Free What Kind of Love? by Sheila Cole

she said it made me want to ask her where it was supposed to go. She didn’t sound too broken up about it, but I am, even though I’ve known it was coming. The four of us had such fun together: like that time we drove to Rosarita Beach for breakfast,—and the time we all were skinny-dipping at Peter’s and Mrs. Winder surprised us and we ran and hid in the bushes around the side of the house and had to stay there naked and shivering until she went upstairs to the bathroom, only then we almost got caught because Tom burst out laughing—and the time we went to that reggae concert and Carrie and Tom started the whole audience dancing in the aisles.
    We were so happy. We thought nothing would ever change. Now look at us. It’s not just my having a baby—it’s everything.

Monday, September 9
    I finally worked up the nerve to talk to Mrs. Rykoff about giving violin lessons to little kids. I was afraid of what she’d say. She was really nice about it, but she said I was a little young to give lessons and she was afraid most people wouldn’t want to start with someone who was expecting a baby in a few months. She said if I was serious about it, though, I should put notices in places like the supermarket and the dry cleaners and see what happens.
    Then she asked me how I was doing, and I told her what a hard time I’ve had with The Lark Ascending. She said that if I came over, she’d work through it with me. I told her I couldn’t pay, but she said I should come anyway. I couldn’t stop thanking her.
    Somehow, just knowing I’d be working on the piece with Mrs. Rykoff made me play better this afternoon. Even Mom said so.
    Nick and I put up three-by-five cards in all the stores near the supermarket after dinner. I should put one up in the music store.

Tuesday, September 10
    Today at school I met this girl named Stacy Mahoney. She’s seventeen. A blond, big, sort of blubbery girl, but I think I’m going to like her. I was complaining about how hard it is to catch the bus at six-thirty in the morning, and she laughed. She said if I thought it was hard now, wait until my baby was born. Her Tyler is seven months old, and she has to change him, get him dressed and fed and then get herself ready to catch the bus. She has to get out of the house by six every morning because her stepfather yells at her if the baby wakes him up. She’s afraid he’ll throw them out.
    When I asked why she didn’t get her own place, she looked at me like I was crazy. “You don’t know anything, do you?” she said.
    That kind of ticked me off, but as we kept talking about what it’s like for her, I could see she didn’t mean to put me down. I really don’t know anything.

Wednesday, September 11
    I have to get a job. I hate having to ask Mom and Daddy for every little thing. It’s so demeaning. I can tell how they feel about me and the baby—like I don’t deserve to live anymore because of what I’ve done. I asked at the dry cleaners, the stationery store, the bakery, and the deli. No one was hiring part-time except at the deli, and they needed someone to cover the lunch shift, not after school. It was so discouraging.
    I mentioned it at dinner. Daddy said I was nuts to even try. “You can forget about getting a job with that load you’re carrying. No one’s going to want you.”
    Maybe he’s right and I am crazy to think anyone would hire me. But why does he have to be so mean about it?

Thursday, September 12
    I made real progress on The Lark with Mrs. Rykoff. I was counting wrong. Now that I’m doing it right, it sounds a lot better. Mrs. Rykoff asked me to come and work with her on dynamics next week, which is really nice.
    It turns out that Mrs. Rykoff had a baby when she was young, too—though not as young as me. She was in college and didn’t drop out. She gave lessons, went to school, and took care of the