“Everyone in this school is pregnant,” Jessica fumed to Lila before school on Monday. “Everyone but me.”
“Don’t look at me,” Lila said. “My kid’s on order from Africa.”
“I mean, have you seen Rosa Jameson?” Jessica said. “She’s had five kids since last week.”
“We had a cleaning lady with the same problem,” Lila said soberly.
“It’s just not fair,” Jessica said. “Elizabeth gets everything. And her boyfriends don’t die.”
“Wait, what?” Lila said, snapping to attention for some good gossip. “Elizabeth is pregnant?”
“Of course she is,” Jessica fumed. “When she knew that I’m the one who wanted to get knocked up for the teen pregnancy prom!”
“Well, well, well,” Lila said. “This is a juicy – not to mention surprising – piece of gossip.”
“Oh, but one thing, Lila,” Jessica said, pausing. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, because Elizabeth is really upset about it. So don’t say anything, OK?”
“I won’t say anything,” Lila promised, as the bell rang and Jessica rushed away to her next class. “Who is she kidding? I’m definitely telling Amy first!”

* * *

Mr. Collins was covering the horrors of childbirth, but Elizabeth could barely keep her mind on what he was saying. I’ll be experiencing it first-hand soon enough, she thought glumly. And I might as well just interview myself for that article!
“So, you see, girls, your cooch will never be the same,” Mr. Collins was saying. “So make sure you come see me before you give birth. I don’t mind preggos. In fact, I think they’re kind of hot.”
Rosa Jameson raised her hand. “I haven’t met with you yet, but I’ve already had a few kids. How is that going to affect my grade?” she asked, worried.
Mr. Collins sighed. “You’re going to fail the class, Rosa,” he said.
Elizabeth saw several students exchange worried glances. At least I won’t fail the class, she thought to herself. I’ve met with Mr. Collins every day for the past two weeks.
Mr. Collins leaned back against his desk and sighed. “In fact, I’m disappointed that many of you haven’t met with me at all,” he said. “Now, remember, girls, I’m doing this for you.”
The girls around her gathered up their books as the bell rang and filed out of class, laughing and talking animatedly to one another, but Elizabeth remained in her seat, lost in thought.
“Elizabeth?” Mr. Collins asked softly once the room had emptied. “Are you all right? You seemed distracted during class.”
“I guess I was kind of distracted,” Elizabeth admitted. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention, Mr. Collins.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?” Mr. Collins asked. He moved around behind Elizabeth and began massaging her shoulders.
“Oh, Mr. Collins, it’s terrible,” Elizabeth said, bursting into tears.
“It’s OK, Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins whispered in her ear. “You can tell me.”
“I – I think I’m pregnant!” Elizabeth burst out. She started to cry even harder.
Mr. Collins jumped back as if she were on fire. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“You said it was all right, Mr. Collins,” she said through her tears. “You said nothing would happen.”
“It wasn’t me,” Mr. Collins said, holding his hands up in the air. “Elizabeth, I think you should go now.”
Miserable, Elizabeth gathered up her books and walked out of the classroom, giving Mr. Collins a sad glance over her shoulder. For some reason, he looked wild-eyed and scared. Great, she thought. Even Mr. Collins doesn’t want to be around me. It’s like I have the plague. This is going to be worse than I thought!

