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I
sit on the stairs, fiddling with my iPod and waiting for Emma. She’s sleeping over tonight, although I wish it were Noah instead. How amazing would it be if we could hold each other all night long? But he has away games tonight and Sunday. The whole team took a bus to a town three hours away, and
their
sleepover is in some random hotel. He’ll miss youth group, and I won’t see him until Monday at school, and I don’t know if I can go that long. I ache when I’m not with him — a weird, lonely, empty feeling.

It’s been three days since I had sex. In some ways my life is exactly the same. I go to school. I go to dance rehearsal. I text my friends. I do homework. Kristine is completely wrapped up in herself. Mom and Dad are consumed by Kristine.

In other ways my life has totally changed. I have this enormous secret, but it’s not one I want to tell anyone. Who would I tell? My friends? They’d think I’m slutty. Everyone was shocked when Emma told us about her and Peter. Mom? She says she wants me to tell her everything. Who is she kidding? Because of the daily Kristine drama, she doesn’t have any time for
me
these days and, even if she did, she would totally flip! Dad? That’s funny. He gets home tonight from a sales conference. He’s been out of town for the last three days, ever since the Kristine episode. He’s not
around enough to talk to. Noah? He already knows. That leaves God, and I’m pretty sure I know what He thinks about all of this.

So, it’s just me and this secret. This secret that makes me want to dance and laugh because I feel so connected to Noah, like nothing could ever come between us. This secret that at the same time makes me want to run and hide because I know, instinctively, that this isn’t how it was supposed to be. Otherwise I could tell my friends and my parents.

Noah and I were supposed to wait. Everything was great between us while we waited. But now, it’s so intense. I think about him all the time. I feel displaced when I’m not with him. I count down the minutes until I can see him. I linger at my locker in the mornings, waiting for him to show up and say, “Good morning.” I love seeing what he’s wearing and how handsome it makes him look. We don’t kiss or anything, but he’ll whisper something in my ear or brush his fingers against my cheek. Then it’s off to class where I force myself to pay attention and pull my pen away from the doodles of “Mrs. Lindsey Hornung” that fill the borders of my notebooks.

During the last five minutes of lunch, Noah and I wander from our tables of friends and find a place to sit alone. We talk with our faces close. He makes me smile and feel like I’m the only thing in his world. I know he’s the only thing that matters in mine.

I could tell Emma. She’ll be here any minute, and she’s not a virgin either. She couldn’t judge me. Plus, she’s known me forever, and she’s a Christian too. So we share the same sin. It sounds so serious when I say
sin
.

Ding-dong.

Emma pushes through the front door without saying a word. Her eyes are bloodshot, and all the freckles on her cheeks have
blended into one big splotch.

“Hey, Em,” I say. Her neon orange duffle bag with “Emma” monogrammed in silver script letters bumps me as she walks past.

I follow her like the train of an elegant gown. She starts toward the family room.

“Mom’s in there,” I whisper. Whatever’s on Emma’s mind, I’m guessing she doesn’t want to share with my mom.

She nods and looks at the ceiling. I know she’s trying not to cry.

“C’mon.” I grab her arm and lead her upstairs.

“Mom!” I yell. “Emma’s here. We’re going to my room!”

“Okay, sweetie.” Mom tries to make her voice sound upbeat, despite the fact Kristine’s out with her boyfriend and Mom’s worried she won’t come home tonight.

I close my door gently.

“What’s wrong, Em?” I ask, plopping next to where she’s landed on my bed.

“Everything!” she shrieks, finally letting the tears explode. “I missed my period, Linds. No joke.” She shakes her head furiously. “I missed my period, which means I might be pregnant!”

I put my arm around her, waiting. I know, after all these years, Emma will need to vent before I can say anything.

“Sixteen and pregnant.” She fake grins. “Fabulous. Now I won’t have to worry about what I eat — I’ll just be fat.” She brushes trails of melted mascara from her cheeks with the back of her hand. I stretch over to my dresser and grab a Kleenex. I ease back next to her, handing her the tissue.

“Can you imagine me with a baby?!”

