LITMIR.BIZ

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when Cindy said she had something to tell me, I was wondering how I would react if she told me she was a lesbian. It would be super weird, wouldn’t it? I mean, we’ve gotten dressed in front of each other, gone skinny dipping in her pool. Should I be concerned about that? I doubt it. Not that I thought she would be checking me out (a lot) because, really, who checks out the fat girl?

      Cindy didn’t tell me she was a lesbian though—which really would have been easier to handle after I found out what the “something” was.

      The something was that she might be pregnant.

      PREGNANT? Really? What the hell?! I mean I didn’t even know she had had sex. Or that she had a boyfriend. What kind of best friends for life are we? The kind that don’t share such intimacies, I guess. (I hope I used the word intimacies correctly. I need to get back into school mode.) Anyway, I was so pissed at the situation. Pissed and disappointed. Not at the fact that she had sex, but that she hadn’t been careful. That she had just become another statistic: Hispanic Teen Mom #3,789,258. Or some ridiculous actual number that we had been lectured about last year and had sworn we would never become. We had even criticized the girls who showed and called them stupid. “When we have sex, we’ll use a condom.” We had been so sure about it.

      Our conversation was something like this:

      ME: (sitting comfortably and spinning around in her desk chair) Hola muchacha! What is so urgent I had to leave a pack of half-eaten Oreos behind hidden in my underwear drawer?

      CINDY: I saw…IT.

      ME: It? That stupid movie about the clown who’s really a spider? I know. We watched it together.

      CINDY: No. It. It. You know, a boy’s It?

      ME: (no longer spinning around in Cindy’s desk chair) Wha…? What do you mean? Please tell me you mean a boy’s clown movie? Because you can’t mean penis. You can’t mean THAT.

      She looked at me with tears in her eyes, threw herself on the bed and started crying. I was in shock.

      ME: (In my best I-am-here-for-you-best-friend-even-though-you-just-did-something-really-stupid voice) It’s okay. It’s okay. Please stop crying. Just tell me what happened.

      CINDY: I went to a party with German a few weeks after we got out of school and I got drunk and then we did it in his car and I haven’t gotten my period! What am I going to do?

      ME: What?

      CINDY: Oh my God! Aren’t you listening?

      ME: Yes. I almost wish I wasn’t, to tell you the truth. You went to a party, got drunk, and fucked German. I was listening. But you never told me any of this. Ever.

      Now I started to cry. Not only because I was hurt about her not telling me, but because I knew that she had just fucked up her future in a major fucked-up way.

      CINDY: I didn’t tell you because I knew you would be mad. Would be like, “Why are you going out with that idiot? Why are you going to a party at Sandra’s? Why are you drinking?” And you know what? You’re right! I shouldn’t have gone but I did. I did! What do I do? What if I’m pregnant? I can’t have a baby! I don’t want to change diapers! My mom is going to kick my ass! Seriously, she’ll kill me!

      ME: Okay well…(I felt bad for her because her mom probably would kick her ass). You’re not even sure if there’s a bun in the oven. Maybe you haven’t gotten your period because you’re stressed? I read somewhere that that can happen.

      CINDY: Really? Are you sure? That’s probably it then. (She sounded too relieved, so I had to bring her back to reality.)

      ME: I didn’t say I was sure. I said maybe. But to make sure, why don’t we go to Stuffix Pharmacy after the SATs on Saturday and get one of those pregnancy tests?

      She agreed. After we settled down, got some ice cream and Hot Cheetos, we watched Juno and thought about how much Sunny Delight we would have to buy.

       July 30

      I lay in bed for a long time this morning, thinking about Cindy and the fact that she could be pregnant. I don’t like German, she was right about that. He’s an idiot. German is one of those guys who knows he’s super hot and assumes that girls HAVE to like him. Like, if he asks a girl out and she says no, he’s one of those guys who will say stupid things such as, “Well, fuck you, stupid bitch—I was trying to do you a favor.” One of those gems. What he doesn’t understand is that we don’t have to like him. It doesn’t matter if you’re a beauty queen like Cindy (tall, thin, beautiful olive skin and curly brown hair) or if you’re me (short, plump, long straight hair, and super light-skinned), if we don’t like you, well, we don’t like you.

      I don’t know how Cindy could’ve been so stupid as to have sex with him. Anyone but German would have (probably) been better.

      The rest of the day I spent arguing with Beto about how loud his music was and that—although I appreciated his love of the Notorious B.I.G.—Rosemary, the little old lady next door (who I love to visit), did not. It didn’t matter though, because all I got was a lot of door slamming, volume raising, and “You’re not my mom.” He’s right. I’m just his older sister—but only by two years.

       August 1

      Saturday. SATs. I woke up late this morning. I had set my alarm for 7:00 a.m., but didn’t get up until 7:27. I didn’t have time for the bacon and eggs my mom had made, only enough time to kill my dragon-breath with some toothpaste and change into the freshly worn clothes from yesterday. Even then, I barely made it to school in time for the test. Thank God, I can drive now. Otherwise I would have been screwed.

      I waited for Cindy after the test and we drove to the pharmacy to face the moment of truth. On the way there, we went through all the possible scenarios. What if she is pregnant? I suggested she tell her mom that an angel had come to her in a dream and told her not to be scared but that she was carrying the son of God. If her mother was as Catholic as she says she is, then she has to believe her. Cindy didn’t think it was that funny, but I laughed my ass off!

      We walked into the pharmacy. Luckily no one was there. No one except that nosy bitch Georgina. Ugh. And I knew she would have something stupid to say. We got what we needed and went to pay. As luck would have it, she was the only one with a register open. Georgina just smirked at us and said, “Well, Gabi, I know this isn’t for you. No one would be fucking your fat ass. So, I guess, the winner is…Cindy! Does German know yet?” (She said this in the most annoying voice possible which—for Georgina—is pretty damn amazing because she already has the most annoying voice possible.)

      I don’t know what made me say it but I grew some balls at that moment and said, “Your mom would be fucking my fat ass. So shut your trap and do your job, Kmart.”

      Which, now that I think about it, was an absurd comeback. Why would her mom be fucking my fat ass? Just like me to be saying something dumb like that. Georgina just kept making that stupid face as we walked out of the store.

      We went to my house and did the deed.

      The stripes turned pink.

      We hugged, threw ourselves on my Hello Kitty bedspread, and cried.

       August 5

      I was sitting at the back of the bus today, watching the old retarded couple making out (like usual), thinking about Cindy, when Georgina got on the bus. As soon as I saw her stupid clown face, I really wished I had begged my mom

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