Bobby’s gone to get the drinks and some more weed, so I’ve got a little time to gather my thoughts. A prophecy about the Ascended and her sixteenth birthday. What’s that all about, and how come I’ve never heard about it before? I mean, I know I’m not the most devout person in the world, but I paid attention during my religious education. Of course, Dina did say that the Prophecy is in the Commentaries and that they’re rarely read by anyone, other than the Religious Caste, but still, you’d think I’d have heard something, especially after my Ascension.
All of these coincidences! I start having these feelings — premonitions — and at exactly the same time, Farmer Ted is doing forecasts on our future that cause him to have the same sense of foreboding that I have. Then it turns out that all along, we’ve been operating under a prophecy which says that something is going to happen when one of the Ascended hits her sixteenth birthday, and lo and behold, it’s my sixteenth birthday. I mean, even if you believe in coincidences, this has to be the mother of them all.
Sloan: Hi Claire.
Claire: Oh boy, you have got to be kidding me.
Sloan: A simple “Hey, it’s great to see you” would have been fine.
Claire: I try to be honest at all times, Sloan.
Sloan: Really? I didn’t know that.
Claire: There’s a lot you don’t know, Sloan, and especially about me.
Sloan: Mind if I join you for a minute?
Claire: No, not at all. Only, Bobby will be back soon, and I suspect he won’t be as happy to see you as I am.
Sloan: Biting wit, as usual.
Claire: I try. What do you want?
Sloan: Would you believe me if I said I wanted to wish you a happy birthday?
Claire: No.
Sloan: Well, it’s true. Even I get sentimental sometimes.
Claire: Hah! I’m supposed to believe that you’re sentimental about me?
Sloan: Is it so hard to believe? We dated for two years. I think we loved each other, didn’t we?
Claire: I loved. You left.
Sloan: That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you, though.
Claire: People don’t usually ditch people they love.
Sloan: You have a point.
Claire: But that’s what you Drifters are all about, isn’t it? Leaving the people who love you.
Sloan: We prefer Iyrin. ‘Drifter’ is so…pejorative.
Claire: Humph!
Sloan: I didn’t realize you hated us so much. I thought you were always so tolerant, even of “Drifters.”
Claire: I don’t hate Drifters. I hate one particular Drifter…you.
Sloan: Whoa!
Claire: Sorry… So, why are you here?
Sloan: Well, I heard through the grapevine that you’d be out tonight.
Claire: Since when do you follow the grapevine?
Sloan: I like to know what’s going on.
Claire: And…?
Sloan: And…I just wanted to check things out; make sure you were OK.
Claire: Why wouldn’t I be OK?
Sloan: Well, you do have a pretty dangerous job.
Claire: Sloan, I’ve been Leader for two years, now. And I was First Advisor two years before that. You just figured out that these are dangerous jobs?
Sloan: No.
Claire: So, why the sudden concern?
Sloan: Well, I… Hey, there he is! The man of the hour! Bobby Richstone! What’s shaking? Long time no see.
Bobby: Sloan, you have ten seconds to get the fuck out of here, before I throw you out myself.
Sloan: I’ve been known to be able to take care of myself.
Bobby: All I need to do is say a word to Danny-Boy. Think you can take him?
Sloan: Hey, no one’s talking about “taking” anyone. Why all the hostility, brother?
Bobby: Hmm, why do you think? (A) You treated Claire like shit. (B) You treated Claire like shit. (C) You treated Claire like shit.
Sloan: (C)?
Bobby: You win a prize. Now, get lost.
Claire: Bobby, hold on.
Bobby: You don’t actually want to talk to this asshole, do you?
Claire: Yes, I do. Really, I’m over it. Sloan and I are just catching up.
Bobby: I don’t know…
Claire: Trust me, okay? Just hang out at the bar for a few more minutes. It looks like Jason and Ariel have a little party going. Why don’t you join in? I’ll come over when we’re done.
Bobby: Alright. I’ll hang out for a little while. Sloan, I’m watching you.
Sloan: Bobby’s not happy with me.
Claire: He’s my boyfriend, Sloan. What do you expect?
Sloan: I was your boyfriend once, Claire.
Claire: Yeah, when we were thirteen. A lot of time’s passed, you know? Things have changed.
Sloan: Yes, they have.
Claire: No riddles, Sloan. I don’t have the patience for them. You gonna’ tell me why you’ve suddenly decided to check up on me, after all these years?
Sloan: I didn’t just ditch you, you know.
Claire: Felt like a ditch to me.
Sloan: I’ve been away.
Claire: I know. You’re a Drifter or whatever you guys call yourselves, now. That’s what you do, wander from cell to cell.
Sloan: No, I’ve been away from the Underground, Claire.
Claire: You mean, in the Overground?!
Sloan: Yes.
Claire: Why, for God’s sake?! Are you crazy?
Sloan: Maybe. Look, Claire, do you remember what I just said a minute ago…about what we call ourselves?
Claire: Yeah…um… “Iyrin” wasn’t it?
Sloan: That’s right. Know what it means?
Claire: No idea.
Sloan: Of course you do. You said it when you first came in. “They’re just there, neither helping nor hurting, almost like Watchers.”
