Chris had to help Amanda over. He lifted, as she grabbed in to the top of the tall wooden fence and struggled over, toppling heavily onto Michael, waiting on the other side.
The two of them wobbled briefly in the dirt, and then fell over, into Rick's bushes.
Amanda squealed in surprise.
"Quiet," Chris warned her, in a loud stage whisper, as he jumped over the fence and landed beside them.
Amanda rolled her eyes, getting up off Michael and brushing the dirt off her knees. "I told you I wasn't wearing the right shoes for this."
"But this was your idea," Michael pointed out, slurring his words only slightly as he tried to stand up. "You said, wouldn't it be funny if we stole Rick's pumpkin and put it in his trailer in the morning?"
Amanda shrugged. "It would be funny. But I thought we would walk up the driveway. Not climb over his neighbour's fence."
"How was I supposed to know that his neighbour had dogs?" Chris asked. "Who's got the vodka?"
Amanda fumbled in the pocket of her pink trench coat, pulling out a silver flash and handing it to him.
Chris swallowed two gulps, making an exaggerated face before handing it back to her.
"Save some for me," Michael said.
Chris frowned down at Michael, still on the ground, faintly illuminated by a garden light. "Shanks," he asked, "do you need some help getting up?"
"I don't know," Michael answered slowly, and sounded as if he really didn't. "It's kind of comfortable down here."
Chris rolled his eyes, then bent down and tugged on Michael's hand.
Michael didn't budge.
"Get up, man."
Michael grinned, tugged back, and caught Chris off balance.
Amanda, caught between them, wobbled in her high shoes and grabbed Chris' arm for support. The two of them tumbled quickly down, on top of Michael, onto the ground.
Amanda squealed again, louder this time.
"Sorry," Michael said.
"Fuck you," Chris answered.
Amanda couldn't stop giggling.
"Everybody all right?" Michael asked.
"I think I hurt my knee," Chris answered, wedged on top of them, as they made a heaving, laughing mess of limbs on the ground.
"Michael," Amanda said, breathlessly, in between giggles, "that better be a salami in your pocket."
Michael laughed. "You never know. It could be a hockey stick."
"Kind of a small hockey stick."
"It's his penis," Chris announced, and burst into loud cackling laughter.
Michael reached out a hand, and hit Chris hard on the ass.
"Sorry, honey," Michael said, talking to the tip of Amanda's right ear, exhaling warm and drunken breath. "Was that you?"
"No. But you made Chris poke me with his hockey stick."
"I am not," Chris insisted.
"Chris," she told him, "You totally are."
"Whose is bigger?" Michael asked with interest.
Amanda pressed her blushing face into the crease of Michael's open collar, and started giggling again. "That would require a closer inspection." With one shy hand, she squeezed Michael teasingly below the waist.
Michael said, "Oh."
"I am not taking my pants off," Chris announced. His hand moved against Amanda's leg, as he searched unsuccessfully for the flask of vodka. "It's fucking cold out here."
"It's not that cold," Michael said.
"Amanda, tell the Shanks to shut his mouth with that Canadian shit."
"Shut up," Amanda whispered, against Michael's skin.
"Tell Judge to get his heavy ass off me," Michael answered, into Amanda's hair.
"Wasn't there something about a pumpkin?" Amanda asked them both.
"Fuck the pumpkin," Michael said, and kissed her.