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  Candace

  Nine Months: Book #1

  Written by Maggie Wells

  Copyright © 2016 by Abdo Consulting Group, Inc.

  Published by EPIC Press™

  PO Box 398166

  Minneapolis, MN 55439

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  International copyrights reserved in all countries.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without

  written permission from the publisher. EPIC Press™ is trademark

  and logo of Abdo Consulting Group, Inc.

  Cover design by Candice Keimig

  Images for cover art obtained from iStockPhoto.com

  Edited by Lisa Owens

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Wells, Maggie.

  Candace / Maggie Wells.

  p. cm. — (Nine months; #1)

  Summary: Candace, a 17-year-old high school senior, is a smart girl who attends an elite prep school and is on her way to Princeton. She hopes her walk on the wild side will both punish and attract the attention of her very absent parents when she finds herself pregnant. Faced with the reality of leaving her innocence, Candace struggles to choose the right path—motherhood or the Ivy League?

  ISBN 978-1-68076-190-0 (hardcover)

  1. Teenagers—Sexual behavior—Fiction. 2. Teenage pregnancy—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction. 4. Sex—Fiction. 5. Young adult fiction. I. Title.

  [Fic]—dc23

  2015949409

  This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.

  To my literary guiding light, Lewis Buzbee

  One

  * * *

  IT WAS FINALS WEEK IN DECEMBER OF CANDACE’S SENIOR year. Everyone was packing and leaving. Cars and shuttle buses were coming and going to the airport, bus station, train station. Candace sat on her bed and watched her roommate, Molly, stuff every last designer sweater and pair of jeans into her suitcase.

  “Got any big plans for Christmas break?” Molly asked.

  “Hang out with the ’rents in Boston. You?” Candace said.

  “We’re going skiing in Switzerland,” Molly said. “You should come.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Brett, Perry, Eric, the gang. Jude’s step-dad rented a place in Zermatt.”

  “Too bad. Wish I had more notice,” said Candace, knowing that she couldn’t afford a ski trip to Switzerland.

  “Should be fun, kid. See you next year.” Molly dragged her massive bag out into the hallway.

  Candace was not like the other kids at St. Paul’s Boarding School in Concord, New Hampshire. She called them “Paulies” and “Paulines,” the ones whose fathers were investment bankers or CEOs or rock stars. She knew she should feel grateful to have access to the best path to the Ivies that money could buy, as Daddy constantly reminded her. Daddy had taken out a second mortgage on the house in Brookline to pay for the tuition at St. Paul’s so he could brag to his clients on the golf course.

  But she didn’t fit in. It wasn’t just that she was fat—a fact that her mother never let her forget—it was that she really didn’t like these people. Frankly she didn’t think they liked each other very much—or even themselves for that matter.

  What is it about rich kids? Candace thought. They sleep through their morning classes, demand special accommodation for their phantom learning disabilities and fight with their teachers about their lousy grades. They threaten to bring the wrath of Daddy down onto the administration if their sexual assaults are prosecuted. You know what it is? she decided, because she’d had a lot of time to think about it. They are aware that they will never achieve a level of success to rival their parents; they are resigned to living off of trust funds and nepotism, pretending they’re happy, pretending that they are the architects of their own lives.

  Okay, so maybe Daddy was right. Candace’s dream was to attend Princeton—well, it was really Daddy’s dream—but Candace wanted to please him, make him proud. She applied to Princeton for early decision and she had been checking her mailbox every day for a week. Then suddenly there it was—Ding!—like that—like the winning buzzer on Jeopardy—the letter from Princeton. She tore the envelope open, accidentally ripping the letter in half, and read it. Three times. She spread the pieces of the letter out on her desk, trying to smooth out the creases and then carefully taped it back together. She stuck the letter to her mirror and gazed into her reflection. Princeton, she thought. Candace Parker is going to Princeton! Instead of her round, doughy face, she imagined herself arriving on campus, skinny, her thighs no longer rubbing together, having lost twenty pounds over the summer.

  She grabbed her phone and dialed Daddy’s cell.

  “Wonderful news!” he cried.

  Next she texted Sara.

  Awesome! Sara replied.

  After posting the news on Facebook so that all of her Brookline friends would be jealous, she flopped onto her bed, grinning from ear-to-ear.

  After Molly left, the dorm was eerily quiet except for the echo of a distant voice now and then, the slam of a door, the turn of a key in a lock. Candace wandered the halls, feeling melancholy. Outside a light snow was falling. She grabbed her down jacket and went out to enjoy the last few minutes of daylight. She stood in the quad looking up at the silent oaks and the gently falling snowflakes. Someone was walking along the path, toward her. As he approached, she recognized his unruly mane.

  Danilo was an exchange student from Italy. He was definitely a “Paulie,” but in a Euro-trash sort of way. His father was a banker with Credit Suisse in Milan. He had a mop of curly hair that he never combed and a wisp of a moustache.

  He was in her Astronomy class.

  “Scusi,” she remembered him saying. It tickled her the way he pronounced Astronomy with the emphasis on the first syllable. “AST-ronomy!”

  “Si,” she said, thinking she sounded sophisticated.

