I dropped the stick, refusing to believe what I had just seen. No, no, no, no, no! I screamed in my head. What is Luke gonna say? What will my parents say? What will my friends think?
I heard Luke's cheerful voice called from down the hall and my blood ran cold. I tried unsuccessfully to swallow the huge lump in my throat. I picked up the stick and concealed it in my sweatshirt pocket.
"Oh Lacey!" Luke chorused, "I'm home! Baby, where are you?" Perspiration beaded on my forehead and I bolted to the door, locking it and bolting it so Luke couldn't get in.
"I'm in the bathroom!" I replied trying to sound cheerful, silently adding, "And I probably won't come out for the next eighteen years."
"Babe, something's wrong. I can hear it in your voice," Luke scolded, now standing on the other side of the door and knocking impatiently.
I strained to keep silent, to not let any tears fall or sobs escape my throat. Unfortunately, I did. I let a tear escape and one by one, the pieces fell into place. Less than five minutes later I was in hysterics, sobbing, snotting, screaming, the works. Luke was knocking feverishly now, trying to get to me and finally figure out just what the problem was.
"Lacey, baby, wha-" he began.
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" I screamed towards the wooden door, which was the only thing separating me from my beloved Luke.
"Call you what?" he questioned, "Bab-"
"YEAH THAT LUKE. DONT CALL ME "BABY". I'M NOT A CHILD." I howled, sitting against the wall and pulling my legs to my chest. Everything fell silent.
Knowing Luke, he'd be pacing frantically, racking his brain for the answers to infinite questions he couldn't explain. His sea blue eyes would be clouded with emotion, most likely fear or anxiousness. I heard two pairs of soft footfalls outside the bathroom door and I heard another, very comforting voice.
"Lacey, it's Michael," the second voice said softly.
"Ba-er, I mean, Lacey, Michael wants to talk. Please come out," Luke begged. Getting Michael to come here was probably a last-ditch effort to get me out. Michael, my best friend, the reason I met Luke in the first place. If it weren't for Michael, I'd've literally died. He prevented me from committing suicide at age sixteen. He was my closest friend, and I counted on him for everything.
"Okay," I whispered. I stood up, wiping my runny nose in my sweatshirt sleeve, and unlocked the door. There stood my two favorite people in the world, worry, anxiousness and fear slapped onto their features. I basically collapsed into their arms, only letting a few small tears fall instead of breaking down in horrible sobs again. I grabbed Michael's hand and led him to Luke and I's bedroom, where I told him to sit on the bed and wait for a moment.
"Luke," I nearly whispered, "I need to talk to Mikey about this first. Please don't try to eavesdrop. This is really important." Luke made a face, on of suspicion and doubt, but nodded in understanding.
I planted a small, although lingering and meaningful kiss on his cheek, and walked into our room, where Mikey sat patiently.
"So?" Michael asked, "What's wrong?" I sat down next to him and stared hard into his eyes, boring holes into his very soul with my depressing gaze.
"Michael, what I'm about to tell you does not, and I repeat, does not leave this room. The only other people that will need to know will be told by me. Okay?" I instructed. He nodded vigorously.
I took a deep breath and admitted the seven hardest words I've ever had to muster the courage to say:
"Michael, I'm pregnant. And Luke is the father."
