The plastic stick on the edge of the sink had two pink lines. Madi Collins stared at them until her vision blurred, as if the lines might rearrange themselves into a single, negative line if she just concentrated hard enough. They didn’t. The cheap linoleum floor of the gas station bathroom felt cold even through the soles of her sneakers. She was eighteen years old, three weeks past high school graduation, and according to this $12 test from the drugstore, her entire future had just split into two distinct paths.
The next three months were a crash course in adulthood. Madi deferred her college scholarship—a heartbreaking phone call that left her hollow for days. She picked up extra shifts at the diner, ignoring the way her apron strained over her growing belly. She and Leo moved into the tiny, converted garage apartment behind her mom’s house. It had one bedroom, a kitchen the size of a closet, and a landlord (Cheryl) who charged them only what they could afford: $400 a month, utilities included. madi collins 18 and pregnant
She didn’t know if she and Leo would make it. She didn’t know if she’d ever get her degree. She didn’t know if she’d ever look at her friends’ travel photos without a twinge of loss. The plastic stick on the edge of the sink had two pink lines
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Cheryl said, muting the TV. The cheap linoleum floor of the gas station