Andrea wants somebody to hug her hard, to squeeze her until every bone in her skeleton cracks. She slides the letterhead back into its envelope and smiles at the nurse, as if the tests were just for her cholesterol. It’s drizzling outside, and she has to dig for the key to the old red convertible that she demanded her father give her four months ago, as soon as she turned sixteen. She settles into her seat, elbows the lock down, and goes back to studying the lab results. Only one word matters. She tries to stare it into changing, but it keeps telling her that she’s the world’s leading idiot and is going to have to live with the consequences of her idiocy, which are that she’s got something inside her, though it’s still too small to feel. Her blood says it’s there. The lab says her blood says. It’s 7:40. She can still get to school if she speeds. She was planning on going, but she wasn’t expecting this result, even if all the signs pointed to it. She lights a cigarette and inhales several times in a row.…