“Pardon?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have an explanation?”
“I worked at the restaurant last night and planned on studying during my break but Dale, the dork manager at Barney’s, wouldn’t give me one. We had a bus come in and…” She simply shrugged. What more was there to say? She’d done it—she’d cheated. She could add that to her growing list of descriptions.
Cheerleader.
Student council rep.
Straight A student.
Pregnant teen.
Cheater.
Ms. Cartwright didn’t yell, didn’t scream. She just shook her head sadly and asked, “Do you really think this is the way to handle things? By taking the easy way out?”
“I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“Did it occur to you that you could go to Mrs. Brown and explain the situation to her. Or, you could have come to me. It’s part of my job description…helping you find options. There are always some. I know you’re new to the program, but it’s pretty much our mantra—finding options.” She sighed. “Listen, Ariel, this stopped being about you when you became pregnant. You will be this baby’s role model. He or she will look to you to see how to live. Is this what you’d want your child to do? Do you want them to take the easy way out?”
“No. I didn’t think of it like that.”
“You have to learn to think about everything you do in that way—how it will affect your baby. You need to do what’s best for them, always. Even when it’s difficult for you. Now, how do you think we should handle this?”
“You know, those are the kinds of questions all us kids hate. You make us decide on a fair punishment.”
“I make you take responsibility for your actions. Most teens have a few more years to learn about actions and consequences—the girls in this program don’t have the luxury of time. You don’t have that luxury.”
She looked pointedly at Ariel’s stomach and the barely there baby bump.
“Ariel, I see so much potential in you. Don’t blow it. If you have a problem, come see me, see Mrs. Brown. There are people here for you. Don’t forget that.”
“Maybe I should start by writing an apology to Mrs. Brown?”
“I think that’s an excellent place to begin. Come see me tomorrow and we’ll talk about what else you think is required in order to make this right.”
Darn. Ariel had hoped that a letter of apology would be all that she had to do to smooth this over. Obviously, it wasn’t.
“Okay, I’ll think about it and see you tomorrow.” She practically sprang for the door, anxious to escape Ms. Cartwright’s sympathetic gaze. It would be easier if the teacher would get pissed off and yell. But no, not her, she only looked as if her girls screwing up hurt her.
Ariel turned the doorknob, and pushed at the door, ready to make her escape when Ms. Cartwright’s voice stopped her. “And Ariel?”
She turned back and saw pain in Ms. Cartwright’s smile. She’d do almost anything to replace that look of disappointment with one of pride.
“You can’t cheat nature. You are going to be a mother in a few months and there are no crib notes that will let you fake your way through being a good parent. And that’s what you owe this baby. Being the best parent, the best example you can be.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And for that matter, Ariel, life happens. You can’t cheat your way through it, either. There are no crib notes. You have to live each day as well as you can. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Finally, dismissed, Ariel hurried away before Ms. Cartwright could say anything else profoundly painful.
There were no crib notes for being a parent. For being an adult.
Ariel desperately wished there were.
CHAPTER ONE
“There are four stages of mourning. Denial. Sadness. Anger. Acceptance. Becoming pregnant in your teens means that some dreams have to be put away, others altered. It’s a death of one future. You have to mourn that loss before you can move ahead and plan a new future…one that includes the baby you’re carrying.”
—Pregnancy, Childbirth and Parenting for
Teens, by Mary Jeanne Lorei
THERE WAS SOMETHING completely undignified about peeing in a cup. It took a certain knack that Elinore Cartwright didn’t feel she had acquired and, to be honest, she didn’t know that she wanted to be presented too many more opportunities to develop it.
Despite the fact she was nowhere near a master, she managed the fill the little paper cup. She washed her hands and then, clutching the paper gown at the back, hurried across the hall to her assigned examination room. She hoisted herself back onto the table.
Sitting on paper, wearing paper, covering herself with a square piece of quilted paper. Every movement was a festival noise.
The only nonpaper item she was wearing for her less-than-happily anticipated annual checkup was her wildly striped toe socks. She’d left them on partly because now that it was the end of October, her feet wouldn’t be warm again for at least eight months, and partly because she felt they dressed up her paper ensemble.
She sank back onto her paper-shrouded shrine and waited. Right on cue, as her body relaxed, her thoughts picked up steam, tumbling over themselves. There was no flitting involved, just a terrible tangled twist of to-do items and worries.
To-do: Call Zac Keller and set up a meeting for the end of the week.
Ariel Mayor. She replayed their talk from earlier this afternoon. It had seemed to go well. She saw a lot of potential in the girl. As a matter of fact…
To-do: Pull together Ariel’s information and see if Zac would agree that she’d make an excellent test-run for the new Community Action, Teen-parent Apprentice Project.
It had been almost fifteen years since Eli had started the George County School District’s teen parenting program. George County was a large, primarily rural county just south of Erie, Pennsylvania. Her job was to find ways to cut the county’s number of teen parents, and help those who were pregnant or already parents graduate and go on to be worthwhile members of the community.
The statistics said her program was working. She experienced that warm glow of pride she always felt when she thought about the inroads she’d made.
The number of teen mothers in the county was falling, the number of teen moms who graduated was climbing. And there had been a nice bump in the number of her mothers who went on to college or some type of vocational training after graduation.
This new project was just another way of helping her girls. Partnering local businesses with the students in the program. Giving the teens jobs with flexibility, jobs that would provide crucial work experience.
It sounded as if Ariel was already working hard, too hard, at that restaurant. This program might be just the ticket for her.
And despite Ariel Mayor’s slight bump in the road, Eli was determined that this girl would be one of her successes.
Her to-do list was replaced as a niggle of worry crept into the forefront of her thoughts. She’d figured passing so easily from fertility to menopause was a good thing. After half a year of erratic cycles, her periods had just stopped a few months ago with no other problems arising. No hot flashes, mood swings, trouble sleeping.
Eli took this as another sign that her life was pretty much perfect. She had Arthur, who, although he was a little less than exciting, was good company and a dependable boyfriend.