Every Little Thing

45

Even my stuffed rabbit isn't enough to calm me in the presence of a crying Georgina Zhang. A crying, pregnant Georgina Zhang.

The word still hasn't fully sunk in. Pregnant. As in, having a baby. Georgina is almost eighteen and having a baby.

I just stare at her, trying to speak but failing every time, watching as she mops at her eyes and looks up at me, sniffing.

"It's not as bad as you think," she tells me, although the shakiness in her voice convinces me otherwise, "I love Hale. He loves me. We—we're going to stay together. We're going to get through this."

My hand moves like lightning across the notebook.

You told him?

For what feels like the first time in an eternity, she smiles.

"Of course I told him. He—Hale's the love of my life. No matter what."

I resist the urge to throw the notebook straight into her lovestruck face. Doesn't she realize how serious this is? They're both just kids, we all are, and it's not—she can't just—

"Evelyn, you're freaking out."

Of course I'm freaking out. Greg strangled me and you're pregnant and Reed has scars all over his body for no apparent reason at all and everything's falling apart and I can't handle it.

Her hand clasps over mine, as if she's just heard all of my unspoken thoughts. I meet her eyes and am surprised to find calm in them. Acceptance. Trust.

"Look at me, Evie," she whispers, and I do. "I'm going to be okay. We all are."

I reach for my pen, my free hand still gripping hers for dear life.

What about your parents? I scrawl, and physically wince at the thought of the Zhangs, with their constant scowls and impossibly strict rules. One time, in sophomore year, Georgina was grounded for a month because they'd caught her trying to sneak out. She didn't even make it out the door.

If that's how her parents react to something as juvenile as sneaking around, how will they react to this?

Before I even have to ask a follow-up question, Georgina is clearly forcing back tears. She buries her teeth in her lower lip and whispers,

"They—my parents kicked me out."

My heart goes cold in my chest.

No. That didn't happen. None of this is happening.

She's crying now, hard. I scoot myself across our place on the floor and wrap my arms around her as tightly as I possibly can.

"They—they just—" she cuts herself, drawing in a huge breath. "Mama started to cry. She just stood there and cried, Evelyn. Quiet as a mouse. And Baba—he pointed to the door. He pointed to the door for what seemed like hours. I just looked at him, and—and I couldn't figure out what he wanted, until—"

Each word is painful, like a gunshot. Each and every syllable feels like a wound tearing open.

Is this how Reed has felt with me, all this time?

I hope to every god in the world that it's not. Because I do not wish this feeling, this feeling of utter helplessness, on anyone.

I place my hand on the back of Georgie's head, now cradling her like a child. She's crying so hard, her chest heaving so fast that I'm afraid she'll just pass out.

It's okay, I try to say, Georgina, it's okay.

My notebook is too far away to reach without letting go of her, and I'm not risking that. Instead, I just sit here, holding my poor, broken best friend in my arms and wishing all of this would just disappear.