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I wanted to deny it. Pretend it wasn’t happening. But it’s been nearly three weeks since I was supposed to get my period. I’ve been firmly planted in denial, trying to convince myself that condoms are bulletproof, that I didn’t read somewhere that they’re only 98 percent effective when used correctly.
Shit, was it even used correctly that night?
Did it rip and we just didn’t notice?
I’m guessing that would drag the “effective” percentage down by a whole lot.
Fuck! Why am I thinking in percentages anyway, when deep down I know my life’s about to be over?
My fingers are trembling so much when I reach for the test, I end up dislodging the entire stack. A pile tumbles to the floor with a loud crash, and I drop to my knees, scrambling to collect them back up.
A young guy with a pimply face and too much gel in his hair rounds the corner.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Fine,” I mutter, refusing to look up and smile at him like I normally would.
Smile? How the hell will I ever do that again?
He walks over, crouching in front of me. I spot his name badge and realize he works here.
“Don’t worry about it.” He helps me gather up the tests. “The same thing happened just the other day. A guy came in here and bought a whole bunch. Poor guy looked like he was about ready to pass out?—”
“Oh, that’s not me,” I interrupt him. “I’m taking a, uh, science class, and I need a bunch of these for this experiment we’re doing.”
“Oh, okay.” He doesn’t believe me. “So… how many do you need?”
“Um… fifteen?” Does that sound experiment-y enough?
“Cool.” He counts them out, and I start wondering how much this is going to cost me.
But do I really care?
Like hell I’m admitting to this pimply teenager that I actually need to pee on these things myself. He’s probably already guessed anyway and is too polite to call me on my bullshit.
I sweat it out at the counter while he methodically scans each barcode. Can’t he just do one and then hit a few keys on his computer? They do that at the grocery store when you buy multiple items of the same thing.
The door behind me opens, and I glance over my shoulder, relief washing over me when I don’t recognize the couple who just walked in.
I have to get out of here.
Swiping my card, I get through the transaction as quickly as possible and bolt out of the store.
“Good luck with your experiment!” the guy calls after me.
I ignore him, my legs working so fast that I end up breaking into a run.
By the time I get back to my dorm, I’m out of breath, my hands still shaking as I dump the tests on my duvet. The boxes clatter together, and I think I might throw up.
“Just do it, Caroline,” I order through gritted teeth.
Taking the first box, I tear the package open and struggle to read the instructions.
It’s pretty basic, but I read them twice anyway.
Pee on stick.
Wait.
