Someone Like You by Sarah Dessen Page A

know,” I said, and I knew now it was my job to hold us together, my turn to see us through. “It’ll be okay, Scarlett. Everything is going to be fine.”
    But even as I said it, I was scared.
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    That evening, we had a meeting at Scarlett’s kitchen table. Me, Scarlett, and Marion, who didn’t know anything yet and ate her dinner incredibly slowly as we edged around her. She had a date with Steve/Vlad at eight, so we were working with a time frame.
    â€œSo,” I said, looking right at Scarlett, who was overstuffing the napkin holder with napkins, “it’s almost eight.”
    â€œIs it?” Marion turned around and looked at the kitchen clock. She reached for her cigarettes, pushed her chair out from the table, and said, “I better start getting ready.”
    She started to leave, and I shot Scarlett a look. She looked right back. We battled it out silently for a few seconds before she said, very quietly, in a voice flat enough to ensure anyone wouldn’t, “Wait.”
    Marion didn’t hear her. Scarlett shrugged her shoulders, like she’d tried, and I stood up and got ready to call after her. I could hear Marion heading up the stairs, past the creaky third one, when Scarlett sighed and said, louder, “Marion. Wait.”
    Marion came back down and stuck her head into the kitchen. She’d had to get two two -hundred-and- fifty-pound women glamorous that day at Fabulous You, one of whom wanted lingerie shots, so she was worn out. “What?”
    â€œI have to talk to you.”
    Marion stood in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
    Scarlett looked at me, as if this was some kind of relay race and I could carry the baton from here. Marion was starting to look nervous.
    â€œWhat?” she asked, looking from Scarlett to me, then back to Scarlett. “What is it?”
    â€œIt’s bad,” Scarlett said, and started crying. “It’s really bad.”
    â€œBad?” Now Marion looked scared. “Scarlett, tell me. Now.”
    â€œI can’t,” Scarlett managed, still crying.
    â€œNow. ” Marion put one hand on her hip. It was my mother’s classic stance but it looked out of place on Marion, as if she was wearing a funny hat. “I mean it.”
    Then Scarlett just spit it out. “I’m pregnant.”
    Everything was really quiet all of a sudden, and I suddenly noticed that the faucet was leaking, drip drip drip.
    Then Marion spoke. “Since when?”
    Scarlett fumbled for a minute, getting her bearings. She’d been expecting something else. “When?”
    â€œYes.” Marion still wasn’t looking at either of us.
    â€œUmmm ...” Scarlett looked at me helplessly. “August?”
    â€œAugust,” Marion repeated, like it was the clue that solved the puzzle. She sighed, very loudly. “Well, then.”
    The doorbell rang, all cheerful, and as I glanced out the front window I could see Steve/Vlad on the front porch carrying a bunch of flowers. He waved at us and rang the bell again.
    â€œOh, God,” Marion said. “That’s Steve.”
    â€œMarion,” Scarlett began, stepping closer to her, “I didn’t mean for it to happen—I used something, but ...”
    â€œWe’ll have to talk about this later,” Marion told her, running her hands through her hair nervously, straightening her dress as she headed for the door. “I can’t-I can’t talk about this now.”
    Scarlett wiped her eyes, started to say something, and then turned and ran out of the room, up the stairs. I heard her bedroom door slam, hard.
    Marion took a deep breath, composed herself, and went to the front door. Steve was standing there, smiling in his sports jacket and Weejuns. He handed her the flowers.
    â€œHi,” he said. “Are you ready?”
    â€œNot quite,” Marion said quickly, smiling as best she could. “I have to get