The girl winced, sending a shudder up Tempest’s spine.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Kensington answered reluctantly. “Five or six, I guess. Something like that.”
“I see. Any prenatal care?”
“No, ma’am. All I know is I’m too far along to have an abortion.”
Finally, we’re getting somewhere. “How do you know that? You tried to have an abortion?”
Kensington nodded. “My momma took me to that clinic over on Georgia Avenue.”
Tempest glanced back down at the folder. Kensington Sparks. Age fourteen. Raised by a single mother on welfare. Paternity unknown. Straight-A student.
“Well, Kensington, there are other options we can explore. You don’t have to raise this baby.”
Kensington bit her bottom lip. “I know, ma’am.”
“But you want to raise the child? Is that it?”
“I don’t know!” Kensington burst out, showing symptoms of the frustration Tempest was all too familiar with, which immediately put Tempest more at ease. She was used to the outbursts; it was the quiet ones that made her nervous. “I’m confused! I didn’t mean for this to happen!”
No one ever does, Tempest said silently to herself. “Everyone makes mistakes, Kensington. Don’t beat yourself up because of it.”
Kensington started crying. Tempest got up and walked around the desk, grabbing three tissues out of the dispenser on her way. She handed them to Kensington and then rubbed the girl’s shoulders.
“What about the baby’s father? Is he still in the picture?”
Kensington shook her head in disgust. “Jeremy’s with Chantel now. I hate her. I hate both of them.”
“It says you’re a straight-A student in your folder.”
That perked Kensington up. She blew her nose, sat up straighter, and even cracked a slight smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
Tempest grinned. “Any plans for college?”
“Mr. Casey, my counselor, said I have a good chance of getting a full scholarship if I keep my grades up. I’d be the first one in my family to get a college degree.”
“That’s wonderful!” Tempest exclaimed, glad to see that Kensington was goal-oriented. That was a good sign.
The mood changed quickly when Kensington looked down and rubbed her belly. She was showing big-time. “But that was before—”
Tempest let go of Kensington’s shoulders and sat on the corner of the desk so she could face her. “What about your mother? How does she feel about this?”
Kensington started crying again. Tempest handed her some more tissue. “She says I’m no good. That I should’ve kept my legs closed. That I’m nothing but a tramp.” Kensington gazed at Tempest helplessly. “Jeremy’s the first boy I slept with. I swear it.”
“Would you like for me to call your mother? Maybe I can reason with her.”
“Please don’t do that, ma’am,” Kensington pleaded. Tempest saw fear written all over her face. Damn, when would parents learn to comfort their kids when they make mistakes, not crucify them? “I just needed somebody to talk to. My mother doesn’t understand me.”
“Well, I’m your woman,” Tempest proclaimed, forcing a smile. “You can talk to me about anything.”
Kensington fell silent for a few moments, and Tempest pretended to busy herself with odds and ends around her desk. She’d extended the invitation to Kensington to discuss any matter, and she hoped she would take her up on the offer; there was more than just the pregnancy bothering her, she was sure.
Kensington finally spoke. “There is one thing I’d like to know, ma’am.”
“What’s that?”
“Can I ask you a question?”