I stared at the tiny blue lines in disbelief. My life was officially over. The second line was a bit fainter than the first, so maybe that meant I wasn't pregnant? I opened and closed my eyes a few times, hoping the single act would change the outcome, but the faint line seemed to grow more visible each time I opened my eyes.
After hours spent doom-scrolling through search results about pregnancy tests, I came across posts explaining that false negatives were common. In contrast, false positives were rare. I let out a frustrated breath, allowing myself to fall back into my bed, the pregnancy test in one hand. I raised it to the light and closed one eye. When I looked at it that way, both lines merged into a single line. I rolled over, hammering my fist on my bed, kicking my feet, and screaming into my pillow. When I was done with my rage marathon, I sat up and threw the pregnancy test onto one of my bedside tables.
If it had been anything else, I would have kept it to myself. After all, I'd managed to keep the fact that I'd slept with my English Lit teacher from my closest friend, let alone the entire school. I'd even been too embarrassed to tell Elodie about our recent encounter. But a pregnancy was something I couldn't keep a secret, not only because of the sheer mental strain of holding onto it, but because the physical evidence would be there for everyone to see once my belly grew big enough. Without warning, a trickle of tears trailed down my cheeks, slowly turning into a wave I couldn't stop. Elodie would be mad at me for not telling her sooner, but she would support me. At least I hoped she would.
For weeks, I had felt something wasn't right. I would sleep during the times I was usually awake, despite my diet and the vitamins I was taking. I'd found myself throwing up a few times in the morning, too. My biggest giveaway was feeling sick just looking at some of the dishes I used to race toward whenever my mum would cook them. Without another moment's hesitation, and despite the judgemental stare from the woman behind the till at the pharmacy, I'd picked up the courage to buy a pregnancy test.
"Are you okay?" My mum had asked one day, after I'd arrived home and turned down her offer of a plate with my favourite snack, plantain. She had approached me with squinted eyes, placing a hand to my forehead and examining me.
"I'm okay," I had responded, looking away. "I think it's just the pressure from school work. I just need to lie down for a few minutes."
She'd nodded her agreement and watched me disappear up the stairs to my bedroom. But a few minutes turned into several hours, and once I got back up, night had already fallen. When I did eventually come downstairs, my mother had looked at me with an expression I couldn't read. In hindsight, maybe she had known. I shuddered at the thought of coming clean to my parents. There was nothing more shameful than being pregnant before graduating from University or getting married first. In a Nigerian home, marriage came before children, and I was the perfect example of a black sheep. I thought about my father, and the struggles he had talked about facing when he had first arrived in the UK, one of them being his colleagues and friends butchering his family name, which he later had legally changed to 'Berry'. In his opinion, it was the closest sounding to 'Ebele'.
Being the only one among my peers with such a unique surname, and with people always wanting to know the story behind it, I'd carried our surname with such pride. Some of our relatives had called my father a 'sellout' to his face, but he hadn't cared, and neither had I. But now I wore it like a painful reminder of the shame I would add to the name, and one I'd have to carry, probably for the rest of my life. Maybe my parents would be more forgiving since I was their only child?
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I dove out of bed and threw the pregnancy test into the first drawer in my desk, just in time for the door to open. My heart beat loudly in my ears. Bloody hell, I had forgotten to lock it.
Peeking behind the door was Elodie, a big grin on her face. I'd been so absorbed in thoughts about doom and gloom that I hadn't heard the doorbell downstairs. My mother had most likely let her in.
"Hey, you." She ran toward me, throwing her arms around me. "You haven't returned any of my calls."
"You called?" I asked, absentmindedly.
"Yeah, I called. Actually, three times. I thought I'd just come over in the end." She handed me a large Cadbury chocolate bar, its purple foil glistening in the lighting of my bedroom. Normally, the gesture would have me walking on clouds, but this time, I just stared at it.
Elodie waved her hands in my face. "Hello? Earth to Ms. Berry."
"Oh, sorry." I took the chocolate from her, expressing my gratitude and placing it on my desk.
"What's going on, Jade? You don't look or sound anything like yourself." She raised a brow at me as she sat down in my computer chair, swivelling from side to side, like she normally did every time she came around. I watched her, slightly distracted.
"I have something to tell you," I blurted. It was better to rip the band-aid off as soon as possible.
"What's up?" She stopped swivelling.
