Extra Credit Parenthood - Chapters 3, 4, 5

3

Nathan

“Is there a reason you just slammed my door?”

Lil grinned devilishly at me through the open window, her dark waves floating in the mild breeze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you just slammed the door of my car hard enough to shake the entire vehicle,” I said.

“Like this?” Lil opened the door again and slammed it a second time, and my limited supply of patience emptied.

“Yes, like that!” I snapped, gripping the steering wheel. She was going to shatter the window or something. “Please, do not do that.”

Lil promised nothing, waving and running off toward the doors of the school before I could throttle her. I sighed, aggravated, but waited until she was inside before pulling out of the parking lot, heading to my own school as fast as the speed limit allowed.

Breakfast with Lil had been fun, but panic had started crawling up my throat. What if Mr. Owens didn’t let me retake the test? What if I failed the class? Dad wouldn’t be happy if that happened.

Assuming he was sober when the news got broken to him.

Not that it would be better if he was drunk.

Really, there was no good way for him to find out I failed.

I pulled into the parking lot of Duane High School—the old town prison disguised as a “center for learning”—and entered the school through the front office, the ladies there giving me looks that said, Really? You’re gonna show up almost an hour late? What’s the point of even coming?

I checked my phone as I made my way quickly towards my Child Development class and the test currently being taken without me. It was 8:52.

Crap.

I reached the class but paused before opening the door. Mr. Owens would be mad, nice or not, if I barged in and disrupted the people who had actually arrived on time. Cautiously, slowly, I turned the handle and eased the door open. I stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind me.

Like half the room looked up at me, some with smirks and amusement, others with curiosity, and a few with disapproving scorn. The rest didn’t look at me at all, too engrossed in the test to pay me any attention.

After a second, I steeled myself and finally looked at Mr. Owens. I expected a glare, a scowl, an immediate order to exit the room—all I received was a raised eyebrow and a gesture to sit down at the empty desk I usually occupied.

Relieved, I did, thinking that maybe he’d still let me start the test, late as I was. A couple questions right was better than a complete DNS, right? But Mr. Owens very noticeably didn’t hand me a test. He simply went back to the book he had clearly been reading before I interrupted.

My heart sank.

If I failed this class, I wouldn’t be able to graduate, and I’d be stuck at home another year with a drunkard father and a nine-year-old sister.

Not that I would leave Lil when I graduated. Actually, leaving Lil to live alone with our dad was probably the last thing I’d do. He’d never hurt us before, but sometimes he got violent—slamming things, throwing things, screaming at us. Plus, he’d only started drinking a couple years ago, so I’d always been old enough to both hold my own and know not to mess with him. Lil wasn’t. And I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t end up doing something if he was in the right mood and I wasn’t a constant presence in the house and fully willing to throttle him if he hurt her.

That was why I planned to take her with me when I graduated. I would be eighteen by then, so legally I could, especially if I proved that our dad wasn’t suited for caring for a soon-to-be ten-year-old girl.

But first I had to graduate.

With nothing else to do but mentally berate myself and resent my dad for his lack of self-restraint when it came to alcohol, I looked around the room at the people taking the test. Eventually, my eyes landed one row back and three desks to the left. I locked eyes with the redhead everyone knew about, but not many people actually knew.

One-third of the renowned Maverick triplets and the only girl in the set, Willow was known mostly for being Weston and Watson’s sister. The Double W’s—as they jokingly called themselves—were both on the football team, tall, muscular, and had the same tightly coiled red hair as Willow. So they were pretty well-known by the student body, even if they probably would be anyway since they were the only triplets in the school. I personally knew them because I did Track and Field with them. They were funny and they seemed nice, and I could honestly see myself hanging out with them, except that I played soccer, not football, so our paths didn’t really cross much when we weren’t doing track.

But aside from being related to her brothers, Willow was pretty much only known, by both me and the rest of the school, for her good academic track record. And as far I knew, she didn’t do any sports like her athletic brothers. She also tended to keep to herself, with only one or two good friends—not including her brothers.

And just like her brothers, she always seemed really nice to people.

As if to prove that, Willow broke our eye contact, glanced at the teacher, and looked back at me with a sympathetic smile.

She went back to her test, scratching off another answer with her pencil, which proudly sported a pastel blue, cloud-shaped eraser on the end of it. Obviously, something she’d added to the typical yellow Number 2 pencil.

I looked away from her, staring up at the clock on the wall, wishing time would go faster. I needed everyone to leave so I could explain to Mr. Owens why I’d missed most of the test. Hopefully once he knew that I hadn’t chosen to be late, he’d let me take it if I stayed late after school one day or something.

As if on cue, Mr. Owens suddenly looked up and said, “Alright, time’s up! Put your pencils on your desks in front of you.”

