And we're back to the same old boring credits.
The wind blows, like so many other things on this show. The weather has taken a more, ahem, dramatic turn as Luke says, "What do you mean you think?" A weepy-eyed Brooke replies, "I mean I'm late, like late." Luke asks a logical question: "Did you take a test?" Brooke shakes her head. I guess in her mind it's better to worry about it than to really know, because the truth would change your life completely. Oh, by the way, welcome to the conclusion of the "cliffhanger," where this aptly drawn-upon staple of television will be abused, tortured, and hung out to dry for the next forty-odd minutes. Yeah, so Luke says they need to know, maybe it's just a false alarm (you think?), that the drugstore's still open (it's after midnight, remember), and they need to take the test together.
Keith stands at Karen's door, asking for her hand in marriage. Her eyes open wide and she can't really speak. He says, "Marry me." Again. As if she didn't hear it the first time. That's never a good sign. Karen shakes her head: "I don't know what to say." Keith: "Well, yes would be a good start." Karen: "This just seems so out of the blue." Um, yeah, because fifteen years of unrequited love totally equals "out of the blue." Good grief. Keith says, "Karen, when you left for Italy we had a future." Pause. "We're still the same two people who stood at that airport." He confesses his undying love. Karen turns her head to the side and tells him that she loves him too -- wait for it, wait for it -- he's her best friend. Oh, and she throws in a little "he's been a wonderful father 'figure' for Lucas." None of this is adding up to a rousing "yes," by the way. Karen: "But the time away, the distance. It gave me a new perspective." On us? "On everything. Tree Hill is such a small part of the world. And maybe it's where I belong, but there's so much more out there." See, Keith just felt the weather change there too -- meaning it's a cold day in Tree Hell that Karen will ever agree to marry him. She continues, "Italy was the first time since Lucas was born that I've spent any time alone. I realized I only know myself as Lucas's mother. I've got to find the rest of me." She tears up: "You mean the world to me, but I'm sorry. I can't marry you." They stand there and feel awkward. I mean, really, what kind of conversation can you have after someone asks you to marry him and you say no? "How's it hanging"? "What else is new"? "So, that's a nice ring, what are you going to do with it"?
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.