Claire: How do you know I said that?
Sloan: I hear things.
Claire: You shouldn’t stalk people, Sloan, it’s creepy.
Sloan: Who’s stalking? I just got here.
Claire: Whatever. What’s the point?
Sloan: That’s what we are — Watchers.
Claire: Okkkkayy…
Sloan: No, really. You were literally correct, even though you didn’t know it. Our job is to watch. We’re Sentinels.
Claire: Job? Who gave you this job? I certainly didn’t.
Sloan: Let’s just say, it’s on authority.
Claire: What authority? There’s nothing about Drifters or “Iyrin” in the Diary, Sloan.
Sloan: Well, there’s nothing about the Geeks either, is there? Where do they get their authority from? They’re the most powerful faction in the Rebellion.
Claire: That’s different.
Sloan: Is it? There’s a lot about the Geeks that you don’t know Claire; stuff that goes back before the Rebellion. They’ve got their own thing going on, entirely separate from the Cult. You think Farmer Ted’s just some teen business mogul?
Claire: Whoa.
Sloan: It’s the same with us. We predate the Rebellion too. And we have our own principles, separate from the Cult’s.
Claire: I’m starting to realize that I really don’t know how big the Underground is or how many centers of power there are.
Sloan: It’s the universe, Claire. The Underground is the universe in microcosm.
Claire: I don’t get what this has to do with you spending time in the Overground, though.
Sloan: Everything. Our primary duty is to stand watch, and that means in the Overground as well as the Underground. I’ve been up there for two years.
Claire: I’m not even going to try to wrap my head around that. Or tell you what a fucking dumbass you are, seeing as you could have gotten us all swept.
Sloan: You just did tell me that.
Claire: You and Bobby should be friends. You have an equal talent for missing the point.
Sloan: Sorry.
Claire: So, bracketing all that, why come back now?
Sloan: To see you.
Claire: Yeah, you said that already. Doesn’t tell me much.
Sloan: Let’s just say, I’ve been concerned lately.
Claire: Lately?
Sloan: Well, the past few months.
Claire: The past few months? Tell me you’re not fucking around, Sloan. I’m serious.
Sloan: So am I.
Claire: Okay, so why have you been concerned?
Sloan: Things I’ve seen up there — and considering certain things that come from our own tradition — certain combinations of events; calculations…
Claire: I can’t believe this.
Sloan: What?
Claire: You see this tape recorder?
Sloan: Yes.
Claire: Didn’t you wonder what it was for?
Sloan: I figured you’d tell me eventually.
Claire: I’m recording an extended account of life in the Cult — in the Rebellion — and I’m interviewing as many people as possible.
Sloan: I see.
Claire: ‘Cause I’ve been feeling something these past few months, too; a sense of something coming; something big.
Sloan: So, you thought you should make a permanent record, just in case.
Claire: Yeah.
Sloan: Interesting.
Claire: And it’s the same with Farmer Ted. He’s had the same feeling; the same sense of foreboding. Although his…er…methods were a bit more colorful.
Sloan: Weed and Wu-Tang Clan.
Claire: Jesus, Sloan, you’re freaking me out, now. How do you know all this shit?
Sloan: I get around.
Claire: So, there are three of us, now, who’ve seen this.
Sloan: Convergence.
Claire: Convergence?
Sloan: Let’s just say that I don’t believe in coincidences any more than you do, Claire.
Claire: You remember that about me?
Sloan: I remember everything about you and about our time together.
Claire: So what are you going to do now? Go to another cell? Return to the Overground?
Sloan: No. I’ve seen everything I needed to see up there. I’m back now, for good. And no other cells either. I’m staying with the Cult.
Claire: If you’d told me that an hour ago, I would have hated the thought of it. Now, It’s strangely comforting.
Sloan: I like the thought of being back too, and I’m glad you’re OK and happy with Bobby. He’s a good guy.
Claire: Oh, Sloan…
Sloan: I really did just want to see you, Claire — to tell you I was back — and to wish you a happy birthday. I’m not here to interfere.
Claire: I’m glad you came out, Sloan. I feel like something that was weighing on me is gone. I don’t know if I understand why you left, but I do know that it wasn’t to hurt me.
Sloan: Never, Claire.
Claire: Hug?
Sloan: Hug. I’ll be around — got a few more people to talk to — but I won’t bother you guys anymore tonight.
Claire: Okay, bye.
Sloan: Bye.
I did love Sloan. He was my first love, after countless crushes, and I fell for him hard. You can see why — he’s brilliant, and beautiful, and has a kind of quiet command. I was new to the Underground, and he just appeared one day and swept me off my feet. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true. I was looking for an anchor, for someone who wouldn’t move — who was rock solid — and Sloan was all of those things. That’s why it was so hard when he left. I would have been devastated regardless, but it made me question everything I thought I knew about him. And it made me question myself too — made me wonder how I could have made such a fundamental mistake. And for all these years, I’ve hated him and doubted myself for having loved him.
