she wanted to please Liz, but Liz said that if there was a God–which
she assured Amy there was not–he would be worth worshipping just
because he had created liquor and marijuana. Even though the two girls
differed in countless ways, their friendship flourished. The main
reason it flourished was that Amy worked very hard to make a success of
it.
She did pretty much what Liz wanted to do, said what she figured Liz
wanted to hear.
She never criticized Liz, always humored her, always laughed at her
jokes, and nearly always agreed with her opinions. Amy had put an
enormous amount of time and energy into making the relationship last,
but she had never stopped to ask herself why she cared so much about
being Liz Duncan’s best friend.
Last night, in bed, Amy had wondered if she’d subconsciously wanted
Jerry Galloway to knock her up just to spite her mother. That had been
a startling thought. Now she wondered if she was maintaining a
friendship with Liz Duncan for the same misguided reason. Liz had (and
relished) the worst reputation in school, she was foul-mouthed and
irreverent and promiscuous.
Hanging out with her might be, for Amy, just one more act of rebellion
against Mama’s traditional values and morals.
As before, Amy was unsettled by the thought that she might be screwing
up her future just to cause her mother pain. If that was true, then
the resentment and anger she felt toward her mother was much deeper,
much darker than she had realized. It also meant that she wasn’t in
control of her life, it meant she was motivated by a black hatred and a
corrupting bitterness she couldn’t control. She was so unnerved by
those ideas that she refused to consider them, she quickly pushed them
out of her mind.
“So?” Liz said. “Are you going to tell me what’s happening?”
Amy blinked. “Uh . . . well . . . I broke off with Jerry.”
“When?” “Last night.” “After you left the prom? Why?”
“He’s a stupid, mean son of a bitch.”
“He’s always been,” Liz said. “But that didn’t bother you before.
Why all of a sudden? And what’s this got to do with needing three or
four hundred bucks?”
Amy glanced around, afraid that someone might overhear what she was
about to say. They were in the last booth, so there was no one behind
her.
On the other side, behind Liz, four football jocks were arm-wrestling
boisterously. At the nearest table two couples, self-styled
intellectuals, were intently discussing current movies, they called
them “films” and spoke of aauteurs” as if they’d all worked in
Hollywood for years and knew what it was about. No one was
eavesdropping.
Amy looked at Liz. “Recently I’ve been getting sick in the morning.”
Liz understood immediately. “Oh, no. What about your period?”
“Missed it.” “Holy shit.”
“So you see why I need the money.”
IaAn abortion,” Liz said softly. “Did you tell Jerry?” “That’s why we
broke up. He says it isn’t his. He won’t help.” “He’s a rotten
little shit.”
I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
,: “Damn!” Liz said. “I wish you’d gone to the doctor I
recommended.
I wish you’d gotten that – prescription for the pill.”
– “I was scared of the pill. You hear all these stories about cancer
and blood clots . . .” “As soon as I turn twenty-one,” Liz said, “I’m
going to get the Band-Aid operation. But the pill’s essential in the
meantime. What’s worse–the risk : of blood clot or getting knocked
up?” “You’re right,” Amy said miserably. “I don’t know why I didn’t
do what you told me to do.”
Except maybe I wanted to get pregnant and didn’t even know it.
Liz leaned toward her. “Jesus, kid, I’m sorry. I’m sorry as hell.
I feel sick.
I really do. I just feel sick that you’re in this bind.” “Imagine how
I feel.” “Jesus, what a bad break.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Amy said again.
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” Liz said. “You’re going to go
home and tell your old man and your old lady.”