Something in the Water

"Ben, please." I peel his arm away from me for the sixth or seventh time today.

"What?" He asks so innocently.

"You know how I feel about excessive PDA." I direct his hand into mine to find a happy medium.

"It's not excessive." He still throws his arm over my shoulders, anyway. "I missed you."

I pinpoint the few people that look at us, because everyone else has decided that Ben is definitely the father of my baby, just based on his actions today. "I think they get the point."

Ben drags me with his arm like a hook into an area of lockers, enclosed from the hallway. It's nice to feel alone for once, but I don't know what he's getting at.

"I love you, Ben. I mean, who else to you have to prove it to? Kids that believe anything they hear?"

His eyes watch the student traffic as it continues passed the opening. "Sure, everybody else might get it now." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and leans closer. "But I don't."

"Why?" I breathe, his face just inches away from mine. My back hits the lockers, and a tingle goes up my spine.

I ask for his lips without saying so many words, and I get them. He's eager, the way he fights to prove to himself that I love him. It's as if he's hungry - but not for food. For peace of mind, for his dignity, I don't know. He's sensitive, and I love that about him. But he's making me hungry, too.

He uses the lockers as leverage, and presses himself up against me. He kisses me like he's mad, but it isn't sloppy. We're perfectly in sync, like we've been rehearsing this moment, and it's irresistable.

I gather a bunch of his shirt in each fist, but I have to stop myself when I want to tug the fabric over his head.

"Wait, wait." I mumble, as he takes a detour through the crease of my jaw and neck. "Ben, wait."

"What's wrong?" His scratchy voice threatens to detach my brain and let us get on with it.

I take the deepest breath my lungs allow. Everything that's going on inside my head and everything about our current situation doesn't go well together. "We can't do this now."

A mental switch goes off in his head, reminding him that we're in school and we're supposed to be at lunch. And that I'm pregnant. "Oh." His cheeks blush red, and I nearly whimper for ruining such a perfect moment.

We stare at eachother for an extra second, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I am. Yes, in school is clearly off-limits. But at home, curled up beside him in his bed, with his warm hands and soft lips...could I, even though I'm pregnant? Or maybe the question is, would I?

My face prickles with warmth as the embarassing thought is brushed away. "Lunch." I remind him with a gulp.

He's satisfied with just holding my hand. "Right."

. . . . . . . .

We're late, and Sam doesn't approve.

"I thought you died." He says bluntly. "Or you cut school, or something."

I grin nervously and look to Ben to explain. Sam waits with raised eyebrows.

"We, uh, got caught up at the lockers." Ben stutters, pulling his lunch out of his bag.

Sam shakes his head and thankfully blows it off. No way would I want him to find out Ben and I almost stripped down in the hallway. I still can't believe it myself.

"I heard about your adventures this morning." He teases. "Should of called me. I could have been your bodyguard again."

"Yeah, well my dad decided that the job should go to the Evaluators now." I mutter.

As part of a routine, Sam unwraps his lunch and hands me my corner of his sandwich. "You're lucky I saved this for you. I was extra hungry today."

I smile, but slide it back to him. "You eat it. I'm not hungry." I say I'm not hungry, because I'm not. Not for food, anyway.

Sam bites his tongue because I'm so stubborn. "Eat it, Sully."

I shake my head. "No, thank you."

"You have to eat it."

"No, it's okay. You eat it."

"I don't want it."

"Neither do I."

A smirk sneaks past Sam's fake angry mask. "Eat the damn sandwich!"

"No!" I laugh, too.

"Where's your lunch?" Ben cuts in.

"This," Sam forces the corner between my fingers. A smudge of jelly oozes onto my hand. "Is all I can her to eat these days."

I glare at Sam for telling on me, then drop my head when my eyes meet Ben's.

"You haven't been eating?" His scratchy voice breaks on the end.

"I eat," I say, because it isn't a complete lie. "I just don't want to upset my stomach."

"Em," Ben splits his sandwich right down the middle, keeping the smaller side for himself. "Here."

"Ben, I don't want it." I say it firmly because they're both getting on my nerves. "Just let it go, alright?" I switch my eyes between the both of them.

Ben slaps the sandwich back down on the table. I know I'm stubborn, I always have been. Sometimes, I'm a little too stubborn for Ben's liking. I don't blame him.

