The fluorescent lights of the drugstore hum overhead, too bright, too clinical. I'm standing in the family planning aisle, my fingers hovering just shy of the pregnancy test boxes. My heart is hammering so loud I swear the cashier can hear it from the front of the store.

I had sex with my best friend Gunner just two months ago. And I've missed both periods since. The math isn't hard.

I stare at the test on the shelf alone in the store. If it's positive, I'll text him. If not, I won't say anything. That was the deal I made with myself at 3 a.m. last night.

The boxes blur together. Pink lines. Blue lines. Digital readouts. My hand finally reaches for one, fingers cold and clumsy.