Tru Love (First Love Book 1) Read online

  “It’s a text,” Genny announces. She selects open and stares at the coded message: INH. CLR T HSE.

  I need help. Clear the house.

  “From Serena?” Truman prompts.

  Genny nods.

  “Well, what does it say?” her mother wants to know. She stands up and rounds the table. Genny lets her take the

  Blackberry from her hand. Of course, the letters mean nothing to her. Her mom’s smooth face puckers in a frown. “What does it say?”

  “She wants to see me,” Genny says. “Alone.”

  “Where?” Truman and Genny’s mom ask in unison.

  “Here.”

  Genny walks Truman to the corner. He lifts her chin with his hand and passes his lips briefly over hers.

  “Call me later,” he says. “Or I’ll worry.”

  “OK.” She tips her head back to gaze at his face. His eyes are that intense shade of brown, hooded slightly as he looks down at her.

  “Serena might need more help than you can give her,” he warns. “Then you need to ask for help.”

  Genny would do just about anything for her friend, but she reminds herself that it’s Truman’s nature to worry. To plan ahead. To see beyond the moment. It’s more than his nature; it’s his gift.

  “I’ll call you,” she promises.

  She walks back to her house, pushes through the gate, and sits down on the top step. She fumbles with her phone a little as she texts Serena the all-clear.

  Well, not completely clear. Genny’s mom insisted on staying, but tucked herself away in the exercise room with her iPod plugged into her ears.

  “That’s plenty of privacy,” her mother said.

  Serena agreed.

  “Hey.”

  The voice comes from behind Genny and nearly causes her to pee her pants. She jumps to her feet and stares into the darkened porch, in the direction of the scrolled, Victorian bench. She can make out the dim outline of Serena’s white sweatshirt, then her teeth as she smiles at Genny’s exaggerated response.

  “Serena!” she protests.

  “Sorry, mija,” she says, rising and closing the distance between them. “Did you call my mama?”

  Serena refused to do it herself. She and Genny went back and forth texting about it until Genny caved and made the call. Mrs. Ramirez was relieved but wanted to hear from her daughter herself.

  “I told you I would,” Genny reminds her. “Your mom is worried. She wants you to call her. And to come home. Now.”

  Serena shakes her head. “I can’t do it.”

  “Why?”

  “She doesn’t want me,” Serena says. “She thinks she does, but that’s because she doesn’t know yet what a tonto I am.”

  “What?”

  Serena tries to laugh but a twisted sob leaves her lips. “Stupid,” she says. ”I’ve been so stupid. I ruined everything.”

  Genny moves closer and would take her friend in a hug, but Serena shakes her head. “I’ve got to live with the consequences,” she says. “No one can do that for me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Serena holds up a small plastic bag. “Let’s go inside,” she says. She leads the way, pushing through the front door and then taking the stairs up to Genny’s bedroom quickly. Following her, Genny notices Serena’s posture is so tight, she wouldn’t be surprised if her friend spontaneously combusted.

  Serena walks past Genny’s bedroom and straight into the bathroom. She flips on the light and holds the door open for Genny. She follows her friend inside.

  “What are we doing?”

  “You’re doing nothing,” Serena says. “I’ve already done it. It’s what got me into this mess.” She pulls a small box out of the plastic bag and hands it to Genny.

  “Home pregnancy test.” Genny reads the words aloud but it’s a delayed moment before they sink in. Then Genny’s stomach hits bottom. Her hands tremble. She places the box carefully beside the sink, so that she doesn’t drop it, then starts pulling at her fingers. “Home pregnancy test?”

  Serena nods. “How many times are you going to say that?” she asks. “Because this is your defining moment. You know? The moment that will tell us the true measure of our friendship.”

  “That’s the last time.” Genny urges her mind to move beyond the shattering concept of Serena’s condition. Pregnant. “I love you,” she says, because it’s the only words she can think of that are both true and steadfast.

  Serena laughs. Her tears are mixed in it and the sound is sharp, jagged, and goes on for too long.

  Genny wraps her arms around Serena’s shoulders and pulls her close. Her friend’s tears drench Genny’s neck.

  “It’s not funny, you know?” Serena says. “It’s just, those are the words I thought I’d hear from Victor.”

  “You told Victor?”

  Serena is shaking her head. “No. Not yet. Maybe never.” She steps back and picks up the box. “I have to pee on it,” she says. She sniffs back another wave of tears.

  “Do you want me to leave?” Genny offers.

  “No, just turn around.”

  Genny does. She pushes her hands into the front pockets of her jeans so that she stops picking at them. “How late are you?”

  “I skipped a whole month,” Serena confides. “And then some.”

  “And you just realized this week?”

  “I don’t keep track. It just felt like a long time since my last cycle. Then it crept up on me, the possibility, and I started counting days. I remember the last time I had it, I was in Baja with my parents for spring vacation.”

  “A month,” Genny repeats. “Longer.”

  “You’re doing it again,” Serena says. “Don’t get stuck on the details. I need you here with me.” Genny hears the toilet flush. “You can turn around now.”

