The Secret Diary of Ashley Juergens (8 page)

8:07 A.M.

Okay, Principal Miller. You weren’t lying to me. You do read this journal. I can tell because when I went to your office and picked it up yesterday you gave me a look you’ve never given me before. It wasn’t pity (and thank you for that). Maybe understanding? Yeah, I think you understand a little bit about where I’m coming from now. I guess it doesn’t hurt that my journal is also one-stop shopping for all your Amy gossip needs. I noticed you didn’t say a word about the tight shirt I was wearing that came dangerously close to revealing my belly button as I reached out to take back my journal. I’m finding more and more that this journal does have its benefits.

So let’s continue with the life and times of Ashley Juergens, shall we?

Last night, Amy asked me to help her decide whether to go to slut school or her old school. Mom wants her to go to slut school but Dad thinks she’s better off at her old school.

I don’t understand why this is even being discussed. She’s still Amy, that hasn’t changed. Why should she transfer just because she’s pregnant? Now is when she needs us the most. It doesn’t make sense to send someone away when they really need you. Especially to a place nicknamed slut school. I wonder what their school sweatshirt looks like.

“Slut school” is kind of a misleading term if you think about it. I know it’s what everyone calls the school for young, pregnant mothers—but it makes it sound like you go there to learn how to be a slut. And if that were the case, I don’t think Mom or Dad would want Amy to go there. If that were the case I think Adrian would be their valedictorian.

Anyway, Amy and I decided on a list to make things easier. Here’s what we came up with:

It felt like we were writing stuff down to waste time instead of making an actual decision. I think Amy is really worried people at her old high school will start avoiding her when it becomes obvious she’s pregnant. I think her friends will surprise her. Except Lauren.

Since Mom was out of town helping Mimsy make her connecting flight to Europe, this morning should have been a nice start to a great day, with my dad being home and everything. Except I still wasn’t talking to him. This is a rare occurrence and is always the result of something serious. In the past it’s been for not taking my side in arguments with Mom, tricking me into going to a classmate’s birthday party, taking the Classic Movie Channel off our cable package, and reselling my favorite chest of drawers at the furniture store.

So I communicated with Dad through Amy. I know she hates that, but I hate keeping secrets, so now we’re even. I told him (through Amy) that I was on a hunger strike until Mom comes home. This was a lie. I was starving.

Dad told Amy he thinks she should go to school with Ben and her friends. Amy’s still unsure. If I were still speaking with him I would tell him I agree. How can he know the right thing for Amy to do but fail so hard when making his own decisions? He’s lucky I wasn’t speaking to him.

9:32 P.M.

My hunger strike didn’t last very long. I ate at school, since Dad wasn’t around and he wouldn’t know, then when I got home he heated up a lasagna Mom had made . . . and it smelled so good my stomach wouldn’t let me be on strike anymore. It didn’t taste as good as it smelled, though. Dads just can’t heat up food the way moms can. It made me miss Mom a little. Not that I’d tell her or anything.

I really hate when she and Dad pretend to get along on the phone. Sometimes I’m offended by how stupid they think I am. Dad told Mom over the phone, “I love you, too, honey.” Come on. I don’t need to hear the conversation to figure out how it’s going. I’ve been around long enough for that at least. I’d much rather have them here with their problems laid out on the table . . . after we had eaten all of the properly reheated lasagna, of course.

My dad and I called a truce, so I decided to talk about his other daughter, Adrian. He said I was overreacting and to please stop calling her his other daughter. I told him he really hurt my feelings and he apologized. I told him he’s not allowed to have other daughters besides me and Amy. He said he doesn’t want other daughters, especially Adrian—she’s a handful. She needed advice and he was the only one around to give it. I said I understood but next time I’d go looking for another father. My dad said I’d never find another father like him. I couldn’t disagree there.

It’s so much easier when Dad and I are working together and right now there’s too much going on not to talk. Dad felt bad about not making Amy go to slut school like Mom wanted. I told him he should feel sorry for Ben, who got beat up at school for defending Amy and her slut school. I could tell Dad liked that. I think fathers like knowing if they aren’t around to protect their daughters, someone else is.

Poor Ben. Even though he just scored a point with my dad, ever since he got involved with Amy all he has to show for it is a baby that’s not his and a black eye. And he still loves her. His driver was right about him.

Dad used this opportunity to find out more about Henry. I told him Henry’s on the rebound. I think my dad already figured that out or else he wouldn’t have let us hang out alone in the back bedroom of Adrian’s mom’s condo with a drawer full of condoms. He also thinks Henry’s a geek who wouldn’t try to have sex with me. NedTed’s a geek, too, and he’s always trying to have sex with me, so there goes that theory. I didn’t tell my dad Henry thinks I might be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen because Dad thinks if a guy says “hello” to me he’s trying to get laid, so that piece of information might send him over the edge.