And now, suddenly, I don’t have to, because I believe everything he said. Sloan may be vague and cryptic, but he isn’t a liar. And if this night has taught me anything, it’s that even with everything I know — with all the information I’m privy to, all the spies I have out there and all the electronic snoopers and counter-surveillance we control — it’s only the tip of the iceberg. The Underground is vast and contains things I could never have imagined — shadowy, but benevolent factions; powers who act out in the open, but who manage to hide everything nonetheless — and Sloan knows them all. But there’s something else about him that I can’t put my finger on — something that makes me think he can see the forces that are moving us around the board in this game of rapture and death.
Bobby: Claire.
Claire: Whoa, Bobby, you startled me. I was lost in my thoughts.
Bobby: Are you OK? Did he upset you?
Claire: No. In fact, he made me feel wonderful.
Bobby: Wonderful? Hmm. I’m thinking Peter’s herbalist is even better than Farmer Ted’s. I’ve found myself staring at girls’ ears.
Claire: No, I’m serious, Bobby. Talking to him was probably the most important thing I’ve done tonight.
Bobby: I thought you hated the guy.
Claire: I did, but I don’t now. Quite the opposite. I love him, and more importantly, he loves us. But not like Ariel or the Religious Caste…
Bobby: You’re half making sense.
Claire: He didn’t abandon me. He had to go, and he couldn’t tell me at the time.
Bobby: And?
Claire: And now he’s back. And I’m glad he’s watching us. We’ll be the safer for it; I’m convinced of that. Although…
Bobby: What?
Claire: I don’t know how to explain it. He cares about us, but he’s also independent. It’s like his heart is here with us, in the world, but his mind is out roaming, in the vastness of space. It’s a little unsettling, but it’s also the reason that I know I can trust what he says, and especially when it’s bad news. The people who love you in the other way never want to tell you bad news.
Bobby: If you’re OK with him, I’m OK with him. I only played tough, because I thought you didn’t want him bothering you. You told me that he’d been mean to you, back in the day. I have no problem with the guy otherwise. If you trust him, I trust him.
Claire: I appreciate it. And he’s not upset about what happened. He totally understands. He even said he could see that you and I are happy together and that he’s glad.
Bobby: Now I feel like a dick.
Claire: Don’t, really, he’s fine. I’d even say he’s grateful that you came along after he left. I think he feels like I’m in good hands.
Bobby: Funny, a half hour ago, I was ready to punch the guy, and now I’m feeling honored that he thinks I’m a worthy successor. Weirder things, right?
Claire: Right!
Peter [over the PA system]: Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention for a moment.
Claire: What the…?
Bobby: Wait for it.
Peter: As I’m sure you all know, tonight is a very special night here in the Land of Turquoise and Pink.
Crowd: Woo Hoo!
Peter: Because tonight is the night we celebrate the sixteenth birthday of our Leader, Claire Standish!
Girls: We love you Claire!
Guys: Claire! Claire! Claire!
Peter: And in honor of this important occasion, we have some special entertainment lined up for you tonight. The Scene’s own Wire tribute band: Blessed State!
Claire: Holy fucking shit! They’re gonna’ play Wire!
Bobby: All night, baby.
Claire: Okay, I’ve just died and gone to heaven.
Bobby: Funny, I thought we were already there.
Claire: Oh, Bobby…
Bobby: There are some people here to see you. I told them to hang out at the bar, so I could make sure everything was OK — you know, because of Sloan. Here they are.
Gwen: Woo Hoo Girlfriend! Happy Birthday!
Claire: Gwen! Sybelle! What are you doing here? I thought you were out working.
Sybelle: Mr. Pervo didn’t show, and the Eager Director was a little too eager. He drank two bottles of Beaujolais at dinner and passed out in his underwear and socks on the floor, after we’d gone back to his apartment. So we went home, got changed, and came over.
Gwen: We would have been here sooner, but we made a pit-stop at the G-Zone on the way.
Sybelle: Yes, Gwen got very festive with the G-Girls.
Gwen: I love the G-Girls.
Sybelle: I had to drag her off.
Gwen: Fuck you did. I just wanted to have a couple of pre-party drinks.
Sybelle: You were trying to pull that girl’s thong off with your teeth.
Gwen: I’ll admit, I got a little excited.
Sybelle: Excited? You were completely deranged. As I was pushing you out the door, you yelled, “Just let me have a little coochie and we’ll call it even!”
Gwen: Did I?
Sybelle: You did.
Bobby: Wow. I was obviously there at the wrong time.
Claire: We left a little bit of a trail in the G-Zone ourselves. I got totally ripped with Farmer Ted and bumped and grinded with a girl up on the Third Floor.
Bobby: Did I fucking miss everything tonight?
Claire: Ooh, guess what? Raps hooked up with Nina!
Gwen: You’re shitting me!
Sybelle: Good for him!
Claire: I’m really happy about it. Raps needs this. He’s been so sad and lonely.
Bobby: I have the feeling he’s gotten over it.
Claire: She jumped on him from the riser and made out with him in front of everyone. They’re probably getting pretty hot and heavy about now.
Gwen:Hello ego-boost. The guy should get an award.
Claire: This whole night’s been heavenly. Cloud Nine stuff.
Sybelle: Well, I’m really glad we could spend some of it with you. The stars must be in alignment or something.
