Gabi, a Girl in Pieces. Isabel Quintero

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       July 29

      Yesterday was unreal. Cindy called me and told me that she needed me to come over because she had to tell me something. Last time one of my friends said they had to tell me something was when Sebastian told me he was gay. He called me and said he had “something” to tell me. Not that I didn’t know. I mean, I’ve known him since the third grade and he’s always been gay. But I was happy that he finally came out, to me at least. It was funny too. He took me to Denny’s and said, “Gabi, I have something to tell you.” And I was like, Oh my God, he’s gonna tell me he’s gay. And he was like, “Ugh, I can’t say it.” So he wrote, “I’m gay” on a napkin and passed it to me. I looked at it and couldn’t help whispering, “I know.” We both kind of laughed and were relieved.

      Now he just has to tell his parents.

      But 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.