I told Dad I’m smarter than Amy when it comes to guys. He said he knows I have condoms. (
WHAAAAAAAT
?!) Like I said, I’m not Amy. If Amy had had condoms that night in band camp, we would probably be back to arguing about my wardrobe on a daily basis. But that’s taken a backseat. (Except with you, Principal Miller J)

He confirmed Amy told him about the condoms. Great. I keep Amy’s pregnancy a secret and she returns the favor by telling Dad about my condom stash. Nice to know there’s a mutual trust between sisters in this house. I actually bought the condoms as an act of responsibility, not because of any intention to have sex. It’s like when you buy a first aid kit. You don’t intend to get hurt, but if you do, you’re prepared. And even though Amy sold me out yet again, she can have some of my condoms if she ever needs them.

Amy and I used to trust each other with our secrets all the time. Sure, that was when we were really little, and even though the secrets were small . . . they seemed really big at the time. Like when I used to go to the movies with Amy and her friends. They’d see whatever chick flick was playing while I snuck into whatever rated R movie was playing. I always thought the movie ratings system was ridiculous. If anything’s going to give me nightmares it’s the chick flick. Who actually believes in Happily Ever After anyway? If they kept the movie going after the supposed happy ending then the horror genre would have a whole new subculture.

I was actually allowed to watch rated R movies when I was pretty young. But I could watch them only if I sat and listened along to my dad’s commentary so he knew I wasn’t getting the wrong message. Like when he let me watch
Pretty Woman
. He paused it every five minutes so he could tell me, “You know, this stuff doesn’t happen when you’re a hooker. It’s
RARE
. Rare as in only in this movie rare.” So I would sneak into the theater to watch R rated movies just for the peace and quiet. The blood, gore, and sex were just an added bonus. But I digress.

Amy’s secrets weren’t as bad as mine, but that doesn’t mean I’ve told anyone about them: (1.) she joined band to get close to a boy, (2.) the boy was not Ricky, (3.) she really likes Madison better than Lauren.

Anyway, even if I had told Amy’s secrets no one would have really cared. But that’s not the point. The point is I kept them because they were important to Amy. And she should be keeping mine for the same reason. But nothing’s sacred anymore. Just because silly secrets have given way to pregnancy and condoms doesn’t mean they are any less important.

My condoms really freaked Dad out. He told me I’m not allowed to have sex until I’ve moved out and am living on my own. I love when parents tell us to follow a rule they haven’t even followed. Who was it that was living in this house, married to my mom, while having sex with another woman?

Ding! Ding! Ding! If you said George Juergens, you are correct!

Some may defend him by saying he was learning through his mistakes, but I call it hypocrisy. Deep down Dad knows he was wrong. He says he hates himself sometimes. I told him I hate him sometimes, too, but mostly I love him. I’m not ready to tell him how much because I’m still mad at him, but it’s a lot. I’m hoping even though Mom probably hates Dad a lot right now there’s still a little part that loves him, too.

11:00 P.M.

Amy ended up back at her old school. She was wrong about people avoiding her, even Lauren. So I updated our list:

7:39 P.M.

Once someone comes back into this house, it’s become a rule of thumb that someone else must leave. Mom went out of town, and then Dad came back. Now Mom’s back and Amy’s gone. Well, not really gone, just at Ben’s all the time. I can understand. He lives in a huge house filled with sausage servants. I bet Richie Rich lives in his very own wing, just like Steve Martin’s mansion in
The Jerk
, only instead of a water cooler with red and white wine it has diet and regular soda. It must be nice.

You’d think they’d invite me over once in a while. I have been a good friend to both of them in this crazy situation and a dip in an Olympic-size swimming pool sounds nice right about now. Maybe they’re worried I’d cramp their style as boyfriend/girlfriend, but in a house that big would they even know I was there? I wonder if Ben’s ever gotten lost while walking around in his own house. I wish we had a big house like that. Then Dad wouldn’t have to move out. He’d just choose another room and the problem would be resolved. Well, one problem out of many, anyway.

I’m surprised Mom and Dad are cool with Ben and Amy spending so much time together, but I guess they figure since she’s already pregnant there’s not a lot more that can happen. I asked Amy what she and Ben do when they’re alone together and she said, “Talk.” Like she doesn’t do enough of that over here. She was getting on my nerves anyway. Still, I miss her, even with the constant pregnancy complaints and cravings. I walk past her room and it’s weird how empty it is . . . and exposed.

That gives me an idea . . .

8:43 P.M.

Well, it took less than five minutes to find Amy’s diary. And another thirty seconds to get the lock open. I didn’t even bother looking for the key. At least it wasn’t heart-shaped. She doesn’t know about my journal (at least I don’t think she does) but I’ve seen her write in her diary before, so I knew it existed. She thinks she’s being so secretive but her nervous energy practically points a neon arrow to its hiding place.

