Monday, February 13, 2012. 8:22 A.M.
He feels like a drug addict; a tweaker waiting for his next fix.
It's been almost two months since he even laid eyes on Daphne, the last day of school before winter break. He doesn't miss her, he just doesn't have any particular interest in the other girls at school anymore. Not even Simone, and he ditched class pretty consistently last year to hook up with her behind the athletic shed. And he knows her mom almost died; he shouldn't be expecting her to respond to his every text message, or to appear by his car ready to throw herself at him-
Which is why Wilke's so stunned when he turns a corner Monday morning and finds her standing next to his locker at Buckner, wearing a comically bright purple winter coat and a sour expression.
"Hey," he says while waving a hand out to catch her attention. He can feel his eyebrows twisting into a deeply confused look and tries to fix his face into something resembling nonchalance. "Daphne... Hi."
"Hey," she mumbles back, so soft he barely catches it, and chews her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Why are you here?" Idiot, why would you say it like that? "Sorry- I just meant, is everything okay? You alright?"
"Mm-hmm."
He nods, waiting for her to go on, watching her face pinch in like she's holding back tears.
"Ugh," she sniffles, licks her lips. "I needed to talk to you. Like, in person. Do you have time before you have to go to class?"
His watch says eight twenty-three, and he double checks it against the big clock at the end of the hall. Nods again, and follows her out a side door when she promptly turns and books it outside. This courtyard is empty, most everyone is grabbing their books and heading to class. Daphne parks herself on one side of a concrete picnic table and he perches on the other, waiting. She makes no move to speak.
"You sure you're okay?"
He gets a low hum in response, and while she turns her face up to the dull, dreary sky, he can practically see the gears in her head turning, trying to figure out what she'll say next. Short puffs of breath were coming out of her nose and blowing back into her face, cold wind turning her cheeks red and pushing her hair around her in a vortex. Her lips purse, and Wilke's starting to get a sinking feeling that he's not going to like the next words out of her mouth.
"Urgh," she groans again. "Okay, right, just going to say it. I'm pregnant."
Yeah, he was right.
Monday, February 13, 2012. 8:20 A.M.
Daphne was late for school, again, just like she had been most days for the past month or so. She'd detoured this morning, deciding that she had to finally fess up to someone what had happened, or, was still happening. With her lilac parka zipped all the way up to her chin and her hands stuffed deep inside her pockets, she was tapping her converse nervously against the linoleum in front of Wilke's locker while she waited for him to show. Out of the corner of her eye, she clocked a tall blonde head rounding the corner, and she felt her heart dropping into her stomach. Guilt, maybe? Shame? She couldn't know, but it created a twisting knot in her stomach as he came closer.
"Daphne... Hi," Wilke was shifting back and forth on his feet, unsure, or maybe even anxious, and she had to wonder how often he'd felt that way in his whole life. She thinks she mumbles back a greeting and watches his face relax a little. "Why are you here?" A pause, and she knows he's cringing at himself internally. "Sorry- I just meant, is everything okay? You alright?"
She struggles her way through what she hopes are coherent sentences, and suddenly her backside is on an ice cold concrete bench that she can feel through her jeans and her eyes are staring at the mottled grey and white clouds in the sky. God, she didn't even think about what she would say, or how she would say it, before she came here. She shuffles around a few different options in her mind, until she figures it's best to just say it plain and true.
"Okay, right, just going to say it. I'm pregnant."
She stays silent, and she can practically see his eyes bugging out of his face like a cartoon. She watches him carefully, scrutinizing every miniscule twitch in his face: furrowed eyebrows, lips pressed together, eyes flicking between her face and the tree to her right.
"Sorry."
"What?"
"I don't expect anything from you, I just needed to you to know," Daphne licked her lips, trying to soothe the wind-chafed skin. "I'm going to have to have this baby, I think. I tried to get an abortion, like, 'cause I figured it would be easier? But I couldn't. Not without a parent, anyway, and since my mom's in a coma, and the Kennishes don't actually have legal custody over me. And the doctor said it was too late, anyway. So... I'm kinda screwed on that."
Her eyes stay trained on his lips, waiting for any sort of response.
"Sorry... You're pregnant? I got you pregnant? I don't want to imply anything here, Daphne, but we haven't..." he gestures a finger between the two of them, "we haven't slept together in months!"