“Have you taken a test? Do you know for sure?” I ask.

“I was too scared to do it alone,” she whimpers. “I brought one over. It’s in my bag.” Emma sniffs. “Will you wait with me?”

“Of course.” I’m not sure what she means, but of course. For Em, I’d do almost anything.

We sit a few minutes, holding hands, lost in thoughts. After a while, Emma releases my hand, slides off my bed, and kneels by her bag. She pulls out a white cardboard box and tosses me a folded-up sheet of directions. I read them silently to myself, then shrug.

“Okay, so basically you have to take the plastic cover off the stick, pee on it, and wait for two minutes.” I take a deep breath and continue. “It’s like in science, there’s a control group and an experimental group. One window will have a line to show it’s working, the control. The other window will only have a line if you’re pregnant, the experiment. One line, not pregnant. Two lines, pregnant.” I sound like the commercial.

Emma nods. “Alright.” She wipes her tears again with the Kleenex. “Alright, let’s do it.”

Before I answer, Emma is out the door, down the hall, and in the bathroom. I can’t believe Emma might be pregnant. My Emma, who seems like she still needs mothering, could soon be taking care of a teeny, tiny baby. What would she do? What would her parents say? Would she stay in school? Would she and Peter get married? Is she really pregnant? How late is she?

Fwwooooshh!
The toilet flushes.

Could
I
be pregnant? Wow! I can’t believe I haven’t even thought of that. Noah and I only slept together once, but I’ve heard stories about that happening. What if it was me down the hall? What would I do? Would I tell Noah? Of course. But what would that do to him and hockey scholarships? A daddy at seventeen! And me . . .

Emma stands in my doorway, holding a white stick in her hand the size of a toothbrush. I hate myself for worrying about
me. She stares at it, like it’s a crystal ball capable of telling the future.

I walk over and slide the stick from her fingers. I place it on my dresser and sit her back on my bed.

“It’ll be okay, Em.”

“I don’t know, Linds.”

I glance at the red lights on my digital clock. I search for words of comfort. I’d like to tell Emma that God will be with her. I’d like to know He’ll be with me. But will He? When we’ve broken the rules? Doesn’t God punish people who disobey? I swallow a lump in my throat the size of a hockey puck.

“How late?” I choke.

“
Eight
days,” Emma whispers.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. Inside I wonder if I were late, would I tell Emma? I haven’t even told her what I’ve done.

“Oh, please.” Emma gestures. “You’ve been so wrapped up in Mr. Messyhair that you wouldn’t have heard me anyway.”

“Ouch!” Can’t she see I’m in love? Can’t she see I have stuff going on too? I scrunch my lips. Doesn’t anybody except Noah see what’s going on with me?

“It’s true, Linds.” Emma turns to face me. “Every day at lunch, you’re so smitten, it’s sick.”

“I love him,” I whisper. Now it’s my turn for tears.

“Get out!” Emma’s eyes expand. “Who said it first?”

“Noah.” I shrug and smile. I can tell she cares a little.

“Wow. That’s serious! I guess I’ve been pretty consumed too.” Emma rolls her eyes in that mischievous way she has. “I forgive you for being a selfish friend, if you forgive me for being a selfish friend.”

“Deal.” I smile and reach out my hand. We shake hands with mock formality and then hug.

“Em,” I begin, “what will Peter say?”

Her body shakes in my arms. “Who knows? He never says much of anything.”

I glance back at my clock. “It’s time.” I give her an extra squeeze. “Do you want to look, or do you want me to?”

O
n Sunday morning I wake up first. It’s almost noon! Emma and I were up late celebrating the results of her pregnancy test — negative! — over enormous ice-cream sundaes.

In those minutes of not knowing, I saw Emma’s whole life turn into chaos, like Job’s in the Bible. Then I pictured mine doing the same thing. After all, I could just as easily be pregnant. Sure, Noah and I are in love, which does not appear to be the case for Peter and Emma, but we’ve all had sex, and Noah and I did not use a condom. So, does that make my act any different from hers? Yesterday morning I would have said what Noah and I did was different, but the outcome could be exactly the same. I don’t know anymore.