  They had not really spoken since, other than a smile, wave, or nod to acknowledge each other now and then.

  “Danilo!” she called out.

  “Ciao. You are leaving, no?”

  “My plane isn’t until nine,” she said. “I don’t know why I booked such a late flight. Everyone else is already gone. Are you staying here over the break?”

  “I’m meeting my cousin in New York tomorrow,” Danilo replied.

  “I love Christmas in New York. It’s my favorite time of year. The lights, the tree, the store windows,” she said.

  “The crowds, the honking horns, the puddles of slush on every corner,” he said.

  She laughed.

  “Do you want to get a coffee?” he asked.

  They walked in silence to Main Street and saw that The Old Europe was open. They settled into a booth and ordered—green tea for her, espresso for him.

  “You’ll stay with your cousin for the holidays?” she said.

  “He has a loft in SoHo. It’s cool. We might go skiing.”

  “Nice. And your parents? Will you see them?” she asked.

  “My dad is in London and my mom is in China meeting with suppliers,” he said. “They travel a lot. I don’t see them much.”

  “Do you like it here, at St. Paul’s?” Candace asked.

  “It’s okay. Not that different from my boarding school in London,” Danilo said. “My dad wanted me to come here to network with the Wall Street types.” Danilo punctuated the phrase with air quotes.

  “And how is that going?” she asked with a smile.

  “The Paulies?”

  “Oh my God! You call them that too?” She covered her face with her hands and convulsed in laughter.

  “Everybody calls them that,” he said. “They call themselves Paulies. It’s ridiculous!”


  “Really? Well, then who is not a Paulie?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. You? Me?” Danilo responded.

  Candace started to question her value system. So Danilo isn’t a Paulie? Isn’t he privileged and spoiled, a member of the one percent who will end up at Goldman Sachs and treat underlings—well everyone, really—with disdain?

  “Do you really have to leave tonight?” he asked. “What if you stayed? Maybe we could see a movie? Catch a plane tomorrow? We could share a cab in the morning?”

  Candace was taken aback. She had never been asked out by a boy. Is this a date? she wondered. Maybe I can postpone my flight? I’ve never lied to my parents before, had never told them anything they wouldn’t believe. But now that she had been accepted into college—into Princeton!—she was filled with a new sense of confidence, that she could be in control of her life. I can make my own decisions!

  “Let me make a call,” she said.

  She called the airline first.

  She covered the phone and hissed at Danilo, “What time is your flight?”

  “One p.m..”

  “One p.m.?” she said into the phone. “One-ten? Perfect. Thank you. No, that’s all. Thank you. Yes. Thank you. Thank you. Okay. Thank you.” She hung up.

  “Okay, now Mommy. What should I say?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. You need extra time to pack?” he said.

  “Oh, please!”

  “Your roommate is throwing a party that you don’t want to miss?” he suggested.

  “Okay, that’s better. She’ll like that I’m bonding with the Paulies.” They both convulsed in conspiratorial laughter.

  “It’s ringing,” she hissed.

  “Mommy? How are you, Mommy?” A pause. “Yes, I was good. Only low-carb today.” Another pause. “I can’t wait to see you, too. Um, I changed my flight—I’m coming in tomorrow afternoon, is that okay?” Another pause. “You know Molly, my roommate? Molly invited me to a holiday celebration tonight. Last minute. I’m sorry. Is that okay?” Pause. “I know, isn’t that nice of her? Okay, Mommy, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll text you my flight info.” Pause. “I love you, too.” She hung up.

  Candace’s heart was racing. She had never lied to her mother before.

  “Okay!” she said.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “What now?”

  “I don’t know. Movie, dinner, my place?” he said.

  “Yes!”

  Two

  * * *

  IN THE END, THEY ORDERED A PIZZA AND WENT TO HIS ROOM. They sat up for hours and talked. They talked about her family, his family. She told him about her upbringing in Brookline, a suburb of Boston. He told her about his childhood in Tuscany. Candace spoke with pride about her little sister, Sara, who was a star athlete in high school and was planning a career in sports medicine. Danilo spoke with disdain about his older brother, Lorenzo, who was a banker in London and was married to a French woman, Stephanie. He didn’t think much of Stephanie. They had two bratty kids and a second home in the south of France.

  “You’re not eating your pizza,” Danilo said.

  Candace was mortified. I was hoping you hadn’t noticed, she thought.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said. In fact, her stomach had been grumbling for hours, overwhelmed by the smell of sausage and pepperoni—but she was painfully aware that her muffin top was pressing against the waist of her jeans, threatening to burst the button.

  “You’re not one of those anorexic girls, are you?” he asked.

  Anorexic? Does he think I look thin?

  “Me?” she asked. “No!” She took a slice of pizza and gingerly picked at the toppings.

  When she got tired, he covered her with a heavy quilt and cradled her head against his chest.

  She woke up, not knowing where she was. The pillow smelled unfamiliar. Why am I still in my jeans?

  She heard the flush of a toilet. Danilo walked in.

  “Good morning,” he said. He had showered and smelled fresh and spicy. Like Old Spice, she thought.

