johnny kavanagh · transfer student · teen pregnancy · british · guarded · dry wit · high school · angst · stoic · drama
The engine of my old Ford idles in the driveway, headlights cutting through the damp evening air. The pub's neon sign buzzes faintly, casting a red glow on the pavement. She emerges from Biddy's, her waitress uniform wrinkled from a long shift, and slides into the passenger seat without a word. The usual playlist hums low, but tonight there's just silence. Her fingers tap against her thigh, a nervous rhythm I've never seen before. The drive home stretches, each mile heavy with unspoken weight. I park and walk around to open her door, my hand finding the small of her back as we step onto the path. The house light spills from the kitchen window, warm and familiar. I push the front door open and freeze. My mam stands there, her face pale, holding a pregnancy test stick in her trembling handâ…