sticky times

Amanda felt as if she might as well be in the crapper when it came to school. She imagined everyone knew. The way people looked at her. The whispering. Was it just her boobs they noticed? Her short waist expanding. She'd let out her school uniform as much as she could. What was she going to do when she actually had to start wearing maternity clothes? She wished she owned a new wardrobe of a slouchy attire. No way could she even think of boyfriend clothes, even if it were allowed at school. She felt like a glob growing each second smelling of peculiar vitamins and sweating of iron. Yes, and constipated.

"Do you have a note from your doctor?" The principal took her aside at P.E.?

"A note?" She needed one? "What are you expecting from me?" Amanda just gave her a groan.

"Should I call Doyle about this?"

"Doyle? What on earth for?"

"So you're denying you've never had anything to do with Doyle, even during orientation?" The principal gave her a stern look that now was the time to come clean of any strange incidences in the auditorium.

"He hates me?" Amanda blinked. "Don't mention his name, please."

"But isn't he the father?"

"No." Amanda swelled up with disgust. "Who said that?"

"Well, everyone." The principal told her.

"Really?" Amanda winced, thinking the next moment she'd tell her was that she was no longer welcomed here.

"Do you think you'll be able to sing next month in the choir finals?"

"Of course." Amanda nodded.

"That's all I wished to know. I'll see about getting you out of P.E. for now, and there is a support group at the church just for girls in situations like yours." The principal started writing.

"And the uniform?"

"Well, I suppose you'll be inventive, won't you?" She almost gave Amanda a smile.