Danny-Boy: Hey peeps.
Bobby: Yo’ yo’ yo’!
Ariel: Happy Birthday! Kiss kiss!
Claire: Thanks!
Gwen: My god, Ariel…you are fucking gorgeous! Scrumptulicious!
Sybelle: Gwen!
Bobby: I don’t think that’s a word.
Ariel: Thank you! It’s my first night out on the Scene and I wanted to look nice.
Gwen: First night out?! And Claire’s birthday too?! Why aren’t there shots here?! Barkeep! Shots!
Peter: Barkeep?
Gwen: Proprietor?
Peter: Better. What’ll it be?
Gwen: Shots for everyone! Stolichnaya! Chilled!
Peter: You got it.
Bobby: What is it with you people? Doesn’t anyone drink Budweiser anymore?
Danny-Boy: So, did Claire tell you about my little freak out?
Ariel: It’s OK, Danny, don’t have to tell everyone.
Danny-Boy: Yes I do. It’s part of the penance.
Gwen: Tell! Tell!
Sybelle: You’re impossible, Gwen!
Gwen: I must know everything. Everyone must tell me everything.
Claire: Well, Danny-Boy got a little hot.
Gwen: Boner?
Danny-Boy: Not that kind of hot.
Gwen: Kick someone’s ass?
Danny-Boy: You’re getting closer.
Claire: When Ariel first came in, the response was…spirited.
Bobby: Spirited? She hypnotized thirty people.
Gwen: Well, ya! Hello! She’s fucking hot!
Sybelle: I’m going to muzzle you, I swear.
Claire: Anyway, Jason came over and touched Ariel’s cheek, and, well, Danny-Boy…
Danny-Boy: I went apeshit and almost tore his head off.
Gwen: Fight! Fight! Fight!
Sybelle: Gwen! Claire, I am so sorry about this. I can’t take her anywhere.
Claire: Hee hee. No fight, Gwen. Peter intervened.
Gwen: Booooo….
Danny-Boy: Yeah, he straightened my ass out. And Jason’s a class act, so everything’s cool.
Claire: Where is he? Jason, I mean.
Ariel: He went back to his place. He’s got an early shift tomorrow and wanted to make sure he got enough sleep.
Raps: Who kicked someone’s ass?
Claire: Raps! Nina!
Nina: Hey sweetums! Happy Birthday!
Claire: Everyone’s wishing me Happy Birthday!!!
Bobby: Hey guys! Raps, I think you lost some weight.
Gwen: Heh, special exercise.
Sybelle: Oh, God, here we go again.
Gwen: I want to hear all of it. Every juicy second. Especially the juicy parts…oh, I said ‘juicy’ already.
Raps: Not a chance. Dweebs don’t kiss and tell.
Nina: I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gwen. We were just hanging out and reading poetry to each other.
Gwen: Dirty poetry?
Sybelle: Just ignore her. Her brain is swimming in a bottle of vodka back in the G-Zone.
Raps: So what’s this about someone getting his ass kicked?
Claire: No ass-kicking. Danny-Boy had a little tiff with Jason, but everything’s alright. It was just a misunderstanding.
Raps: Well, thank god for that.
Gwen: Who’s got the spliff?
Sybelle: Good idea, Gwen. Maybe it’ll mellow you out.
Bobby: I do…just lit it. Here.
Gwen: Thanky thanky. Damn, that’s good!
Nina: Well, Raps and I have an announcement to make.
Claire: I love announcements!
Gwen: You guys have decided to fuck constantly? Oww! Sybelle, that hurt!
Bobby: Now that would be an announcement.
Sybelle: Jesus, people, let them speak.
Raps: Thank you, Sybelle.
Nina: Raps asked me to go steady and I said ‘yes’. We’re moving in together.
Danny-Boy: Wow! That’s awesome!
Claire: Oh, I’m so glad! Congratulations!
Ariel: That’s wonderful news!
Nina: I’ve had my eye on this boy for some time, now.
Raps: I had no idea. How big of a loser am I?
Claire: So, who’s place is it gonna’ be?
Nina: It has to be Raps’. I’ve been sharing with Margaret, remember?
Claire: Oh, shit, I forgot about Margaret. Is she going to be upset?
Nina: A little. She still thinks of me as her kid sister. I don’t know what’ll be worse for her, the fact that I’m moving out or shacking up. Either way, It’ll take some getting used to.
Danny-Boy: I just went through the same thing. Maybe I’ll have a chat with her about it.
Nina: That would be really great. She has a lot of respect for you.
Danny-Boy: Well, I know how hard it is. I almost beat up Jason, tonight, because I was so jealous and scared.
Nina: So, that’s what it was about.
Danny-Boy: Yeah, so, I know exactly how Margaret’s gonna’ be feeling.
Claire: Well, since everyone’s here and we’re making announcements, I’ve got one of my own.
Bobby: You do?
Claire: Yes, and would you please bring Peter over? I want him to hear this.
Gwen: Oh, shit. Something big’s going down…
Sybelle: Shush, Gwen.
Bobby: What’s up, Claire?
Claire: In a minute. Just get Peter.
Bobby: Okay, back in a ‘sec.
