AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m not?—”
She steps away from me, covering her face with her hands. As she begins to weep, I curse myself again. Her shoulders tremble as she cries, and I awkwardly reach out a hand and rest it on her arm. Damn, I’m bad at this.
Not only have I humiliated, berated, and insulted my best student, but now I can add to that list—stalked, harassed, and made her cry.
If I don’t get fired for this, I’ll quit myself.
“I’m…sorry,” I mumble awkwardly.
She pulls her hands away from her face and wipes the tears from her eyes. “It’s not your fault,” she says. Then, after a big sigh and a wincing expression, she mumbles to herself, “These goddamn hormones are out of control, and I cry at the drop of a hat.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, unsure of what else to say.
“No,” she mutters indignantly.
“What do you mean no?”
With a huff, she drops her hands and stares at me. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I’m…pregnant.”
As she turns those tear-soaked eyes on me, I stand in silence. My eyes blink, and my throat turns dry. Her words are like bubbles, floating toward me only to pop the moment they reach my cold, lifeless exterior.
“Um…”
With a sad laugh, she turns away. “Please don’t say anything. You’d probably say the wrong thing anyway.”
“What is the right thing to say?” I ask.
“I don’t know…” she says with exasperation. “Congratulations?”
“Is it…a cause for celebration?”
Turning toward me, she appears offended. “Of course. Right? Babies are little blessings we should be excited about?”
“Not always,” I argue.
Her eyes are glued to my face as if she’s confused by my reactions or trying to figure me out. Finally, she crosses her arms over her chest. “I shouldn’t have even told you about it. I don’t know why I keep talking to you. You clearly don’t have a relatable, sympathetic bone in your body, so it’s like I just gave you more ammunition to lecture me for being an irresponsible idiot and screwing a guy I didn’t know without protection and never taking my birth control at the same time every day like I was supposed to.
“And it’s not like you care that I now have to decide if I should keep the baby or not. Or that my parents would be furious with me because I can’t seem to do anything right in my life. And how I probably won’t graduate on time now and can’t afford to move out, and everything is going to shit. But nope. You couldn’t possibly relate, Mr. Perfect, because, as you said, some people just make smarter choices, right? Isn’t that what you said?”
When she’s done with her emotional speech, she places her hands on her hips, out of breath and clearly very emotional.
I don’t have a response to anything she said because she’s right. I did say that. And now, in this context, it sounds awful.
But at the same time, I hate that she’s beating herself up for every little thing that’s gone wrong. I don’t want to just make her feel better—I want to make her be better. And by better, I mean…good enough for herself.
Reaching forward, I snatch the paper from her hand. “This paper is phenomenal, Sadie. Your writing is eloquent, captivating, and brilliant. You got an A on this paper because you earned it.”
She scoffs. “Who cares about a fucking essay?”
“I do. You should. Because it’s not about the essay, Sadie. It’s about your potential. You are not an idiot. You are human and you made a few mistakes, but it doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”
“Wow,” she says, wiping her eyes again. “Saying I’m not an idiot is the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”
I let out a heavy breath as I fight the urge to shake her. Sadie reminds me so much of Isaac. With so much potential but so little guidance or confidence.
Relating her to my brother probably motivates me to say the absolutely wildest and most unexpected thing.
“I have a spare room.”
