Amy dropped the bomb on me just as we finished singing happy birthday to Dave Matthews at the top of our lungs.

I’m not even a huge Dave Matthews fan, but hey, it was Friday, the night was still young, and they had just announced on the radio that it was his birthday. Since we were both in the mood to be loud, Amy and I rolled the windows down and belted out a rousing rendition of the birthday song.

Being in such a wild mood, I never imagined that Amy would suddenly make an announcement that would change everything forever.

We stopped at the red light, and I rolled up my window because it was getting kind of cold out. Then I started to tell Amy about my date with Rob last night. I was talking really loud and really fast because that’s what happens when I get excited.

And then it happened.

“Hey, Cal? I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah,” I said, drumming my fingers on the dashboard to the music. There was a particularly good No Doubt song on, so I was surprised when Amy reached over and turned the radio off.

“This is important, Callie,” she said.

Suddenly I didn’t feel so hyper any more. “What is it?”

My feeling of dread just got worse as she continued to speak. I knew something was wrong. And somehow I kinda knew what she was going to say before she even said it.

“Yeah, well,” Amy began. “I wasn’t feeling too great last week … and I kinda suspected … so I went and got a pregnancy test … and it came out positive.”

I shut my eyes. Oh jeez. Oh crap. Oh shit, Amy.

When my voice started working, I said, “Are you telling me the truth?” I don’t know why I said it. I just did.

“Why would I lie about something like this?” she asked me. Giving up on driving, she pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot and stopped the car.

I found my voice again. “Was it Dan?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Amy said, a little edge in her voice. “Of course it was. Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I didn’t know anything any more.

“I’m not a slut,” Amy said.

“I didn’t say you were,” I replied. “I just ... does your mom know?”

“No one in my family knows and you cannot tell anyone,” she said quickly and firmly. We weren’t even looking at each other any more; we were both looking out of our separate windows.

I watched a couple twelve-year-olds dump their bikes by the front entrance and enter the fast food joint, not even stopping to worry that their bikes could be stolen.

Should I get out and tell them? I wondered. No … best to stay inside, let them learn for themselves.

“What would your mom do if she found out?” seemed like the next logical question.

“She’d probably support me no matter what I did.”

“Then why don’t you just tell her?”

The car seat was becoming uncomfortable. I tried to shift my weight but there was very little room to move.

“You know her,” Amy said. “She’s a big mouth. She’d tell everybody … her boyfriend, my aunts, that woman with the big hair at Bloomingdale’s.”

The atmosphere was beginning to become a little to suffocating. I rolled down my window again. An aroma of greasy French fries and burgers wafted through the car. Taking deep breaths, I prepared myself for my next question.

“Does Dan know?”

“Yeah. He’s the first person I told.”

I guess that’s the way it should be, that she told him first. He is the father and all. On the other hand, she’s only known him six months and Amy and I have known each other since the first day of kindergarten. Not to mention that she had known about this for a week already and she was just telling me now.

But I was too confused right then to feel insulted. My voice seemed to be getting quieter and quieter with every word I spoke. “So ... what are you going to do?”

Amy rolled down her window and lit a cigarette. “I’m getting an abortion. Dan’s taking me next week.” Blowing the smoke outside the window, she added, “I know it’s against your religion, Callie, but please, I don’t need a lecture right now.”

Amy doesn’t have a religion. Or if she does, it’s Amy-ism. And yeah, abortion is against my religion. Against a lot of things I believe in. But to Amy, an abortion is nothing more than a surgical procedure.

Don’t do it, I wanted to tell her. But I couldn’t. My voice was too small by then. Besides, who was I kidding? Amy can’t have a baby. She’s seventeen years old. My best friend can’t be a mom!

And if she did have a baby, never again could we cruise down Evans Street singing happy birthday at the top of our lungs to a guy we’ll never meet ... because we’ll have a little baby tagging along, too. My mom wouldn’t want me to hang out with Amy any more, anyway.

Neither of us said anything for a long time. I couldn’t stop thinking that there were three people in the car instead of just two, and one of them will never be sung happy birthday to.

As I inhaled a nauseating mixture of cigarette smoke and happy meals, I again considered telling her not to do it, not to have the abortion. That defenseless kid inside her didn’t deserve to die. Jeez, who can we trust if we can’t trust our own mothers?

My mouth formed the word “Don’t,” but nothing came out.

I couldn’t tell her not to. Because ...it wasn'tmy choice. Amy was going to kill the baby whether I liked it or not. And maybe she wouldn’t even cry about it.

But I might.

Considering the way I felt that night in the car, in a state of shock and confusion with smoke and happy meal stenches and increasing claustrophobia, I very well might cry for a long time.

I heard a low rumble as Amy turned the engine back on. Then she flipped the radio on again. But I didn’t feel like singing any more, or talking about my date with Rob. Jeez, that date feels like a million yesterdays ago ... back when I still had some of my childhood to cling to.