a bad plan

"You have to swear not to tell anybody." He's standing in front of four people.

I raise an eyebrow and look, guessing what's coming. I make no promises. The story bursts out, regardless:

"So we got pulled over yesterday and I had beers under my seat."

"You understand how many things are wrong with that sentence, right?"

"I know! My whole life flashed before my eyes!"

"I guess so! Were you driving?!" Seventeen and unlicensed, he says no, and gives me the name. His partner in would-be crime is equally familiar. "Was he drinking in the car?!" I exclaim some more at the wrong, wrong answer. He doesn't object but rattles on, compelled to give me the blow-by-blow of the run stop sign, and the tickets, and the maybe-not-idle threats of the cop, until he gets to the very best part:

"And then he said, 'Let's call Ms. P!"

"What?!"

He said, "She'll get us out of this!" I laugh, and I laugh, and I laugh.

Oh, to have the power these typically idiotic boys wish I had. I'd have locked them up myself.