Sixteen and Pregnant With My Best Friends Baby

Chapter~Three

It's been two weeks since the day in the cafeteria when I blew up on everyone about my weight. I have not resorted to starving or killing myself, yet. Depression is very common in my family, my mom has to take medicine still, and I'm afraid that I might have it, eventually.

Today we went to a thanksgiving feast for my dads work, and let me just tell you that it was really boring and I could've just invited Chris over instead. All my dads co-workers just kept saying how big or tall I've gotten and how old I am. I'm only sixteen for heavens sake.

So, anyways after the thanksgiving feast my parents and Landon left for my grandparents for the night while Grayson went to a friends house.

Currently, Chris and I are attempting to make Brownies and just to let you know it's not going good at all.

"What are you doing?!" I shout when I see Chris using the hand mixer to stir his bowl of brownie mix.

"Using your arms is too tiring, this is way easier," he states matter-of-factly.

"There's a reason why you mix it yourself, this will turn it whipped," I sigh and rub my temple. Chris can be a real airhead.

"Who exactly is it dating? Brownies can't be in love, Caira," he jokes, but honestly I don't think he's joking.

"Your so stupid," I giggle and continue stirring, with my arms, my brownie mix.

"Excuse me?" He asks.

"I said 'your stupid,'" I tell him once again.

"I take offense to that, Caira Elizabeth," he smirks. Chris, especially, knows how much I hate my middle name. Don't get me wrong it's a pretty name, just so badly over used. I know exactly fifteen girls out of my whole high school with either the name Elizabeth, or a middle name of Elizabeth.

"Would you just get back to stirring your brownies, with your hands?" I scowl playfully.

"Sure," he shrugs and we go back to stirring our brownies. That is until Chris thought it would be funny to make a catapult with his plastic spoon and hit me with a ball of brownie mix.

"Christopher!" I yell. His eyes go wide when he realizes what he's started. Using my hands I grab a handful of brownie mix and chuck it at Chris and luckily being on the softball team helps a lot with aim, because I hit a bulls-eye. "Ha!"

"Your going to regret doing that," he promises.

"Oh really? What you gonna do, Chrissy-Whissy?" I taunt. I also know that he hates that nickname I gave him when we were in kindergarten. It was all fun in games when I said it, nothing hurtful was supposed to come out of it. Well, that's until a few guys caught onto it and to this day they still make fun of the nickname. Oops.

"Oh," he laughs, "you are dead."

I stare at him for a few seconds before dropping whatever was in my hands and running out of the kitchen as fast as I could.

"You can run, but you can't hide," Chris calls from behind me as he gets closer and closer to me.

I run and run but there is only so many places you can go in my house. By no means is it small, no, no, no it's actually quit big. Though when your trying to run away from someone who wants to murder you it becomes not the best place.

Next thing I feel is my body hitting the ground and hot breathing fanning across my neck. Yup, you guessed right, Chris and his lard ass just tackled me into my plush carpet. I probably have a billion rug burns on my face.

"Ow!" My voice is muffled by my face buried in the carpet. He chuckles and spins me around so I'm facing him and he's straddling my lap.

"Hey beautiful," he smiles.