Free Fancy White Trash by Marjetta Geerling

“Did we have sex? Yes. But I’m not this baby’s dad.”
    It’s almost enough, that certainty in his voice. His face leans closer to me. We are inches apart, and I can feel the warm exhale of his breath against my lips. But the idea that for even one second I might end up with my niece’s father makes me feel like I’ve sucked down one too many sourballs.
    â€œJackson,” my voice comes out as scratchy as the carpet I’m sitting on, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
    Our eyes meet. He is about to say something else, something that will maybe change my mind because it is hard to fight my want when he is so close.
    But Cody opens the door and says, “Guess what?”
    I jump to my feet. “Is it over? They’re okay?”
    â€œThey’re both fine. It’s a girl, five pounds and eleven ounces. We’re all invited to meet her right now.”
    â€œThe vending machine told you?” I ask, glancing pointedly at the two sodas in his hand.
    â€œI ran into your mom on the way back. Do you want to give me a hard time or are you coming already?” Cody takes my hand, and we run down the hallway.
    We stand outside the baby room, at the big picture window, and look at my niece in one of the tiny beds. She is red and wrinkly, but at least they’ve cleaned her off so I have a better first impression of her than I did of Hannah. She is perfectly beautiful, and I already love her so much my heart hurts.
    Then I see the name card. “She didn’t.”
    â€œWhat?” Jackson comes up behind us. He puts a hand on my shoulder. I fight not to lean into him.
    â€œLook at the name.”
    â€œStephanie? That’s a nice name,” Cody says.
    â€œStephanie?” I repeat. “As in the feminine of Stephen, as in Steve the Guitar Player, who is both this child’s father and stepgrandfather?”
    Cody laughs. “Oh my gosh, Abs, your family is better than any show on TV.”
    â€œShut up.” I punch him in the arm. “We are not.”
    Cody hums the tune to “I’m My Own Grandpa.” And I have to admit it. He’s right. My family belongs on Jerry Springer .

Chapter 7
    Wednesday morning, and even though my sister has just given birth, Mom decides it’s better for me to go to school than hang out at the hospital all day. I shuffle into Bio II, decked out in my new sundress, only to find a note instructing us to go to the lab instead. That Mr. Kimball, always trying to keep us on our toes.
    â€œWelcome to Bio Lab!” Mr. Kimball chants as we file in and take seats on the stools at each station. Because Cody’s not in this class, I don’t look for anyone, don’t save a spot.
    Once we’re all settled, Mr. Kimball pulls on his seriously chartreuse tie and says, “Today, we’ll be playing an exciting game called ‘Who’s My Buddy?’ If you win, you get an interesting, serious-minded lab partner who understands the assignments and helps you pass this class. If you lose, well, sorry folks, you’ll get one of those lab partners who never does their share of the work and attempts to cheat off you during quizzes.”
    â€œMr. Kimball?” Shauna Moore asks from her seat in the back. “Can’t we choose our own partners? That’s how Ms. Tatum does it in U.S. History.”
    â€œMs. Tatum has her ways, I have mine.” Mr. Kimball twists his tie, wrinkling it and showing its raspberry-colored back side. “Listen up, fellow scientists. I’ll read out the lab-partner assignments, and you smile or groan accordingly. Not that it matters. There will be no trading, no switching, no complaining. Got it?”
    He doesn’t wait for an answer, just plows on through the list. As a Savage, I’m used to being near the end of most alphabetical arrangements, so I tune out and study my newly painted-just-for-school Purple with a Purpose nails.