Bet On You

DIANE

Eighteen years old

Oh. My. Gosh.

I’m totally freaking out.

I stare at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test I grabbed from the pharmacy on my way home. This cannot be happening.

It has to be a joke. A prank. This pregnancy is going to ruin everything. My boyfriend’s parents already think I’m white trash, and I’m only eighteen years old.

My boyfriend Eric is twenty. We met when he first came to visit his aunt and uncle in Newlands—he was fifteen and I was thirteen. I guess it was love at first sight for both of us. We were inseparable whenever he’d visit.

He asked me to be his girlfriend when I turned fifteen, and the rest is history.

His parents hate me because I’m apparently going to ruin Eric’s bright future. Which is ridiculous, because Eric is the most focused person I know. I have no idea how I’m supposed to tell Eric about this. Or my grandparents. Or his parents.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eric answers when I call.

I need to tell him first. He’s the father.

“Eric, can we meet up today? Or tomorrow? As soon as possible. There’s something we need to talk about.”

“What is it? Honey, you’re scaring me.” His voice goes frantic, and I need to calm him down.

“No, it’s nothing to worry about.” Well, it is if he doesn’t want children.

“Okay, well in that case, can we meet up some other time? I’m really busy today. Dad has me knee-deep in contracts I have to go over.”

Part of me wants to tell him over the phone, but then his mother’s voice echoes in my head. She told me I’d be a distraction to her son. I don’t want to prove her right. So I decide to tell him when we meet face-to-face. Whenever that is.

“Okay,” I say.

“I love you,” he says.

“Love you too.” I sigh after I hang up. That went well.

***

The next week, on my way to school, a black SUV parks right in front of me as I’m about to cross the road. A man in a black suit opens the back door, and Eric’s mom—Mrs. McKenzie—steps out.

“Diane, darling, how are you? Well, not too good by the looks of it.” She looks me up and down.

I suddenly feel self-conscious. She’s probably referring to my disheveled state—the bags under my eyes from not sleeping all week.

“Hi, Mrs. McKenzie. I’m doing good,” I say.

“Honey, why don’t you step into the car for a minute? I want to have a chat with you.” She doesn’t even wait for my answer before getting back into the car.

The driver escorts me to the other side and opens the door for me.

“Um…but we need to be quick because I have to be somewhere in thirty minutes.”

“No problem, dear,” she says with a fake smile. I suddenly have a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“So, I have an offer for you,” she says.

Now I’m really confused.

“What offer, ma’am?”

“Well, dear, I know of your little predicament.” She glances at my stomach.

Yeah, that feeling of dread is in full force now.

I try to act stupid. “What predicament?”

“Oh, cut the crap, little girl. Now, this is my offer—you will take that…that spawn of yours and leave this city. I’m giving you a chance to start over so people won’t judge you. You know how it is in this city. Everybody knows everyone’s business.”

What? How does she know about the pregnancy? And why is she making this offer?

“But why would you want us to leave the city? Where would I go? Leave my family? I…I…”

“You see, you’ll become a bigger distraction to Eric when you have a baby. So I want him to focus on his career first. Then he’ll come back for you, sweetie.”

“Come back for me? What?” I’m still confused.

“Yes, I’ve spoken with Eric, and this is what we’ve decided is the best solution. Honey, Eric said he doesn’t want the burden of a family at the young age of twenty.”

What? He knows about the baby? That’s probably why he hasn’t seen me in a week. Usually we see each other every other day.

“Eric knows about the baby?” I ask.

“Of course he knows, sweetie. I can see you don’t believe me, so here’s something.”

She takes out her phone and shows me a series of messages between Eric’s number and hers.

Eric: What! She’s pregnant? I don’t want it, Mom. I don’t want that burden on me. Tell her to terminate it.

Mrs. McKenzie: No, son, you don’t really mean that.

Eric: I do, Mom. I’ve got my entire life ahead of me, and I don’t need that stress in my life.

Mrs. McKenzie: Okay then, how about we ask her to leave the city for a few years? Maybe until you can be stable in your career, and then she can come back. Because sweetie, I know that you love her.

Eric: Okay cool, Mom, that’s what we’ll tell her. I hope she listens; she can be a bit stubborn. Please be the one to tell her, because I’ll cave in and probably marry her, only to resent her in a few years.

Mrs. McKenzie: No problem, son.

I can’t believe what my eyes are seeing. This cannot be Eric—the man I love and who loves me just as much, if not more.

I try calling him so he can say this to my face. Unfortunately, it goes to voicemail, and that tells me all that I need to know.

I decide right then and there that I will relieve Eric of his duties as a father. Considering it would be a burden to him. Besides, I don’t want him to resent me.

The next day, I leave Newlands because I don’t want to be a disgrace to my parents, and I don’t want Eric to resent me.

JESSICA

11 Years Old

“Get out of my way, nerd!” Ivy pushes me farther from her on the couch and takes the TV remote.

My mom is the head domestic worker at Ivy’s family’s estate. She oversees a staff of five maids, three gardeners, and two maintenance men. Yes, the Crompton estate is that big. Due to this, my mom has her own quarters.

I love my mom. It’s been just me and her ever since I’ve been old enough to remember.

I know that my father is out there in the world somewhere, but I know little else about him. I only know that he and my mom broke up before my mom found out she was pregnant with me, and she wasn’t ever able to find him. I can tell that this story upsets my mom, so I choose to never ask about him because I don’t like seeing my mom upset.

Mr. Crompton, Ivy’s father, is fairly nice, but the rest of the family? Not so much. Then again, no woman would be nice if they knew that their husband was screwing anything that walks by in a skirt. However, that is no excuse to treat my mother and me like crap.

I have been both fortunate and unfortunate enough to go to the same school as Ivy Crompton. Her parents—well, her father—has been paying for my education since I was eight years old. This is when my mother first started working for them.

I call it fortunate because I get to go to an elite school. It is unfortunate though because most of the time, Ivy goes out of her way to bully me at school.

I am now in grade six, and I still have to deal with Ivy and her bully friends. I mean, come on. Shouldn’t I get a break just because we are not petty little kids anymore?

“Oomph!” I duck too late as Ivy hits me with a cushion.

“What did you do that for?” is my immediate reply.

It’s only after I’ve spoken that I recognize the evil in her eyes because I have fueled her fire. She loves when I talk back because this means she can just be meaner to me. I can see the evil in her eyes before she yells, “Mom, Jessica just hit me with a cushion, and she won’t let me watch the TV.”

Her mother comes barreling down the hallway to the lounge and hits me upside the head.

“Where did you get the audacity to hit my baby girl, huh?” she asks me. I don’t know what to say, so I just keep quiet and look down.

“Little brat, you will look at me when I am talking to you! You and your mother are so ungrateful,” she says as she rewards me with another bump upside the head. “This family has done everything for you, yet you disrespect us and have no regard for us. You will not be getting any allowance this month, young lady.”

I don’t care about the allowance because Ivy takes it from me anyway.

Later that night, I pray to God to help me and my mom get through the abuse. Also, that I get a good job when I’m older so I can take care of my mom, and we won’t have to depend on the Cromptons.

I pray that God gives my mother some happiness in her life. I see the light in her eyes dimming more and more every day. While I’m at it, I also curse my sperm donor.