Brooke and Lucas are in her bedroom. It's still late. Her parents put up with this? Anyway. She walks toward Lucas holding the test in her hand. He looks at it. She shivers. It's positive. Brooke squeaks out, "Oh my god!" She covers her mouth with her hand and collapses on the bed beside Lucas. She cries, "I'm pregnant." Luke tries to comfort her, but she shrugs him off and then stands up. He says, "Come on! I know you're still mad at me, okay, but I'm here for you. We'll go to the doctor tomorrow in the city. I'll take you." She says saucily, "I'll take myself." Her eye make-up is surprisingly intact for crying for what must be a good hour or so; even her lips are still perfect. Her eyes aren't red or puffy. Her skin is remarkably uncoloured; it's not splotchy or red either. Anyway. He says, "Brooke, I'm just as scared as you are, okay. But I want to help. Please, just trust me." She cries, "Yeah, because that worked out so well for me the last time." Holy crap. Weeks before, Brooke didn't have any problem treating Lucas like he was "fair game." She chased him, even though she knew he liked Peyton. She did all kinds of crap just to get him to like her, and didn't care one whit for Peyton's feelings -- or didn't consider them. But now, after they "betrayed" her -- and remember, we're in high school here, people, where you swap boyfriends and allegiances faster than Beyoncé can shake her ass -- this "oh boo-hoo you hurt me" crap has gone on long enough. Luke shoves his hands into his pockets and pouts. Well, he's approaching Dawson-like proportions of bad acting here, folks. We should start calling him The Chad, in memory of those heady days when one couldn't imagine acting getting any worse -- well, we're here, and it certainly is. The Chad's taking bad to a whole new level.