  The test—a thin white applicator with an oval window—is resting on the vanity top.

  “If I am,” Serena says, “the word pregnant will appear in the window.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “Then nothing.”

  Genny closes her eyes and prays for nothing. She tries out the art of shaping the future with nothing more than thought and conjures up an image of a blank slate, like the billowing white sail of a boat or the flowing satin of a wedding dress. A chance to start new.

  “What are you doing?” Serena demands.

  “Mind over matter,” Genny says. It could work.

  “Too late,” Serena says. “I looked into it. The only known reasons for a woman to miss her period are: pregnancy—possible; menopause—not possible; too much exercise and not enough fat in her diet—and we both know that doesn’t apply to me; illness—I’m healthy; and messing up birth control pills and days, but I don’t take the Pill. Victor takes care of protection.”

  Not very well, Genny thinks. Her thoughts must be easily read because Serena agrees with her.

  “When we had that discussion, he was all about taking care of me and me not needing to go on the Pill or anything else like that. I’m going to remind him, if I need to.”

  “He wasn’t a hundred percent, then,” Genny sums up.

  “Is anything a hundred percent?”

  Genny gazes at the test applicator. The window is still white.

  “How long does it take?”

  “Five minutes.” Serena glances at her watch. “It’s been three.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah, time is slow.”

  “You should have told me sooner,” Genny says. “You’ve been worrying all by yourself.”

  “Denial. Desperation,” Serena admits. “And then I had to know, for myself, what I would do before everyone else tried to make decisions for me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Have it,” Serena says. “It’s the right way for me.”

  “Then you have to tell Victor.”

  “He’ll want the baby, too,” Serena says. “Our parents won’t. It’s too soon and me and Victor, we have plans
for our lives. College and all that. That’s why I can’t go home. Not now. Not after I know for sure. It will destroy my mama. She wanted a lot more for me.”

  “She loves you,” Genny says.

  “I can’t do that to her,” Serena says. “I can’t tell her. I can’t live under her roof pretending I’m not, either.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “Live with Victor’s parents.”

  She didn’t say marry Victor.

  “I want to finish school. Victor needs to finish. He’s already applying for scholarships and his father has him working on his college essay so he can apply for early acknowledgement.”

  Genny wonders about Serena and college and law school and all the other plans she made for her. Will she ever see any of that?

  Genny looks at the test applicator. “Hasn’t it been five minutes?” she asks.

  Serena glances at her watch. “Eight,” she gasps. “It’s been eight minutes.”

  “But the window is blank,” Genny says.

  “It can’t be,” Serena breathes. She lifts the applicator and peers closely at it. “It’s supposed to say pregnant.”

  “If you’re pregnant,” Genny points out. She picks up the box and dumps out the directions. She scans them until she gets to the part that talks about timing and results. She reads those aloud then asks, “You’re sure your last period was a month ago?” The directions say for best results the woman should be two weeks past her normal period.

  “More,” Serena insists. “Almost six weeks. We came back from spring break the day after Easter.”

  Genny counts back. Serena is right.

  Genny lets out a shriek of pure relief. When she looks at Serena there are tears bathing her face but she’s smiling. Really smiling. The kind of second-chance happiness that makes you feel like you’re breathing helium.

  “Genny? Serena?”

  Their names are followed by a series of knocks on the door. And that is followed by the door knob jiggling.

  “It’s OK, mom,” Genny calls. She looks at Serena and whispers, “Let’s clean this up.”

  “Open this door now,” her mom orders.

  Genny picks up the now-empty box and tosses it inside a drawer. She watches as Serena slips the test applicator into her jeans pocket.

  The door knob jiggles again, this time with more authority.

  “OK. I’m opening.” Genny turns the lock and just manages to get out of the way of the swinging door.

  Her mother’s cheeks are flushed, but not from her workout—in fact, there’s not a bead of sweat on her and she’s wearing Donna Karan slacks and a wool and silk blend sweater.

  “You didn’t work out,” Genny says.

  Her mother places her hands on her hips. “No, I didn’t. Unless you count all the pacing I did upstairs while I waited for the two of you to work out Serena’s troubles.” She steps further into the room and gazes at Serena over Genny’s shoulder. “Serena, are you OK, honey?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  Serena wipes her fingers under her eyes but confesses, “They’re tears of joy.” And then she smiles and it clears the darkness from her face. It’s the first glimpse Genny has seen of her old friend in almost a week.

  “Really?” Her mother challenges. “What are you celebrating?”

  “Freedom. Independence. College and law school and motherhood.”

  Genny watches her mother absorb Serena’s last words and will swear later that her mother lost her balance for a moment and tilted like a flower in the wind.

  “Motherhood?” her mother whispers.

  “Yes.” Serena’s smile grows so big it’s blinding. “My mother loves me. I really am all she says I am.” In her exuberance, Serena pulls the test applicator from her pocket and waves it at Genny’s mother, who loses at least two shades of color. “I’m. Not. Pregnant.”

