Framed by My Bully's Pregnancy Stick
Juniper Marlow · Completed · 6.0k Words
Introduction
By first period, eight hundred people thought I was the campus slut. By lunch, the lacrosse captain stood up in the cafeteria and told everyone he was the father. By Friday, my full-ride scholarship was frozen and the dean told me to "keep a low profile."
I've never even kissed anyone.
Margaux Aldridge — Ashford Academy's golden girl, my so-called friend — showed up with tissues and a shoulder to cry on. She even talked to her daddy on the board about getting me a "quiet transfer" so I wouldn't have to suffer a public hearing.
So generous. So kind.
She even handed me a withdrawal form. My name already filled in. Just needed a signature.
She really thought I'd sign it.
Chapter 1
Someone posted a positive pregnancy stick next to my student ID on the school's anonymous forum.
By first period, eight hundred people thought I was the campus slut. By lunch, the lacrosse captain stood up in the cafeteria and told everyone he was the father. By Friday, my full-ride scholarship was frozen and the dean told me to "keep a low profile."
But I've never even kissed anyone.
The post went up at 7:15 on a Tuesday morning.
By the time I walked into the building, everyone was staring at their phones. Then staring at me.
I opened The Ashford Wall — the school's anonymous forum, where people posted everything from exam leaks to breakup announcements. The top post had over eight hundred comments.
A photo. On the left, a ClearBlue pregnancy test. Two lines. Positive. On the right, my student ID — my name, my face, my student number.
The caption: "Ashford's scholarship whore is knocked up. Congrats."
The comments were already out of control.
"No wonder her grades are so good. Now we know how she earned them."
"Which old guy on the scholarship committee is the daddy?"
"$60K tuition, and all it cost her was her dignity."
I stood in the middle of the hallway, fingers white-knuckled around my phone.
That test wasn't mine. I didn't even know what a ClearBlue looked like.
But nobody cared about that.
My locker had already been hit. Someone wrote SLUT across the door in red marker. Inside — used condoms, a baby pacifier, and a printed-out WIC application form. The kind for low-income pregnant women.
"What are you looking at? Go apply for maternity leave!" someone yelled from down the hall.
Laughter. Camera flashes.
I pulled the stuff out piece by piece and tossed it in the trash. My hands weren't shaking.
But my throat felt like someone had a fist around it.
The crowd parted. Margaux Aldridge walked through like she owned the hallway — perfect camel coat, golden curls, two girls trailing behind her like bridesmaids.
"Greer —" She grabbed my hand, face full of concern. "Oh my god, I just saw the post. Are you okay?"
Those gray-blue eyes. Not a single degree of real warmth.
"I'm fine."
"You don't have to be brave with me." She dropped her voice — just loud enough for everyone within ten feet to hear. "If you need to talk to someone... I mean, there are resources. No judgment."
Resources. Like I was actually pregnant. Like it was a problem that needed handling.
"Margaux, you're too nice," a girl said. "She doesn't deserve a friend like you."
Margaux put on a pained expression. Torn between loyalty and justice.
"I just... I want to believe there's an explanation." She turned back to me. "There IS an explanation, right?"
The whole hallway was waiting.
"That test isn't mine," I said.
Silence. Then a snort from the back.
"Course it's not yours. It's your baby daddy's."
Laughter. Everywhere.
Margaux shook her head sadly, gave my hand a little squeeze. "I believe you, babe. I do."
Then she turned and walked away. The laughter swallowed everything behind her.
That afternoon, Dean Hargrove called me into his office.
He sat behind his desk, the Ashford crest gleaming on the wall. His face said disappointed. His eyes said damage control.
"Greer, I'm going to be direct with you."
He opened a folder. Printouts of the post.
"This kind of publicity is extremely damaging to the school. Parents are calling. The board is concerned."
"That test isn't mine."
"I understand you feel that way."
"I don't feel that way. It's a fact. I've never had sex. I can't be pregnant."
He sighed and took off his glasses. "No one is accusing you of anything. But to put this to rest, the school would like you to take a pregnancy test with Nurse Okafor. Voluntarily, of course."
Voluntarily. The word landed like a fist on the table.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then the board will make decisions based on the information available to them." He met my eyes. "And right now, that information doesn't look good for you."
I stood up.
"Fine. I'll take your test. And when it comes back negative, I want that post taken down, a formal apology from the school, and whoever did this expelled."
He didn't respond to any of that.
"Nurse Okafor is available now."
The test came back negative. Obviously.
I stood in the hallway afterward, holding the printed result.
I thought that would be enough.
I checked my phone.
New post on The Ashford Wall: "Greer Calloway just went to the nurse for a pregnancy test. Guilty much? 🤡"
Three hundred likes. Posted while I was still inside the nurse's office.
The only people who knew I went were Dean Hargrove and Nurse Okafor.
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