Keeping It Fluid -31

---

The days kept passing, and my mind kept racing.

I told myself it was just stress. That everything—the trauma, the anxiety, the sleepless nights—was throwing my body out of sync.

But deep down, I knew.

Something wasn't right.

It hit me for real on a Wednesday morning, a couple of weeks later.

I'd been keeping track—circling the days in my planner, counting and recounting like maybe I'd made a mistake. But no matter how many times I checked, the numbers stayed the same.

It should've started by now.

Two weeks ago, actually.

The realization sank into my chest like ice, cold and heavy and suffocating.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the calendar like I could will the dates to change. My hands shook as I turned the pages back, then forward, over and over again.

No.

This couldn't be happening.

I wasn't ready for this.

I couldn't handle this.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe. Trying to think.

Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just late. Maybe my body's just... scared, like the rest of me.

But what if it wasn't?

What if I was—

I couldn't even finish the thought. The word loomed at the edge of my mind, too big, too terrifying to fully let in.

I didn't want it to be true.

I wasn't sure I could survive it if it was.

That afternoon, I sat on my bed with my knees pulled tight to my chest, staring at the tiny paper bag on my nightstand.

Inside it was a pregnancy test.

It looked so small. Too small to hold something that could change everything.

Jasmine and Mia had gone with me to buy it—Mia, calm and methodical, reading every box like we were comparing brands of cereal; Jasmine, shooting daggers at anyone who even looked at us for too long.

But now? They weren't here.

I was alone.

And I had to do this.

I reached for the bag.

Then stopped.

My hands were shaking.

What if it's positive?

What if it's real?

I didn't want to know.

I didn't want to see those two little lines, because the second I did—it would all be real. It wouldn't just be fear or denial or guessing.

It would be truth.

And truth meant choices.

It meant consequences.

It meant no more hiding.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breath coming fast, chest tight. My heart thundered in my ears.

I couldn't do this.

I couldn't.

A knock at the door jolted me upright.

"Emily?"

Mia's voice—soft, careful.

I swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

The door creaked open. Mia peeked in.

Her eyes went to the bag on my nightstand. Then to me.

Without saying anything else, she stepped inside and sat down beside me.

"I can't do it," I whispered.

She didn't argue. She just nodded, like she'd already expected me to say that.

And maybe she did understand.

"You don't have to do it alone," she said quietly. "Jasmine's downstairs. She's stress-eating chips, if that tells you anything."

That pulled the tiniest smile from me. It was small. But it was real.

Mia nudged the bag gently toward me. "We're here. No matter what it says, we're not going anywhere."

I stared at the bag again.

Then at Mia.

Then—

I reached for it.

I took the bag with trembling hands and stood slowly, every movement feeling too loud, too heavy.

Mia didn't say anything. She just stood up beside me and followed as I walked toward the bathroom.

My legs felt like they might give out. My breath came shallow and quick. It was like walking toward a cliff and not knowing how far the drop would be.

Inside the bathroom, I closed the door and locked it behind me.

I stood there for a second, staring at the box in my hands.

This is happening.

I opened it. Pulled out the test. Read the instructions twice, even though Mia had already walked me through them earlier.

Then, with a deep breath and my heart hammering, I did what I had to do.

When I finished, I set it on the edge of the sink.

And waited.

Two minutes.

That's what the box said.

Two minutes felt like a lifetime.

I stared at the stick, afraid to blink. Afraid to look away. Afraid to look too closely.

I could hear Mia pacing softly outside the door, giving me space but still there. I didn't know what I would've done without her.

I glanced at the clock on my phone.

One minute.

My stomach twisted. My fingers dug into the hem of my sweatshirt.

Forty seconds.

Breathe.

Twenty.

Ten.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Please, no.

Please.

When I opened them, the result was staring back at me.

Two lines.

Positive.

The world tilted.

I backed away from the sink, my knees hitting the edge of the tub. I sank down onto the floor, my arms wrapped around myself, the test still clutched in my shaking hand.

There it was.

The truth.

No more wondering.

No more what-ifs.

Just this.

A knock sounded again. Softer this time.

"Emily?" Mia's voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. "You okay?"

I couldn't speak.

But I unlocked the door.

Mia stepped in slowly, eyes landing on me, then on the test in my hand.

She didn't need to ask.

She sat down beside me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders without a word.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, I let myself cry.

Not because I was weak.

But because it was real now.

And it was too heavy to carry alone.

Normally, Mom would drive me to school.

But today, I walked with Mia and Jasmine.

It was Monday.

I hadn't been back to school since Wednesday—the day I took the test.

After that, I just... couldn't.

I told Mom I was sick. She didn't argue. She let me stay in bed, bringing me tea and soup I didn't touch, brushing my hair back with that same quiet worry in her eyes. The kind that said she knew something was wrong but didn't know what, and didn't want to push too hard in case she broke me.

I spent the rest of the week curled up in silence, barely speaking, barely sleeping.

And now, somehow, it was Monday.

Mom offered to drive me—twice—but I said I needed the fresh air. I couldn't sit in that car, couldn't handle her worried glances or the silence pressing between us like it knew the truth I hadn't told.

She didn't push. She just looked at me like she always does lately—confused, concerned, trying not to say the wrong thing. She still doesn't know why I've changed.