  Genny’s mom leans heavily against the granite vanity top and takes a moment to compose her next words. Genny watches her, fascinated, then turns to Serena and notices the color high in her cheeks and the glassy light in her eyes. Her first thought is that her friend is burning up with fever, which would explain what she was doing spilling her guts to Genny’s mom, as well, but she realizes it’s more than that. This is the ride down. Serena was so scared, treading that tight rope above ruin, expecting a long and treacherous drop, that the sudden, lilting descent knocked her off kilter.

  “You thought you were pregnant?” Genny’s mom asks. “How late are you, Serena?”

  “Six weeks,” she admits. “But I took the test and it says I’m not. See?” She holds the applicator so that the window is facing Genny’s mother. “Nothing. Nada. I think white is my favorite color,” she finishes, gazing again into the window which really is the portal to her freedom.

  Genny’s mother steps closer. She places a hand on Genny’s waist and pulls her in for a semi-embrace. To Serena she asks, “You haven’t been to the doctor then?”

  “I don’t need to go to the doctor,” Serena returns. “This is all I need.”

  But Genny’s mom is shaking her head. “There’s a reason you’re late, even if you’re not pregnant.”

  “I’m not,” Serena insists.

  “OK, honey. But you need to go, to make sure. And you need to know what’s going on, if you’re not.”

  Genny watches her mother’s words undo the brief, liberating confidence in Serena’s face. Her friend’s lips tremble. Her tears start again, slow and quiet. Genny wants anger, but what she gets is fear. She slips an arm around her mother’s waist and seeks her comfort. She reaches a hand out to Serena and pulls her into their embrace.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Genny sits beside Truman in their U. S. history class and does her best to ignore his worried, penetrating glances. She won’t answer his questions and he isn’t happy with her decision to remain silent on the issue of Serena and her troubles, but he’s even more unhappy with what the silence is doing to Genny. Several times he’s had to reach over and pull her lip out from under the chisel of her upper teeth; once, he wiped a fingertip over the flesh and when he drew it away it was smeared with blood.

  This morning, Genny’s mother is taking Serena to the doctor. She glances at the clock: eight-forty-five. In fifteen minutes, Serena will give blood and urine samples and she’ll have to undergo an internal examination. Genny’s mother described it all to them last night, what Serena could expect. Then they drove Serena home. Alone with her mother on the drive back, Genny asked her if she thought the test Serena took in their bathroom could be wrong.

  “The body doesn’t lie,” her mom said. “Tests have been

  known to be faulty.”

  Genny forgot to call Truman. She fell asleep on top of the covers, fully clothed, and using the power of her mind to try and sway Serena’s outcome. Her cell phone woke her at midnight. It was Truman and Genny heard the concern in his voice.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I was going to call…” She had no excuse and wasn’t ready to share the truth—that Serena’s situation could so easily be theirs, if they made a bad decision. Just one bad decision, like taking her father’s car. And it scares Genny.

  When he asked after Serena, Genny changed the subject. Just thinking the word pregnant made her shake.

  “That bad,” Truman said and waited. And waited. Genny struggled to control her voice, but it was a losing battle. Eventually, she whispered a simple, “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to come over?” he offered.

  “No.” But her mind was screaming YES. “I need to get some sleep.”

  He reminded her that he would pick her up in the morning and then they hung up.

  Genny sat in the dark room thinking about how much lonelier

  she felt without Truman, after hearing his voice and listening to his words. It’s always that way—she wants to be with him twenty-four-seven. She wonders why Serena won’t tell Victor so he could be with her. At t
he same time, she understands it. Would she tell Truman? Probably not. Not until she knew exactly what she was dealing with and the direction she was going to take. There’s something very personal and paralyzing about Serena’s situation.

  The bell rings and Truman stands. He grabs Genny’s back pack, and his own, then waits for her to shrug into her sweater before he slips an arm around her waist and guides her out into the hall.

  Their next class is calculus, but he’s urging her in the opposite direction and Genny follows him. They’re outside, in front of the school, when the tardy bell rings.

  “We’re late,” she says.

  “It’s worth it, if you’ll talk to me.”

  She gets caught up in his gaze, lured to comply, but then shakes loose.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “Later. I promised Serena. . .”

  “We don’t make those kinds of promises,” he says. “The kind that hurt. Not when I can help you.”

  “Serena needs the help,” Genny says.

  “Why isn’t Victor with her?” They saw Victor earlier, on his way to class. Serena called him the night before, from Genny’s house, but said very little about what was bothering her. This morning, Victor was frowning and moving like a linebacker, nearly pushing through people he didn’t seem to notice.

  “He doesn’t know—” she begins, but then stops when she sees Truman’s eyes flare. Surprise or indignation, she isn’t sure which. Neither is good, because he’s right. Victor should be with Serena.

  “Talk to me, Genny,” he says.

  “Later. I promise.” She can hear the plea for understanding in her voice and knows that there’s more than that there. She feels vulnerable. Her eyes are too dry and she feels like she has sand paper for lids.

  Truman doesn’t reply. He takes her hand in his and they walk to the office where they’re given tardy slips and thirty minutes of detention to be served after school.