Nina: Ooh, I’m not good with waiting. Give me a cigarette, Claire. Thanks.
Peter: So, what’s this big announcement?
Claire: As I’m sure you all know, Bobby’s a year older than I am. He’ll be turning eighteen, so this’ll be his last year in the Scene.
Danny-Boy: Of course we know. I’m in charge of organizing his going-away party.
Nina: Yeah, I knew that too. Margaret’s been working on the menu.
Claire: Well, I’m going with him.
Bobby: What?!
Raps: But, you can’t!
Peter: He’s right, Claire. You can’t lead the Army from the Executive Council, and that’s where you’ll be, if you go with Bobby.
Claire: I know, which is why I won’t just be leaving. I’ll be resigning as Leader too. This’ll be my last year.
Sybelle: Oh my god.
Gwen: I told you something big was going down.
Bobby: Claire, you can’t do this; not now. And especially given everything you’ve been worrying about.
Claire: Especially because of it. I’ve brought us this far, but what’s coming…it’s a different game that will require a different kind of leader. Someone stronger.
Danny-Boy: You’ve picked a successor.
Claire: Yes, Danny, I have, and you aren’t going to like it.
Danny-Boy: It’s Ariel, isn’t it?
Claire: Yes.
Gwen: Ho-lee-shit.
Danny-Boy: I thought so the moment you said you’d be stepping down.
Claire: She’s powerful, Danny; more than capable of taking care of herself. And us too, if she’s as strong as I suspect she is.
Danny-Boy: I’ve begun to realize that it’s been her taking care of me all these years, not the other way around.
Ariel: Oh, Danny…
Danny-Boy: Did you know?
Ariel: Yes. Claire and I have been talking about it for the last few months. I was reluctant at first, but she was very persuasive. Her Sight is strong, and I trust her judgment.
Sybelle: It’s an inspired choice, Claire. And congratulations, Ariel, soon-to-be Claire!
Ariel: Thanks! I guess I’ll have to dye my hair and eyebrows red. It’s gonna’ be a little weird.
Bobby: I’m still wrapping my mind around this whole thing. I can’t believe it.
Claire: I’m not done yet.
Bobby: Oh, boy…
Claire: Bobby, I’m resigning as Leader and leaving the Scene a year early because I love you, and because I want to be with you.
Bobby: I know, and I guess I’m feeling a little bad about it; like you’re getting ripped off, because of me.
Claire: Maybe that’d be true, if we were just dating.
Bobby: Uh, we are just dating.
Claire: Were just dating. I want to marry you, Bobby.
Bobby: You do?
Claire: Yes. And I want to have children. We have to start having children — all of us — and you and I should be the first. What do you say?
Bobby: I can’t think of anything better than marrying you and having children together, Claire.
Claire: I’m so glad. And I’m ready to go.
Bobby: Me too. More than ready. I’ve had enough of the mad energy, the violence, even the adventure. I guess we’re just old souls, aren’t we?
Claire: Older than time, Bobby.
Ariel: And there will come a line of New Ancestors…
Peter: Ladies and gentlemen, please, put your arms around one another, hold each other tight, raise your glasses, and remember this night! To Claire and Bobby, the New Ancestors!
All: The New Ancestors!
Bobby: Well, I’ll be damned.
Claire: What is it?
Bobby: The door…look.
The Righteous Adults are coming into the bar, one after another, and lining up along the walls. I’ve never seen so many of them at one time — there must be dozens — and they range from the young — nineteen and twenty — to the old — twenty-four, twenty-five. At twenty-six, Peter is one of the oldest. He was eighteen when the Rebellion started eight years ago. They seem to come from every possible stratum of the Underground, and there are so many now that they encircle the entire room.
Someone has started a slow clap; a steady, rhythmic applause. Others are joining in and upping the pace — some have even started stamping their feet — and the sound is fantastic, a low, rising roar, like the never-ending rush of waves on the beach. Peter has joined them and added his piercing whistle to the noise, and now they’re gathering around, reaching out, touching and kissing and embracing us. They’re singing Happy Birthday! and Peter’s throwing me a wink, as he cracks open the first bottle of Champagne, and suddenly the club lights come on and everyone is washed in smoky swathes of turquoise and pink…
It’s as if the room is spinning away; like we’ve all been propelled, together, into space. Bobby is laughing and tears are streaming down his face. Gwen’s got her bare feet up on the table and is wiggling her toes and blowing smoke rings. Ariel and Sybelle are in intense conversation and the air around them shimmers and shifts like water. Peter and Danny-Boy have their arms around each other and are shouting at the top of their lungs. Raps and Nina are holding hands, lost in each other’s eyes.
And then, for some reason, my attention is drawn across the room to Sloan, who’s sitting alone, in a dark corner, sipping his drink and watching me. I look back at him, waiting for him to give some sign, some indication, but he looks down and his face is lost in the shadows. I wait, staring intently, and it’s hardly a moment before his head comes up again, and the light is illuminating his face, and I see that his right eyebrow is raised.
And I don’t know whether to feel comforted or afraid.