Now everything's tense, and no one wants to say anything. I peek up at Sam, who is peeking at Ben, who is staring off into space.

Ben breaks the ice first. "I tried talking to Sara today,"

I wait until he looks at me to verify he's talking to me. "What did she say?"

He shrugs. "She wouldn't talk to me."

Sam sees the look on my face and huffs out a breath of air. "I'm sorry she's being such a brat. I'll talk to her later, 'kay?"

"What makes you think she'll listen to you?" Ben says with a strange tone.

Sam seems wounded by it. "I don't know, maybe because she's my sister?"

I don't know if I should say something, because I don't understand what I'm witnessing. The only thing I've seen Ben and Sam fight over is the last slice of pizza.

And now they're fighting over...what?

I don't have time to think any longer, because the bell rings. Ben gathers his trash and goes to throw it away, while Sam catches up with me at the door while we wait for him.

To continue with our routine, Sam slides his fingers through mine as we prepare to walk through the halls together. I don't see anything wrong at first, because it's so comfortable and I've gotten used to it.

It's when Ben meets up with us and stares at our hands like we have forty fingers that I see the mistake.

"Oh!" I gasp, yanking my hand away. "I, um, I didn't -"

"It's fine." Sam says gently. He directs his stare to Ben. "Sorry." He apologizes, though it doesn't sound like he really means it.

Ben proceeds to latch me onto his side again. "At least I know she was taken care of."

. . . . . . . .

Things only get worse when we're going home.

It's like a re-creation of this morning, but worse. The media is crawling at the front doors of the schools, waiting desperately for Ben and I to walk through. I don't understand what makes me so freaking interesting. I'm just a girl.

The Evaluators stand inside the doors, looking for us to approach them. They don't want to leave until three on the dot, so we're forced to stand here for a few minutes.

The other students are directed to exit the building through a different door, but they still gawk at us as they pass. I turn my back to them and find interest in gawking at the Evaluators. I'm starting to get sick of the attention.

Ben's holding my hand, and I'm holding his, but we're both squeezing the life out of eachother. The anticipation is killing me, and I want there to be another way to get home without all the drama.

At three o'clock, the doors fly open. The sun is so bright, my eyes can barely adjust before flashes of cameras fog my eyes and voices flood my ears.

The Evaluators walk on each side of us, serving as a boundary between everyone. One of the flashes stuns me, and I unintentionally stop walking until my vision clears.

I lose Ben's hand, and it's my worst nightmare.

They all call my name like we're old friends, and they stick their cameras and microphones in my face like I don't mind it at all. I'm nearly surrounded by the sea, like a man gone overboard.

I set my lips to call Ben's name, but nothing comes out. I fear that even if I did call him, he wouldn't hear me. My voice would be drowned out. Someone is grasped onto my arm, trying to force an answer to his question out of me.

"Let me go." I want to yell at him, but my voice is weak, and terrified. It betrays me.

It turns out I don't have to call Ben, because he comes barging through the wall of people to get to me anyway. I focus on his face and keep my eyes there.

"Get off!" Ben's voice is much more threatening, but he doesn't feel it's enough. He rips the man's arm off of me and roughly shoves his shoulder back into the crowd - a violent side that I've never seen before.

People back away automatically, including myself. The Evaluators part the sea so easily, and I expect them to arrest the man that grabbed me.

Instead, one of them takes a stiff hold onto Ben's shoulders and pushes him ahead. The other guides me behind, less forcibly. When we get into the safety of the vehicle, they won't allow us to sit next to eachother.

"Why not?" Ben's still angry, and I know how his temper can sometimes get the best of him. "You're just going to let that creep walk away without any penalty?"

They don't answer, just physically separate us. I'm uncomfortable next to the stranger, and Ben looks the same as he sits diagonally across from me, next to the other one.

Neither of us speaks, though Ben almost says something when he spots the wetness sitting on the rims of my eyes. I shake my head to show him I'm fine. We drive for a while, but I notice we aren't headed towards home.

"Um," I sound like a mouse - a baby mouse. "Where are we going?"

"The Evaluation Center." One replies.

"For what?" Ben questions, less harshly.

The car turns itself into the parking garage, where the other Evaluator cars are kept neatly. "You'll be meeting with an Evaluator today," The other explains. "To discuss the means of your Evaluation."