Summer of 69

I always knew how I wanted

my first sexual experience to play out.

I'd be effortlessly cool,

irresistible.

Abby? Abby?

Abby, are you swinging alone in the dark?

Can you take Mom's car to get some dessert?

The Cruz's are here in ten.

I'd have all the right moves.

Shit.

Number 71.

And no matter how or where it happened,

it would be with him...

...Max Warren.

With his piercing green eyes.

His killer smile.

Even his neck zit.

Ugh, relatable.

Our first interaction was like something out of a romance novel.

Hi, I'm Abby.

I'm Max.

Well, goodbye.

I'm Mercedes. I'm your girlfriend.

And when we were 12, he said the words that changed everything.

I guess... Abby.

"I guess Abby."

He picked me and I picked him right back.

Number 72.

Uh, one scoop of cherry ice cream.

Gummy worms on top. Double worms?

Oh, no, single serving, please.

Too many worms and I get a gummy-ache.

Every time I go to Harry's, we have the same conversation.

But this time was different.

How's it going?

Oh, it's chill.

I mean, a little weird recently, but...

Oh, no. Why... Why?

Uh... Mercedes and I, we broke up.

- - We broke up. We broke up.

We broke up. We broke up.

We broke up.

Please welcome for the first time as people in a marriage,

Mr. and Mrs. Warren.

I wanna be with you for, like, forever and shit.

Oh, Max, I... I wanna kiss you for the rest of my life.

God, I hope you practiced on your hand.

Oh, I have.

I really have.

Sign here for your house mortgage.

Congratulations.

What should we name her?

Mercedes?

That's fucked up.

Number 73.

- -

Number 73.

Sorry about you and Mercedes.

Oh, it's cool.

Thanks.

Oh, uh, can I also get a couple pints of...

-"How's it going?" -Oh! The other side.

Two pints coming right up, Cherry Worms.

Somewhere between Cherry Worms and my driveway, reality hit.

Even with Max being newly single,

why would he ever choose me?

In my sexual fantasy, we never did anything

because I've never done anything.

I just needed a step in the right direction.

-I go to St. Bernadette's. -

- - Move!

A private, Catholic rich-kid school

where stuff like this is normal.

Don't cry, Mercedes.

I thought Max was the one.

We were supposed to get married

and have a baby and a house mortgage.

It's not fair. I'm pretty.

At St. Bernadette's,

every kid is named after an apostle or a luxury brand.

Luke?

Paul?

Tiffany?

Chanel? Max?

Max was different.

If I wanted him, I had to think outside the box.

Psst!

Gucci?

Matthew?

Hey. Pass it to Dior.

Dolce? John?

At my school if you wanted answers to life's questions,

most pray to a bearded ghost-gentleman.

I turn to a much more reliable source of information.

Our school mascot, the St. Bernard, AKA Bernie.

People often forget there's a person under all that costume.

So he hears it all.

So, you wanna get with Max now that he's single.

Tell me what you know.

This wasn't the first time I used the mascot

for Max-related knowledge.

Max Warren. Tell me what you know.

His Mom works at Bank of America.

His Uncle, missing.

No one's seen him since Lent.

His Uncle gave up soda and then he was gone.

Do you think I have a chance?

No.

- Heads up! -

I heard Mercedes might be moving.

She was, but then Max convinced her father

that St. Bernadette's would provide a more faith-forward upbringing.

Goddammit.

- Heads up! -

I need to know how I can get with Max before we graduate

and potentially never see each other again.

He's all I've ever wanted, I'll do whatever it takes.

And what is in it for moi?

Um, I'm off sugar. I'm on Mounjaro.

-Uh, I'll pay you money. - Twenty dollars.

-Deal. - Okay.

-Locker room talk. What is he into? -

Makin' out or-- or kissing or swappin' spit...

Max loves to 69.

Huh?

Ask anyone, Max is obsessed with six to the nine.

That's all he ever talks about with the boys.

Definitely his favorite sexual position.

But if kissing is more of your speed--

Oh, no, no. I've... I...

I've had my day in the bedroom department.

I did assume he'd be slightly more advanced

in the bedroom department.

I mean, he's been with Mercedes for years.

That's a lot of time in the... bedroom department.

Girl, you gotta stop calling it that.

Look, you don't need to 69 Max,

but if you decide to 69 Max, you're his ho fo sho.

I 69 Max...

I'm his ho fo sho.

Yeah, don't-- don't say that either.

That was the moment I knew

I was going to do whatever it took to get him.

I was going to 69 Max Warren.

Sexually.

- Heads up! -Hey, Max--