Immaculate

Regardless, it was Thanksgiving Eve, and I would have the next four days of refuge at home, four days to breathe the delicious fresh air outside of the suffocating school hallways. Four days to pretend that things were okay, that life was normal.

And it was also my birthday today, the big one-eight. Eighteen years old. I was officially an adult—a full-blown, baby-carrying adult—though other than my mom’s traditional pancakes that morning, served on a faux silver platter with globs of homemade vanilla icing and rainbow sprinkles, the day hadn’t really felt like much of a birthday, let alone a landmark, monumental birthday. No one at school other than Ha

Ha

My dad picked up a few pizzas from Frankie’s, my ritual birthday di

I had explicitly told my mom not to get me any presents, given all the inconceivable baby expenses to come. But after disappearing with my dad to clear away the pizza boxes and the remains of my cake, she reemerged with a beautiful white wooden cradle, and I burst out in tears.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” my mom asked. “Do you not like it? I know we said no presents, but your father and I would have wanted to buy this for your shower anyway, so why wait?”

“No, I love it,” I said, jumping up to wrap her in my arms. “Thank you. It’s wonderful. Perfect. All of you here, my birthday, Thanksgiving. I’m just happy. I’m really happy.” I realized that my dad was still in the kitchen, though, and I wanted to thank him, too. “Where’s Da—?”

“This is from me!” Gracie squealed, interrupting me. She pulled out a small yellow present from behind the sofa and shoved it into my hands. “Open it! Open it!”

I opened the box slowly and pulled out a thin, delicate silver bracelet from the puffs of tissue paper. I held it up to look at it more closely—a charm bracelet with tiny silver letters strung along the chain, spelling out Dietrich. At either end was a charm, one of a heart, the other of a little house.

“I wanted you to have something that could always remind you of us, even when we’re not right next to you,” Gracie said, curling herself up on my lap like a cat. “So now you can never really feel alone.”

“I’ll wear it every day, sweetie. And you are absolutely right. It will always remind me just how lucky I am to have you.” A tear rolled down my cheek, and I buried my head in Gracie’s hair to hide my face.

“Well, my present feels a bit anticlimactic after both of those gifts,” Ha

I reached inside and pulled out a bright pink T-shirt, the words SEXY MAMA printed across the front in white cursive letters. I tugged it on over my sweater, and by the end of my runway stroll around the living room, we were all laughing so hard that my crying had become contagious.

“I figured it’s time to be living out loud and proud, you know?” Ha

“I would love to see how everyone at school would react to me prancing down the hallways in this. Maybe one of these days, hm?”

Loud, stomping footsteps from the kitchen made us all turn toward the hallway. My father appeared from the shadows at the edge of the room, his face drained of color.

“What is it?” my mom asked first. “What’s wrong?”

“I . . .” he started, taking a few clumsy steps forward as he cleared his throat. “I had the news on in the kitchen while I was doing the dishes, and . . . and there’s something that you need to see. Your story, Mina. Your story is on the news tonight.”

My breath hitched, and I forced myself to swallow. I couldn’t possibly be surprised, could I? How could the local news, the national news even, not pick up on a story like this? This was the headline that golden news stories were made of, a scandalous human interest piece that seasoned reporters and rookies alike would battle over—who would get the first public interview, the most intimate details, the most stu

Jesse jumped up to turn the TV on and quickly started scrolling through the cha

“They can’t . . . They can’t do this without my approval, can they?” I felt as if my heart had stopped beating, my blood had stopped flowing, but somehow I was still alive, still sitting on the sofa and watching what was on the TV in front of me. Gracie stiffened on my lap, clamping her arms protectively around my shoulders. I couldn’t look down, though, couldn’t bring myself to see the terror I was certain would be flashing across her eyes.

“You’re eighteen now, Mina,” my mother said, her words quiet but steady. She said it so immediately, so absolutely, that I knew she must have been thinking about this for a while, worrying about what my birthday could bring.

Eighteen didn’t just mean becoming an adult—it meant no longer being untouchable. No longer being protected or coddled by the law. I was fair game.

My picture vanished from the screen, replaced by an overly polished-looking middle-aged reporter standing in front of Green Hill High. “According to the heavily trafficked website, eighteen-year-old Mina Dietrich, lifelong resident of rural Green Hill, Pe