Brooke returned home from school, after skipping most of her classes. She sneaked upstairs, ignoring her mother's faint, "Hi Honey." She put on her makeup and a a low-cut shirt and tight jeans . Before she headed down to get picked up by her boyfriend, she took a look in the mirror and sighed. She rushed downstairs,her hand drawing together the front of her shirt, and passed her mother in the kitchen. Her mother yelled after Brooke while emptying the dishwasher, "Be home at 11, and no later!"

Brooke screamed back, " That's so unfair! Everyone else is allowed to stay later! I hate you!"

With no second thought of what she had said, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Brooke's mother began to weep as though the violent sound was her signal to do so. Brooke entered her boyfriend's beat-up car, and they sped away to her friend's party. When they got there, they were bombarded with loud noises. Excited, they rushed to the front door, and were immediately surrounded by her friends who seemed to be already drunk. Brooke was handed a red Solo cup; impulsively, she chugged the contents. She glanced across the room to see her friend Sarah who was stumbling left and right, obviously. With a painful jolt of reality, she knew that she was going to have to babysit her best friend, as she had done too many times before.

The buzz from Brooke's only drink was fading when she realized that she was late for her curfew. She grabbed her boyfriend, who was playing some loud drinking game, and they headed for the car. She noticed his blood-shot eyes while he fumbled to put the key in the ignition after his third try. As they sped away, Brooke's boyfriend looked over at her and slurred, "Screw your mom: let's do something crazy!" Just then, the car drifted off the road, plowing into a tree. Her boyfriend was killed instantly. A shard of glass impaled Brooke's chest. As she sat trapped in her seat, bleeding beside her dead boyfriend, she replayed in her mind the events of the last several hours of her life. She remembered the final words she had spoken to her mother; this memory was more painful than any of her physically mortal wounds. Amid the sight and smell and feel of death, and the sound of approaching sirens, she waited, sobbing, knowing that she could never take those words back.