Daddy's Baby

By Landis Lain

An apocalyptic Junior year....
Raging hormones turn asthmatic Damon Hamilton from nerd to heartthrob - literally overnight. Young ladies splatter against him like bugs on a windshield. For Damon, sudden popularity does not equal smooth sailing. He brutally and publically dismisses possessive, beautiful senior, Sasha Anderson, who has initiated him into the world of sex. Gang members attack him in jealous rage. And Damon has had enough.

Senior year, Time for a change...
At a new school, Damon gets his head back in the books, falls in love - true love - and turns his attention to one thing, getting into college and as far away from Lansing, Michigan as possible. Damon hasn’t bargained on Sasha detonating a bomb in his life. There is nothing more ferocious than a girl who has been rejected in love, except one who’s been rejected in love and left with a baby on board. What’s a dude to do? Step up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brown Girls Publishing
• Release date: Jul 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781944359348

Landis Lain

Landis Lain graduated from Michigan State University and snaffled a law degree because her mother told her “writers starve, so get a real job!” Landis also teaches Writing Composition to first-year college students. She writes young adult fiction, adult fiction, creative non-fiction, contemporary romance, and short stories. Contact Landis at [e-mail].

Book preview

time.

August – Two Months Later

Damon

The stalker and the death threat made him decide to change schools. New school. Fresh start. New attitude.

Damon smiled a blinding white smile at his reflection in the mirror as he walked by on the way out of the bathroom into his bedroom. Braces were a seriously fabulous invention. He’d had his removed this summer and still wasn’t used to his gleaming white smile. A scant year and a half ago he was a walking cliché. A fourteen-year-old bona fide big footed, four-eyed, bracket mouthed, scrawny, asthmatic bookworm geek. Nobody noticed him.

At sixteen, according to his mother, Damon ate a steak, got rained on, and the next morning a body snatcher had replaced her baby boy. He catalogued his features. His smooth, muscular chest topped very respectable broad shoulders. Tightly curled brown hair, smooth teak coloring, full lips with just a little dirt growing above to show that he was a maturing young man, long nose with slightly flared nostrils and slanted hazel eyes that girls seemed to go nuts for. But to Damon, it was just a face.

Get out of the mirror, butthead.

Barely dressed in boxer shorts and sleeveless t-shirt, Damon whirled around, and groaned. His little sister, Jada held the bedroom door in a half open, half closed position.

Damon grabbed a pair of jeans off his bed and held them in front of him.

Can’t you ever knock? he snapped.

I saw it all before in the bathtub when we were little. You haven’t changed much, said Jada, in a bored tone of voice. She leaned against the door frame.

Get out of here.

Mama said hurry up.

I don’t know why I need to go, he said. I’m not some little kid. All she’s going to do is get what she wants anyway. We’ll be out shopping all day. I already bought my stuff.

Did you tell that to Mama? she asked.

No, said Damon. You tell her for me.

I’m not your messenger, said Jada.

You get on my nerves, said Damon, with narrowed eyes.

I guess I couldn’t get through life if I cared, said Jada. By the way, some girl called for you?

Who? asked Damon.

How am I supposed to know? Jada replied. She had the nerve to ask me, ‘who is you?’

"Who is you? asked Damon, frowning. Did she call on the house phone?"

Nah, said Jada with a smirk. Your cell.

Why were you answering my cell? Damon asked, ticked.

Jada rolled her eyes. You left it in the kitchen. The mindless ghetto head was blowing it up all day, so Mama said to answer it.

Oh, said Damon. He was not about to tangle with his mother about answering his phone. She didn’t believe anybody had the right to privacy in her house. She was also the champion of the straight arm and body block take down when she got ticked off.

What did you say to her?

I told her that I was your sister. She called me a liar, said Jada. I told her not to call back until she got some manners.

Damon groaned.

I don’t know why they like your weird behind, anyway, said Jada.

She stomped off down the hall. Damon pulled the jeans over his boxers and padded in bare feet down the hallway to the kitchen to pick up his phone. He scrolled through his calls and found thirty-four from Shawn. He’d been at a party with Stump and Ephraim when she’d walked up and programmed her number into his phone. He called her once. Shawn didn’t pick up. Damon hadn’t been interested enough to pursue her.

