Part 25 (1/2)
”I'll probably just go to bed early.”
”All right, but if you need me, call, okay?”
”I'll call and you won't answer.”
”Then leave me a message.”
”I'll be fine. I love you.”
”I love you too.”
After we hang up, I go back to my breakfast. I take a bite of eggs, gag, and throw the rest away.
I fall back into bed and sleep for the rest of the afternoon.
I'm groggy when my phone rings. I fumble for it, not wanting to open my eyes. Somehow I manage to swipe the screen and answer.
”h.e.l.lo?”
”Ali, are you okay?” Finley asks.
”Fine.” Even I don't believe me.
”What's up, girl? You sound awful.”
”Thanks.”
”Just keeping it real. But seriously, are you sick?”
I fall back onto my pillow. ”Flu. The virus hates me.”
”Eh. The flu hates everyone. You're not special.”
”That makes me feel better,” I deadpan.
”So how long have you felt s.h.i.+tty?” Finn asks like she's going to diagnose me.
”Ten days, I think. Today's the first day I've skipped cla.s.s though.”
”It's getting worse? And let me guess: you haven't seen a doctor.”
”Not necessary.”
”How does Maverick feel about that?” She sounds smug. I hate when she sounds smug.
”I just need more sleep,” I insist.
”Are you feeling tired often?” she asks. There's clicking in the background, and I realize what she's doing.
”Are you on WebMD?”
”Maybe. Now, are you feeling tired often?”
”Constantly.”
”When was your last period?”
”I don't remember. I'm on the pill.”
”Have you missed any recently?”
I roll my eyes. ”I'm not pregnant.”
”b.o.o.bs hurt?”
I squeeze one and let go immediately. ”They're sore, yeah.”
”Where's Maverick?”
”That can't be on WebMD.”
”No, but he can go get you a pregnancy test, right?”
”I'm not pregnant, Finn.”
”Only one way to find out. Call me once you take it.”
She hangs up before I can respond. She really can't expect me to take a pregnancy test, can she?
A text dings on my phone.
Go. You have 30 minutes.
Oh G.o.d, she's serious. If I don't do this on my own, she'll drive over here and do it for me. Normally, I'd wait this out and call her bluff, but I feel like roadkill and the last thing I want is Finley at my house.
I groan and get out of bed. It takes me twenty-five minutes to get dressed and drive to Wal-Mart. In the aisle, I stare at the selection. This is crazy. I'm wasting my time and money, and I don't have a clue what the difference in these test brands are.
I almost turn around and leave the store when my phone dings again.
Got it yet? Finn texts.
At the store, I text back.
The thought crosses my mind to just go home empty-handed and tell her I took it.
Ding.