You heard me tell Bobby about the beginning of the Proto-Scene; how theme-oriented nightclubs began springing up in abandoned buildings and kids started going out again. Well, the very first of those nightclubs was the Land of Turquoise and Pink. It’s the longest continually running club in the Scene — there’s been a Land of Turquoise and Pink in every site we’ve occupied — and because of that, it has a special status. Run by the Executive Council, it’s the one place where the Righteous Adults hang out, and in that sense, it’s a nexus — a place between worlds, where the kids can socialize with their predecessors; the people who created the Underground. It’s a popular place, not as mobbed as the G-Zone to be sure, but always full.
The décor is cool and loungy. There are puffy white leather couches everywhere and small islands of tables, dotted around a bar shaped like a great white starfish, with several “arms” that reach out, which means that wherever you are, you’re never more than a foot or two away from a drink. There’s also a small stage, where live acts perform, and the jukebox is loaded with classic glam rock, punk, post-punk, New Wave, and New Romantic music. The lighting is purple and blue and there’s a whole collection of Andy Warhol paintings lining the walls — don’t ask me where they got them — it’s like a bar crossed with the Getty museum.
If you ever wanted to get a representative sample of the Rebellion and Scene, the Land of Turquoise and Pink is the place to go. Everyone hangs out here. There’s the typical Scene set, of course, people just out for their regular night on the “town,” but members of the Religious Caste also come here sometimes — for them, it’s a shrine — and you’ll even catch one of the Drifters now and again; those mysterious kids who just appeared out of nowhere and who play no official role, but are just there, almost like watchers. It’s rare that you ever get to talk to them, but in the Land of Turquoise and Pink, anything is possible.
Bobby: I’m really looking forward to this.
Claire: I know that you love this place. I do too.
Bobby: It’s like the ancestral home. The spirits of the elders are everywhere. Every time I walk in, it feels special; like something really important is going to happen.
Claire: It will.
Bobby: Do you think any of the Righteous Adults will be out tonight? It is your birthday after all; the sixteenth birthday of the Ascended. That’s a big deal.
Claire: It may not be enough. They tend to keep to themselves, even when they do come out. And I’m not sure how big a deal my birthday is to them. Anyway, I’m not expecting anything.
Bobby: Ye of little faith. They’ll come out Claire, because it’s you.
Claire: I may not be a Queen, Bobby, but you make me feel like one.
Bobby: You’re more than a Queen, you’re the Ascended. And you’re also the love of my life.
Claire: From the first time I saw you, Bobby.
Bobby: And I have to say, you’re also totally wrong.
Claire: Oh?
Bobby: Your pessimism notwithstanding, at least one of the Righteous Adults will definitely be here tonight.
Claire: You mean, Peter.
Bobby: Yes.
Claire: Not fair!
Bobby: Why not? He’s one of the Righteous Adults — a high-ranking one, in fact — and he’ll be here tonight.
Claire: Yeah, but he’s always here. He runs the place.
Bobby: A technicality.
Claire: That’s one word for it.
Bobby: But, I also happen to think you’re wrong in a non-technical sense. They’ll come out.
Claire: Peter intimidates me a little.
Bobby: Because he’s so old?
Claire: No, well, maybe a little. It’s because he’s so strong. He has this, like, natural authority, you know? I’ve never seen him wrong or contradicted about anything. Not that he gives orders or even tells us that much, but when he does, you can take it to the bank.
Bobby: Frankly, I wish they’d be more involved. I’m not sure what I think about this “wall of separation” between the kids and the Righteous Adults. I thought the whole point of the Rebellion and the Underground was not to divide and separate us; to live normally.
Claire: It’s in the Articles of Inception, Bobby; Articles that the Righteous Adults wrote. And it’s there for a reason.
Bobby: I guess I’m questioning the Articles, then, or at least, that part of them.
Claire: Bobby, they’re there to protect us; to make sure that adults never do to kids again what they’re doing in the Overground.
Bobby: Our Righteous Adults aren’t like that. They care about us more than we care about ourselves. They’d never hurt us. This policy smells like collective guilt.
Claire: Maybe it is — that’s a really good point — but even so, it may still be for the best. I mean, this just happened — is still happening — to our brothers and sisters in the Overground. Everyone’s a little raw and a lot scared, the Righteous Adults too. Don’t forget that even though they seem old to us, they’re only in their early and mid-twenties, so I’m not surprised that we’re all looking for a little security, you know? I mean, in a way, you’re looking for it too.
Bobby: How do you figure?
Claire: Well, you wish the Righteous Adults were more involved. You say they care for us more than we care about ourselves. It sounds like someone wants mom and dad back.
Bobby: Fair enough. I’m definitely feeling a little insecure. All your dark talk has spooked me a little. Add Farmer Ted’s sudden burst of humanity, and I’m looking for some reassurance.
Claire: From an adult.
Bobby: Yes.
Claire: Oh, Bobby, I know…
Bobby: God, I love you.
Claire: Come here, baby, mmm….
Peter: Well, if it isn’t Claire Standish and Bobby Richstone. What brings you two fine young people out tonight?
Claire: As if. You know it’s my sixteenth birthday, Peter.
Peter: Is it? I wonder if that’s why this package is sitting back here.
Claire: A present!
Peter: Looks like it.
