By the time I dug through the piles of jackets and boots, located our stuff, pulled my boots and coat on, Roach had toddled off to a less ripe area of the yard. When I finally tromped to her side, she’d dropped onto the snow, to make snow angels.
“Isn’t it beauutifuuul,” Roach sang as she stared up into the sky. Gavin and his friends were still watching, I could hear bits of their rooftop conversation with the drifts of the slight breeze. Keeping my head down, I pulled Roach into a seated position and shoved her arms through her coat sleeves.
Next came her boots. “Hold still.” Awful damn difficult to do with her legs still making angel motions. Appropriately clothed, I hauled her to her feet. She draped herself over my shoulder to keep upright.
“Charlie, you gotta get me home. I don’t feel so good.”
“I know. You didn’t feel so good once already.” We weaved past said vomit. I guided us back toward the house and plunked Roach down on the bottom stair at the base of the porch. “I want you to wait here while I go get Preston.”
“No, you can’t.” Roach grabbed my coat hood in a death grip, cutting off my air supply. “You have to take me. Preston can’t know.”
I pried her fingers loose. “Know what?”
“Where I live.” Roach’s bottom lip trembled the way I hadn’t seen since we had the talk, back when I’d informed her Santa and Satan were the same letters, just rearranged, and that probably meant something really nasty was in store for her at Christmas. But, come on, she still believed in Santa at the age of thirteen. What kind of friend would I have been if I hadn’t shattered that illusion?
“And why can’t he know this elementary fact?”
That lip tremble again. “Because I told him we lived on campus.”
I mulled over that one. Boy, she was out of her mind intoxicated. And then it hit me. Campus? As in we were college students? “Roach,” I whined. “Seriously?” I wheeled her around and started us down the sidewalk while meteors disintegrated in the atmosphere.
Bernie waited less than a block away, shining like a beacon of hope under a streetlight.
I held out my hand. “Give me the keys.”
Roach baulked at first, but after a few dry heaves, she forked them over.
We got in the car, with me behind the wheel, and Roach sprawled out in the back seat, already half asleep. I put the keys in the ignition, started the engine and blasted the heat.
We both seemed content to sit in the near-silence of Bernie’s muted sputters and clanks as she churned warmth.
“Are you okay?” I asked, glancing at Roach in the rear view mirror. The mussed hair and smudged makeup could have been from the snow angels, but I had to be sure. What if, while I’d been stargazing, Roach had been drunk, and vulnerable, and… “Do I have to go back in there and do some damage?”
“Just drive.” Roach lifted her head. For a few seconds her eyes were clear and focused. “Need bed.”
My second time driving Miss Bernie held far fewer jerks and stops, but still enough to induce the odd moan of agony from Roach. My years as a passenger served me well, I knew I couldn’t risk getting stopped by the cops, and managed to locate the old highway that skirted all the traffic. I was driving without a license with a drunk in the back seat. Somehow I didn’t think claiming designated-driver status would get me out of a hefty ticket, or worse.
However, the route I took was twice as long than if we’d been able to go straight through town, and in that time, Roach sobered up some. Enough to crawl into the front and bolt herself into the passenger seat.
She tugged on the seat belt. “Ugh…I can’t do it. I’m so wasted.”
“Nope, it’s not just you. I’ve been telling you for weeks that thing needs to be fixed.”
“I’ve never been in this seat before, so how was I to know?”
“Because I told you. Multiple times.”
Roach sighed. “I messed up, Char.” She sniffled. “You’re not going to believe it when I tell you.”
Oh lord. “What happened?”
“No,” she slapped the dashboard. “You first. I saw you go upstairs with Gavin. Deets. Now.”
It all came flooding back. “It was the perfect chance, Roach.”
“So you did it too.”
“No,” I shook my head, still stunned at how the night turned out. “I didn’t. We didn’t. But I’m fine with it. Because tonight I realized sex isn’t going to change my life in some phenomenal way, or help me to control what’s happening with my mom, or make me a stronger person, or fix Monty. I mean, look at the guys I chose for the list. It’s like I deliberately—wait a fucking second.” I slammed on the breaks. When we recovered, I twisted to face my best friend. My religious, saving-herself-for-marriage best friend.
“What do you mean, I did it too?” I punched on the interior light so I could see her better.
Roach flushed. “I should never have judged you about your list, Charlie.”
“Judged me? You didn’t,” I said, totally confused. “You helped me update it.”
“But I thought you were wrong.” Roach sniffled. “The whole time I’ve been saying you were making a huge mistake and in my heart, thinking you were being sinful.” She half laughed, half cried. “What a joke. There’s only one virgin in this car and it ain’t me. The kicker? I’ve been with Preston four times now. Four times. And we haven’t always been careful if you know what I mean.”
“Jesus.” I swiped a hand down my face. “You’re not pregnant are you?” My mind buzzed. Roach had been drinking tonight. Wouldn’t that affect the baby? I sucked in a breath. Oh, man. How the hell was she going to tell her parents?
“THE DEVIRGINIZERS”
OUTTAKE #4: IMMACULATE DECEPTION
INTERIOR. DUNMORE RESIDENCE. LIVINGROOM.
DAY / NIGHT / WHO CARES, THERES A BABY ON THE WAY!
MR. and MRS. DUNMORE perch on the couch as a ginormously knocked up ROACH paces / waddles before them. CHARLIE stands nervously beside a portable whiteboard upon which a confusing array of graphs and symbols have been written with a dry erase marker.
ROACH
(stops dead in front of her parents)
So you see, it depends entirely on how you define immaculate.
END OF OUT TAKE