Damon looked up as his oldest friend Ephraim opened the side door and stumbled in the doorway.

Man, get your clumsy behind together! The deep baritone voice belonged to his second oldest friend, Stump.

Sorry, said Ephraim, righting his tall slender body.

Stump pushed Ephraim the rest of the way through the door and came in, closing the door behind him.

Was’sup, D?

Nada, said Damon. Getting ready for the first day of school tomorrow.

So, you ready? asked Ephraim. Ephraim was a worrier. They all knew about the Dragon Dog situation. Staying out of the gang’s way was not that easy in a small city like Lansing.

Man, it’s just a new school, not the army, scoffed Stump. He grabbed Damon’s phone out of his hand, squinting at the name and number.

So, who is Shawn? he asked.

Damon shook his head and turned to walk back down the hallway to his bedroom, his friends trailing.

Whoa! Shawn called thirty-four times, man? said Stump, his tone incredulous.

Ephraim snorted. Only your pretty behind would have a babe blowing up your phone like that.

Damon rolled his eyes. Here we go.

Stump said, "Damon should write a book and call it ‘Stalker Girls Never Keep A Man,’"

They all laughed. Damon grabbed the phone from Stump. He thought about Sasha in a moment of déjà vu, shuddered and deleted Shawn’s calls and blocked her number. Shawn was starting out on the same wrong foot that Sasha had ended.

Maybe we can write the book together, said Ephraim.

Yeah, you can write the pitiful dude trying to get a babe chapter, joked Stump. He shuffled over to the bed and sat down on it. Then he leaned back against the pillows and surveyed the other two.

Ephraim suggested, D-, you should start with the break-up chapter because you did it so ruthless.

Not happening, said Damon.

Man, you totally messed over that girl and she still came crawling back, said Ephraim, dragging the desk chair around backwards and straddling it. Much respect.

Damon sighed. Naw, I tried to be nice but she wouldn’t take the hint.

You think? asked Stump. Weren’t you still hitting it?

Dude, said Damon. A gentleman does not kiss and tell.

That was his father’s mantra and Damon trotted it out, even though his boys knew the whole story.

You know a gentleman? asked Stump.

It wasn’t like that, protested Damon.

Oh, yeah, it was, said Ephraim. She was still crying and begging to get with you even after you told her to be gone.

Let’s talk about something else, said Damon. She was crazy and the whole situation freaked me out after a while.

I used to be kind of jealous of the way girls come at you, man, said Stump, but some of them are straight up nuts.

I don’t see you turning anybody down, said Ephraim.

You know this, said Stump, and laughed.

They fist bumped, but Damon knew that Stump had a girlfriend who he had been with since they’d been in diapers and wasn’t nearly the player that he liked to pretend he was. Damon was a player by default. Ephraim fell in love every other week with a different girl who usually wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Stump suggested that one of them should design some underwear that served as anti-stalker wear and would buzz whenever the wearer got within ten feet of a girl who had stalker potential. They spent the next few minutes laughing and coming up with ridiculous suggestions on how to detect a stalker.

Finally, Ephraim said, Nobody but Damon needs that stuff. He’s the one who attracts the Fatal Attraction types. His voice rose in a cracking falsetto.

Oooh, Damon, you so fine. He batted his eyelashes.

Damon smacked him on the side of the head. Ephraim retaliated with a punch to the ribs and they wrestled for a few minutes before Damon’s mother yelled down the hall to knock it the heck off before they broke the furniture. Smothering laughter, they moved on to the newest video games.

To be in pimp status one had to be fly. Toeing the invisible line of cool rules was crucial for junior year. All decisions had the potential to make or break a sister’s reputation. Fall short of the latest trend and be relegated to the world of nerds and dweebs. Stumble across the line and become an outcast, may as well hang with the Goths and meth heads. And since Brielle Bronson was six feet one, wore a size eleven shoe and had very long monkey toes to boot, according to her less attractive twin sister Kyzie, (at least in Brielle’s opinion) she had to be very careful indeed. Hence the last minute wardrobe enhancement shopping trip. She and her sister Kyzie had been out all day long and were finishing up by looking for school supplies.

What color binder are you getting? asked Kyzie.

I’m not sure.

