That Stupid Little L-Word:

Chapter Fifty Five:

"One moment please, Alice," my troll of a first period teacher calls over the discordant buzz of my fellow students rushing from his classroom. I hesitate near the door and glance back at him, slightly suspicious. The moment that my stomach rounded out enough to make my pregnancy obvious, he had started to refuse to make eye-contact with me. I find it annoying, and slightly disheartening. The teachers have become almost as bad as the students.The troll sits behind his desk, staring adamantly at several stacks of paper splayed out in front of him. He waves me over without looking up.

The classroom is clear within seconds. I walk over and stop in front of his desk, hugging my backpack to my chest. He doesn't look up and meet my gaze, instead choosing to skim over the paper in his hands. "You've missed a lot of school, Alice," he states, as if I wasn't aware already. My grip on my backpack tightens as he continues. "While I understand the necessity given your situation, it still does not mean that you will receive special treatment in my class. The material taught in my lectures cannot be learned entirely through your textbook."

I grimace.

"You will need to make at least an eighty on your final to pass this class," the troll states. He holds out the paper and I take it. My grimace deepens; it's another quiz of mine, with a bright red fifty-three in the corner.

"Thank you for letting me know," I say and shove the paper into my backpack.

This time, the troll glances up. His beady eyes zero in on my face, a mixture of disgust and disappointment evident in his features. I steel myself. I've seen the look a dozen times before, from adults and teenagers alike, and I knew what was coming next.

"You've made a big mistake," he says quietly. "You know that right? You had your whole life ahead of you. You just threw it away because you couldn't control yourself."

"That's the thing though," I say, "I'm not dead. My life isn't going to stop just because I'm going to have a child. No, I'm not going to have those wild, crazy college days and go out partying and getting drunk like everyone else. I'll have bigger responsibilities at home. But shouldn't that make you happy? You'll have one less drunk teenager throwing up on your lawn."

The troll looks mildly stunned, as most do when I erupt into my little practiced spiel. I hold my head high. "Instead, I'll be going to college and working to provide for my kid, just like an actual adult with kids should do."

I shrug my backpack onto my shoulders and walk out of the room then, not bothering to listen to his retort. I don't need to. I knew what his problem was; it was the same as everybody else's. It isn't normal, or accepted for someone my age to have a child. But what he didn't know were my circumstances. For all he knew, my little peanut could have been the product of a violent rape. I mean, who was he to judge?

As I walk down the hall, a strange noise sounds from behind me. I pause and look around. The hallway is fairly empty, with only a few late stragglers bustling to and fro. The noise sounds again; it sounds like a screaming baby and seems to be coming from a nearby locker. I hesitate. This could be another prank...

The screaming grows louder. I suck in my gut and rush toward the locker, unhooking the conveniently unlocked lock. I open the door and then immediately grimace. Inside is a deformed plastic baby doll, with red paint streaming down its cheeks like tears. A sign is placed next to it, reading, "You should have aborted me, Mommy!" And next to that is a cellphone opened to a video on YouTube, called, "Baby Crying: Extended".

I slam the locker shut. The image refuses to leave my mind, however. The late bell chimes loudly around my head. I rub at my eyes and rush toward my next class.

By the time lunch period approaches, I've almost forgotten about the crude doll. When the bell rings, I rush to my locker and snatch up my new-found lunchbox. In my last visit, my doctor had decided that I needed rounder diet, and instructed my mother on the best foods for me to eat. Now she makes my lunch.