  He leaned down to kiss her and she recoiled. My mouth tastes like road kill!

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I have to go. I need to brush my teeth,” she said.

  “Oh, okay.” He seemed hurt. “Do you want to get breakfast and then wait for the cab?”

  The cab. Oh, right. Flustered, she clambered out of bed and dug around to find her shoes and her down jacket.

  “Yes. Yes. Let me just get cleaned up and finish packing. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall and we’ll grab brunch. What time is the cab?” She was clearly disoriented. “Oh geez, what time is it?”

  “It’s eight-thirty,” he said. “The cab isn’t coming until eleven-thirty. You have plenty of time. Can I walk you back to your dorm?”

  “No, no. I’m good,” she said. “Give me an hour. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall, okay?”

  Candace was surprised to find herself smiling as she walked back to her dorm in the brisk morning air. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Danilo, wasn’t really sure if she could trust him. She had not dated at St. Paul’s, or at all, really. She was wary of the Paulies, afraid of what they really thought of her—a fat, bourgeois chick, she assumed. She feared being taken advantage of and becoming the victim of a social media shaming—reduced to a stream of naked photos that circulated around campus. She had seen first-hand how badly that ended. One afternoon she walked into her dorm room to find Molly and Molly’s friend, Perry, giggling over their smart phones.

  “What a slut!” Molly exclaimed.

  “Who?” Candace asked.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you there.” Molly and Perry hurriedly closed their Instagram apps.

  Candace didn’t need to ask. She had a pretty good idea of what they were looking at. Thank God that’s not me! she had thought.

  But last night was so nice. Up talking all night, cuddling, falling asleep on his shoulder. What if? she thought. What if we became a couple? She felt all warm inside. What if I had someone to hold hands with and stroll around campus? Someone to meet in the library and go out for hot chocolate or ice cream? Someone to take me to prom?

  She showered and finished packing in a rush and ran down to the Great Hall with wet hair, hoping she wasn’t late. The hall was deserted. He wasn’t there. A wave of emotions rolled over her: humiliation, anger, self-recrimination. Now I have to go to the airport with wet hair. What an idiot!

  She opened the door to look outside. Nothing. She turned back toward the stairwell and her roller bag got stuck in the door.

  “Bella mia!” Dilano shouted from across the quad.

  She froze in place and turned toward his voice. Why do Paulies have such large luggage? she wondered as she watched him trudging toward her, dragging his oversized suitcase across the frozen lawn.

  He reached her and put a hand behind her head and pulled her face in for a kiss. She stiffened at first but then melted into him. Man, he is a good kisser!

  “Ah, minty fresh,” he said. He still held her head in his palm and their eyes were inches apart. She noticed how complex his were, irises that were rings of green and brown flecked with gold.

  “My hair is wet,” she said.

  “Yes. Do you want to dry it?” he said. “We have time. Your hair will freeze in the cold air.”

  “I’ll use the ladies room. I’ll just be a minute,” she said.

  “I’ll be here,” he said.

  In the bathroom, she stared into the mirror. “Get a grip,” she said to the mirror. “Pull yourself together.” She dug her hairdryer and makeup bag out of her suitcase. A few minutes later she surveyed the results and deemed them quite good.

  “You look great,” he said when she rejoined him. “Now, breakfast?”

  They dragged their bags across the quad and down to Main Street, where they found a booth at The Old Europe and ordered tapas to share.

  Candace watched with envy as Danilo wolfed his food.

 
“Eat, Bella,” he said with his mouth full.

  Candace smiled demurely and took tiny bites. Eat slow, her mother always said. Give your brain time to signal that your stomach is full. This actually works! Candace thought. After a couple of bites, she already felt full. What if we were a couple? What if having a boyfriend meant never feeling hungry again? What if I were a skinny girl?

  “You’re smiling,” Danilo said. “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing is funny,” Candace said. “I’m just happy today, in this moment, here with you.”

  Danilo looked at her with a quizzical smile on his face.

  Oh, God, what have I said! What is he thinking?

  “Yes,” he said at last. “This is nice.”

  The cab arrived at the appointed time and took them to the Manchester airport.

  Candace waited in line with Danilo as he checked his enormous bag.

  “What have you got in there?” she asked, laughing.

  Danilo bristled. “You don’t need to wait with me.”

  Candace blushed. “No, it’s okay.”

  Mercifully, the line was short and a few minutes later they were through security and on the concourse.

  Danilo turned to Candace and said, “Ciao for now. See you in January.”

  “Text me?” she said.

  “Sure,” he replied.

  Candace dragged her bag to her gate and found a seat. She pulled out her iPhone. There was a text from her mother, What time is your flight?

  Oh, shit! I forgot to text her.

  I’m on the 1:10, Candace texted.

  You’re just telling me now? Candace could hear the fury behind her mother’s typing.

  I’m sorry, Candace texted. I overslept. I just got to the airport.

  A few minutes went by. Candace imagined her mother screaming at Daddy for several minutes about what a fuck-up Candace was and then Daddy searching for the flight info to see what time it arrived in Logan.

  Sure enough, her father texted: Meet me on the upper level.