Disclaimer: I do not own The Secret Life of the American Teenager or anything pertaining to it except my own writing. All rights go to the rightful owners.
"Hey. Someone's here to see you," Ashley informed her sister, poking her head into the bedroom doorway. Amy glanced over as Ashley stepped back out, and she heard her say in her usual dark monotone, "You have five minutes. I'm counting the seconds."
And in stepped the person Amy hadn't wanted to see most in the world. "Why're you here, Ricky?" she asked, not looking at him from her desk where she'd been making English flashcards.
He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "Wanted to check up on you. See how you're doing."
Amy shook her head, disbelieving, and then looked over at him. "Why? It isn't like I or the baby matter to you."
Ricky pushed off the wall. "I think we've already established that I do care about the baby," he said.
"Yeah, just not about the one carrying it, right?" Ricky didn't say anything, and Amy smiled, mirthless. "Exactly. We both know why you're doing this."
He gave her a withering look. "And what reason is that?"
"Everyone knows you want to have sex with Grace Bowman, Ricky; it isn't a well-kept secret. You want her to think you're a good Christian or whatever and think that pretending like you care about all this is going to make her love you." Amy went back to her cards and ignored Ricky as he ruffled his hair, agitated.
"Is it such a crazy idea that I have feelings?" he asked after a moment.
"Yes, because those would involve human emotion!" Amy retorted, glaring at him. "Just, get out of my house, Ricky. I don't need you here, acting like my boyfriend. I have Ben for that. And he sure as hell is better at it than you are."
Ricky shook his head, averting his eyes from Amy as he licked his lips in upset. "Fine. Whatever. Have fun with your stupid flashcards, Juergens." Before Amy could throw the stack of them at him he had gone, and she brought her fist down onto her desk, dropping her head to the wood.