Author's Note: This story operates on the idea that the midterm kiss went a wee bit farther. It also works on the assumption that it is late February. Mary Kay Letourneau was a teacher who was convicted of statutory rape of her then thirteen-year-old student. She had two children by him, and they are now married.

There are only two places on campus one is guaranteed not to run into a fellow Greek, at least one who would be dying to spread this piece of information around Greek row; Cappie's secret bar and the polymer sciences building.

Casey and Ashleigh had chosen the later figuring it would be cleaner and held a zero percent chance of running into Cappie.

In a bathroom on the fifth floor of the polymer sciences building, Zeta Beta Zeta President Casey Cartwright sat on a white, porcelain throne with her blue jeans and panties puddle around her feet and a white stick in her hands.

"Give me another one," Casey demands on the verge of hysterics.

"That was the last one," Ashleigh tells her.

"It can't be," Casey says, her eyes glistening with tears.

"Case, we bought twenty. You've taken twenty," Ashleigh tells her as Casey's eyes scan the trashcan by the toilet. An assorted collection of shapes and sizes, but all the same ghostly white, pregnancy tests met Casey's eyes.

Positive. Pregnant. Positive. Pregnant. Happy Face.

One even had the gall to tell her 'Congratulations.'

There is nothing congratulatory about this.

Out of the corner of her eye she spots one on the floor and snatches it.

"This one says negative!" Casey says as she tries to hold the tears back.

"Case, that's the one you made me take to make sure they actually work," Ashleigh reminds her.

"Oh," Casey whispers. "My purse is over there. Can you get another one or five? Ten. Ten would be good."

"Case, you're pregnant," Ashleigh informs her.

"Don't say that," Casey snaps.

"Casey, you're pregnant," Ashleigh pauses. "Hey, it's not Jonah's, is it? Because if it is, you could totally room with Mary Kay Letourneau."

Casey's eyes bulge at Ashleigh's suggestion and she rips the empty box out of Ashleigh's hands.

"Oh thank God," Casey says on a exhale of breath. "A true positive can only be detected after three weeks of…" Casey's voice trails off. "I've missed three periods, too. How did I not notice?"

"Case, you can't beat yourself up over this. Physical abuse is not good for the baby," Ashleigh says attempting a joke and only receiving a dirty look from Casey before she buries her head in her hands.

"What am I going to do, Ash?"

There is a fundamental problem when you assume things. You make an ass out of you and me, or that's at least what Cappie told her all the time.

And when Ashleigh and Casey assumed that nobody from the Greek system would be on the fifth floor of the polymer sciences building, they had forgotten the fact that Casey's brother, Rusty, would probably be there.

In fact on that afternoon, not only was Rusty on the fifth floor of the polymer sciences building, but the entire Kappa Tau Gamma house was there fulfilling community service hours, including Wade and Beaver, who had been attempting to clean the girls' bathroom on the fifth floor of the polymer sciences building.

The two who had conveniently heard the part that made their ears perk up with interest.

"Ash, it might not be Evan's."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I slept with Cappie."

So figuring that Casey was the kind of girl who would tell his beloved president that he had the distinct possibility of becoming a daddy, Wade had sworn Beaver to secrecy.

And then a day passed. And then another day. And then another day.

And then days turned into a week.

A week and a half to be exact.

And Wade was tired of sitting around waiting for Casey Cartwright to tell Cappie that she might have his spawn in her oven. So he did the only logical thing he could do.

Tell Cappie.

"Cap, I need to talk to you."

Every fiber of Casey's being hurts. Her feet hurt. Her back hurt. Her stomach never seems to be happy anymore.

But most of all, Casey's head hurts. Hurts from thinking about everything. Hurts from pretending that she's fine. Hurts from worrying about the future.

Her and her baby's future.

Right now, there are three things Casey knows for sure. She doesn't trust Frannie, who is currently attempting to weasel her way back into the sorority via Lizzi. She's pregnant. Like thirteen weeks pregnant with a baby.

A human baby.

And she knows that same baby is due September thirteenth.

And that she has no idea what she is going to do.

Make that four things.

Last night, after her appointment at Planned Parenthood in the next town over, Casey had laid in bed rattling off ideas about her future.

It was too late for an abortion. Her twelve weeks were up, so her options were narrowed down to two.

Adoption. Or motherhood.

An early September due date meant that as long as Casey, and Ashleigh, managed to keep her pregnancy a secret until school let out in May, she could have the baby and return to school without anyone knowing. Save for Ashleigh, of course.

The problem with that plan was that she would have to go home this summer, including not only telling her parents but Rusty as well, who was bound to ask who the father was.

And then she'd still have to decide between adoption and motherhood.

There was a ZBZ last year who had gotten herself into "trouble," was sent off to live with an elderly aunt in Minnesota by her parents, and forced to give up her baby. When she came back, she wasn't the same as before. Her eyes had lost their sparkle and in its place was this sadness she couldn't mask. Most nights, the rest of the girls went to bed to the sound of her tears.

Casey isn't sure she could handle that.

And if she decided to keep the baby, if she decided to raise the baby alone, she would have to tell her parents and Rusty and, probably, the ZBZ girls. Because, after all, there are only three options she thinks is possible.

One, she has the baby in Chicago and her parents raise it until she graduates and gets a job.

Two, she has the baby in Chicago, transfers to Loyola, lives at home, and still depends heavily on her parents to raise her baby.

Three, she drops out of school, gets a job, has the baby, and prays that one day she can return to school for her degree.

Or you could tell Cappie, a voice deep inside of her reminds her.

And Evan, another voice offers.

"No," Casey says forcefully as she walks past the coffee cart. A couple of people turn and stare at her but she ignores them, too wrapped up in her own problems to care about them. A hand lands on her arm and her head spins in bewilderment as she is pulled into the janitor's closet. The door shuts behind her and the hand pulls her around so she is staring at him directly in the eyes.

"Cappie," she drags out, surprised.

"You're pregnant?" He asks.

"I..."

"You're pregnant," he says as more of a statement than a question. "You're pregnant and I'm going to be a dad."

"Don't say that," Casey snaps. "You don't know that. It could be Evan's."

"So you are pregnant," Cappie sighs, running his hand through his brown hair.

"I didn't say that," she says trying to back track.

"Casey, I'm not stupid," he tells her. "You can't twist your way out of this one."

"Watch me," she mumbles but he chooses to ignore her.

"I did the math. The last time we… you know, during midterms. Which puts you at a little over twelve weeks…" his voice trails off as he mentally tries to double check his math.

"Thirteen," Casey whispers.

"Too late for an abortion," he informs her.

"Is that what you want?" She backs away from him, disgust written her face.

"What? No. What I want is for you and I to get married, get an apartment, raise our baby, and be happy."

"And have both of us working dead-end jobs we hate until you decide this isn't what you really want or you miss the difficult choice of getting stoned or watching Old School for the millionth time. I don't think so," she says before turning and throwing open the door to leave.

"Casey!" Cappie calls after her. But she picks up her pace, trying to keep her tears in until she gets to the safety of her room.