Claire: Peter, you shouldn’t have!
Peter: I didn’t. Let’s see, what does the card say? Oh, look, it’s from the entire Executive Council.
Bobby: See, I told you.
Claire: You said that the Righteous Adults would be out tonight, not that they’d give me a present.
Bobby: A technicality.
Claire: You’re full of those tonight.
Peter: This is all very interesting, but are you going to open it?
Claire: Oh, right! It’s a book! Oh my God, Peter! A first edition of A Wrinkle in Time! This is one of my favorites!
Peter: Let’s just say that you’re our own Meg Murray. Now go out and save the world.
Claire: My dear, lovely man. You get a kiss for that.
Peter: I won’t turn that down. Mmm. Happy Birthday, sweetheart.
Claire: Thank you so much; for the book, for everything. This night has been so amazing. I keep wanting to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Peter: The night’s not over yet, Claire. Don’t you know?
Claire: Know what?
Peter: The nights in the Land of Turquoise and Pink last forever.
Claire: Wowww.
Bobby: But then, there’d just be one night, wouldn’t there?
Peter: Have a drink, Bobby.
Bobby: Drink! Right! What should I have?
Peter: What were you drinking before? We don’t want to make you sick.
Bobby: Well, a few glasses of Cristal, at the beginning, but mostly Bombay and Tonic.
Peter: Okay, we’ll do a variation on that; a real British colonial drink, Imperial Rampur Tanqueray and Tonics.
Bobby: Is everyone in this town swimming in top shelf booze except for me?
Peter: We know Farmer Ted too, you know.
Claire: And thank God for it! Woo Hoo!
Bobby: Oh no, it’s the “Woo Hoos” again.
Claire: I’m in a “Woo Hoo” mood.
Bobby: Well, then, Woo Hoo!
All: Woo Hoo!
Peter: Here are the drinks. Claire, speaking for the Executive Council, as well as for myself, you have done us proud here at the Cult and throughout the SoCal Rebellion. You are an inspiring leader. We love you, we support you, and wish you a very Happy Birthday! Nostrovia!
All: Nostrovia!
Claire: I’m so happy I feel like I’m going to burst. Or cry. Or both.
Bobby: You deserve this.
Peter: So, how’d it go in the G-Zone?
Claire: Fantastic. It looks like Raps may finally have found himself a girl, and Farmer Ted had some very interesting things to say.
Peter: Anything you want to tell me about?
Claire: I may make a report to the Executive Council. Not sure, yet.
Peter: Well, you’re in charge. Just remember, if you need us, we’re here and always at your disposal.
Claire: Bobby and I were just talking about this. Sometimes we wish you’d tell us what to do a little more.
Peter: Of course you do. It’s natural. Sometimes, we wish someone older would tell us what to do too. I don’t think that ever stops, Claire.
Claire: You’re right, of course.
Peter: Old equals right.
Bobby: Ha!
Peter: You know why things are this way, Claire. It was the very first principle that we established, when we started the Rebellion: from here on, the youthful spirit must be the ruling spirit. With age comes bitterness, resentment, fear…and these can’t be the things that rule us. We’ve seen what their rule looks like in the Overground.
Claire: I hear what you’re saying, but when I think about you guys, I just can’t believe it. You love us and you love the Rebellion and you’d never do anything to hurt us or to destroy it.
Peter: Of course not. But you’re only thinking of harm and destruction in the way they happen in the Overground. But bitterness, resentment, and fear can operate more subtly that that. They can manifest themselves in jadedness and inertia, and in the long run, those can be as harmful as the stuff they’re doing up there.
Claire: God…
Peter: Don’t take it too hard, Claire. We’re doing okay; more than okay. What we’ve put together here is amazing; beyond science or magic. The youthful spirit is in charge and will stay that way, no matter how old we get. And my generation only played the smallest part. We were the catalyst, but you guys are the ones who developed it into the glorious thing it is now.
Bobby: Sorry to interrupt, but Danny-Boy and Ariel just walked in.
Peter: Well, that’s trouble waiting to happen.
Claire: Trouble? For God’s sake, why?
Peter: Why? Look at Ariel, Claire. Look at her!
It’s like she’s on fire. Her hair — usually in pigtails or braids — is free and wild; like velvety tendrils of golden light. The scrubs and doctor’s smock she was wearing earlier have been replaced by a pale, pink linen dress. Roman sandals are on her feet, the straps crawling up her calves like vines, and her fingernails and toenails and lips painted a brilliant white. Ariel is physically tiny, but her presence is huge. The glow coming off of her pulses and breathes. You can feel it — feel her — like the sun on your skin.
Bobby: I think that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Claire: You’ve got company. Half the bar is drifting towards her.
Peter: They look hypnotized.
Bobby: And Danny-Boy looks panicked.
Peter: I don’t like that look. Something bad’s gonna’ go down.
Claire: Look at that boy. It’s Jason, isn’t it? He’s reaching out to touch her face.
Bobby: Oh, shit, Danny-Boy just grabbed him. You have to do something, Claire. He’s gonna’ fucking kill him.
Peter: No, I have to do something. Danny-Boy is one of ours. Excuse me, for a minute.
