Two Lines and Broken Dreams
The fluorescent lights of the high school bathroom hummed, casting a pale, clinical glow over the small stall. Taylor sat on the edge of the closed toilet lid, her fingers trembling so violently she could barely hold her breath. Beside her on a paper towel lay the small plastic stick.
Three minutes felt like three lifetimes.
When she finally looked, two distinct pink lines stared back at her. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat like dry straw. At sixteen, her future was supposed to be about college applications, track meets, and Friday night lights. Instead, the universe had just compressed her life into a single, terrifying reality.
Outside, the hallway buzzed with the familiar rhythm of Oakridge High. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed, and footsteps rushed toward seventh period. Taylor stayed rooted to the spot, tears quietly carving hot tracks through her foundation. She folded her arms tightly around her stomach, suddenly feeling simultaneously hollow and completely full.
