Reed and Erin are cracking up, always encouraging Garrett, and usually Reed is right there with him, but he’s fairly wrapped up in his girl right now. Thank God.
I focus on Paige, and then I laugh, like full-on laugh now. I can’t help it. Her horrified expression is too much. “Do you really think I would have slept with him and not told you?”
I literally tell her everything.
Garrett hugs her closer and whispers something in her ear which makes her smile and shrug. “He’s still a jerk. Making out with some girl right by you.”
I love her so damn much, and I’m going to miss the hell out of her. But the truth is I couldn’t care less about Justin, or really any other guy I’ve dated.
I’m happy for my friends. But still, watching both of the happy couples, I can’t help but feel like the broken fifth wheel.
Hours later, we’re all due home by curfew, and it’s Paige’s duty to drive us as the awesome, designated, highly–disciplined, and responsible driver because she’s the only sober one.
Garrett, Erin, Reed, and I are way too far gone. Laughter erupts from us all as we climb into Garrett’s beautifully restored, 1960’s Mustang, squeezing in as Paige orders us to buckle up as she climbs behind the wheel.
Garrett never lets anyone drive his car, and I’m fairly certain he never intended to get this inebriated. But shit happens, and if there’s anyone he trusts, it’s her.
We turn the music up, and our laughter intensifies as we talk about the years to come, our ten-year reunion and where everyone will be then.
Talk of who will be in prison and who will be married ensues as heavy rain starts seemingly out of nowhere. Paige flicks on the windshield wipers while Reed suggests some will be divorced by then.
Garrett also makes a joke about Reed’s hairline starting to recede in ten years, which is not at all funny to Reed, who loves his hair way too much.
Garrett’s laughter is stuck in my memory, light and free, giving his friend shit and enjoying life.
But it’s followed by, and now forever linked with, the next sound: a shrill, high–pitched, guttural scream I’ve never heard before, coming from my best friend’s mouth.
Fear.
Pure, uninhibited fear coming from her lungs.
Then bright headlights. A loud blaring horn. Squealing tires. Crashing. Metal against metal. Glass breaking.
And then . . . nothingness.