THE WRONG KIND OF TROUBLE

Chapter 18

“Oh, boohoo. I’m scared. Go ahead, moss-head,” Jennifer taunted.

As if on cue, Principal Wilmer’s office door opened, and he peeked out toward us. He was checking to make sure everything was fine. Meanwhile, Jennifer, upon catching sight of Mr. Wilmer, quickly let go of my arm and flashed her fake, sweet, innocent smile, exposing her well-formed white teeth.

Mr. Wilmer nodded, turning around one last time just to make sure, then went back inside his office. The sound of the slamming door echoed through the lobby.

“Next time I see or hear you talking to my guy again,” she glared, drawing her finger vertically across her throat in a slitting gesture. I heard Liz snigger in disbelief.

Jennifer slightly pushed my friend upon hearing the snigger before she and Paula sashayed away, disappearing from our sight.

Liz clenched her fists, her teeth gritted in fury. “Uuuuugh. Someday, she’s going to regret she ever became Jennifer Morrison!” my friend growled.

I rested my palm on her shoulder to calm her down and told her to let it go. She rolled her eyes and bit her lower lip. Wes chimed in with a few inspirational quotes, something about cursing someone and building hatred toward others. I was not really paying attention to the exact words, but that was the gist of it.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Conversations faded into background noise as my mind replayed everything that had happened in the lobby. By the time classes ended, and students poured out of the building, my head felt heavier than my bag. I just wanted the day to be over.

I arrived home an hour after the class was dismissed. I had to drop by the SC office since it was part of my schedule. Margie, the president, was occupied with paperwork on her laptop. We, the Board of Trustees, had a mini meeting regarding Brentwood’s upcoming Charter Day and founding anniversary, which was still two months away.

On the way out of the school gate, I came across Jennifer and Paula. Their heads followed me as I walked past them. Their gazes were sticky and, as my imagination had it, they were throwing spears at me. I chose to ignore them.

I jumped onto the bed the moment I got home, my arms stretched wide against the mattress, my head pressed into the pillow. I exhaled a comforting breath that had been stuck in my lungs all day, not noticing my eyelids slowly dropping.

I took a power nap, but it was cut short by the familiar trigger in my belly. I sat up and curled my knees to my chest, my arms wrapped around my stomach. I bit my tongue and chewed on the insides of my cheeks.

Moaning.

Growling.

Moaning.

Growling.

I forced myself to sit up, telling myself to go to the kitchen and find some pain relievers, but my body felt heavy and uncooperative. My stomach twisted with cramps that seemed sharper than usual, and every attempt to swing my legs off the bed made me slump back down, hands clutching the tight fabric over my belly.

Growls escaped me. Grunts. Soft howls. All of them poured out, as if letting the pain escape into the air could somehow shrink it.

I prayed silently for the cramps to ease. At the same time, I imagined Tom suddenly walking in, his expression twisting with worry when he saw me curled up like this, just like last time.

Summoning every ounce of determination and with the nagging fear that I could faint from the pain, I pushed myself to stand. My legs trembled, and I moved slowly to the kitchen, crouching at intervals, each cramp tightening around my lower belly. I opened every cupboard, hoping to find relief, but there was nothing.

Great. Just great.

I am not ready to die yet. Baby, why are you making me suffer this way?

I shuffled back toward the bedroom, feet dragging across the cold floor.

My bag lay by the bed where I had thrown it earlier. I grabbed it, pulled out my phone, and scrolled through my contacts.

Gray.

Gustin.

Mom.

Dad.

All far away, and it was already night. Should I call them? The thought of their questions about why Tom wasn’t here gnawed at me.

If they found out, my parents might take me away, push him out of our lives, and forbid him from ever coming near us.

Wait...

Liz!

I pressed the call option and heard the ring. I waited for an answer, but she didn’t pick up. I dialed again, still no answer. I tried one more time, and an automated voice told me she was no longer in reach.

Then it hit me. Liz had mentioned she was going out for dinner with her family since her aunt from England was visiting. She had tagged Wes and me along, but I had decided to skip the invitation. Wes had declined, too, since he needed to go home early to babysit his eight-year-old cousin while her parents went to Miami for their wedding anniversary.

Wes.

I dialed again, curling my knees as I lay sideways on the bed.

It was ringing.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Hello?"

"Wes! Finally, you picked up! I nee—"

"Syche! You’ve been pranked. This is voicemail. I’m off saving the world from Thanos, so just leave a message, and I’ll get back to you after disintegration. Wakanda forever!"

Then came the beep, followed by silence.

I arched in pain, a small scream escaping along with incoherent sounds. Mostly complaints because Wesley had put me straight to voicemail.

I wouldn’t blame him. He was babysitting and probably having a rough time.

I scrolled some more, ignoring messages from my Student Council family. They didn’t know I was pregnant, so why bother?

I kept scrolling, skipping more names, until one name stopped me. Tom.

Curiosity struck. How did his number get on my phone? I raised a brow, caught off guard.

It was probably from the time he had stolen my phone and fiddled with it.

"Just checking for p**n," he had said.

"I don’t have p**n, you p*****t," I had replied.

"I’ll put one up right now," he said.

He was typing something on my phone back then. I really thought he was putting p**n. When I finally stole the phone back, I found a file in my ‘selfie folder.’ I accidentally opened it, and a loud moan from the blonde girl blasted through the speakers. I froze in embarrassment. Tom laughed so hard that tears streamed from his eyes as he rolled on the sofa, chuckling uncontrollably.

Now, I realized he must have snuck his number onto my phone too. I didn’t even notice that my lips had curved into a small smile.

Should I call him? Why would I? Would he even answer? What if I made him angry by calling? I didn’t even know where he was or what he was doing right now.

A thought lingered in my mind. He was probably somewhere in an alley, smoking, getting drunk, maybe picking up some girl he saw. He was probably busy… doing things with her in some dark corner downtown.

The thought made me furious. Raging mad. Who cares if he was with some girl? He wasn’t my boyfriend. And I didn’t like him. Another sharp pang hit my belly, like a fist pounding from the inside. Maybe it was the baby inside, thrashing against whatever it could grab hold of.

I was thankful this didn’t happen at school. It was like these cramps had a mind of their own, choosing exactly when to strike.

But still, my eyes stayed glued to the phone, Tom’s name highlighted on the contact list.

I glanced over my shoulder. 9:25 PM. I huffed and exhaled, trying to gather myself.

Hesitant, trembling from both pain and nerves, I pressed ‘call.’