Page 111 of Intermission

Whoever else?

I can’t . . . She can’t think I . . .

Shoulders shaking, teeth chattering, I drop my gaze to the floor. “We didn’t need to use pro-protection.” I hiccup on a sob. “It wasn’t necessary.”

“Not necessary? Why? Because he said you were the first? Ha! If you believe that, you’re a bigger fool than I thought. I’m sure you’re not the first girl Noah Spencer has sweet-talked into the back seat of his beat-up old car. You’ve taken Sex Ed, Faith. You should know better! Youalwaysneed protection. When you’re sleeping with someone, you’re sleeping with every other person they’ve ever—”

“But we’renotsleeping together! We never did!”

“Save it.”

Recognizing the stony expression on her face, I clamp my lips. No argument in the world will alter what Mom believes about me now.

My face throbs where I bumped it against the side table. A strange prickly heat resides on the other side, where my mother slapped me.

Mom drones on about my supposed stupidity, what a disappointment I am. I keep my eyes locked on the floor until one phrase catches my attention.

“You’ll what?” My head shoots up. “What clinic? Why?”

“I’m taking the day off tomorrow. After your dad goes to work, I’ll take you to the women’s clinic in Iowa City. That’s far enough away that we won’t risk running into anyone we know.” Mom looks as if she’s just caught the scent of rotten garbage. “You’ll have to be tested, of course.”

“Tested? For what?”

“Did you even pay attention in health class?” Mom mumbles and looks at the ceiling. “You’ll need to be tested for herpes, gonorrhea, chlamydia, HIV, and all the other various STDs girls like you might come in contact with. And pregnancy, of course.”

“Girls like... likeme?” My hands fist at my sides.

“Yes, Faith. Girls who are so promiscuous that they feel the need to carry condoms, even in their schoolbags. Girls who sneak out of the house to fool around with boys in the woods. Girls who...”

Blood pounds in my ears as Mom lets loose with a vivid stream of words and descriptions, all variations of the same contemptible accusation. By the time she’s finished, I am numb.

She flips on the light. I blink against the sudden brightness.

“I’ve been down this road before.” Mom leans against the door frame. “I should have expected this. I wanted so much more for you. But with all your music and drama, and your head always in the clouds...”

“I’m not Becca.”

“Save it.” Mom repeats, holding one hand up, like a crossing guard. “You may be a pretty good actress,Madeleine, but I’m not a fool. Or maybe I am, for believing you were old enough to be rational.” She lets out a long breath. “In any case, I’m sure you need a shower after the evening you’ve had, so get cleaned up and go to bed. I’ll expect you in the car and ready to leave at eight a.m. sharp.”

I push myself up off the floor and take two steps toward the stairs.

“Stop. One more thing. Come here.” She pivots and enters the study, flipping on the light. I follow.

“Close the door.” She goes to Dad’s desk and grabs the handset of the landline phone. “Call him. Now.”

“Who? Noah?”

She nods. “Now.” Mom’s voice is iron, encased in ice. “Tell himwhat I told you. Tell him you’re through. Tell him if he comes within a hundred feet of you, I’ll have him arrested.”

She shoves the phone toward me.

My hands shake, but I dial Noah’s number.

He answers on the second ring.

“Noah?” His name is a breath, barely a whisper.

“Faith? Is that you?”