There was a sudden harmony of pencils clinking on the wooden desks.

The bell rang but Mr. Owens held up his hand to stop us from leaving. “Before you all leave,” he said, “I have an announcement that some of you might find beneficial.” He looked directly at me as he said this.

I sat up straighter.

“Every year I offer an extra credit assignment to help those struggling to get their grades up, and to help those passing to get the best grade possible.” He paused for effect. “If you pass this assignment and your current grade is lower than a B-, you’ll be guaranteed at least a B+ at the end of this class. If you pass with a current grade above a B-, you’ll be guaranteed an A+ by the end of this class.”

Murmurs filled the room, and my heart sped up. An extra credit assignment that could bump up your grade that much? Either Mr. Owens was the nicest teacher ever or the assignment would suck.

Then again, maybe it was both.

But I already knew I had to do it, whatever it was. This assignment was a blessing I was not going to pass on.

Mr. Owens raised his hands again, this time to silence the room. “I would like to make it clear,” he said once the class quieted, “that this is one hundred-percent optional. You do not have to participate. But, if you feel like you need to” —his eyes landed on me again— “or you want to, you can absolutely do it and reap the benefits. Now, I know you have to head to your next classes, so I'll give you a brief description and if it’s something you’re interested in you can stay late and get the details, without penalty for showing up late in your next classes. If you’re not interested, you can leave. Either way is fine. Like I said, optional assignment—one I’m sure most of you will pass up on.”

Oo-kay. So, this assignment was definitely going to suck.

“Some of you may have heard of an assignment titled ‘the baby project’ that’s administered at various schools, where the students have to care for a sack of flour or a realistic doll that cries and screams like a real baby and comes with keys you insert into the doll’s back. I fully support this type of project and way of learning. People always learn best through action, not a bunch of dull textbooks. However, I’ve never thought that sacks of flour or dolls teach you much—except in the doll’s case since the dolls are designed to cry more than is normal for an infant, which only makes students not ever want a child. And that completely goes against what those kinds of assignments should be teaching. Those kinds of projects should teach you to nurture a child, not just keep it alive, and nurturing requires care. And unless you’re six, you can’t care for a doll. So, if you decide to brave this assignment, you will not be using a doll or a sack of flour, you will be using a real live baby.”

4

Willow

“I know what you’re all thinking: ‘Where am I going to get a baby and how will I be allowed to care for it?’”

There was a confirming chuckle from the class that proved that most of us had in fact been thinking just that.

Mr. Owens smiled. “But believe it or not,” he continued, “in our glorious, sweltering hot state of Florida, it’s legal for a seventeen-year-old to adopt a child with a parent or guardian’s consent. So, in order to participate, you must be at least seventeen and get parental consent. Most of you are seventeen I believe, though, so there should be no issues. Actually, let’s take a poll and see. Raise your hand if you’re seventeen or older.”

This assignment had impeccable timing. My brothers and I had turned seventeen just a few weeks ago. I raised my hand, along with most of the class. A couple of people didn’t but they didn’t seem too upset about it.

“Just as I thought,” Mr. Owens said. “To those of you who have yet to reach seventeen, I’m sorry you can’t participate. But you’re free to leave now. And if anyone else has already decided they won’t participate in this, you’re free to leave as well.”

Most of the room got up and left. Only six other people were still there, including the guy who’d missed the test.

The teacher looked at his few students left and smiled. “I figured this would happen. And I applaud the few who remain.”

A girl in the back row tentatively raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Stevenson?”

“I was just going to let you know that I have to attend my grandma’s funeral next week, so I’ll miss a day of class,” she said apologetically.

“Ah. I see. My condolences.”

The girl mumbled thanks and quickly left.

Once she was gone, Mr. Owens turned to the rest of us. “Anyone else not here for the extra credit assignment?” he asked in amusement.

Silence.

He smiled. “Perfect.”

Perfect was Mr. Owens’ favorite word.

“And actually,” he continued, “Miss Stevenson’s departure just evened out our numbers. Now we won’t have any single parents.”

I lifted my hand. “Does that mean we’ll be working in pairs?”

“That is correct,” he answered, nodding. “Now. The details. The babies you’ll be nurturing belong to an orphanage that’s owned by a longtime friend of mine. You, with your parent or parents’ permission, will adopt the child and care for it for four months. You will bring it to school every day and show me that the child is being cared for—and I would like to emphasize the importance of making sure the child is in fact cared for. I am entrusting you with these live innocent children because I have complete faith that you can care for them. But if at any time during this experiment you feel you can no longer care for the child, please. Let me know. Don’t punish an innocent baby just because you are afraid of failing or whatnot. And I’ll also tell you that there are absolutely zero consequences for quitting mid-way through the project. This project will not affect your grade—positively or negatively—unless you complete it, so again, don’t make the baby suffer. If you can’t take care of it, let me know.”

