Stacy: I believe we write our own stories. And each time we think we know the end, we don’t. Perhaps luck exists somewhere between the world of planning, the world of chance and in the peace that comes from knowing that you just cant know it all. You know, lifes funny that way. Once you let go of the wheel, you might end up right where you belong.
Beverly: How will I tell my parents about this? I can’t even talk to them about the weather! How am I supposed to tell them I committed a mortal sin?! A mortal sin?!
Fay: Okay! I know, I know, I understand. Calm down. We’ll practice. Pretend I’m your parents. Say what you’ll say. You’ll get through it. Okay, tell it to me like you would tell them.
Beverly: Mom. Pop.
Beverly: I don”t know how to tell you this.
Fay: But. . .?
Beverly: I’m pregnant.
Fay: My daughter’s a tramp. My daughter’s a tramp! My daughter’s a tramp! You’re 15 years old! How could you do this? You make me sick to my stomach! Just take my gun! Why don’t you just take my gun, take my gun and shoot me in the head, tramp! I wish you were never born! Okay, go. You can do it.