“God no,” she said. “I don’t need Brit hovering and shaking her head in disapproval. I can almost hear her now: ‘I’d expect this from Marisa, not you.’”

“I’ll always stick with you,” I said. “I’ve got your back.”

Tears rolled down Clare’s cheeks. “They’ll hate me. They’ll think I’m such a loser.”

“Look, you aren’t the first to have this problem,” I said. “And you won’t be the last. This can be fixed.” The minute the comment came out of my mouth, I regretted it. I sounded like my own mother. Your problems aren’t that special.

Clare looked at me, her cheeks flushed from vomiting. “Great.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

Clare smiled and shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

“When did this happen?”

“About six weeks ago,” she said.

“Who’s the father? Kurt?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

My mind ticked back through the days and weeks. We’d both been here, home for the fall break. I mentally profiled the boys at school, trying to replay who’d shown interest in Clare. Her flaming-red hair made her impossible to miss.

“You have to have an idea?” I asked.

“His name is Jeff. But beyond that I don’t know much.”

“I know everyone in the school,” I insisted.

“Not this guy.” She squared her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”

“And you don’t want to tell this Jeff guy? He should at least pay for the clinic visit.”

“I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

“I can talk to him.”

“No. Don’t do that.” Clare carefully wrapped the test strip in toilet paper and set it in the trash can.

“I’m glad you came to me with this. Reminds me of the days we shared everything.”

“Me too.”

I hugged her, holding her close, knowing I’d never tell a soul. This was our secret. “You still coming to the party tonight?”

Clare drew back. “I need to talk to Marisa. I’ve got to tell her something important anyway. After that, if all hell doesn’t break loose, I’ll come.”

“What do you have to tell Marisa?” I asked.

“It’s between us right now.”

“We’re sisters, too,” I insisted.

“I know. But I have to tell Marisa first.”

I hid my disappointment with a smile. In friend groupings of three, someone is always left out. “Sure.”

Clare stood, smoothed her hands over her jeans. “I’m going home to change. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Are you telling Marisa about the baby, too?”

“Later. Maybe tomorrow.”

I pushed down another tide of jealousy. Clare was my friend. I’d do anything for her. And still she always defaulted to Marisa. Blood was thicker than water.

“You sure you’re okay?” I pressed.