Being the designated driver sucked. It was a thankless job, but it was my turn. Four of us rotated the unwanted role of being the responsible one, and tonight it was back to me. On the upside we were on our way home.

Becca and Andrew were arguing in the back seat. It was the Eighth Shot Argument again. Sam and I had named it that because after one of them finished their eighth shot, we could count on hearing the same old argument every time.

“Pull over!” Andrew screamed in my ear. His breath reeked of Jager.

I pulled over as Becca started throwing up.

Tears followed the vomit- as did more vomit.

I got out of the driver’s seat and helped her out of the car.

“Skank!” Andrew called. Apparently we were on the “skank” phase of the argument.

I ignored him and concentrated on cleaning up Becca. At least I did until I heard the engine start.

The car lurched toward us and I could see Sam passed out in the passenger seat. I pushed Becca out of the way and my last thought was that no night should end like this.