A NIGHT WITH THE PRESIDENT

The cheap LED tube light above the dorm bathroom mirror buzzed. It was a low, mechanical hum that vibrated right behind Eloisa Williams's eyes.

She stared at the plastic stick in her hands.

Two pink lines.

They were the brightest, sharpest colors she had ever seen in her life. They burned into Eloisa's retinas.

Her stomach violently dropped. The blood drained from her face, leaving her skin the color of old chalk. Her fingers went completely numb.

The plastic stick slipped from her grip. It hit the bottom of the trash can with a hollow plastic clatter.

Eloisa gasped, she dropped to her knees on the cold tile floor, plunged her hand into the trash, and snatched the stick back out. Her hands shook so hard she could barely read the tiny print on the instruction sheet she had unfolded on the sink.

Positive.

The word hit her like a physical blow to the chest.

She scrambled toward the toilet. She gripped the porcelain rim, her knuckles turning stark white. She gagged. Her throat spasmed, but nothing came up except the bitter, acidic taste of her own saliva.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to force her brain to work.

A month ago. The graduation party.

Fragments of memory sliced through her mind. The bass of the music vibrating in her ribs. The blinding flash of strobe lights. The burn of amber whiskey sliding down her throat.

She remembered drinking too much. She remembered her roommate, Isla, holding her arm, trying to keep her upright.

And then?

Nothing. A massive, terrifying blank space. It was like someone had taken scissors to the film reel of her life.

She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her forehead. A single, blurry image surfaced.

A tall shadow. A broad chest.

And a smell. It wasn't the cheap, overpowering cologne that college boys bathed in. It was the scent of cedarwood and old, expensive paper.

She remembered looking up into a pair of deep, dark eyes. But there was no face. Just the eyes, and the smell, and the heavy weight of a hand guiding her.

She slapped her own forehead, hard. The sting did nothing to clear the fog. Her head pounded with a vicious ache.

She had never even had a real boyfriend. She could count her intimate experiences on one hand, and they were all clumsy, forgettable, and years in the past.

This baby. This positive test. She couldn't even put a name or a face to it. It was completely absurd.