Mr. Owens waited for us to all nod, then said, “Perfect. I will now pair you up.”

The only other two girls left in the class, Lilly and Billy Ireson, who also happened to be twins which was how I knew them, raised their hands.

Without waiting to hear their question, Mr. Owens massaged the bridge of his nose and said, “And no, ladies, you cannot request to be together. I’m teaching you to be mothers, not midwives.”

The girls made “aww” sounds, but they were grinning, so I figured it was a joke.

“Now then. Since you ladies seem very interested in who you’ll be parenting with, I’ll put you ladies with your pretend husbands first. Miss Ireson— Miss Lilly Ireson, you’ll be with Mr. Jacoby. Miss Billy Ireson, you’ll be with Mr. Anderson. And since we only have two other people, that puts Miss Maverick with Mr. Rider.”

I had to stop myself from making a face. Of course I ended up with the guy who skipped. That was just my luck.

Oh, well. I would just have to deal. I wasn’t doing this for the grade really anyway, but the experience.

“Alright, there’s not much else to be said so you have this weekend to talk to your parents. Next Monday we iron out the details and put your extra credit parenthood into motion.”

“How’d your fancy test go?” Watson asked, turning left out of the school parking lot.

Since the three of us all had the same schedule—and obviously went to the same school—there was no point in driving separately. But annoyingly, Watson and Weston refused to let me drive our shared, white F-150 pickup when they were in it. So, Watson and Weston took turns.

“Pretty good,” I replied from in between the boys, “but I don’t get the results until next week, so who knows?” I paused, studying the boys out of the corners of my eyes. “But anyway. Guess what.”

“What?” Weston asked, typing something on his phone from my right. His voice was distant, his words automatic, like he had heard what I said and unconsciously knew how to answer but hadn’t really processed my question.

“I’m becoming a mother.”

There was a moment of silence, like the calm before the storm, as they processed my words. Then they exploded.

“WHAT?” they both exclaimed.

Weston’s head snapped towards me furiously, and Watson swung the wheel hard, turning us into some random parking lot, making me fly into Weston’s side.

“Dude, what the heck?” I snapped, sitting back up in my seat after we’d jerked to a halt.

“Me ‘what the heck?’” Watson said, scowling so hard it looked like his face was dented. “I should be saying that to you! You’re pregnant?”

I blinked at him in confusion, then realized my mistake. I shook my head, rolling my eyes. “Did I say I was pregnant, or did I say I was becoming a mother?”

“Last I checked,” Weston said from my other said, looking like Watson’s mirror image with their identical appearances and scowls, “getting pregnant is the only way for a woman to become a mother. Unless you’re adopting,” he added sarcastically.

I lifted my chin a little and grinned. “I am, actually.”

Watson and Weston shared a dark look.

“So… you admit you’re pregnant?” Weston asked, gripping his phone much harder than normal.

I rolled my eyes again. “No. I admit I'm adopting.”

They shared another look, this time a confused one.

“How are you adopting a baby at seventeen?” Watson asked.

“Why are you adopting a baby at seventeen?” Weston added.

“It’s for a project in my Child Development class. We have to adopt a baby and care for it for four months, and if I complete the assignment, I’ll be guaranteed an A+ in that class.”

A car honked angrily behind us, so Watson pulled into a parking spot. “Don’t you already have A’s in all of your classes?” he asked, turning back toward me once the truck was in Park.

“Well, yes. But so? I want to become a Social Worker, so I’d be nice to have a bit of experience with kids and babies.”

Weston said, “We’re going to have two little sisters in a few months. You’ll get experience from them.”

I scowled, annoyed that they were teaming up against me. “No. I already signed up for this, and I’m not going to quit. Besides, if I do, my partner—”

“Partner?” they asked sharply.

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

I would’ve gotten out and walked the rest of the way home if I hadn’t been stuck in between them.

Why did brothers always have to be so overprotective?

Didn’t they realize that I was going to get married someday whether they liked it or not, so getting all angered and protective was pointless?

I sucked in a calming breath and replied through clinched teeth, “Yes. Partner. He’ll be left to care for the baby alone if I quit, so I will be doing no such thing.”

“Who is it?” Watson demanded.

“I don’t know his name!” I exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing up my hands.

“Do you know his last name?”

I sighed heavily, rolling my eyes. “It’s... Rider, okay? His last name’s Rider. That’s all I know about him, except that he missed practically the whole test today and only got to class during, like, the last ten minutes.”

Though... he’d seemed kind of dejected when Mr. Owens ignored him after he sat. Like he had wanted to take the test but hadn’t been able to.