Brielle was standing in Target, looking at all of the different loose-leaf binders that lined the shelves in front of her. She had a red basket dangling over her left arm filled with other supplies and was staring down at her school supply list.

I was thinking about purple, but then I’d have to look for all purple notebooks and they’re hard to find. Then I thought maybe turquoise, but that’s a hard color to match-,

Aw, forget it, said Kyzie, in disgust. Only you would make a major production out of picking a loose leaf binder. We’ve been shopping all day. I’m tired.

Well, I have to carry this for the whole year, said Brielle. It should coordinate with most of my new outfits.

Hello, said Kyzie, waving a hand in front of Brielle’s face. They are school supplies, not a fashion statement. She, too, had a basket over her arm and was indiscriminately grabbing the first notebook or pencil she came to that fulfilled her class requirements.

Brielle cast her sister a look of acute dislike.

Like I’d listen to you, said Brielle. Goths have better taste.

Kyzie looked down at her black Capri pants, grey and white Michigan State tee shirt, and black and green polka dot ballet flats. Her natural hair was twisted in the front and pulled into a simple bun on top of her head. My taste is eclectic and stylish.

Yeah, if you are from the planet Pluto, said Brielle, and turned her attention back to the shelves of binders.

Well, at least I don’t look like school supply Barbie, said Kyzie. And speaking of fashion statements, what’s with you all of a sudden being so concerned about matching and styling?

I like to look nice, protested Brielle with a flounce and toss of her head. And we’re juniors this year. I’m dressing for sixteen and success.

She usually kept her hair in braids for swimming but she’d taken them out for first day of school yearbook pictures. Hair freshly curled, she wore her new yellow and white Capri ensemble. Her toenails, painted yellow also, gleamed up at her from yellow and black flip-flops.

Kyzie looked skeptical. She mumbled under her breath so her sister wouldn’t hear her. Success with a certain knucklehead who shall remain anonymous, I’ll bet. She poked her sister in the back with a long finger.

Go away, repeated Brielle, making a shooing motion with one hand. You’re bugging me.

Kyzie started to walk away and then turned back for one last dig.

Maybe I’ll go and get something to eat, taunted Kyzie. By the time mommy and I come back, you should maybe have decided between wide rule and college rule paper.

Brielle plucked the first thing she laid her hand on out of the basket and heaved a pack of erasers at Kyzie’s head. Kyzie nimbly sidestepped the package and watched as Brielle fumbled the supplies she had in her other hand.

Uh-oh, she said. Now you’ve got to go back and agonize over erasers again.

Eeuwwww! I can’t stand you, said Brielle, steaming with frustration. She picked up the pens.

The feeling’s mutual, said Kyzie. She picked up the pack of erasers and flicked them back in Brielle’s general direction before she sprinted out of the aisle, laughing. Brielle, in hot pursuit, almost collided with another girl who’d turned down the aisle.

Watch it, the girl hissed, barely avoiding the collision.

Oh, sorry, said Brielle. She steadied the shorter girl with one hand to her shoulder. I didn’t see you there.

That’s obvious, snarled the girl, tone so nasty that Brielle peered into her face, puzzled. The girl glared back at her.

"What is your problem?" asked Brielle.

The other girl snatched away and stomped off without responding. Brielle shrugged and walked out of the aisle and turned the corner where Kyzie was waiting for her.

That’s his old girlfriend, stage whispered Kyzie.

Whose old girlfriend? asked Brielle, in a normal tone. She was aggravated and didn’t care if the other girl heard her.

Damon’s, said Kyzie.

Brielle whipped around to get a better look but she was already gone.

Her name is Sasha Anderson. Jada told me all about her and showed me her picture in the yearbook. Jada said she’s nasty and has all these boys hanging all over her, said Kyzie.

Brielle snorted.

She’s really pretty, needled Kyzie.

Nice, too, said Brielle, sarcastically.

Brielle turned back around to look again but the girl had left the aisle.

So, said Brielle. That’s the one they call the stalker, huh?

Yeah, said Kyzie, with a snicker.

Her personality needs work.

Jada said she is crazy, said Kyzie, taunting. He probably didn’t like her for her personality, anyway.

Whatever, said Brielle. She’s not all that. Besides, Damon’s hardly talked to me.