And I can't tell her.

So I walked.

To myself, I kept repeating it like a mantra.

Nothing's changed. Nothing's changed.

That I could wake up, go to school, and pretend everything was normal. That I could still be Emily—the girl who sat with Mia and Jasmine at lunch, who groaned about math homework, who rolled her eyes at Jasmine's terrible jokes.

That I could shove it all down—the fear, the shame, the guilt—and keep moving forward.

But the problem was...

Everything had changed.

And pretending didn't make it any less real.

Jasmine kicked a pebble off the sidewalk as we walked, hands shoved in her hoodie pocket. "Okay, but if I fail that math quiz today, I'm blaming Mr. Carter and his weird obsession with word problems."

"Right?" Mia said, rolling her eyes. "No one cares how fast a train is going if I'm not even on the train."

I smiled—barely. It didn't quite reach my eyes, but it was the best I could do.

They were trying. I knew that. Keeping things light. Normal.

"Did you study at all?" I asked, my voice quieter than usual.

Jasmine scoffed. "Define study."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Jasmine read the first page of the chapter, then watched a cat video compilation."

"In my defense," Jasmine said, holding up a finger, "it was educational. The cats were solving puzzles."

I let out a small laugh. Not forced. Just... brief.

It felt nice. Safe.

For a moment.

Then a silence settled between us—not awkward, just heavier.

Mia glanced over. "How are you feeling today?"

I hesitated.

Then shrugged. "Okay. I guess."

Jasmine looked over at me. "You sure?"

No. Not even close.

But I nodded anyway.

Mia didn't press. Jasmine didn't, either. They just walked beside me, close enough that I didn't feel like I might fall apart and disappear.

And even though everything inside me still felt cracked and raw, I was grateful for that.

For them.

For not asking me to be okay when I wasn't.

Just walking. Just being there.

And somehow, in the middle of everything that had changed...

That felt like something I could hold onto.

The school day dragged on, and I forced myself to go through the motions.

In the hallways, I smiled at the right times. In class, I took notes like I was actually paying attention. Like I was still a normal student with a normal life.

At lunch, I sat with Jasmine and Mia, listening to them like my world wasn't quietly crumbling underneath me.

"Okay, but tell me why my little cousin thought it would be funny to glue my phone to the table," Jasmine said, shaking her head. "Like, full-on super glue. I had to pry it off with a freaking spatula."

Mia snorted. "I wish I could've seen that."

I laughed, even though I barely registered what they were saying. The sound felt strange in my mouth—hollow.

Jasmine pointed her fork at me. "See, this is why I need you to hang out more. You and Mia are supposed to protect me from my dumb family."

I nodded, chewing on my lip. "Yeah. Totally."

Mia's smile faded as she looked at me a little closer. "You okay?"

My heart skipped.

I forced my expression into something neutral. "Yeah. Just tired."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "You've been 'just tired' a lot lately."

I shrugged. "School sucks."

That part, at least, wasn't a lie.

Jasmine seemed to accept it and went back to her story, but Mia kept watching me. Quiet. Careful.

I focused on my food, ignoring the way my stomach twisted at the smell. I hadn't really had an appetite since... well, since I found out.

Mia leaned in a little closer, her voice just above a whisper. "Are you feeling okay? Like... physically?"

I nodded quickly, not trusting my voice.

Jasmine caught the look between us and, for once, didn't say anything. She just kept her voice loud and cheerful, pulling attention away from us.

It was their unspoken way of protecting me—shielding me with their presence, their laughter, their carefully placed silences.

They hadn't told anyone. They wouldn't.

No one else at school knew.

And for now, that mattered more than anything.

I picked up my fork again and poked at my food, my stomach churning. I didn't eat much, but I stayed.

Because even when I couldn't talk about it, even when the weight in my chest felt unbearable

By the time I got home, I was drained.

Pretending had taken everything out of me. It always did.

Mom was in the kitchen, sorting through the mail. When I walked in, she looked up. Her eyes narrowed just slightly.

"You okay?"

I paused. Just enough to give myself away.

She'd been watching me more lately. I could feel it.

Like she knew. Not the details. But enough to sense the shift. The change in me.

I pulled a smile across my face like a coat I didn't want to wear. "Yeah. Just tired."

She didn't answer right away. Just watched me, the way she does when she's trying to read between the lines.

Then, finally, she nodded. "Alright. Just... let me know if you need anything, okay?"

I could tell she wanted to say more.

But she didn't.

And I wasn't ready.

So I just nodded and headed upstairs, my steps slow, my legs heavy.

I closed the door behind me and sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands.

They were shaking.

I could still hear Jasmine and Mia's voices in my head—their laughter, their effort to keep things normal, to keep me steady.

And yet—

I felt so alone.

I curled into myself, pressing my palms gently over my stomach.

It didn't look different.

But it felt different.

Like there was a secret inside me, wrapping itself around my ribs, making it hard to breathe.

I thought about Mom's face in the kitchen.

I thought about the way Mia kept watching me like she could see straight through the silence.

I thought about how, at any moment, this secret could come undone—and everything would fall with it.

And then—

I cried.

Not quiet tears. Not just misty eyes.

Real, aching, body-shaking sobs.

Because for the first time...

It felt real.