That was why I smiled at him. My stupid, overly compassionate heart had felt bad.

“Rider?” Watson and Weston said together, dragging me out of my thoughts.

“You mean... Nathan Rider?” Weston asked. “As in... dark, curly-ish hair, blue eyes and freckles?”

I frowned, hoping my pretend husband wouldn’t end up being one of their weirdo friends. How awkward would that be? “Yes. You know him? His name is Nathan?”

“We know him,” Watson answered, “but we don’t know know him.”

Wow. That was the most helpful statement I’ve ever heard in my entire life.

“What the heck does that mean? How do you know him?”

“He does Track with us,” Watson explained.

“Yeah. He’s athletic but he’s a soccer guy,” Weston said, grimacing like the word ‘soccer’ was a rotten lemon he’d stuck in his mouth.

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, not quite sure why I was defending him.

“Soccer’s a girl sport,” they stated simultaneously.

I scowled. “That’s stupid. That’s like saying football is only a boy sport.”

“It is!” they said.

“Typical thinking for a boy,” I huffed.

They both rolled their eyes.

“Oh, come on, Willow,” Watson said. “Don’t go all feminist on us. Would you really play football if there was a team for girls?”

“No. But another girl might. Besides, it’s not just football that I wouldn’t do; I wouldn’t play any sport.”

“Which seems really weird,” Weston put in. “You’re just as athletic as us. And, I mean, considering the fact that you’ve easily outran us many times before, you’d probably be a regular runner if you joined the track team.”

“Oh please. You’re probably just saying that so that I’ll join and get humiliated when I suck.”

Watson sighed. “We wouldn’t do that to you. And we’re not just saying that. You are really fast. But fine. Whatever. Keep spending all your time in your room reading books and falling in love with a bunch of fictional men.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to date anybody,” I said, crossing my arms at them. “Wouldn’t you prefer I fall in love with a fictional person than actually date?”

“Believe it or not, a sister with a boyfriend would be much better than a sister in an insane asylum.”

I rolled my eyes yet again. “I don’t fall in love with fictional men. I simply appreciate that they are so much better than real men. Including you two.”

“Really? Name one,” Watson said.

“Honey, I could name five. Keefe, Percy, Leo, Michael, Caden. And I could name more if I wanted to. All of them are incredible men to the women in their lives.”

“Oo-kay, let’s get back onto the topic that made us pull into Vape City’s parking lot,” Weston interjected before Watson could make a snappy retort, “so that we can leave soon. People are staring at the truck.”

I looked out the front windshield and realized he was right. A heavily tattooed woman in a tank top walked past with a cigarette to her mouth, glaring at us as she passed.

I was suddenly very thankful our stepfather had had our windows tinted a couple months ago.

“There’s nothing more to say, Weston,” I answered finally. “If Mom lets me do this, I will do it. And don’t try to convince her that I shouldn’t. She’s a grown woman. She can decide for herself. So… please. Let’s leave before someone sticks screws in our tires or something.”

“Whatever,” Weston responded. He gestured to Watson to exit the parking lot.

The rest of the ride home was spent in silence. 

5

Nathan

“You’re what?”

“Adopting a baby for my Child Development class,” I repeated, already knowing Lil was about to overreact.

She didn’t disappoint, squealing excitedly and twirling around the picnic table I was sitting at, her hot pink skirt flaring around her. “Yay! I’m going to be an aunt!”

This was why I’d taken her to the nearby park to break the news to her. I had known she would be both insanely giddy and excessively loud. And those two things didn’t mix well with Dad’s hangovers and pounding headaches.

I shook my head, sighing and hating to break her shiny new bubble. “The baby’s not actually going to be mine, Lil. And we’re not going to keep it. We’re just going to be taking care of it for a few months.”

Lil stopped spinning and turned to face me, swaying a little from dizziness. Once she got her bearings again, she frowned at me. “So you’re really going to take it, raise it, and leave it? Isn’t that like what Mom did to us?”

I hesitated, realizing she was kind of right. “The difference is, Lil, that Mom was our actual parent—our flesh and blood. It was her responsibility to take care of us. This baby won’t be mine, it’ll just be a baby we take of for a bit. So it’s not our responsibility to keep it forever. And it’ll only be four months that we’re with it. Mom was with us a whole lot longer than that, seven years for you and fifteen for me. That’s a massive difference. So, when the baby’s older, it won’t even remember us.”

Lil looked down at her bare feet, staring at the piece of grass that was sticking out from between two of her toes. “But... it’ll remember us now. And it’ll know that we care for it and love it and then it’ll wonder why we aren’t there anymore. It’ll be sad.”

“I know,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to, but unfortunately I need to in order to pass my class, so....”

