Opposite Force

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mikaela Martin | Present

There's a bounce in my step that I try to suppress when I walk down the stairs in the morning. I can't help it. I feel...different. I'm not in pain or anything; that happened with Sean a lot, but Peyton was careful, so I have no idea why I'm walking differently than normal.

"Mikaela!" Mom barks.

Please tell me she doesn't know.

Her face is stern and a little angry. She definitely knows.

How does she know already?!

"Good morning," I say cheerily.

"Can we talk upstairs?"

"Can I have breakfast first?"

"No. Ava and Evan have a playdate with the Quinns. We need to leave in ten minutes. Come on. Up, up!"

Up, up! Like I'm five years old and she's coaxing me off the swing-set. "Fine," I grumble.

Mom practically leaps up the stairs, clearly excited to squeeze in some Mikaela-torture before breakfast. I plop down on the edge of her bed, leaning back slightly so I look relaxed. In reality, I'm in ready-position. I can spring off the mattress with a second's notice.

"Are you being careful?" Mom demands.

I play dumb. "Careful with what?"

"Your boyfriend. Was his mother home last night?"

"Mom," I groan.

"Was she?"

I let out a sigh. "No."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Mom!" I exclaim. "I'm not talking ab—"

"Did you sleep with him, Mikaela?" she interrupts, her voice cold. I know why. My dad left when she got pregnant with the twins. He never wanted kids. Apparently, I was a concession he was willing to make. Ava and Evan, however, were not. She's probably terrified I'll end up a single mother with a kid as disappointing as Mikaela Martin.

"No," I lie.

"I can always tell when you aren't telling me the truth."

"Then why are you asking?" I sigh.

"Are you using condoms?"

My face is about to burst into flames. "Oh my God, Mom. Please. Stop."

"I have to ask, Mikaela. I was your age once."

I glare at her. "If Peyton and I ever sleep together, we'll use a condom. How's that?" Every single word is pure, embarrassing agony leaving my mouth.

"I want you on the pill too. We can talk about it later."

I cannot handle this. "Yes, can we please talk about it later?"

She sighs. "Are you going over his house today?"

"Yes."

"To sleep with him again?"

"Mom! Stop!"

"I know it's awkward to talk about, sweetie, but I'm a woman too."

"I think the twins are going to be late," I tell her. I'm not lying. This painful conversation has lasted nearly ten minutes, which is ten minutes too long.

Mom huffs and puffs and sighs but accepts our ceasefire—I'm going to need to tell Peyton that military history vocabulary is sneaking into my daily lexicon—and hollers for the twins to put their shoes on. Five agonizing minutes later, they're out the door. I decide that there's no chance I stay home long enough for Mom to return, so I throw on a sweater and jeans, grab a granola bar, and power-walk into my car.