‘ But I don’ t believe I am. I’ m speaking as a medical doctor who’ s worked with a good number of young women recently, almost exclusively Latina, so I know the body type, and I know what their skin tone usually looks like, and-’

‘ Kip& what?’

‘ I think your Little Sister has a bun in the oven.’

I SPENT THE REST of the weekend fretting. Could Deedee really be pregnant? She was only fourteen! Of course, Kip could be wrong-but what if he was right? I should say something to Rose Morales. There was probably Big Sister-Little Sister protocol I should be following. Not that a situation such as this would be in the handbook. Not that there was a handbook.

But if I talked to Rose and I was wrong, Deedee would never trust me again.

The devil perched on my shoulder told me to pretend Kip had never called. Que será, será and all that. The angel perched on the other shoulder, however-who looked suspiciously like a thin, baby-faced gay man with a goatee and glasses-said I had to do something& fast. The things he’ d noticed-the protruding belly and the discoloring of the skin-were signs she was getting pretty far along. If that was the case, every day mattered if she wanted to um er

‘ Wanted to what?’  I had asked Kip earlier on the phone.

‘ Not have the baby,’  he’ d replied.

‘ Oh.’

‘ All I’ m saying is that-if that’ s what she decides-the sooner the better. The worst thing would be if she missed the time when a doctor would be willing to do it. You don’ t want to know what these girls resort to when they get desperate.’

He was right about that.

I didn’ t want to know.

BY THE TIME I met Martucci on Monday for our six-thirty a.m. run, I was no clearer on what to do than I’ d been every hour on the hour that I’ d woken up the night before.

Yes, it was a crazy time.

Deedee might be pregnant. I was organizing the biggest promotional event of my career. My libido waged its own campaign for me to get in touch with a certain traffic reporter who should hate me but seemed to be indicating otherwise. I had ten items out of twenty left to do on a list that I felt honor-bound to complete in a matter of months.

And I was training for a 5K run three times a week-every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday-with, of all people, Dominic Martucci.

Was it any wonder I was having trouble sleeping?

Originally, I’ d hoped I wouldn’ t need to do anything as drastic as train in order to cross off #5: Run a 5K. There was a race coming up in May in Manhattan Beach that I planned to sign up for. I’ d recently hopped on the treadmill at the gym, assuming it would be a breeze. After one minute of running-not one mile, one minute-I felt as if I were breathing in bricks instead of air. I was gasping and panting and was so exhausted that I nearly let myself get spewed off the end of the treadmill like a doughnut off the assembly line. I clearly wasn’ t going to make it without putting in effort. Knowing nothing about how to prepare for a run, I asked around the office to see if anyone had any tips. To my dismay, the name Martucci kept coming up. As much as I hated to go crawling to him for advice, I asked him anyway. All he said was, ‘ Sure.’

‘ So are there ways I should go about training& or certain shoes that might help?’

‘ Sure,’  he repeated. ‘ I’ ll train you. But I demand one hundred percent commitment. Three days a week. Show up on time and be ready to work. And’ -he yanked a box of Hot Tamales candies from my hands-’ I suggest you cut down on the crap.’

‘ I don’ t need you to-’

‘ How’ s the running going so far?’  he asked, giving me a disparaging once-over.

Not so well. I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. ‘ Why would you help me?’

‘ Let’ s say it’ s nice you’ re doing that list for the girl you ran over.’

‘ You know about the list?’

‘ Everybody knows about the list.’

‘ Hmph. So much for Brie keeping a secret,’  I grumbled.

He gave me a friendly swat on the shoulder. ‘ Sorry I missed the day you went braless.’

So there I was-as I had been the week before-at an outdoor track, doing warm-up exercises. Martucci used the interval training method. I’ d walk briskly for five minutes, then run a minute, walk five minutes, run a minute, and so on, until I collapsed in a heap on the dirt, at which point he’ d pick me up and make me do it again.

I finished the first set of intervals, and Martucci walked next to me as I wheezed and puffed. He wore snug jogging shorts and a racing-style tank shirt that showed off his wiry muscles. ‘ Hot date last night, Parker? You’ re more out of it than usual.’

‘ I’ ve got a lot of my mind. A girl I know might be pregnant.’

What was I doing confiding in Martucci? Susan had been out of town for the weekend, so I must have been desperate to talk to someone. Either that or I was losing brain cells with every lap.