She sighed. “I know. I just wanted to be an aunt.” She continued to stare at the ground glumly.

I sighed, relenting, and shook my head in amusement. “Alright, fine. I guess, technically, you will be. For a couple months, at least.”

Lil gave me a radiant smile, her braces flashing in the sun. “So, when do you get the baby?” she asked, hopping onto the bench on the other side of the table and making her way across like she was walking the plank.

“I don’t know. Soon, I’m assuming. The teacher said he’d explain more on Monday, so he’ll probably say then.”

Lil scrunched up her face in thought. “I hope you get the baby soon, because I really want to meet her.”

I grinned. “Her, huh?”

She nodded solemnly, stating, “Of course. Why would you get a boy baby?”

I laughed a little. “What would you do if I came home with a boy baby?” I asked.

She crossed her arms seriously. “I would be very mad.”

“What if I had no choice in the matter?”

She squinted at me, considering. “Fine,” she relented. “But that’s your only excuse.”

My grin widened when I said, “Yes, ma’am,” with a mock solute, which earned me an eye roll.

Lil went silent for a minute before asking quietly, “Does Dad know about this?”

I sighed. “Yes. I told him before I picked you up from school. And I made it clear that it was the only way I’d be able to pass this class and graduate on time, so… he agreed.”

Though very reluctantly.

And with many threats that if officials, quote “shoved their noses where they didn’t belong”—or if the baby interfered with his daily life by crying too much or messing with his stuff—there would be a certain fiery place that starts with H to pay.

So... not the best conversation.

But I supposed that I just ought to be thankful that he hadn’t started drinking again since I’d taken Lil to Waffle House this morning. Otherwise, I might have had a very different answer from him.

Lil nodded at the information, perking up. “Maybe he’ll learn to be happy again if there’s a baby in the house, and he’ll realize that he doesn’t need to drink all the time to feel happy.”

Even Lil knew that our dad had only started drinking because our mom up and left a couple years ago.

Still, her hopeful suggestion was unrealistic. Another inconvenient child in the house wasn’t going to make him better; if anything, it’d make him worse.

I didn’t want to crush her hopes, though, so I just shrugged. “Maybe.”

I braced myself to tell Lil the next bit of information. She was definitely going to take it the wrong way. “By the way… um… I’m going to have a partner for this project, so she’ll—”

“’SHE’LL?’” Lil shrieked giddily. “You have a girl partner who’s going to act like the baby’s mom? Which means she’ll be like your wife? That’s so cute!” She giggled, hopping around on the grass.

I hated the way my face flamed. “It wouldn’t be like she’s my wife,” I corrected, flustered. “She would just be, like, the baby’s other guardian.”

Lil smirked at me, obviously noticing my red face. “Suuuurrrre, she will,” she said, dragging the word out to show her disbelief. Lil clasped her hands together in the ultimate pleading expression, seeming the innocent little sister, but I saw the teasing glint in her eyes. “Will you at least tell me if she’s pretty?”

I sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this—and that if there was, I’d pay for not being honest later when Lil and Willow finally met.

I thought back to when Willow had given me that sympathetic look earlier that morning, since that had been our first and only interaction. Soft blue eyes, silken red curls, and full lips stretched into a gentle smile filled my mind.

I barely restrained myself from sighing for, like, the twelfth time as I relented, “Yes, she’s pretty.” Then I hurried to add, “But that doesn’t mean there’s going to be anything more to our relationship than friends and co-guardians of a baby, okay?” I did not need Lil to play matchmaker. Not only did I not need Willow’s brothers to get all overprotective of Willow over me, but I didn’t have time for a girlfriend.

Not while I was trying to graduate, win custody of my nine-year-old sister, and move out.

Dating and romance would have to wait.

Lil frowned like she knew what I’d been thinking. “Well, don’t stay single because of me.” Her skinny chin lifted. “I can take care of myself.”

I stared at her in surprise.

Oo-kay, I thought. That was weird.

The list of adjectives I’d use to describe Lil went up. Along with sassy, popular, stubborn, annoyingly cute, and evil, she apparently was also telepathic. “What makes you say that?” I asked hesitantly, slightly afraid of her answer.

She rolled her eyes, placing her fists on her hips. Her serious stance looked a little silly with her hot pink skirt. “I’m not dumb, Nathan. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve never had a girlfriend before, even though, like, half my friends say their sisters like you. So the only other reason you would never have dated by now would be me.”

Despite my earlier thoughts about not dating, I froze at her words. “Wait, what? Back up—most of your friends’ sisters like me? Since when? Who are your friends?”

Lil crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she demanded, “Oh, now you want a girlfriend?”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to know who likes me since I don’t know anyone who would,” I huffed. “But you’re right. I’m not looking for a relationship right now—and not because of you. It’s just… not the right time.”