I’ve never tried to find it before. Mostly because it’s Amy’s and I thought it wouldn’t be very interesting. That was before band camp and Ricky and getting pregnant and Ben. Now I’m interested. And so was Dad when I showed it to him.

The poems in the diary were even more painful to read out loud. If I had known these were in here I wouldn’t have bothered Dad in the first place. He kept thinking there were hidden messages about sex in every line. I wish. That would have made this diary a real find. If you don’t believe me, here are some samples:

Really exciting stuff. You wouldn’t know this is the same girl who went off to band camp and got knocked up. My dad’s translation: “Who is she lying in bed with? I’ll kill him!”

Trust me, it gets worse. And by worse, I mean even more boring:

You would never know this girl has a boyfriend she supposedly is head over heels in love with. My dad’s translation: “Who does she want to stare at the moon with? I’ll kill him!”

Some of her poems were obviously written when she was having pregnancy cravings:

My dad’s translation: “Why is she so hungry? Is it because of all the sex she’s having? I’ll kill him!”

I told Dad if these poems are related to her sex life, then Amy isn’t having very good sex. Most likely these poems are a metaphor for no sex (Ben scored another point from my dad). The only thing they indicate is that Amy’s in a new relationship and nothing’s come along to spoil it yet. She needs heartache, yearning, and betrayal. Basically, a bad relationship makes a good poem. So in a way, this is good news.

Once the baby comes, I bet Ricky will prove quite inspiring.

Dad immediately forgot about the bad poetry and wanted to know how I know about good sex. Even if I didn’t live down the hall from my pregnant sister, I still have access to a computer and the Internet. Nothing’s really a mystery anymore. And if it is, I can solve it in about two seconds using Google. Some of those rated R movies filled in the blanks, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

He didn’t seem to be listening because he started giving the sex talk. I had planned on this reading of Amy’s diary as a fun father-daughter bonding experience. Now we were going down a road I definitely hadn’t planned on taking. I was going to read another one of Amy’s silly poems when he switched gears and told me about the day I was born. I was expecting a boring hospital story with an exaggerated number of hours in labor thrown in. Instead, Dad told me Mom went into labor and arrived at the hospital too early, so to kill time they took a drive up the coast. That turned into a police chase (that sometimes happens when you’re going 90 mph and don’t pull over), which became a police escort back to the hospital. I was close to being born in the backseat, but ended up being delivered in the hospital just in time. Dad never told me that story before. I didn’t know my entrance into the world had been so exciting. Everything after it has been kind of boring up until now.

I wonder what Amy’s delivery day will be like. I imagine she’ll be at school walking down the hallway with Ben, complaining about her life as a soon-to-be teenage mother. By this point her baby will be so sick of her grumpiness he/she will try to escape, causing her water to break, which will flood the hallway and make everyone run for the nearest classroom. Ricky will be ordered to clean up the mess while Adrian pouts nearby because Amy’s getting all the attention. Ben’s driver will take Amy and Ben to the hospital, and Ricky will show up after he’s sufficiently cleaned the hallway and students can safely walk to class. Then Ben and Ricky will argue about who gets to be in the delivery room until the doctor comes out and tells them the baby has already been born. Then Mom and Dad will see the baby and remember how happy they were when Amy and I were born, and they will agree Dad should move back in for good and we’ll be a family again. Happily ever after, right?

Dad didn’t have the same reaction about Amy’s due date. He gets sad thinking about Amy’s situation. When you’re married and pregnant, having a baby is different. Everyone’s excited and it’s a special time in your life. Amy’s only fifteen so things aren’t exactly like that. Not everyone is happy because there’s a lot of uncertainty: she’s too young, the baby’s dad isn’t her boyfriend, and everyone’s judging her.

But the one thing Amy does have is our support. Mom’s, Dad’s, and mine. And we’re all going to figure out the best way to handle this together. So when Amy tells her baby what it was like when he or she was born, they’ll hear a story like the one Dad told me . . . or hopefully like mine. A story where things started off kind of rocky . . . but it all ended up okay.

2:18 A.M.

I got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and saw a bag of perfectly good cheese nuffs had been thrown away in the trash. Dad also came in for a glass of water and saw me putting the cheese nuffs back in the cupboard. He told me to leave them in the trash. I asked why, since they hadn’t gone bad. He said they are bad. Cheese nuffs ruin lives, ruin marriages. He gulped down the rest of the water in my glass, then walked back to his room. Um, what? If Mom and Dad are getting divorced on the grounds of cheese nuffs, I will be so mad at them. I remembered Mom had written down cheese nuffs on her list of reasons why she should leave Dad. Did he forget to write them down on the grocery list one too many times? Did he get cheese nuff crumbs in bed? Was Mom jealous Dad might love cheese nuffs more than her? I decided the reason didn’t matter, only that there was a reason. I threw the cheese nuffs in the trash and went back to bed.