"You don't have to worry. I'm not the kind of girl who guys moon after."

Jeannie shook her head. "Farah's twisted you. She's ruined you. I've been watching it for months and months."

"Farah's my friend."

"Oh, we're all aware." Jeannie rubbed her forehead. "Sorry Emili, I don't mean to bash Farah. It's not why I asked you to come."

I stood up. "You can stop worrying, Marc and I are over."

She smiled then, a sorry-looking, unconvinced smile. "Thanks."

Some people called Jeannie chubby, but right then she appeared strangely slight. A surge of sadness washed over me. I remembered the days when we were good friends.

I'd started to go, then paused. "Hey, maybe we could hang out again sometime."

She wiped at her tears. "Maybe we could. Sometime."

Later during the afternoon, I was sitting in my room thinking about Jeannie when the phone rang.

"Farah. You sick again?"

"I'm coming over. Be ready." She hung up.

Since when did Farah warn me she was coming over? What was I supposed to be ready for? Her voice sounded funny, m.u.f.fled. Was she still sick? Why would she be coming over if she was sick - I didn't want her germs. It didn't make sense. Of course, she could be faking it again and wanting to sneak off with Pete or her dad.

That was probably it. Or she'd already sneaked off, and she was coming over so she could tell her mom she'd been with me the whole time. Emili Jones: the perfect decoy.

It wasn't long before the doorbell rang, and I ran through the living room to get it. "It's Farah," I said to my dad before he could get up from the couch.

I opened the door and gaped at her. There were smudgy circles beneath her eyes and her face was pale. She gripped an overnight bag. Her purse hung off her shoulder, nearly touching the ground.

"Farah." I pulled her into the house. "Come on." I kept pulling her toward my room because I didn't want my dad to get a good look at her.

He started up to greet us, but I was too fast. I yanked her down the hallway, pushed her into my room and slammed the door. I guided her to the bed and sat her down. "What's wrong?" I asked. "You look terrible."

"I know. I'm pregnant."

I froze. Was this her idea of a joke? "Don't kid me, it's not funny. You look half-dead with the flu or something."

She didn't say anything, and I began to feel sick myself. She wasn't kidding.

"How do you know?" My voice was quiet. "Did you take a test? But it's too soon to know, isn't it? I'm sure you're wrong."

Her eyes were teary, but her tone was determined. "They have new tests - only takes two weeks. It's been over two weeks. Way over for the first time. I'm not wrong."

"How did this happen?"

"Are you serious?"

"You told me you weren't going to do anything stupid."

"I lied. Haven't you figured out I lie sometimes?"

I sank onto the bed beside her. "It can't be true."

"It's true all right."

"You okay?"

She jumped up and started pacing. "Of course, I'm not okay!" Her voice was tight. "Do I look okay? I'm the opposite of okay."

She stared at me. "He told me he used protection. The irony is so rich, I could laugh - or scream."

"Did you tell him yet?"

Chapter Thirteen.

"Pete isn't answering his phone." Farah threw up both of her hands. "I know what you're going to say, and I don't want to hear it."

"He's got to know."

"I'm aware. Can't you see the headline? Adult Teen Impregnates Stupid Sixteen-year-old Girl."

"Oh, Farah."

"He didn't do this on purpose, I know he didn't. I like him so much. I've never liked any guy so much. No, not true, there was someone else once. I liked him more." She started to cry.

I had no idea who she was talking about. I took her arm and guided her back to the bed. "Come on, Farah, sit down."

She sat and pulled her purse around from behind her. She shoved it towards me. "Go ahead and look."

I stared at the purse, almost afraid to touch it. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what was in there. Farah's wet eyes were fastened on mine.

"Go ahead," she urged again.

I pulled the zipper open and peered inside. There was her cracked wallet, a brush full of loose red hair, lipstick, her phone, and a wad of tissues. "I don't see anything."

"The wallet."