I can’t imagine how relieved Emma is. I don’t want to wake her. I’m sure she’s exhausted from carrying around all that anxiety.

The alluring aroma of sausage fills my nostrils. I give in to daylight and quietly crawl out of my covers. I rub my eyes on the way downstairs.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Dad beams from the stove.

“Hi, Dad.”

“I thought you girls would be hungry.” He flips a pancake high in the air, does a spin, and catches the flapjack in his skillet. “Where’s Emma?”

“Still sleeping. She didn’t know there was a show going on down here.” I smile. It’s nice having Dad home. He really is great, as far as dads go. He’s just gone so much! I miss him.

“Well, sit down, princess.” He motions toward the stools at the island in front of him. “Because the old pops has prepared a feast.”

“So I see,” I say, pretend curtsying. “Where are Mom and Kristine?”

Dad’s face tightens. “Your sister is a no-show. Mom is changing out of her church clothes.” He manages a strained grin. “We missed you this morning. Pastor John had some good stuff.”

A pang of guilt stabs my heart. I slept right through church. Well, I did have a sleepover. Still. What would God have said to me this morning? Would He have been happy to see me?

“You could have woken me up,” I mumble.

“We didn’t have the heart.” Dad places a steaming plate of pancakes and sausage in front of me.

“Thanks.” I don’t know if I’m thanking him for the food or the reprieve from church.

The pancakes are sweet and fluffy and melt in my mouth. “Dad, your pancakes are the absolute best!”

“If they’re the best, then I want some.” Emma plops onto the stool next to me. “G’morning, Mr. Kraus.”

“Good morning, Emma. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you!” He ladles more batter into his pan. “What’s new?”

Emma and I look at each other and out of nervousness start giggling. If only he knew! We laugh so hard, we can’t stop.

Emma stays the day. We give ourselves manicures and bake a double batch of peanut butter bars — something we’ve been doing
since fifth grade. Somehow all that gooey peanut butter and sweet dough calms our nerves and makes life simple again. After stuffing our faces with warm goodies and about a half gallon of cold milk, we head to the mall for some therapeutic shopping.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say as he drops us at the main entrance. “Are you up for a checkers tournament tonight?”

“Sorry, sweetie. I have to write a report and pack. I’m headed out again tomorrow — St. Louis, this time.”

Emma’s waiting on the sidewalk. There’s another car behind us.

“I wish you didn’t have to go on another trip,” I pout.

He cradles my chin in his hand. “Sweetheart, if Daddy didn’t travel for work, you couldn’t buy all those fabulous clothes. Someone has to pay the Visa bill.” He winks and waves. “Have fun. I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll play checkers when I get back.” He pulls the door shut and drives away.

I don’t get the chance to tell him that I’d rather have him home than reap the rewards of his fat paycheck. Don’t get me wrong. I
love
to shop! I take great pleasure in a pair of perfect-fitting jeans. But I miss my daddy! And so does Mom. I know she does. And, Kristine? Well, clearly Kristine missed him somewhere along the way. I don’t know if she does what she does to get his attention or to get attention from someone else since he’s never home. But I know
I
feel hollow knowing he’s leaving again.

In the shoe department of Nordstrom Emma asks, “So, what do you think about youth group tonight?” She doesn’t look at me, but keeps her eyes glued to a patent flat she’s holding. I realize if we’re going to make it, we’ll need Dad to take us straight from the mall to church.

I don’t want to be the one to say we shouldn’t go. I mean we already missed church this morning, but I’m not really in the
mood. I’ll go if Emma wants to. I’ll leave it up to her.

“Whatever,” I say, roaming to the next rounder of shoes.

“I don’t know.” Emma looks at the price on the bottom of some fringed boots. “I just don’t feel like it’s right to go tonight, with everything going on and stuff.”

“No big deal.” I nod, secretly relieved. “We’ll go next week.”

“Yeah, we’ll go next week,” Emma says, biting her lip. “Plus, the boys won’t be back tonight anyway. Who would we flirt with?” She winks.