We Shouldn’t Be Doing This

Timothy's voice is always low when he’s horny—and today is no exception. In fact, it’s way too low today. 

His eyes sparkle, the smallest smile on his face as he whispers in my ear, “Last night was fun.” 

Jasmine, my girlfriend since Year 9, looks from him to me, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head up at him. 

Just as she's about to speak, and no doubt ask the question I don't want her to, he leaves, raising his head high and moving to the front of the class. 

My eyes follow him as he walks, memorizing the way his hands swing lazily, the easy confidence in every step. Like he knows he belongs here. 

Her mouth hangs open for a second, then closes, and I think I’m out of the woods.  

Then, just as Dr. Rivers comes in holding a stack of papers, Jasmine says, “What was fun?” 

She says it slowly, and her nose scrunches like it always does when she’s frustrated,  hazel eyes refusing to leave mine for a long second. 

My chest tightens, twisting in on itself as I speak. “We played a game last night.” 

“What game?” She starts tapping her finger on the table. Slowly.

I open my mouth, not able to think of anything to say. Then close it, looking at her for a second. “Um..” 

“Why do you boys always keep things from me?”

I smile, at the frown on her face, about to lie to her when—

“Everyone!” Dr. Rivers says, smiling from ear to ear, “We’re having a pop quiz today.”

I swear this man derives joy in making us suffer. I groan, turning away from Jasmine and lowering my head to the desk. 

Out of the corner of my eye I see her looking at the board, a small frown on her face. 

I hope she forgets. 

I take out my note to start writing as he shares questions to all of us. 

My mind keeps drifting to Timothy, and to last night. 

In the light of morning, I am starting to regret it. 

The drinking, the kissing, among other things we did to each other. I keep telling myself I will stop messing with him, but Timothy is like a drug I can’t get enough of. A dangerous, illegalforbidden drug. 

Teasing, pulling me into his web with every lingering look; every touch designed to fuel my desire for more. 

Today I look at him, sitting in the first row of the class, biting on his pencil. For a second my mind flashes to when he bit me yesterday. 

I shake my head, clearing the smile from my face, and look at the test paper again. I struggle to write the answers, somehow forgetting them as soon as my pen touches paper.

After the test, Dr. Rivers starts teaching but for some reason I can’t concentrate. I give up trying and allow my mind to drift again to the events of last night. What if we had been caught? 

We’d probably end up in jail, my father refusing to pay bail and eventually disowning me because no son of his will be gay under his roof. 

I remember the day it was announced on the Navona National news. I remember how bright the TV was glowing. Fifteen years for people engaging in any form of same-sex relationships. 

The memory makes my fingers shake for a second, my heartbeat louder again; the same old fear since we started engulfing me. 

I hold onto my pen, tight, too tight. Jasmine stares at my shaking fingers for a second. I feel so… watched. Overstimulated. 

I bring out my journal from my bag and start writing. Fifteen years, over and over again. Somehow that calms me. Just a little. 

Jasmine’s fingers find mine, and she whispers, “Are you alright?” 

I don’t answer. 

“You’re shaking,” she says. I pull my hand away from hers. 

“What’s going on with you?” Her voice is no longer a whisper, and a few students look at us, snickering. They quickly look away when Jasmine side-eyes them, looking them up and down. 

She looks back at me, waiting for my reply. I choke out, “Nothing.” My voice is barely audible, unconvincing. 

She kisses her teeth, spitting out, “Whatever. Don’t tell me.” 

My chest plummets as she looks back at Dr. Rivers. 

I don’t know what is wrong with me.  Some part of me is tired of lying to her. But I can’t stop. 

~ 

My page is nearly full when the bell rings. 

The room erupts into movement at the sound—even Dr. Rivers rushes to pack his things, hurriedly shouting reminders to us as he goes about the room. 

Jasmine remains seated. Looking straight ahead, like she’s lost in some kind of trance. 

I watch Timothy as he leaves, his boots echoing after him.

The class empties as I pack my books as slowly as possible. She crosses her arms in front of her, looking down at her table.  

My body tenses, gearing up for the confrontation I can tell is coming. Her lips are in a pout, the AC unit blowing her long hair around her shoulders like a halo. 

I stand once the class is empty, perching on the table beside mine and looking at her. I wait for her to look at me. 

When she does her stare presses into me, heavy and unreadable. A single tear falls from her eye. I have to look away.

I look back at her before she speaks, in a small, scared voice. “I’m pregnant.”