We pull up at my school and wait outside. Tarpon Springs High School has always been kind of fun, until I got pregnant.
I was on the JV cheer leading squad until we found out that I was having a child.
Now I'm just known as the school slut and my friends won't even talk to me. And it's not them that bothers me. What bothers me is the fact that they had acted so sweet and had always promised to be there for me. And, here I am, in my time of need, and none of them are anywhere to be found.
I slowly step out of the car and shut the door. If there's anyone that's there for me, then it's my baby. And the baby will probably hate me for not aborting it and then they'll just have to live with the shame of having a teen mom.
I walk through the big doors and everyone seems to just look at me. I shakily smile and just keep walking.
I head to my math class for first hour with Mr. Peterson.
" Good morning, Tara," he smiles.
Mr. P has always been kind to me. He's still kind even though my mistake is physically showing on my body.
" Good morning," I smile back.
I head toward my seat and put my bag around the chair.
I sit down and pull out my math textbook. I've already taken my SATs and passed with flying colors. I'll have to take them next year, too, if I'm even still in school.
Which I probably won't be. I'll probably keep my job at the pizza shop by the docks and ask my Nana to watch the baby while I'm at work. I'll come home and pick the baby up with sweat and grease showing how hard I've worked, but I still won't go to bed because I don't want to miss my child's life. I'll struggle day in and day out.
Just like a statistic.
People are filing in the room as the bell grows closer.
Once it rings, all but a few are settled down and Mr. Peterson is at the front of the room, behind his desk and has a giant grin on his face.
" Good morning, class! Happy Friday!" he says.
Hoots crisscross the room as I keep quiet.
" Hey, Tara! Didn't you get knocked up on a Friday night?" Grant Agapios hollers.
" Mr. Agapios, that's a Saturday detention for you. And be sure to attend it whilst sober, alright?" Mr. P anounces.
Oh, the joys of high school.
By the time lunch rolls around, I'm usually in the bathroom stall eating my sandwich and rethinking all of my mistakes. Which is something that I would've never imagined myself doing six months ago. I would've pitied anyone who didn't sit with me at lunch. Because, of course, I was always at the "popular table." And now I eat lunch with the toilets.
" And then he brought up something about Tara! Now he's got detention this Saturday! We were supposed to go to to the beach!" I hear someone squeal as they walk into the bathrooms.
It's Chelsea, one of my old "friends." She's been dating Grant for about three months, but she's the only person who doesn't seem to know that he's cheating on her.
She's on the phone, probably talking to Callie. Callie was always the glue between everybody. She would stop fights and make everyone happy. But now that everyone's got her believing that I'm a horrible person, she hates me, too.
I slide the lock open and walk out of the stall.
" Speak of the devil. Gotta go, Cal. Talk to you later, girl," Chelsea says into her phone, cutting me a glare as sharp as nails.
" Thanks a lot, whore," she says.
" Oh, me? It's not my fault that Grant's an ass," I reply. I move toward the bathroom door, but Chelsea blocks it.
" So, who's the dad? Y'know, of the baby? Or do you even know how many guys you slept with?" she asks, her face twisting into an evil little smirk.
" I do know who the father is, Chelsea."
" Oh, really?"
" Yeah, he just doesn't want anything to do with me or the baby. And I can't blame him, can you? I mean, after all, I am a whore who's just gonna end up killing herself, right? Because, that's what you want, isn't it? We can't have your perfect little reputation soiled. I ought to just hang myself before I even have the baby so it doesn't end up reminding you of the girl who saved you from getting caught sneaking out late or being hungover and so much more. Who would want to be recognized as the ex-best friend of the girl with the baby in high school, right? I can't blame you, Chelsea. I'd hate me, too," I say, spitting every venomous thing I've wanted to say to myself at her.
Chelsea's mouth just drops and she starts blinking rapidly, which is what she does right before she starts crying.
" No, you don't get to cry, bitch."
I shove past her and out into the crowded hallway, headed towards my AP English class.
I just want this thing out of my body.