Fallout (Crank 3)

hot sauce and bean detritus.

Suddenly I seriously need to toss

what little is in my stomach. I run

to the bathroom. Heave until I hit

empty. Get up, rinse my mouth.

Wash my face. When I exit the room,

Trey is awake, sitting up in bed,

looking more curious than worried.

“Sorry,” I say. “I think I might have

caught Grandfather’s flu bug.”

Hope that’s all you caught,

he says, half smiling. Puking,

first thing when you wake up?

Sounds like morning sickness to me.

Morning sickness? Oh my God.

Is that why I’ve felt so lousy lately?

He could be right. Pregnant?

Why does the idea shock me?

Can’t admit it, though. Not to him.

Righteous indignation swells. Who

the hell is he to even suggest it?

Trey Shepherd has never been

anything but the sperm donor

whose semen maybe jump-started

me. I shake my head. “Can’t be that.

What? You don’t believe me?”

The tone of my voice warns him

off. He shrugs. Goes to pee. I fall

back into bed. What have I done?

And what will Bryce do when he knows?