I swallowed. "Remember that night you stood me up at WireTap —"
"Eh, let's set the record straight. You weren't stood up. Michelle got sick, and, as a friend, I offered to stay behind and take care of her. What was I supposed to have done? Let her choke on her own vomit?" When I didn't respond, she leaned back in my computer chair. "Anyway, this is not about that night. I'd love to hear what's on your mind."
I took a deep, shuddering breath before I continued. "Well, the few people I mentioned I'd hung out with were actually Philipé and his friends."
My friend stared at me like she was looking straight through me before she gathered herself and said, "Oh.My.God. Jade Marie Berry, you're joking, right?"
I wished I had been. I wished none of the events from the past few weeks had transpired, and that I was still boring old Jade who preferred to dream about crushes, preferably in books, instead of actually sleeping with them. I'd had my fair share of boyfriends and sexual encounters, yes, but this was different on so many levels.
"I'm not." I sat at the edge of my bed to support myself.
Elodie's eyes turned into large saucers. "Do you know who he bloody is?"
"I mean, yes, although I wasn't really thinking about him being my teacher when it all happened … Everything was going so fast, and I really fancy him, and — "
"Oh my God, Jade, time out. You're going too fast for me." I watched her get to her feet. Crossing her arms, she stared me dead in the eyes."What do you mean, 'when it all happened'?"
I stood up too and began pacing my room. "When I read your text that night, my initial plan had been to go home and watch a movie or something. But then I turned around and saw Philipé and his friends. He wondered what I was doing by myself. I explained it to him and told him I'd be heading home anyway, but he insisted I join them."
Elodie looked at me like she'd just received a scam email. "And then what happened?"
"I had too many drinks and ended up at his."
"You ended up at his?" she repeated. The look she gave me was a mix between scepticism and intrigue.
I searched my memory for anything that might make me look less desperate, to make it less obvious that I'd been over the moon about being invited to one of the hottest men I'd ever laid eyes on's flat. "Yes. I can't remember everything clearly. But his flatmates asked me to come back with them."
"That's it, right? Nothing else happened?" When I spotted the relief on her face, I decided not to tell her the rest.
I shook my head. "His flatmates were really nice though. They offered me hot chocolate and a nice chat once we got back to theirs."
"I can't believe he invited you to his flat. You do know who he is, right?" I knew Elodie was speaking from pure excitement, and that her comment was in no way meant to make me feel bad about myself.
My brows knitted together. "I'm not sure what you mean."
Elodie walked over to my bed and lay on her back, fishing her phone out of her monochrome clutch purse. I lay down beside her and watched as she vigorously tapped the screen. It looked even more dramatic with her newly manicured coffin nails. When she was satisfied, she held her phone up so we could both see its display.
"His father is ranked the 21st richest person in the UK on 'The World's Richest'". Elodie rolled over to look at me. "In other words, they're worth billions of pounds." She paused for dramatic impact. "8 billion to be exact, and guess where most of it comes from. It's all thanks to his oil empire and old money."
I remained silent as I stared at the picture of the man who was supposed to be Philipé's father, too overwhelmed by the new information to speak. I could see where he had gotten his features from, even the deep green eyes. His father had aged well, that was certain, yet his eyes didn't give off the same kindness I'd got from looking into Philipé's eyes.
Internally, I told myself off for not looking Philipé up, even when Elodie had suggested raiding his socials on his first day at Grimwald. At the time, it had felt too invasive. Now I regretted it.
I glanced at his father's photo again. Thorn Weston. He did look like he'd done quite a bit of damage in his teenage years, but his gaze terrified me. He looked nothing like a man who would accept a child born out of wedlock. I wasn't even sure I wanted to keep the baby, and looking at their future grandfather, I was almost convinced I needed to terminate it.
Elodie and I both stared at the ceiling. She was the first to break the silence. "Gosh, how did we not know this? He's literally richer than all of Grimwald's students combined. I wonder what got him interested in teaching when his father could own the entire school in a heartbeat. Who knows, he's probably one of the founding fathers."
I let out a snort, which earned me an elbow in my side.
"Ow".
"What's so funny?" she demanded. I'd laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, at Elodie's comment, at possibly carrying the child of a billionaire heir, but most of all, I'd laughed to avoid crying.
I could have told Elodie I'd had a one-night-stand with my English Lit teacher, that it had been one of the best nights of my life, that I was possibly a little obsessed with him, and that I might be carrying his child. I pretended to listen as she jumped into another topic, regretful that I'd missed my chance to tell her everything.