* * *

“So, what’s the verdict, Wakefield?” Bruce asked snidely. “Is it you, or your sister?”
“No one,” Jessica snapped. “False alarm.”
Bruce nodded. “So, let’s be real, Jessica. You know you want this.” He crudely gestured toward his penis.
Jessica laughed. “That tiny thing?”
“Every girl I’ve been with has been satisfied,” he boasted. “At least, the ones who were passed out.”
“You’re such a creep,” Jessica muttered, slamming her locker shut.
“So, what you’re telling me is you’d rather get with a celebrity,” he said. “Like who, Andrea’s dad?”
“Maybe,” Jessica said haughtily.
“Speaking of Andrea, I impregnated her last week,” Bruce said. “Jamie Peters probably shoots blanks.”
“He does not!” said Jessica, rising to the rock star’s defense, even though she had no earthly idea whether or not Jamie Peters shot blanks.
“Too bad Regina isn’t here to be knocked up,” Bruce said sadly, letting his guard down for a moment. Regina Morrow had been the first girl Bruce had dated without drugging, and she had been deaf. For a while, anyway. After her hearing was fixed, Bruce cheated on her with Amy, because he had a thing for disabled girls and Amy was slightly retarded. His infidelity had led Regina to hang out with a bad crowd, a crowd that had introduced her to drugs. One snort of gutter glitter had killed Regina instantly.
It’s really not fair, Jessica mused. Regina was pretty and rich, and she had to die. But Enid Rollins does meth every day and she’s STILL alive.
“Your kids probably would have been deaf, anyway,” Jessica said, trying to soothe Bruce.
“I know,” Bruce said, a single tear slipping down his cheek.
Jessica rolled her eyes. “You’re such a crybaby,” she said. “I’ve had more than one boyfriend die, and I forget about them after a couple of weeks. Days, sometimes.”
“Hours with that last guy, the one from Palisades,” Bruce said. “What was his name again?”
“You know, I don’t even remember,” Jessica said, trying to recall. “Oh, well.”
“I should know,” Bruce said. “He died in my pool. The servants were scrubbing out blood for weeks.”
“Gross,” Jessica said. “Anyway, why are we talking about our dead lovers? They’re gone. No one cares anymore!”
“You’re right,” Bruce conceded. “They’re kind of like Kristin Thompson or Jennifer Mitchell or Shelley Novak. They only exist when we need them.”
“They might as well be dead,” Jessica said. “Truth.”
Jessica and Bruce walked the rest of the way to the parking lot in silence. As he unlocked the door of his Porsche, Bruce turned around and gave Jessica a knowing wink.
“By the way, I heard that it looks like Elizabeth’s going to win the title of prom queen,” he said, grinning. “I told you I was potent.”

* * *

Jessica furiously paged through the issue of Ingenue that she’d discarded on her floor a few days ago. She had to find that advertisement again. It was her only chance at becoming prom queen.
“Bruce Patman,” she said through clenched teeth. “Bruce Patman is the father of Elizabeth’s baby!”
That fact alone practically guaranteed Elizabeth the crown. The Wakefield twins were the most attractive girls at Sweet Valley High, and Bruce was the most attractive boy. Not only would Elizabeth have her baby before Jessica, but it was certain to be adorable.
“Well, of course it’s going to be cute,” Jessica said out loud. “If Elizabeth and I were physically able to take a crap it would be cute. There’s no way anything that comes out of our bodies would be ugly.”
Jessica paged through a few more sections before she found what she had been looking for.
“This is it!” she said excitedly. “This is my ticket to being queen of the teen pregnancy prom!”
CELEBRITY LOOK-ALIKE SPERM, the ad read. It was for a sperm bank in Los Angeles, where donors were sorted according to which celebrities they resembled. If I can’t have a celebrity father my baby, I can have the next best thing, Jessica thought.
“Curious about what your baby would look like if you bred with a celebrity?” Jessica read aloud. “Now you can know for real, with our celebrity look-alike sperm. You choose the celebrity, we’ll find a donor who resembles them.”
Jessica quickly skimmed the list. All her favorite celebrities were there: Jamie Peters, Jeremy Frank, Eric Parker, Brandon Hunter.
“Hmm,” Jessica said out loud, tapping a pencil against the magazine. “Which one to choose?”
She spent several minutes trying to decide, comparing the relative merits of each celebrity. Jamie Peters is really gorgeous. But would my kid look like Andrea Slade? Andrea’s just OK looking. And Brandon Hunter is an ass and totally stupid – if we combined our mental prowess, would that be too much idiocy for one person? How do I even know the word idiocy? Maybe I’m smarter than I thought. Guess I’ll find out when we take the SATs next week.
“Wait a minute,” Jessica said. “Why should I have to compromise? Jessica Wakefield never compromises!”
She’d just had a brilliant idea. She would order sperm from each celebrity look-alike, then combine all of them. That way, her baby could have the DNA of each of them. And it would be a super celebrity spawn!
Jessica laughed. “That’s way better than whatever kid Lila’s going to get shipped to her,” she said. “She’s going to be so jealous! And it will blow Liz and Bruce’s kid out of the water!”
Humming to herself, Jessica reached for her phone, hidden under a pile of dirty clothes, and her mother’s credit card, which she had stolen and stashed under the mattress for just such an occasion.
“Hello,” she said into the phone. “I’d like to place an order for your celebrity look-alike sperm.”

* * *