How It Ends by Catherine Lo (classic novels to read .txt) 📗

I pulled up my friends list and scanned through it, feeling sick. All those people, and none of them real friends. Annie wasn’t on the list, of course. I unfriended her the minute I woke up today.

I picked up my phone again, suddenly desperate to erase every bit of evidence of our friendship. I deleted all her messages and texts and then pulled up her number and blocked her from my contacts, but it still felt unsatisfying. It still felt as if she’d had the last word.

I looked back at my laptop screen. Scott was on Facebook. I could see the little green light beside his name on my chat sidebar.

Why should I keep her secrets when she didn’t keep mine?

All it would take was one little click and a carefully worded message.

Hi, Scott. I’m so sorry about last night. I was really drunk and stupid and I don’t even remember half of what happened. But I do remember wanting to tell you something. Annie has been keeping a huge secret from you. You really need to ask her about it.

Annie

I can feel Jessie’s eyes on me, but I refuse to turn around. She flounced past me on her way into class earlier, her nose in the air, sighing loudly as she passed my desk. Her whole woe is me routine is bugging the shit out of me. She’s been skulking around all morning, looking wounded and waiting for me to make things right.

I apologized already. It’s her turn to apologize to me. And not just for ignoring me and being a bitch—she owes me an apology for slobbering all over Scott at the party. I mean, come on. It takes a shitload of nerve to play the victim when you’re a backstabber who’d make a move on your best friend’s boyfriend.

Scott. The back of my neck goes hot with sudden realization. I haven’t heard from Scott all morning. Weird.

I reach down and ease my phone out of my bag, careful not to let Miss Fletcher see it. I must have missed his text this morning. I rest the phone inside my desk and open my messages. Not a single text from Scott. He always messages me first thing in the morning.

I chew on my lip, my mind turning over the possibilities. Is he home sick? Did he lose his phone again? I wait for Miss Fletcher to write something on the board before firing off a quick text: Haven’t heard from you all day! Everything ok?

It takes about three seconds for the reply to come in. We need to talk.

Why? What’s wrong?

Let’s talk at lunch.

You’re freaking me out. Is everything ok?

We’ll talk at the diner.

The diner? We’re not supposed to leave school property at lunch, though no one really makes a huge deal about it. Almost everyone eats in the cafeteria. Joel’s Diner is a twenty-minute walk from school, and it’s hard to get there and back in time for class.

Ok . . . meet at my locker?

Meet you at Joel’s.

What the hell? Butterflies swoop in my stomach. Something’s wrong. Scott sounds so mad. I rack my brain trying to think of a reason why. Did we have plans I forgot about? Was I supposed to message him last night? We chatted over Facebook in the afternoon, and he wasn’t mad at all . . .

I’m shaking by the time I walk into Joel’s at lunch. I practically ran the whole way, so I’m surprised to see Scott already here. He’s in a booth at the back, already ordering from a waitress. Nice that he waited for me.

I give myself a mental shake. Stop freaking out like a pathetic girl. You haven’t done anything wrong.

I walk up with a confidence I don’t feel. “Hi,” I say, trying hard to sound bright and cheerful.

Scott doesn’t even look up at me. “Order fast so we’re not late for class.”

The waitress raises her eyebrows at his tone. “I’ll have a burger and fries,” I mumble, sliding into the booth. “And a ginger ale, if you have it.”

She scribbles down my order and rushes off. I’m gripped with the sudden urge to call her back and ask her to sit down so I won’t have to face this alone.

I look up and meet Scott’s eyes. He’s staring at me.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I ask.

“Are you keeping secrets from me?”

My blood runs cold. He can’t possibly know. “Secrets? No . . . what makes you think I’m keeping secrets?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, they’re so sad that it breaks me. “If there’s anything you need to tell me, Annie, just say it. Please don’t lie to me.”

This isn’t the time or the place. I’m not ready to have this conversation yet. But the hurt in those eyes that I love so much . . .

“I’m pregnant.” Holyfuckingshit. I want to reach out and grab the words and push them back into my mouth.

Whatever Scott thought I was going to say, that sure wasn’t it. His face goes completely white. “What? When did this happen?”

“I missed my period last month and I took a test and—”

“Last month? You’ve known this for a month and you’re just telling me now?”

“No. Almost. Wait . . .” My head is spinning.

“Why would you wait?”

“Hold on a second. You’ve got it all wrong. I missed my . . . you know . . . and then it took me a while to realize I was so late. Then I took a test. So really, I think I’ve known for all of two weeks or so. But why is that important?”

“What do you mean, why is that important? How long do we have left to take care of it?”

“What are you talking about?”

He leans in close, his eyes dark. “I mean, what were you waiting for? Till it was too late?”

“Too late for what?”

“An abortion.” He hisses out the word, looking around nervously.

“What? No! Of course not. There’s still lots of time