I bet talking to Damon is scheduled between history and math class, said Kyzie, laughing. Brielle laughed, too, in agreement. Kyzie sobered first.

You’d better watch your back.

Brielle snorted, again.

She’d better watch hers, said Brielle, still smarting from the older girl’s rudeness. That nastiness might be catching.

Sasha

Sasha Anderson was desperate, but determined. Her narrow shoulders hunched up next to her ears. She had come to this store on purpose because it was right outside of Lansing and she wanted to avoid people that she knew.

From the next aisle, Sasha could hear them talking about her but kept walking. Just hearing Damon’s name made her want to cringe. It was too late to go back and tell those stupid girls that she was not nasty and she was certainly no stalker.

A woman in the green paisley crop pants and yellow tank top shuffled past her in laid over green flip-flops. Sasha breathed a sigh of temporary relief at seeing a strange face, continued down the aisle, pretending to look to the left and right as though searching. A hugely pregnant young woman in a Baby on Board t- shirt strolled down the same aisle, holding hands with a terrified looking young dude. The woman smiled at Sasha as though she was saying, ‘look, I got him, he’s mine now’. Sasha put her head down and kept walking. Another young woman, this one, with a baby tucked close in a snuggly cloth also walked past Sasha. She eased as far away from the woman as she could when they passed, not wanting to be contaminated with the woman’s fertility. Panic and nausea roiled in her stomach. She counted in her head, like she’d been doing for the past two months.

Finally, Sasha stood in front of the many different products, her head snapping back and forth so fast that it made her dizzy, trying to figure out which one would give the answer she was looking for. Finally, Sasha grabbed a box and scurried to the self-checkout at the front of the store. She looked neither left nor right. She put the box into her purse and crumbled the receipt in her right hand.

When Sasha got home she ran onto the porch and fumbled inside of her purse for her house key. The sunny sky mocked her desolate mood.

Seems like my mood has been sad my whole stinking life.

A cardinal, bright crimson feathers fluttering, tucked a small piece of wood into a nest and chirped at her from the nearby tree. She peered at the bird’s empty nest. Sasha could feel white-hot rage buzzing in her ears. Everybody, no, - everything had a baby! She hurled the box at the bird and flapped her empty hands. She wanted to catch that little red sucker and twist his little head off. What right did the bird have to be chirping? Why was the stupid sun shining?

Go away, Sasha screamed, and then looked around quickly to make sure no one saw her acting crazy. She clenched her teeth. The cardinal flew out of the tree, shrieking in raucous indignation, wings flapping like tiny battering rams and then landed on a nearby branch chirping with indignation. They stared at each other, bird and girl, united in mutual hatred, until Sasha realized how ridiculous she looked and turned away. She scrambled under the bushes and got the box. She let herself into the empty house and headed for the bathroom. Sasha walked on shaky legs and prayed.

Please God, maybe its cancer, or, or fibroids like Mrs. Holly at church who had to have a hysterectomy. No, cancer is better, I won’t get into trouble. If I’m almost dying, then mama won’t kill me.

Once Sasha got into the bathroom, she locked the door, even though no one was home. She pulled her pants down.

Maybe my period started in the last two minutes and I didn’t feel it.

She checked her panties for blood for the thousandth time. Finding none, Sasha sighed in defeat and ripped open the box. She read the instructions four or five times. She took out the test stick and looked at it like it was about to explode in her hand.

We read about bombs in history class, and how even small bombs could cause major damage if detonated in confined spaces. Here, in this confined bathroom space, I’m five minutes away from finding out. Just a little white stick, it sits in my trembling palm, two inches of terror; a bomb in the Beirut of my life.

Sasha wondered why the manufacturers put it into such a big box. Maybe it was to hold the instructions. Why did anybody need instructions to pee on a stick? Her stomach lurched. She reached down and checked the crotch of her panties with her fingertips and found smooth, bone dry, clean pink satin. She touched herself. Looked at her fingers. Nothing. Long minutes passed before she finally got up the nerve to move. Sasha picked up the commode top and toilet seat and squatted over the little stick.

Please God, please, I’ll never do it again. I’ll join a convent. I’ll go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life. I won’t curse. I’ll be a good girl. I promise. I promise. Please, please, please.