It wasn’t a complete lie.

“But anyway, that means you can’t play matchmaker whenever you meet my partner,” I told her. “I don’t want a girlfriend and we’re both just trying to get good grades in our class, okay? It’s nothing more than that.”

“Ugh, fine,” she agreed, rolling her eyes, “but don’t blame me if you’re single forever.”

I relaxed, laughing a little, glad that was over. “Fine, I won’t. Now, come on. We have to get home so you can do your homework.” I stood up from the picnic table and started across the fresh-cut grass of the park lawn.

Lil slumped into a deep, annoyed groan and dragged her feet as she followed. “When I become president of the United States, I’m banning school,” she grumbled.

I grinned. “You do that.”

The rest of our walk home consisted of her agitated rants about the horrors of homework.

The entire next week of class for us parents-to-be mostly involved getting formal permission from our parents to adopt, signing paperwork, and learning the basics of childcare so we could prepare to parent. Social Services also did background checks on us and inspections of our houses—convincing Dad to stay sober that day was an adventure. Saturday after, we scheduled to visit Mr. Owen’s friend at the orphanage and finally get the baby.

That’s why I found myself driving to Willow’s house at nine in the morning to pick her up before heading to the orphanage. Apparently, she shared a car with her brothers and they needed the car for the day.

Conveniently.

I was fine with picking her up, but this whole situation was kind of annoying since I’d had to take a day off work to do all this today. Missing a day of work was probably nothing to most people my age, but I needed the money to eventually get an apartment for Lil and me, so taking off felt wrong. I kept having to remind myself that there would be no apartment if I didn’t graduate, though, and this was something I had to do to meet that goal, sadly.

I pulled into the driveway of her sky-blue house and parked behind a magenta minivan that must’ve belonged to one of her parents or something. I tapped my fingers against my steering wheel as I stared at Willow’s front door, swallowing nervously. This whole situation was just awkward.

I was picking Willow up from her house to go somewhere at a specified time, like a date—even though it wasn’t a date.

We were going to go pick out a live baby to raise together for the next few months like we were parents.

We’d never really interacted—minus during that test, which didn’t count since we didn’t actually talk to each other, and the few times we’d had to talk to exchange numbers and each other’s addresses during the past week at school—so I knew it was going to be uncomfortable.

And… well.

I may have also been a little scared that Willow’s brothers would be home and would harass me about her.

After a minute of staring at the warm yellow light that shone through their curtained front window, I finally forced myself to leave the safety of my vehicle and walk to her front door. My palms sweated as I rang her door bell and I silently prayed that one of her brothers wouldn’t answer the door for her.

A dog howl sounded from inside, making me jump.

Great, she has a dog, I thought, wiping my hands on my jeans. I had thought I’d just have to deal with her brothers, and maybe her dad if he was there. Not a dog, too.

A female voice from inside the house told the dog soothingly, “It’s okay, Bingo, I’m getting it. Shush.”

A red-headed, feminine face peeked out of the small window in the door, and I relaxed.

Good, Willow’s brothers aren’t answering the door.

They weren’t—which was a relief—but it also wasn’t Willow who answered either, though it took me a second to realize it when the door swung open.

Willow’s mother was practically Willow’s mirror image. Same curly red hair, same freckles, same soft smile. Only two things gave her away: her eyes, which were a deep green as opposed to Willow’s cornflower blue, and her large, rounded belly—Willow’s mother was obviously pregnant. Her belly was accentuated by an oversized yellow T-shirt with the Duane High School logo (a green sea turtle with boxing gloves) printed on the front, and grey sweatpants.

I tensed up again, not sure if Willow’s mother answering the door would be any better than her brothers would have been.

Smiling widely, Willow’s mother said, “You must be Nathan. Hi, I’m Willow’s mom. It’s nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand and I shook it hesitantly. Her pregnancy made her seem fragile, somehow.

“Hi, uh… Mrs. Maverick. It’s nice to meet you too.” I smiled back at her awkwardly.

She stepped back from the door and waved for me to follow her inside. A beagle—he must’ve been the dog I heard—sniffed me as I did, then ran and hid under the wooden coffee table perched in the middle of the living room.

Mrs. Maverick responded while locking the door again, her warm smile never dipping, “Actually, it’s Chandler. Mrs. Chandler. I remarried.”

I paled. Crap. Ten words in and I’d already insulted Willow’s mom. “Oh. Sorry, Mrs. Chandler. I just assumed—Willow’s last name—”

“Oh, no. Dear, it’s fine.” She waved it off with a manicured hand. “It’s a very easy mistake to make. It’s fine.” Somehow, her smile got bigger as she carefully—slowly—made her way into the kitchen. I studied my surroundings as I cautiously followed her yet again.

