Worth the Trouble ✓

06 | first things first

I WAIT FOR SUKI TO laugh.

Suki has a dimple under her lip, nested on the shelf of her chin when she smiles. I wait for that dimple to form as she tells me that it's a joke. Like when she feigns breaking up with me, or running away from home, or dropping out of the Academy. She's on birth control, and she's devout about it. This has to be a joke.

She goes for a hug. My grip tightens around Suki, who feels impossibly fragile in my arms all of a sudden. I've never thought of my girlfriend as in need of protection, or at risk of breaking. Until she breaks down, sobbing noiselessly into me, her breath scalding my chest.

It's not a joke.

My arms wrap around her neck, keeping her head buried to my chest. I kiss the top of her head, lips meeting silky strands of hair. I kiss her again, again, again, completely silent while she trembles in my arms. I don't know what to say.

My brain just blanks. I can't think of anything comforting, rational or hopeful to say to her. I'm not clever, witty or silver-tongued. My pick-up lines were cheesy at best. I've always been thankful that she willingly carries the weight of all our conversations.

I don't know what to say.

All I know is that I love her. And she needs me right now.

"Let's go up to my room," I murmur, smoothing her hair in my palm.

My only plan of action is to make Suki stop crying. Usually I find it hilarious when she cries because it's ridiculous things that set her off. The only things that get through Suki's chainmail defence against the world are slivers—not battering rams or Cupid's arrows. Puppies, old people celebrating their wedding anniversaries, The Notebook.

Turns out, also a pregnancy.

She shivers. "The blood test came back—"

"Not right now."

If she starts to think, she'll only overthink. Until she's untouchably afraid. I suggest instead, "Let's just do a Disney marathon today. We can talk all day tomorrow, yeah?"

"Tomorrow?" Suki asks doubtfully.

She doesn't resist me when I guide us up the stairs, into my bedroom. Somehow I'm trembling now, like her shivers are infectious, even though it's sweltering inside and out. Trying to steady my hands, I start setting up my laptop. I place it at the end of the bed with a movie loaded onscreen.

"This— this is huge news," I tell Suki.

My throat feels tight suddenly, like someone is squeezing my neck in their hands. The sensation only gets worse as I speak, so I fall silent for several minutes. Suki takes to lying on the bed, supine, silent.

I tell her, "I'm not letting you go back home tonight, not when you should be with someone who understands. I'm sure Dad won't mind letting you sleepover."

I can't imagine letting her go. On the bus, then walking home alone. I can't imagine her out there, in the big, wide world, when her eyes are unblinking and unfocused. It's like her consciousness has been plucked out of her body. I'm left with the shell of Suki, and none of the vibrant, quick-witted spirit I love. I need to get her back before I can send her home.

"My parents," she whispers. "They think I'm out with Delaney right now."

I blink. Delaney Morrison is Suki's friend in her homeroom class, red hair, pointy nose, a huge voice in a little body. I've never met her, but they must be close if they're covering for each other.

"Ask if Delaney can cover for you overnight," I suggest. Suki shuffles over when I get onto the bed beside her. "You two are close enough for that, right?"