Clouds In My Coffee by Andrea Smith Page B

the truth is, I’m scared shitless.
    Luckily, Erik’s rounding the bend in the road just as Marshall peels out, laying rubber once again. He flips Erik off on his way out of the park. Erik immediately pulls his Mustang over, taking possession of the space Marshall just vacated.
    “What the hell was he doing here?” he asks, jumping out of his car.
    He’s high. I can tell.
    “He just stopped by to apologize for what he did and how he’s acted towards me.”
    “And?” Erik asks; his eyes a bit glassy.
    “And I told him to shove it and, as far as I’m concerned, you can shove it too if you’re going to continue with this pattern of behavior. What’s your drug of choice today?”
    “Mr. Natural,” he says, daring me to pick a fight.
    “So, what? You’re dropping acid now?”
    “It actually can clear your mind of funk,” he argues. “Puts things into perspective. I don’t intend to make it a daily routine.”
    “Far out. Party on, Erik, but I’m going in. I’m not freezing my ass off trying to figure your shit out. I’ve got my own shit to figure out.”
    He doesn’t say a word.
    His silence speaks volumes.
    February 1, 1974
    Dear Diary,
    Marshall stopped by today. Said he wanted to apologize. I don’t buy it. He became unglued when I mentioned Angie. I asked if he apologized to her about raping her. He was super pissed. I asked him if he was the person who had talked to her on the phone the day she was murdered. I really thought he was going to go ballistic and jump out of his car and come after me with that look of hate that came over him. I don’t even know why I said it. Erik and I got into it. Fuck all of this. I called Planned Parenthood today. I need to drop off a sealed container with my first urine of the day at their location in the morning. I have to call at lunch time to get my results. I just leave my name in the bag with the specimen, and then call after eight-thirty. I call them and they will assign me a number. I’m scared shitless.

Chapter 18
    I’m at my locker after fourth period, digging through my purse for the phone number for Planned Parenthood. I’ve decided to drive off campus and find a pay phone to make the second call. Too many nosey people hanging around the pay phones at school during lunch.
    Just as I shut my locker, I see Kim standing there behind it staring at me. I jump, clutching my chest. She hasn’t talked to me in months and I have to wonder what the hell has changed.
    “You scared the shit out of me,” I say.
    “Sorry. Can we talk?”
    “Why?” I ask, getting defensive. “We don’t talk at school, or at practice or at the games. Why now?”
    “It’s important,” she replies.
    “I can’t,” I reply honestly. “I have to run an errand during lunch period.”
    “How about later?” she asks, pressing me.
    “Yeah, sure. I’m home tonight. You can call me then.”
    “I will,” she calls after me as I flee down the hall.
    I find a phone booth two blocks away, pulling my car over and getting change out to make my call. My heart is beating fast. My mind tells me there could be all kinds of reasons for my period being late. Stress and well...that’s all I can think of.
    “Planned Parenthood, this is Lois, how can I help you?”
    “Uh, yeah. This is number seven calling in for my results?”
    Come on, Lucky Number 7!
    “One moment please.”
    I’m put on hold, listening to the instrumental, elevator version of ‘Brandy.’ The lyrics play in my mind because it’s one of those songs that has been played to death on the radio.
    Brandy what a fine girl,
    What a good wife you would be,
    But my life, my love, and my lady is the sea.
    Music stops. “Amy?” the voice says.
    Yeah, I gave a fake name.
    “Yes, this is Amy,” I reply pensively.
    “Your results are positive.”
    “I see. Okay.”
    “You can come in and talk to a counselor if you’d like. The sooner the better if you’re planning on terminating the pregnancy, honey.”
    “Thanks.