Teal walls.

Brown, leather couch.

Colorful décor.

Skittish dog staring at me from under the coffee table, hiding behind a large brown purse, and yet wagging his tail like he’d been waiting for me all morning.

This definitely felt like somewhere Willow would live. Everything about her house seemed just as colorful, upbeat, lively, and aesthetic as her—and her mom.

Mrs. Chandler gestured to the bar stools behind the cream island in the center of the kitchen, then turned to the counter, where she must’ve been cooking before I knocked. She started chopping the onion resting on the wooden cutting board. “Go ahead and sit down, dear. Willow will be down in a minute.” She turned back. “Would you like an omelet while you wait for her?”

I blinked. “Uh… oh. No, thank you, ma’am. I ate before I came,” I said.

Actually, I didn’t. But I felt bad making her make extra food for me.

Plus, it felt weird having someone cook for me again. I had been cooking meals for myself and Lil for the past two years. Our dad sure wasn’t gonna feed us, so the responsibility had fallen to me.

“Okay,” replied Mrs. Chandler, shrugging, “well, if you decide you want one, don’t hesitate to ask. My boys could shovel down one of my omelets even after five other breakfasts.”

I grinned a little. “That sounds like them.”

“Oh, are you friends with them?”

“Not necessarily. I know them because we do track together, but that’s the extent of our interactions.”

She nodded, flipping an omelet. “Ah, makes sense. I thought you looked familiar. I must have seen you at one of the boys’ meets.”

“Probably,” I agreed awkwardly.

Where the heck was Willow? The longer I sat down here with her mom, the more chance there was of me ruining everything by offending the likely emotional pregnant woman.

I tapped my fingers against my leg as I continued to wait for Willow, avoiding looking at Mrs. Chandler’s abnormally large belly as she navigated the large kitchen, cooking omelets like the world depended on it. Her stomach seemed too large even for a regular pregnancy, unless she was due in like a week. Though, now that I thought about it, the woman had already had triplets—maybe she’d been gifted a second set of three.

I shook my head. Whatever. Not my business.

Mrs. Chandler suddenly placed the omelet she had been making on a blue and white plate and slid it towards me on the bar.

I blinked in confusion. “Oh, uh… I didn’t ask for an omelet.” At least, I didn’t think I had. Unless she had read some silent signal that I hadn’t meant to send.

Mrs. Chandler planted her fisted hands on her hips, a mockingly stern expression on her face. “Nathan, I’ve been married to two men and I have two sons your age. I know a hungry man when I see one.”

So… she had read a silent signal I hadn’t meant to send. I figured it was just that intuition people always said mothers had—good mothers, that is.

She raised a challenging red eyebrow and nodded at the plate.

A clear order.

I cleared my throat. “Oh, well, thanks, Mrs. Chandler,” I said, obediently putting a fork full of the omelet into my mouth.

And oh, man. Mrs. Chandler knew her way around a kitchen. That omelet might have been the best thing I’d ever eaten. It was warm, buttery, a tiny bit spicy with some sort of sauce on it, and both smooth and crunchy at the same time (the smoothness from the egg, the crunch from the veggies she must have mixed in). It was an effort not to shovel the whole thing in my mouth at once.

My own mom had not been very accomplished in the kitchen when she lived with us. Dad used to joke that she could’ve burned water. I wondered if she was better at cooking now that she was gone. If simply being away from her burdensome family had improved all her life skills. I shoved the troubling thought away, quickly filling my mouth with omelet again as a distraction.

Mrs. Chandler smirked triumphantly, looking a whole lot like her sons when she did. So this was where their mischievous streak came from.

A door opened upstairs and footsteps pounded down the carpeted steps.

“Mom, have you seen my purse? I can’t find it any—” Willow’s voice broke off and she froze when she reached the end of the stairs and spotted me sitting at the kitchen bar. "Oh, uh… hi, Nathan,” she said, smiling hesitantly. “Sorry… were you waiting for me? I didn’t know you were here already. Are we late?”

“Uh….” My brain had gotten stuck at her arrival and it took me a second to process her words. “Uh, no. No, we’re not late. I got here early. Sorry, I—I should have texted.”

I looked away, grimacing at my awkwardness. I wasn’t usually this flustered around girls since I knew I didn’t want to date any of them right now, but ever since Lil’s words last week about me getting a girlfriend (and her question on whether Willow was pretty), my brain had been noticing her way more than I normally would. Like now, for instance, I couldn’t help noticing how good Willow’s cropped, pastel pink T-shirt (which said, “reading is a full-time job, not a part-time hobby,” with a stack of pastel-colored books behind the words) looked with her red hair. I couldn’t help thinking it was cute, and I hated that Lil had influenced my brain this much.

