I breathed deeply and braced as Weller approached. She had the ability to look down her nose at you from every angle. But for once, she seemed aware of it—she didn’t want to intimidate me. She crouched before my table. Her gaze swung over to Leaf. I was afraid that she’d banish him to the library with our classmates, but instead she said, “Why don’t you call her mother? I should probably send her to the nurse, but this is different, I think.”

Weller, queen of the advanced placement demons, was again proving to be the most compassionate of my teachers.

“Thank you,” I rasped.

She reached across the table to take my hand. I waited for another cramp. The last one had been awful, like the worst charley horse ever, only in the wrong place. I worried if another came, I’d squeeze Weller’s fingers off. I told her as much, but she snorted and told me not to worry about it.

“I had three babies. I’m tougher than I look.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise me.

Leaf slipped my phone from my bag and dialed Mom at work. He paced back and forth as he talked to her, explaining what had happened and that Mrs. Weller had told him to call.

“She’s on her way,” he said a moment later, slipping my phone into his back pocket. “Also, she said it’s rude to have your baby on the floor of the high school.”

“...she would say that.” I managed a smile and slumped into my seat, holding onto Weller with one hand, rubbing my distended midsection with the other. “It could just be Braxton Hicks, too. They like to fake you out, but they’ve never been like this before.”

“It could, but better safe than sorry,” Weller said. “Leaf, go get her a damp paper towel from the restroom? Do you have anything you need in your locker, Sara?”

I shook my head. Leaf scampered off to do as he was told, appearing a few minutes later with a sopping wet towel he had to wring out over the garbage before applying to my forehead.

“You’re so red.” He dabbed at my cheeks with the paper towel. It felt amazing on my skin, and I had the urge to douse my whole body in cold water. I needed a nice, cool pool to walk into.

In February.

Apparently.

“Oh. I’m okay.” I paused, slurping in a breath. “I’ll be okay.”

If I kept telling myself that, I’d eventually believe it.

I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay.

I’ll be ok—

Another contraction hit.

“The only thing ruder than having the baby on the floor of your high school is having it in my car,” Mom announced. “If your water breaks on my upholstery, I’m going to be hella mad.”