The Funhouse

next thing I know- zip ! It's a fuckin' miracle that I've got ten bucks I can let you have. But three or four hundred!”
        Amy sighed and nodded. “I was afraid you'd say that.”
        “Listen, if I had it I'd give it to you.”
        “I know you would.”
        Whatever other faults Liz might have-and she had her share-miserliness was not one of them.
        “What about your savings?” she asked Amy.
        Amy shook her head. “I can't touch my bank account without Mama's approval. And I'm hoping she won't find out about this.”
        “About what? What do you need big bucks for?”
        Amy started to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. She was reluctant to reveal her awful secret, even to Liz. She sipped her Coke, buying time to reconsider the wisdom of sharing her misery with her friend.
        “Amy?”
        The Dive bristled with noise: clicking, beeping, ringing pinball machines, hard-driving rock and roll on the jukebox, a babble of voices, bursts of laughter.
        “Amy, what's wrong?”
        Blushing, Amy said, “I guess I'm being ridiculous, but I… I'm just… too embarrassed to tell you.”
        “That is ridiculous. You can tell me anything. I'm your best friend, aren't I?”
        “Yes.”
        That was true, Liz Duncan was her best friend. In fact Liz was just about her only friend. She didn't spend much time with any of the other girls her age. She hung out almost exclusively with Liz, and that was odd when you thought about it. She and Liz were so different from each other in so many ways. Amy studied hard and did well in school, Liz couldn't care less about her grades. Amy wanted to go to college, Liz abhorred the idea. Amy was introverted, downright shy on occasion, Liz was outgoing, bold, even brassy at times. Amy liked books, Liz preferred movies and Hollywood fan magazines. In spite of the fact that Amy was in rebellion against her mother's excessive religious fervor, she still believed in God, but Liz said that the whole concept of God and life after death was a crock. Amy didn't care much for booze or pot and used them only when 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,