Five minutes later, hands trembling, Sasha dropped the stick into the toilet bowl and spent five more minutes banging through the cabinets, looking for a rubber glove. Finally, she reached barehanded into the pee laden toilet bowl and grabbed the stick. Light headed and grief stricken, she held the little white stick in her hand and squinted at the window with the word PREGNANT in black letters on a neon pink background. She shook her head to clear it and squinted again.

No, Sasha said the word loudly, still shocked down to her toes. She shook the stick as she had watched her mother do with an old-fashioned thermometer, as though she could shake the fever down, and looked at it again.

Still pregnant. Wailing like a child, Sasha clutched the stick in her hand. She slumped back against the wall and slid down to sit on the bathroom floor.

‘Oh no, no, nooo…’

While she wept her own personal Armageddon, she didn’t call on God anymore, because he wasn’t listening.

September

Brielle

The first day of school dawned sunny and warm. Brielle was excited. She bounced out of bed and rushed into the shower, careful to cover her freshly pressed hair before jumping under the water. The hairdresser had put some sort of lemon and strawberry scented oil in her hair and it smelled fabulous. This was going to be a great year. She could feel it. First, she’d just turned sixteen on August fifteenth. Her grandmother and aunt had thrown a backyard sweet sixteen bash for Brielle and Kyzie. All of her friends had come and it had turned out just great.

Second, she could finally officially date. That is, as soon as a boy actually asked her out. Until this past summer, not only had Brielle been too young according to her parents, most of the boys in her school met her eye to bust line. But something magical had happened over the summer. Almost all of the boys had grown, and most of them were nearing six feet in height, if not topping her by a fraction of an inch. Brielle was ecstatic. Third, she was on the varsity swim team and they were going to be awesome this year. Brielle had been swimming all summer and her times were dropping wonderfully. She was expecting to take state championship in the fifty and one hundred freestyle this year and she had been learning the butterfly stroke this summer, so that she could get stronger and compete in more than one stroke. Wimberley High’s freestyle relay was going to dominate if Brielle had anything to say about it.

Last, Damon Hamilton was going to be at her school and she’d be able to look at him and dream. He was like a rock star in her mind. She’d be satisfied with a smile and his autograph.

She got out of the shower and put on her favorite strawberries and cream lotion and then slid on her brand new underwear and matching bra. Today’s set was teal blue, Brielle’s second favorite color behind purple. She pulled on a teal t-shirt and coordinated Capri pants. She slid her long slender feet into teal and purple print slip on sneakers and then reached up to take the rollers out of her hair. She combed the curls to her satisfaction and smiled in the mirror at her reflection. Since she was a swimmer, her hair would be in some braided style for the rest of the year, but she wanted her school pictures to show off her bouncing curls and her beautiful fly style. With her hair down, she looked like a deep chocolate, taller, slightly more built version of her willowy mother. Her friend Sammie called Brielle ‘the Black Swan’, and today Brielle felt like one. She grabbed her multi-colored coach purse and strolled down the hall towards the stairs, pausing to knock on her twin sister’s door.

Kyzie, she called. Time to get up. She kept walking but could hear her sister groan in response. Downstairs in the kitchen, her mother was fixing breakfast, frying eggs and making toast.

Good morning, Brielle, she said, when Brielle breezed into the kitchen.

Morning, mommy, said Brielle. Brielle went directly to the refrigerator, pulled out the carton of orange juice, and set it on the counter. She got two glasses out of the cabinet and set them on the counter, too. She poured a glass for herself and Kyzie and set them on the table. Then she grabbed a bagel and two cheese sticks to put into her purse for snacks later. She didn’t have time to come home before swim practice and she would be starving and unable to concentrate on her laps if she didn’t put something on her stomach. She hunted in the cabinet and found the peanut butter. She spread a little on the bagel halves, slapped them back together and put them in a zip lock bag. She also grabbed a banana from the fruit bin.

Is your sister up? Mommy asked Brielle.

I think so, said Brielle. At least, I knocked on her door and she groaned in response. Brielle shot her mother a quick grin as her mother rolled her eyes. It was a running joke in the house, that unless there was a fire, Kyzie struggled to get up in the morning.

Are you ready for the eleventh grade? asked mommy.

"It’s