I’m not really the kind of girl you’d expect to have a pregnancy scare. Not so much because I don’t get, um, carnal, but more because I am paranoid, and would thus be perfectly willing to break the mood in order to have a professional discussion about condoms, birth control and STDs. This paranoia has served many purposes in my life: it has allowed me to have clean, safe sex, it has only ever further sparked the sexual tension (“Oh, baby! Talk to me about synthetic progestogens!” Try it sometime). However, I never gave the possibility of teen pregnancy much thought. It seemed like something that only happens to inner-city kids.

I’m no disadvantaged kid, yet I had pregnancy scare a couple of months ago. I had missed my period by a day. And then another day. And then another day. As I frantically began planning what I would do in case I truly did have a little stowaway, I thought about the last time I had been, you know, carnal. It was a week before my period was supposed to come (prime fertility time!). I had been at a party, the stereotypical high school kind, and I had a bit of firewater in me. The whole night, this guy had told me I was pretty, so when it was time to hit the sack, the firewater told me that anything that followed would be a good idea. We never had sex, but I remembered something I had learned in my Living Skills class: penetration isn’t necessary for impregnation to occur. Over the next few days, I quietly bemoaned every tiny stomach pain, utterly convinced that the queasiness I usually feel from biking too fast was the result of something burrowing into my uterus.

Of course, the day after I bought some sticks to pee on, I got my period. Now, when I get my period, I usually spend the entire week in agonizing, endless pain. You can usually find me curled up in the fetal position, cursing under my breath. But I can honestly say that I have never been more relieved by the prospect of cramps and aching and nausea. I was expecting to go to college. I would have had to either dump the kid on my parents—not an option, considering how preoccupied they are—or put off the education I had worked so hard for. Nowadays, you can bet I’m going to be a little more careful with my firewater.

—Anonymous, a Palo Alto High School student, is a guest writer.