JENNIE
Friday morning shoots through my window, slicing my room and, eventually, my face.
Oh, God.
I make shapes with my mouth, but no other words come out. My head also has a pulse, and I want to kill it. I can practically hear my headache.
A few hideous moments later, I reach out and tug at Lisa's sleeve. "Please just let me die in peace," she groans.
"What happened last night?" I croak. "I can't even remember having dinner. Were we roofied?"
Lisa wraps my Ramones t-shirt over her head. "Can we discuss this at another time when I'm not actually dying?"
I glance left and right. "Where's my phone?"
"Probably wherever your pants are." Her voice muffled through my top.
I drag myself up to a seated position. "Good point."
"Lisa. Why are you wearing Jessie's black satin leggings?"
Her head snaps down. "What?"
To be fair, they do look good on her.
"Is that freaking Jamie still banging around in the kitchen? Tell her to shut up!"
We go wide-eyed and peer over the edge of the mattress.
Rosie is burrowed in a mound of washing, groaning like a fragile animal preparing to take her last breath. Her hair is everywhere. There's a grumpy crease across her forehead, one of my red sports bras casually draped over her eyes, and she's using a few of my sweaters for blankets.
I giggle into Lisa's shoulder.
This is catastrophic.
"I won't be coming over for dinner again. Just so you know," says Lisa sternly with her eyebrows drawn together, and I burst out laughing. She starts shaking her head. "For one, I'm sleeping on a mattress on the floor with an apparent wedgie. I'm not even wearing my own pants!" she adds far too seriously and squeezes her eyes shut like she is just focusing on breathing.
I laugh and laugh. Why is this so funny?
"At least you're wearing pants," I reply when I collect myself. "Where are mine?"
"What are all these voices?" grumbles Rosie."Go away."
"Rosie!" I half-shout, and she startles.
"What the fuck?" My bra sliding off her face.
"Why am I in your room?" She clocks Lisa, light dawning in her eyes. "Jesus. Did we have a three-way? Why do I always forget poignant moments?"
"What? I don't think -" I look to Lisa, and she shakes her head.
"No. You took a wrong turn. You were crawling -"
"Crawling?" Rosie scratches her head, squinting.
"Oh my God! What happened last night!" I yell-groan.
I look for my phone to piece together the evidence, but I can't see it anywhere. "Where the fuck is my phone?" I ask, slightly more exasperated.
Lisa's alarm starts beeping, and we all scream at it.
After a few failed attempts, Lisa and I eventually stagger out of bed with the last of our motor skills. I'm tugging my t-shirt over the hem of my underpants with one hand and pulling my hair into some sort of shape with the other, while Lisa is still smarting about her pants.
We stumble into the living room, arm in arm, stooped over like we're a thousand years old, and find Jessie flat on her back on the couch in a deathly sprawl. Her new hairdo is matted to her forehead with God-knows-what while her mouth is so far open that I can count all her teeth.
