FADE IN INT. EMILY’S SEDAN - 11 PM Dense fog rolls by outside as EMILY, 21, drives down the highway straddled by dense foliage on each side. In the foggy haze, other cars are only discernible by their headlights. Emily dons a classic 20-something’s uniform: Sweats and a haphazard blonde ponytail. Chipped fingernails. A tired look on her face. She whistles along to the faint song on the radio. Top 40? Doesn’t matter. Just something to keep her awake. Next to her, AIMEE, barely 16, devotes herself to the art of the selfie, illuminating her flawless face against the car’s dark interior. Flash. Flash. Flash. Her makeup looks like it’s straight out of a James Charles tutorial. So does her sultry outfit. She must be going somewhere — somewhere with men. Yet, she seems tense. AIMEE Emily, drive faster. EMILY Aimee, look outside. You’re lucky I’m driving you at all when I’m this fucking exhausted. AIMEE What if mom gets back home before midnight? The clock reads 11:07 PM. They’re related obviously. EMILY Relax. She always get home from bunco late and hammered. Where did you tell her you were staying tonight? AIMEE I said I was sleeping over at Hannah’s. (then) Promise you won’t tell her? EMILY If you keep up your end of our deal. AIMEE Yeah. Got it. (MORE)
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2. AIMEE (CONT’D) Won’t tell mom about your hideous tattoo. EMILY And you have to be nice to me, Aimee. AIMEE I’m only nice to people that drive the speed limit. A loaded silence. Emily whistles louder, attempting to piss her sister off. AIMEE Stop doing that. It does the trick. AIMEE Emily, stop. You sound like a retard. EMILY How else am I supposed to stay awake? It’s not like you’re talking to me. AIMEE (turning up the volume) Listen to the radio like everyone else. Aimee’s selfies continue. Flash. Flash. Flash. In the silence, Emily plots her revenge. She cranks up the music till the car’s shaking. Then, she starts belting. Loud. EMILY (practically screaming) ♩I just hit a lick with the box Had to put the stick in a box, mm Pour up the whole damn seal, I’ma get lazy I got the mojo-deals, we been trappin’ like the ’80’s♩ AIMEE EMILY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? EMILY Just taking your advice on how to stay awake. I think it’s working.
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3. AIMEE turns it down, fuming. AIMEE Stop! What’s wrong with you? EMILY What’s wrong with me, Aimee? I’m carting your ass to your secret boyfriend’s house behind mom’s back, and you...you’re being such a bitch! You haven’t even looked up from your goddamn phone! You could at least talk to me! Ever heard of a conversation? AIMEE Ok, what should we talk about, Emily? EMILY It’s your job to think of a topic. Maybe if you knew how to have a conversation you would know that. In her anger, Emily takes a sudden sharp turn, jolting Aimee around in her seat. She’s caught off guard, but quickly regroups. Recharged. It’s on. AIMEE Let’s talk about how shitty of a driver you are, then. That’s a fun conversation! EMILY Those people hit me! God, you’re really gonna do this while I’m driving you to Evan’s? Maybe I will tell mom. Emily puts pedal to the medal, livid. AIMEE Oh my God, slow down! You know I’ll get carsick. EMILY (sarcastically) Thought you wanted to get to your little boyfriend's house sooner, Aimee. Aimee’s not looking so good.
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4. AIMEE (shouting) What is your problem? Do you want me to throw up in your car? EMILY Well maybe if you could just say thank you for driving me EA cop in the trees. Or was it? Emily glances back with no luck - It’s too foggy. EMILY Was that a cop? Can you check? (then) Aimee, do you want to get to Evan’s on time or get pulled over? AIMEE (mocking Emily) Sorry, I’m too busy on my phone. In the foggy haze, cop lights flash behind them. But they don’t notice. The bickering accelerates and so does the car until... CRUNCHHH. They’ve rocketed into the navy Mercedes in front of them. The two cars are pretty banged up and while they’re not hurt, mom is truly going to kill them now. EMILY Oh, fuck! Oh, no. No, no, no. AIMEE (appearing increasingly ill) You really did it this time! Mom is going to kill us. EMILY This is your fault. Not mine. If you had just looked behind wheAimee blows chunks on the dashboard and all over the two of them. Cars slowly proceed past the shit show of an accident. AIMEE (groaning) Told you we shouldn’t have gotten Indian food earlier. A silver fox of a man (45) approaches - the driver of the Mercedes. We’ll come to know him as RICHARD. Emily rolls down the window, releasing the putrid smell of Aimee’s still-fresh vomit.
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5. RICHARD (leaning into the window) Hi, is everyone all righHe gags, covering his mouth. RICHARD I, I, I just don’t do well with vom(then) Oh god. He hurls next to the car, projectile style onto the pavement. A WOMEN who’ll be known as SHERRY, 44, lunges out of Richard’s navy sedan, bounding towards them. Besides her wild blonde hair, she’s indiscernible in the darkness. SHERRY (re: Driver) Richard! Are you alright? SHERRY What the hell is going on? Emily and Aimee would know that face anywhere. Mom?
EMILY
AIMEE What? Mom? A beat. Shock. Confusion. More confusion. SHERRY (defensively) Emily? Aimee? Wha, what - What are you doing here? EMILY What are you doing here? Who the hell is that man? AIMEE Does dad know where you are? WOMEN I’m just - we we’re just getting dinner. (then) I should be asking the same thing of you two! You should be at home!
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6. AIMEE (quietly) You said you were at bunco. Richard comes to. It’s bad timing. RICHARD These are you kids? I thought you didn’t have any. Then back to puking. The COP (55) finally approaches, flashing his badge. Wait till the boys at the station get a load of whatever’s going on here. COP (re: RICHARD) Are you alright sir? SHERRY He’s fine. COP What’s going on here, ladies? Glances all around. What is going on? EMILY Too much Indian food, officer. BLACK
CUT TO END SCENE
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