The pregnancy test nearly slipped from my fingers as two pink lines slowly appeared, impossibly steady compared to the panic tearing through me. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Because this wasn’t just some stupid mistake after one disastrous night I barely remembered through blurry flashes, too many drinks, and a headache that lasted two days afterward. This was Tom Kaulitz. My enemy. The one person on earth I couldn’t stand. We didn’t hang out. We weren’t friends. We didn’t text, call, or suddenly end up around each other for fun—the only time I ever saw him was when our entire friend group got together, and even then we spent most of the time arguing or avoiding each other completely. We hated each other—actually hated each other. So somewhere between being completely drunk and a night that never should’ve happened, something did. And staring down at those two pink lines, my stomach dropped as one horrifying thought slammed into me: I have no idea how I’m supposed to tell him.