I took out the wallet and opened it. There were a few dollars, a credit card and a membership ID for Ailki's Gym. A photo was stuck inside the coin compartment. I peeled it gently off the leather. It was a much younger Farah with a guy who was high-school age. His hair was reddish blonde and he was thin, almost scrawny. His eyes were heavy and dark, and there was a look of terrible sadness about him.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"My brother."

"What? You don't have a brother."

"Not anymore."

"What do you mean? And this is what you were hiding from me? A photo? I don't get it."

She reached out and took the photo carefully from my hand. She cradled it like a fragile b.u.t.terfly. "I didn't want you to know."

"Know what?"

"About Sam."

"Farah, you're making no sense. Why didn't you want me to know you had a brother?"

"Because he's mine. I didn't want anyone else to have him."

"Still not making sense."

She focused on the photo and traced the outline of Sam's face with her finger. "If I don't talk about him, he won't actually be gone."

"Did he die?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"My mother." She took a huge heaving breath. "She killed him."

I flinched. "What?"

"She made him leave. I haven't seen him since I was little. He might as well be dead."

"What happened?"

Farah lay over on her side. She pressed the photo to her chest. "We used to have so much fun together. Sam made me laugh all the time. We were always laughing. And he took care of me, too. You know, watched out for me. But when he started high school, it all changed. Everything changed. He liked boys, Emili." Her eyes dared me to react. "Mother detested him for it. She yelled at him, no, screeched at him. It was awful. He used to cry. Do you know what it's like to see your big brother in high school cry? Dad did nothing. He was mad, too. Not as bad as Mother. But bad enough."

I reached over, put my hand on Farah's ankle and squeezed.

"Sam hated it. Mother's screaming didn't stop. Sam couldn't take it anymore so he left. Haven't heard anything since." Farah was crying again, quietly, the tears running down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry."

"Mother bullied him until he left. She's a witch, I tell you, an evil mongrel witch. I hate her."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She ignored my question and kept talking, her voice a monotone. "Mother took down every photo of him. She cleaned out his room and gave everything to the local homeless shelter. It's like he never existed." She shook her head. "I never had a brother. He was never born."

"You could find him."

"I tried. I've tried lots of times on the Internet. I can't find him."

"I could help you."

"It's no good." She sat up and carefully tucked his picture back into her wallet. "I don't know why I never showed you. But I don't show anyone. Ever."

"Thanks for showing me now."

She wriggled back into a sitting position, and I saw her tears were wiped dry. "I think Pete and I should get married."

My mouth dropped open. "Married? Farah, you're barely sixteen. Everyone would know Pete's the father, and he'd be in trouble for sure."

She perched on the edge of the bed. "My life is over, ruined."

I grasped her shoulder. "Your life isn't ruined. We'll figure something out."

"Says you."

I started to argue with her, but before I could say a word, she clamped her hand over her mouth and ran to the bathroom. I followed her, getting there as she finished vomiting.

"Everything all right?" Dad yelled from the living room.

"Everything's fine," I answered.

I ran a washcloth under cold water and handed it to Farah. We went back into my room.

"What are you going to do?"

"Have a baby."

"Might be other options."

"Who are you? The Emili Jones I know would never in a million years tell me to have an abortion."

"I wasn't telling you to have an abortion, only saying there might be options."

"What options? I have the baby or I don't. Abortion is out, I could never do it. So, I have the baby." She paused and her voice became airy, far away. "I won't need other options, anyway. Pete will marry me, I know he will. He loves me and this will be my ticket out."

"Farah, he can't marry you. Your parents would never allow it."

Farah stood up. "It's not their choice. It's my body and my baby. People get married young all the time. Besides, Pete has an apartment and a job. We'll be fine." Her voice was getting higher, louder.

"Shh! Dad's going to hear you."

She sank down on the bed. "It could work, I know it could. We'd have the baby and put it in daycare. I'd finish school, and it could be a fairy tale. I always liked fairy tales when I was little. Right? It could be a fairy tale."