I mentally smacked myself, thinking, Head in the game, Nathan. You don’t like her, and she definitely doesn’t like you. You’re just here for your grade.

Willow cautiously stepped off the stairs and entered the kitchen. “Oh, okay. Well, I’ll be ready soon. I just have to find my purse.” She stepped close to Mrs. Chandler and kissed her cheek.

“You need to eat, too, Willow. No one leaves this house without breakfast,” Willow’s mother declared stubbornly.

Willow raised an eyebrow, eyeing me as I carefully ate another bite of omelet. “Is that why Nathan is eating that omelet like he’s being held at gunpoint?”

Startled, I choked and began coughing.

Willow hurried to get me a cup of water and slid it toward me on the counter like her mother had with the omelet. Her blue eyes wide, she said, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you choke.” She twisted her hands together worriedly.

I guzzled the water desperately, finally clearing my throat. I gave a few more coughs before reassuring her, “It’s fine. I’m fine.” I chuckled at the worried look on her face. “Seriously. It’s fine. I haven’t had a breakfast this good since I was little, so I'm kind of savoring it.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she shot a smile at her mom, who was in the process of making another omelet. “Yeah, my mom’s cooking is legendary.”

“I believe that.” I scraped the last bite of omelet off my plate and ate it. After I’d swallowed, I asked her, “By the way, um... did you say you were looking for your purse?

She tapped her fingers—delicately manicured, like her mother’s—on the marble counter of the island. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Oh, well, I saw a purse under the coffee table as I was walking in earlier, so I just thought that maybe it was yours,” I explained, shrugging.

Willow rolled her eyes, shaking her head, as she asked, “Was our dog by it?”

I recalled the dog cowering behind the leather bag and nodded at Willow. Was it a normal occurrence for their dog to hide behind her purse?

“That makes sense. Bingo—the dog—tends to steal our personal items, like shoes, bags, socks, etc.” She shook her head again, grinning slightly. “Bingo’s crazy.”

Mrs. Chandler handed another plate with an omelet to Willow, joking, “That’s why he fits in so well with us.”

Willow scowled at her mom’s back, then at the plate, before she reluctantly took a bite. She mumbled around her mouthful of omelet, “I guess we can go after I finish eating.”

I nodded, cautiously bringing my empty plate around the island, where Mrs. Chandler promptly took it and placed it in the sink. Then I just stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do while I waited for Willow to finish. Eventually, I asked her, “Do you want me to go get your purse while you eat? If not, that’s fine,” I added hurriedly in case she got weirded out. “Just... you know... a suggestion.”

She shrugged. “Sure, if you want to. Don’t worry, Bingo won’t bother you if he’s still by it. He’ll just stare at you with hurt, little puppy-dog eyes. Don’t feel bad, though, it’s all an act.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” I stiffly headed toward the living room, where I found the dog—Bingo—still sprawled behind the large bag, under the low table.

He jumped up when I got closer, staring at me apprehensively.

I stopped a few feet from him, hesitating. I stole a glance at the hall that led to the kitchen before whispering, “Hey, bud. Nice bag you got there. Can I have it?”

I slowly reached out a hand to the bag, and Bingo suddenly jumped up, bolting away. He hopped on the couch, staring again.

“Oh—sorry for scaring you, bud.” Still, his departure from under the table made it easier to retrieve Willow’s purse, which was surprisingly heavy when I picked it up. I carried it back to the kitchen, where Willow was rinsing her plate in the sink.

“You got it?” she asked.

I handed it to her, shoving my hands in my pockets as I admitted, “Yep. Scared the dog, though.”

She shrugged, shouldering her bag. “Eh. Bingo’s scared of everyone. It’s not just you. So, you ready to go?”

“Sure. Um... thanks, Mrs. Chandler, for the omelet. It was really good.”

She beamed at me. “Of course! It was nice to meet you, Nathan. I hope I’ll see you again soon. Have a good day, you two.”

“Bye, Mom,” Willow called as we left the kitchen.

When we got to my car, an unwashed, blue Ford Excursion, I felt a flash of embarrassment. Surely, Willow’s car was way nicer than my old truck.

But when she reached the passenger door, she just commented, “I like your truck. This is one of my favorite colors.”

I unlocked the doors, and we both slid into our seats. “Thanks,” I told her. “I bought it from my uncle when I turned sixteen. I loved how loud it was.”

I turned the key, pausing a second before starting the engine. Willow grinned as it roared to life, and I grinned back. “See what I mean?”

“Yeah, it’s definitely loud,” she agreed, laughing.

Her laughter blended with the engine, and I couldn’t help but think, as I pulled out of her driveway, that maybe I’d actually enjoy these next few months with her.

Maybe.