Amy Cunningham
20
FemaleA Reagan-child coping the only way she knows how: smoking joints and crushing beers.
Amy coasted breezily through the hierarchy of SoCal's public school system as a bombshell blonde with an unplaceable confidence, landing unconventionally somewhere between the rich kids, the surfers/skaters, and the punks. Her style always crossed clique-thresholds, dressing partly like a yuppie chick with just enough rebellion and punk aesthetic to start the next trend. She was the girl you wanted at your party if you wanted it to be a good time, she was the the only girl at Carver High that could skate a pool, and she wasn't afraid to bust your nose in the pit if it came to it. Amy was cool for reasons that the guys understood but the other girls just couldn't get, not that they spent their time trying to figure her out (that would take away from time spent fawning over Luke & Bo Duke).
Born to a single mother who's
second-half hit the trail before even her second trimester, Amy always gravitated towards the boys in school. She found a better peer match in the rowdy, and testosterone filled than the too-fluffy haired mini-women that stayed locked in daddy's mansion, curling their hair and flipping through teen-mags they stole from their older sisters. They taught her how to skate, roll a joint, surf, and shotgun a beer. By high school the girls she had ignored were interested in the boys she would hang with. She had become the most legendary wingman and could skate well enough to warrant a few groupies herself. The guys loved her. The girls loved her, but more importantly they hated her.
A few years after high school her mother passed and she was uprooted and planted into Levittown, New York. A tiny and identical-to-the-next suburban nightmare owned by her aunt. Goodbye freedom and goodbye acting career. Hello Long Island.
Begrudgingly, she took a lead from her Aunt Lynn and applied to be a camp counselor in Crystal Lake, New Jersey. It was something to get her off Long Island for the summer. It was the "anything" or "whatever" to get out of the dreaded suburb of Levittown, and hey, in the process of leading a bunch of children to having a great summer, maybe she'd get loaded and maybe she'd get laid. It sounded like a good enough escape at the time.