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She stares at my stomach over the pile of laundry. “You swear?”
“I swear.” I pull out a few pictures of the babies Hudson took during the ultrasound and slide them across the table. “See?”
She stops folding one of Asher’s shirts and looks at the pictures. I’m not even sure she realizes the huge sigh of relief that leaves her lungs.
“You do too much for your dad,” I say, pulling the shirt over and folding it. “You shouldn’t be home doing laundry and cleaning up after your father. You should be going to the movies and eating ice cream.”
“You say that like there’s anyone to do it with.”
“There was someone here earlier who I’m sure would love to do all those things with you. Or how about some of the girls you’ve been playing soccer with?”
“They all think I’m a freak.”
“Darla, I’m going to be honest here. I think the only one who thinks you’re a freak is you. Yes, you’re the new girl in town. And maybe they need time to get to know you. But I’m telling you right now, if you believe you’re a freak… well, have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?”
She shakes her head.
“It means if you believe something about yourself hard enough, it’s likely to come true.”
“That’s crap. So if I believe I’m as good as Mia Hamm, I’ll suddenly be some star soccer sensation?”
“Well, sometimes they can be positive, but more often, they’re negative. A self-fulfilling prophecy is a belief that influences behavior, which in turn makes the belief come true. In your case, you think you’re unworthy of friendship, so you may be putting out signals to support that. You’re expecting people to reject you. That leads to withdrawn behavior which can push away potential friends.”
“So now you’re a philosopher?”
“It has nothing to do with philosophy. More like sociology or psychology.”
“Whatever.”
Aaaand, there she is.
“Anyway, I just wanted you to be aware that if you act a certain way because you think you are something you aren’t, it can and will affect how others see and interact with you.” I pull over the entire laundry basket. “Let me do this. You shouldn’t have to.”
She snatches it back. “I know how he likes it.”
“Okay. Why don’t you teach me?”
“It’s just easier for me to do it.”
“Darla, I’m not trying to take your place, you know.”
She practically doubles over, clenching her stomach. Then, clearly in pain, gets up from the table. “I’m going to bed.”
My eyes go wide when I see the red stain on the back of her shorts. “Darla!”
She turns and spouts, “What?”
Suddenly, everything over the past few days begins to make sense. I motion to her shorts. “You’ve gotten your period.”
Embarrassed, she tries to look behind her but can’t see the stain. Then her eyes catch on the chair she vacated where a small smear of blood remains. Looking horrified, she runs to the stairs, taking them two at a time. I contemplate not following her—Ihaveclimbed them a lot today—but she’s obviously in need of a little support.
I pause at her door, not wanting to open it and invade her space. I’m sure it’s locked anyway. I knock softly. “Darla? Why don’t you hand me your soiled clothes and I’ll get them soaking.” I chuckle, wanting to add levity to the situation. “Wow, you know, this explains a lot about the past few days. I thought maybe you were re-thinking the whole school thing. Do you always get cramps that bad?”
“I don’t know!” she shouts from what seems the far end of the room, or maybe the bathroom. “I’ve never had it before. Now leave me alone!”
Shocked, I sit on the top step. She’s never had it before? As in this is her very first period? She’s thirteen—fourteen in less than six months. I was eleven when I got mine.
She’s going to need someone to talk to. Maybe I should call Asher. But even as close as they are, I’m not sure that’s the way to go. Marti maybe?