Oh, Christ. She rolls her eyes.
"Two! Two months! And FYI, I'm a lot more pregnant than that, Wilke," she drops her voice to what she hopes is a low volume. "We fucked the first time back in October! So I'm, like, seventeen weeks pregnant according to that dumbass clinic I went to."
"Oh, what the hell?"
He visibly flinches when she flings a hand out to smack down a piece of paper on the table: a grainy, black-and-white ultrasound picture with her name printed in bold type across the top.
Vasquez, Daphne. DOB 10/22/95.
Approx. DD 07/24/12.
"Happy Valentine's Day, jerk."
Monday, February 13, 2012. 5:37 P.M.
Daphne's blood boils all day, and she skips school and spends her whole day sitting at her mother's bedside in the intensive care unit. Although the rational side of her brain told her it would probably happen, it still stung having Wilke ask if it was really him who got her pregnant. God, she really hoped this wouldn't turn out like one of the worse episodes of 16 & Pregnant. Number one: she wasn't planning on actually keeping and raising this baby. Number two: maybe she could pull off a Juno, give the baby to some nice family, and still end up with a boyfriend and a life at the end. Taking half a year off the basketball team wouldn't look too bad on her college applications, would it? If she can keep her grades up, at least.
She reached out and squeezed Regina's hand. She hated this. Her mom was looking much better, the bruising and swelling in her face had all but vanished, and there was even a little bit of peach fuzz growing under the bandage around her head. But Daphne hated that she couldn't talk to her, not the way she really wanted to. Sure, she could use her voice, but it wasn't the same; she wanted to talk to her mom the same way she always had, with ASL, but it wasn't possible.
The ultrasound picture was burning a hole in her pocket. She'd thrown one copy in Wilke's face, but kept another. Smoothing out the wrinkles, she held it between her hands and stared down at the grainy amorphous blob. It didn't look much like anything, definitely not a baby. Too entranced in her photo, she didn't even register the dark shape leaning over her shoulder. Two seconds too late, she balled the paper back into her fist and shoved it into her pocket, before looking up at the person who'd surprised her.
Bay.
Shit. Daphne hopes she's playing it cool when she raises her eyebrows in question.
"What was that?" Bay's eyebrows furrowed down, and her arms moved to cross over her chest.
"What?"
"What? The thing you just shoved in your pocket, that's what."
"It's nothing, Bay."
She could practically hear the scoff that came out of Bay's mouth.
"Nothing?" Bay slid down into the chair next to Daphne, and she can tell she's whispering as she starts mouthing over-enunciated words and using broken bits of sign. "That looked like an ultrasound photo! Are you... Is it yours?"
Bay's eyes are widening and Daphne is too slow to spit out a vehement denial.
"Oh my God, it is! You're-" she cuts herself off and makes a sweeping arc over her torso with her hands.
Daphne grips the arms of the plastic chair she's sat in and leans in as close as she can to her... companion (friend? family? sister? She has no clue what the nature of their relationship is.) and grits her teeth.
"You. Can't. Tell. Anyone." Bay opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water. Daphne repeats herself. "You can't. I'm dead serious, Bay, not a word to anyone, not even Toby. You have to promise me."
"Who's even is it?" Daphne's reluctance to answer seems to only push Bay to a worst-case-scenario. "Oh, God, please tell me you didn't sleep with my boyfriend!"
"Emmett? What- Why would you even-"
"I don't know! I'm panicking, okay! And it's not like you haven't stolen a boyfriend out from under me before!"
"Bay, for the millionth time, you and Liam broke up. I didn't steal your boyfriend, and, also, we broke up very quickly because of that. And it's really not your business who I do or do not sleep with anyways!"
Daphne's irritation is building, and she's started using very tight, brisk signing to accompany her words. Bay puts her hands up with a placating gesture and leans back coolly.
Who?
No, Daphne signs, tensely.
Bay shrugs and tries a few more jilted signs.
How. Far away. You. She uses the wrong words, but Daphne still gets the gist.
"Four months."
"Four... Wow. What are you going to do?"
"God, I don't know. I tried to, you know, get rid of it? But I couldn't, so, I'm going to have to give it away, I guess."
Bay sighed, "Yeah, I guess."
The two girls sat in silence, watching over their mother's bedside, well into the night.