“Like keeping the baby. You’re fifteen. Do you even know who the dad is?” She doesn’t leave me enough of a gap to respond. “Doesn’t really matter. You’re on your own now.”
“I know,” I say in a pathetic little voice that I wish wasn’t mine.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Katie steps closer and I think she’s going to hug me. She doesn’t. “I’m not trying to make you cry.”
Am I crying? I hadn’t realized.
“You’ve been pushing me away and now it’s… it’s just a lot to take in.”
Finally, when I’d stopped hoping, Katie pulls me in for a hug so that I have to hold my breath against the smell of stale smoke. Then I feel her slipping her phone out of her pocket and there’s a whispered, “Bollocks.”
When I step back she looks set to sprint. “Late for Rex?”
“The game finishes in ten minutes and I was going to go and change…”
“Going somewhere nice?”
She looks shifty. “Just out.”
“Who with?”
“Come on, Han. You don’t want to come out with us lot, do you? Not in your condition.” And she nudges me, giving me a smile that’s all teeth and no heart.
I wave her off, pretending I haven’t noticed that she has become part of “us lot” and I have become “you”. It’s been a seamless re-invention of Katie, Hannah’s BFF, to Katie, B-ball WAG and Marcy-clone. As she walks away I notice that her fingernails are painted, not bitten, and the foundation tidemark has been subbed-out for a more subtle fake-tan fade. The hair was just the Cherry Crimson Tide on the cake.
I’ve been so caught up in my own problems that I hadn’t noticed she was drifting away.
FRIDAY 8TH JANUARY
HANNAH
My day starts with a text:
Hey Hannah, u might want 2 check FB. Hope ur OK, Anj
A text from Anj that does not contain a question about French homework is big news.
It takes me about ten seconds to log in to Facebook.
Fifteen minutes later I’m still there. I don’t think I can move, let alone put my clothes on. It’s like my body’s in shock or something. Even my brain seems to be broken — I actually can’t believe what I’m seeing. I keep hoping that I’m having one of those dreams where you think you’ve got up but you haven’t.
It took me a while to work out that a lot of the comments on my newsfeed were about me. Then I clocked the posts on my wall — some nice, some not so. I’ve got a few messages too. I don’t read them.
There’s another text on my phone. It’s Gideon.
Not sure if congrats is what ur after, but JIC — yay! Gx
My throat catches as I read it, but I grind my teeth together and tell myself to focus. I need to know how this happened. I only told… and she… she couldn’t? She wouldn’t…
I open Katie’s profile. She’s changed her picture — it’s now a close-up of her cleavage with faces drawn on each boob winking at each other. It used to be a photo of me and her dressed up for Jay’s party. I check out her status, but it’s the same as when I last checked:
No longer an airplane blonde 
Comments are split between people who get the joke and people who don’t. I notice that Marcy has liked Rex’s comment — about having first-hand experience [pun intended] — and I go through to her page. Marcy hasn’t bothered sorting out her privacy settings so it doesn’t matter that we aren’t friends.
And it means that the whole world can read her status:
OMG. Hannah Sheppard is 4 months pregnant. Hands up who saw that one coming!
AARON
There’s something in the air. I missed registration because the car wouldn’t start, and the people I share a bench with in Chemistry wouldn’t know what was on the grapevine unless someone plucked the information off and turned it into a smokable substance. I hurry to Geography, hoping to catch Anj before the lesson starts.
As I turn the corner I see that she’s standing with Gideon, who should be the other side of the school in my dad’s class.
“I always thought she was exaggerating…” Gideon is saying when he sees me coming and shoots me a grin.
“She was. You only have to sleep with one guy to get pregnant.” Anj has her back to me, but I heard her loud and clear.
“Who’s pregnant?” I say, breathing a little too heavily after my semi-sprint from the Science block.
It’s Anj who tells me.
“Hannah’s pregnant.”
“Hannah who?” says my mouth because it’s not actually connected to my brain.
“Sheppard.” But I knew that.
“How?” I say. Which isn’t what I mean. I wish my mouth and brain could communicate. Gideon gives me a cheeky smirk and says something about a “special cuddle”, but Anj elbows him.
“It’s all over Facebook,” Anj says.
“He’s not on Facebook,” Gideon tells her before I can. It’s the first time I’ve heard someone’s looked for me and I feel awkward. Best to focus on Hannah.
“Is that how she told everyone?” I can’t believe this is true.
“Not exactly…” Anj looks uncomfortable.
Gideon fills me in. “Apparently Katie told Marcy whilst they were out last night. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t meant to be a global announcement, but then Marcy put it as her status and now everyone’s talking about who the father is.” He slides a glance through the open door at Fletch, who’s at his desk, head in hands, but it’s me that Anj is looking at.
“Anyone tried asking her?” I say.
“No one’s seen her,” Anj says, getting out her phone. “I texted this morning…”
“I think she might be lying low. There’s loads of people posting on her wall and saying some pretty harsh stuff,” Gideon says.
I wish I found this hard to believe.
Anj taps on her phone, breaking school protocol, before emitting a shocked, “Oh my God!” We look at her and she turns the phone towards us so we can see the screen.
It’s a Facebook page called “Whos the Daddy? Yous the Daddy?” Normally I’d be appalled by the terrible English, but for now I’m more horrified by the content.
There’s a picture of Hannah in her school uniform and someone’s drawn a cartoon bump over the top with a question mark inside. There’s loads of members — presumably all from our school — and people have already started posting suggestions as to who might be the father. One of the posts near the top catches my eye.
Whoever suggested Mr Tyler is way off — his son’s deffo the daddy!
I don’t know the kid who wrote it, but he looks about ten in his profile pic. Nice.
Anj clicks on the pictures page and I glimpse a few familiar faces badly Photoshopped onto some less familiar bodies doing… well, doing the nasty. Why would anyone do that?
HANNAH
I’m all cried out for the moment and I feel sick. Mum offered to miss her hair appointment and stay home with me, but what’s the point? It’s not like her being here will change anything. I’ll still be pregnant. I’ll still have a giant knife wound where my best friend stabbed me in the back. No need for Mum to have crap hair as well. This is the first time Mum’s ever let me stay off school without taking my temperature. She’s beside herself with rage about Katie telling Marcy — I’m guessing that’s what happened, anyway; I can’t imagine it was anyone in my family.