Free Not My Daughter by Barbara Delinsky

have an in. Mrs. Perry will make it happen." If Lily ever spoke with Pam's daughter, Abby, again, which, at that moment, was questionable.
    "I still think it's me," Robbie said.
    "That's because you're sweet."
    "Lily, I have a right to know if it's me."
    "So you can drop out of school to support the baby? You're not going to do that, Robbie. Besides, I told you. It isn't you."
    "Why do I not believe you?"
    "Maybe," she tried, "because it's macho to think you've fathered a baby." Macho wasn't a word that she would have used to describe Robbie--but it wasn't totally wrong, she realized. He had grown in the last year and had to be six-two now. Granted, he was still the lightest guy on the wrestling squad, but what he lacked in muscle, he made up for in determination. He definitely knew the moves.
    "Forget macho," he said. "It's pure math. If you're due at the end of May, you conceived at the end of August, and that's when we did it."
    "I won't tell you again," she said quietly.
    "Then whose is it?" he asked. When she said nothing, he pleaded, "Tell me something, Lily. If you think my questions are hard, just wait'll tomorrow. Whether or not I'm the father, I'm a friend. Let me help."
    Lily's eyes filled with tears. The books said she would be emotional. And Robbie was a friend. And she was dreading going to school.
    But if he helped, people would think he was the father, and she didn't want that. This was her doing alone.
    Well, not exactly alone. Mary Kate, Jess, and Abby were in on it, too. But no one knew yet about Mary Kate and Jess, and Abby was sore because she was way behind.
    What to tell Robbie? She needed time to think.
    "If I told anyone," she finally said, "I'd tell you. Next to Mary Kate and Jess, you're my oldest friend." Since they were six. It was poetic.
    No, she had no regrets about Robbie. Abby, yes. But not Robbie. He was loyal. If she did need help, he would be there.
    That thought brought little comfort as she dressed for school the next morning. Mary Kate and Jess would help out if questions got bad, but she felt best when she thought of her mom. Susan had done it, and look at her. She was educated. She was successful. And she had Lily to show for it.
    Standing at the mirror, dressed in slim-as-ever jeans, Lily touched the place where she guessed her baby to be and whispered, "You're mine, sweet thing. I'll take care of you. Let people talk. We don't care. We have something special, you and me. And we have my mom and my dad. They're gonna love you to bits. Trust me on that."
    At school there were few questions, just stares.
    Her mother wasn't so lucky.

Chapter 6

    Susan was on the phone with a headhunter, whom she hoped would locate a replacement for the retiring director of athletics, when Pam showed up at the door and, none too softly, said, "What did I just hear?"
    Finger to her lips, Susan waved her in. "Yes, Tom. Male or female. Our current AD coaches football, but that isn't a prerequisite. My priorities are administrative experience and the ability to work well with kids."
    "Susan," Pam whispered urgently as she closed the door, "what did I hear?"
    Susan gestured her to a chair and held up a hand for the minute it took to finish the call.
    Pam didn't wait a second longer. The phone was barely in its cradle when she said, "Word's going around that Lily's pregnant. I've had three calls this morning--three moms asking me the same thing--and I couldn't answer, even though I'm your friend, which was one of the reasons they were calling me. I couldn't even call Abby, because you don't allow kids to use phones during school. Is it true?"
    Pam was a Perry by marriage and, as such, a member of the town's royalty, but she didn't often pull rank. Susan wasn't sure what she heard in Pam's voice--whether it was arrogance, indignation, or hurt--but she felt a quick anger. There would have been no calls, no questions had it not been for Pam's own daughter.
    But Lily would still be pregnant. Resigned, Susan