“Grab the keys.”
I peered at *Ashley, horrified. I didn’t know how to drive. She didn’t either. What if we crashed? No matter. Ashley was talking more to herself than me. She grabbed the key from the pile of countertop junk. I’m not sure how we found it, but we did. My heart thundered. He could find us any second.
I snatched my heels and pivoted to the left, scanning the room. My face brushed up against Ashley’s Camarena-stenched hair. Dark, glowing bags under her eyes flashed against the blinding sunlight. The deformed night stalked my thoughts.
I could still hear the policeman asking for the homeowner. I’m f*cked. Red cups flooded every inch of the marble floors with the contents of one splashing onto a shrieking girl. The corner crew voraciously inhaled the green bang. One kid had some powder on his nose? Even the ugly dog reeked of those weeds people like to puff in.
While admiringly chatting with the college kids in the back, I noticed Ashley had gone missing. I swear I searched every corner of the marble-laden house. Of course, after my hour of anxiety from our temporary estrangement, I found her by the pool. Intoxicated and gleaming.
“Ashley. Go inside.” She distanced herself from me, crying an absolute no. I guess some boy was too hard to resist.
Somehow finding our way to an empty car, we made it out. Physically, at least. The emotional trauma of her other-state-of-mind had caught up to her. The ride back she accused me of “bad friendship.”
But that was last night and right now, we had to get out. I’m not sure either of us knew how we ended up in this house yet we just ran out, quietly, into the scathing sunlight.
With a polite click from the keys, the vehicle doors opened. We were in.
“Oh my god,” I heard Ashley whisper to herself as she positioned herself at the driver’s seat. Maybe boulders of delirious laughs rolled off our tongues. Maybe I just hallucinated in shock. The engine ignited and Ashely quickly sped off the freshly cemented driveway.
“Shit. I hit something.”
“…This isn’t our car, Ashley.”
“What do I do? What if he comes out?”
“We’ll figure it out. Just drive.”
“I hit his car. I crashed it.”
The gardener looked at us. I forgot he came in on Saturdays. We waved, smiling and pretending that we knew what we were doing. He stared back at us, confused. If the cops came after us, we were surely done for.
I slapped Ashley’s arm. We had been staring at the empty driveway in contemplation for a few moments. Ashley’s face read disbelief.
This time I’m sure we laughed as tears of insanity spilled from our eyes. Rolling away on our new ride, we sneaked a peek at the bare driveway and the young man (who had “rescued” us from last night’s extravaganza) now standing there, half-awake with no shoes and his mouth widely extended. This isn’t the f*cking dentist, dude, close up. I snickered and turned away, propping up my feet and collecting the mascara I’d left in the cup holder three weeks ago.
Ashley kept driving.