She left the house at the same time Dad went to work. As soon as I heard both of their cars pull out of the garage, I went outside and got into mine.
I drove directly to the pharmacy—but not the one we usually go to. I went to one over by the mall, and finally found the Plan B One-Step pills. I had heard about these pills that you could take after you had unprotected sex that would keep any fertilized egg from implanting in your womb, but I couldn’t remember what they were called or any of the details about them. I know there was a big fight about it to get them approved because a bunch of people thought they caused abortions. They don’t at all. They just keep you from getting pregnant. Anyway, these pills are EXPENSIVE. The ones at the pharmacy by the mall were $49.99 for a single dose. But what choice did I have? I used my debit card to pay for it and was just glad that I was doing this right away. It works best if you take it within seventy-two hours of having unprotected sex, and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.
You’d think that it would be bad enough that I’m having to spend money on this, but as I was walking to the self-checkout register (which I was really glad they had so I didn’t have to hand my Plan B pill to a checker and be like, Hi. I’m a huge slut . . . ) I came around the corner and ran into Mr. Peterson. Literally. Full-body check. It was possibly the worst experience of my entire life. As I hit him, I of course dropped the Plan B box, and it hit his shoe. He didn’t even see who I was before he bent down to pick it up. He was apologizing for running into me, even though I clearly ran into him, and then he froze when he saw what he was picking up.
I probably should have just turned around and run out of the store right then, but it all happened so fast, and before I knew it, I was staring into Mr. Peterson’s eyes, or trying not to actually, while he handed me my morning-after birth-control pill. When something this horrifying happens, why can’t adults just leave it alone? Why do they have to make it 100,000 times worse? I tried to just head toward the register, but Mr. Peterson reached out and touched my arm and launched into this whole speech about how it was really good to see me and how he has been worried about me, and how sorry he is that the school came down so hard on me. He said that he could probably try to pull a few strings to get me back onto the trip to New York in the fall so I could march in the parade. Finally I just held up my hand and stopped him.
I told Mr. Peterson that I didn’t miss band. That I didn’t need his help. That I just needed him to stop talking so that I could go home. He blinked at me and nodded, then got all flustered and red-faced and turned around and walked away. I paid at the self-checkout and bought a bottle of water, too. When I got outside, I tore open the box, swallowed the pill, glanced over the instructions, then threw away all the evidence: packaging, receipt, everything.
As I got into my car, Carson texted me. He asked if I wanted to meet him for a coffee and a doughnut. I’m smiling just remembering how sweet he was to me this morning when I got there. I told him what had just happened, and he felt really terrible. I said I’d had my embarrassing trip to the pharmacy and now it was his turn. He blushed, and apologized, and promised to get condoms on the way home.
I can’t believe all of this has happened. I mean, if you’d told me two months ago that the band geek with the clarinet would be rolling her ass off and taking Plan B because she had unprotected sex with her hot boyfriend—or whatever he is—I’d have told you that you were nuts. And yet, here I am. The wild child. Mom would be so proud.
Sunday, June 22
It was Derrick’s birthday last night and Reid and Carson decided that we should all roll together. Sara was there