over to the stairway. She looked over her shoulder at her parents. Her mother had her head in her hands and her dad was leaning across the empty chair to put a comforting hand on her back. "Thank you," she said. Her dad looked up at her and gave her a weak smile. Mitchie turned away again and started climbing the stairs. She hated herself for putting her parents through this, but what else could she do? They were going to notice when she all of a sudden started getting bigger and then one day came home from school with a baby.

When she got to her room, she picked up her phone to see a frantic text message from Caitlyn, saying to call her immediately. Woops. She had forgotten to warn her that she was about to tell her parents.

She dialed the number and pressed her phone to her ear, sitting on her bed.

"About time you call!" Caitlyn answered on the first ring.

"Hello to you, too," Mitchie said, slightly amused.

"Yeah, yeah, hi," Caitlyn said hurriedly. "You don't sound like you've been crying, so there are two options. One: You didn't tell them, or two: you told them, but they took it well." Pause. "So which is it?"

"The second, actually," Mitchie said, reaching over by her pillows and grabbing her teddy bear. She'd had it since she was born. It was worn and dirty, but she loved the thing, and she slept with it every night. His name was Bobby. Why? She had no clue, it just was.

"Really, now?" Caitlyn asked, letting out a low whistle. "Well that's good."

"I know." Mitchie smiled a little to herself. She was very relieved the talk had gone so well. "I even said I wanted to keep it, and they said they'd think about it."

"Damn, lucky you." Caitlyn put a stick of gum in her mouth and started to chew. "So they weren't mad at all?"

"Oh they're mad," Mitchie said, recalling her dad threatening to kill Shane. The though made her smile a little, even though that was a bit twisted. "And disappointed, but that was expected."

"Well, of course." Caitlyn popped a bubble. "Any parents would be. Do you think they'll actually let you keep it?"

"I don't know, Cay," Mitchie said, cradling Bobby like a baby, trying to imagine a real one in her arms.

"Do you honestly think you could handle it?"

Mitchie thought about it for a moment, staring down at her childhood toy. "I have no clue, Caitlyn. I really don't," she answered quietly, relief leaving her and anxiety and fear flooding back in.

With this story, you have to be patient. There is a point, and I will get to it…Eventually. I know, Alex isn't in it yet. Once again, patience. Give it a chance. And don't write it off because it's a pregnancy story. There's so much more to it than that.

Review it, loves.