He blew out a breath. ‘ Tough break. But running is one of the best things you can do. When you get to the third trimester, you’ ll need to switch to walking. But it’ s important to stay in shape so you can push when the time-’

‘ It’ s not me,’  I snapped. ‘ It really is a girl I know. I met her as part of the Big Sister program a few months ago. Poor kid’ s only fourteen. What’ s she going to do& I mean, if she is pregnant? My friend who’ s a doctor suspects she might not even know herself-she may be in denial of any symptoms. I can’ t decide: Should I tell her mom? Or the Big Sister coordinator?’

‘ Do you like this kid?’

‘ Yes,’  I said, surprising myself with the sureness of my answer. ‘ Quite a bit.’

‘ Then get one of those home pregnancy kits. Make sure she’ s really up the duff before you go telling everybody. If I was this kid, I’ d want the chance to tell them myself.’

‘ I hate to say this, but you’ re right.’

‘ Buy the kind in the blue box-the one with the picture of a rabbit on it. It says pregnant or not pregnant in words instead of having to figure out dots or lines. Makes it less stressful.’

‘ How is it you’ re such an expert on home pregnancy kits?’

‘ You’ re asking that question of an Italian stallion like myself? The women call me ‘ sperm of thunder.’  I don’ t dare stand too close for fear I may impregnate them with just a whiff of my manhood.’


THE NEXT EVENING, I called Deedee to say I was in the neighborhood and would her mom let her go grab a quick slice of pizza? When I picked her up, no sooner had she shut the car door than I said, ‘ There are two choices for where we can go for pizza. There’ s Mario’ s on Culver. Or there’ s my place, where I have one in the freezer that we can microwave. The advantage of going to my apartment’ -I paused-’ is that I have a home pregnancy kit there, too. In case you need one for any reason.’

She stared at me, saying nothing.

I continued, ‘ Kip had a hunch you might be pregnant.’

Still nothing.

‘ Might you be pregnant?’

She sat back in her seat, closed her eyes, and gave a wet sigh. ‘ I don’ t know.’

Sounded like microwaved pizza to me.

At my apartment, I read the instructions for the pregnancy kit as neutrally as if I were reading off the side of the pizza box instead. ‘ You need help?’  I asked as she headed to the bathroom.

‘ I can pee by myself.’

‘ Sorry. Thought you might want moral support.’

She added apologetically, ‘ You can come in after.’

Four minutes later, the microwave dinged. The pizza sat untouched, however, because the stick was ready.

Deedee’ s hands were in prayer over her face, so I flipped the stick to the side that would show the results.

Pregnant.

Martucci was wrong. I’ d have much preferred pink dots over that word staring straight at us.

Deedee closed her eyes and whispered, ‘ I am so fucked.’

I grabbed her close in a hug. ‘ Everything’ s going to work out fine,’  I assured her. Her body sank against mine. I had to marvel. Just moments ago, I’ d been staring at proof that she was surely a woman, yet she’ d never before seemed so much like a little girl.

Chapter 11

I f Maria Garcia Alvarez wondered why a doctor was telling her that her fourteen-year-old daughter was pregnant instead of hearing it from the girl herself, she didn’ t show it. She seemed as glad to yell at him as at anyone. Kip’ s face remained placid as they faced each other on the couch, their knees touching, while Maria released a torrent in Spanish. Deedee also sat on the couch, sunk deep in the pillows behind her mother, arms crossed.

Of course, all I could do was watch from where I sat in the armchair. I had no idea what was being said. Kip had taught me the Spanish word for pregnant, embarazada (awfully close to ‘ embarrassment,’  which I found interesting), but the words were coming so fast and furious, I couldn’ t catch even that.

I had promised Deedee that I’ d stand by her whatever decision she wanted to make. We’ d talked for an hour before I drove her home. She’ d suspected she was pregnant, she’ d told me. Just didn’ t want to face it. Some simple math-she’ d had sex only once with Carlos after the holiday dance she’ d been allowed to attend-put her at three and a half months pregnant and due early August. Although what she wanted to do was have the baby and put it up for adoption, she said, she doubted that’ s what would happen. I was incredulous: It was more than obvious to me that that was the best plan. The girl was fourteen! She was an honors student who wanted to go to college! When I’ d told her so, she’ d said, her voice flat, ‘ You don’ t get it. We don’ t give up our babies. It just doesn’ t happen.’

So Kip was brought in to help break the news and, possibly, smooth the waters for the idea of adoption. ‘ Maybe your mom will be open to it,’  I’ d told Deedee. ‘ Since she wants you to go to college, too.’  One look at Maria talking to Kip-gesturing wildly with her hands as she continued her rant-made it clear things were going far from smoothly. No wonder Deedee jumped at my offer to help her tell her mom. The woman was terrifying. If my mom acted like that upon finding out I was pregnant, I’ d curl into a ball and cry.