Claire: Oh, Bobby, this is awful. What if Danny-Boy goes after Peter?
Bobby: He won’t. No way. Not Peter.
Claire: I don’t know, he looks out of control. Ariel’s pleading with him, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear her.
Bobby: Come on. Peter may need our help.
Claire: Okay. But don’t get into it, unless Peter asks you to, okay? I just had this horrible flash of all three of you beating the crap out of each other.
Bobby: Not gonna’ happen Claire. Have a little faith!
Peter: Danny!
Danny-Boy: Stay out of this, Peter. Stay out of it!
Peter: Fuck I will. You’re way out of line, man. Let go of that kid, right now!
Danny-Boy: She’s my sister, Pete. He’s got his hands all over my sister.
Peter: Hands all over her? He barely touched her cheek, and you put him in a goddamned headlock!
Danny-Boy: She’s twelve years old, for God’s sake.
Peter: And he’s thirteen. You’re twenty-two. He can’t touch her, but you can beat him up? Is that your fucking point?!
Danny-Boy: Uh…no, of course not.
Peter: Then what’s your fucking objection?!
Danny-Boy: Well…he’s…they’re…hitting on her, Pete.
Peter: And…?
Danny-Boy: And nothing. That’s it. This kid’s hitting on my sister. Shit, half the bar looks like it wants to hit on my sister.
Peter: So what? She’s young and pretty. They’re young and pretty. That’s how it works, man. Puberty, remember it? Or maybe you don’t. You’ve been pretty fucking weird these past few years with this whole monk-protector routine. I’ve warned you about it.
Danny-Boy: I can’t, Peter, I just can’t. Not after what he did to her…not after seeing her beaten black-and-blue.
Peter: That was your father, Danny-Boy, not this poor kid.
Danny-Boy: I killed him, Peter.
Peter: So, you gonna’ kill Jason too?
Danny-Boy: No.
Peter: I didn’t think so. Shape up, man.
Danny-Boy: I’m sorry.
Peter: ‘Cause this is everything we’re not about, Danny. This is not why you killed your father and brought Ariel here; so you could play Bad Dad yourself.
Danny-Boy: Oh, God…
Peter: You brought her here — and you helped us build this thing — so she could live; so she and the other kids could be happy.
Danny-Boy: And what am I doing? Interfering. Bullying. Attacking people.
Peter: I’m glad you see it.
Danny-Boy: Jason, I don’t know what to say.
Jason: It’s cool, man. I totally understand. And I’m sorry for being so bold. I’m not sure what got into me. It was like I was being pulled, drawn in…
Danny-Boy: She has that effect on people.
Ariel: Are you ok, Danny?
Danny-Boy: Yes. A little shaken up, but ok.
Ariel: I knew this would be hard for you, but I didn’t realize it would be this hard. Maybe we should have waited longer.
Danny-Boy: No, it’s all right. This whole time, I’ve been playing a part. I have to start acting my age and holding true to what I claim to believe in.
Peter: Good man.
Claire: I need a drink.
Peter: We all need drinks. Have you forgotten there’s a birthday party going on?
Danny-Boy: Jesus, I think I’m going to win the dick of the year award. Happy Birthday, Claire!
Claire: It’s all right, and thank you!
Danny-Boy: The least I can do after forcing everyone to watch the ugly hour is buy the drinks. Drinks for the house, Peter, on me!
All: Woo Hoo!
Peter: And don’t think that Farmer Ted’s the only person around town with a doctor in the house. This is from our hydroponics lab. They grow Kush right next to the asparagus. And the hookah? It’s an antique. Over three hundred years old. Drinks and sensimilia! To everyone’s health!
Claire, Bobby, Danny-Boy and Ariel: Health!
Claire: I feel like I’m rocking the Kasbah.
Bobby: Sharif don’t like it.
Claire: Fuck the Sharif. It’s my birthday, not his.
Bobby: It’s actually tomorrow, now, Claire. It’s not your birthday any more.
Peter: Have another drink, Bobby.
Bobby: Ah, right.
Claire: It’s my birthday until the “evening” is over. I don’t care what time it is.
Peter: Woo Hoo!
Danny-Boy: I know the Articles of Non-Interference. Shit, I helped draft the most recent version of them. Funny, right? It’s just that with Ariel, I get tunnel-vision. I guess I’m still not over what happened.
Peter: Cut yourself some slack, man. You guys have only been here two years. That stuff is still fresh; raw.
Danny-Boy: God, you’re right. It doesn’t feel like two years.
Claire: I’ve noticed that too. It’s like time is stretched out in the Underground. I’ve only been Leader for two years, but it feels like forever.
Peter: The entire Rebellion has only existed for eight years, Claire. This whole thing is brand new.
Bobby: Funny, I can remember my life before the Rebellion — even my early childhood, before this horrible stuff started happening — but it’s almost like watching a movie about somebody else. This is all so big — so real — you know? And everything before it? They’re like black and white pictures on the wall; like you’re looking at your parents or grandparents, when they were kids.
Claire: That makes me happy and sad at the same time.
Ariel: These are the moments when we’re most fully alive, Claire. When we are truly in tune. Because that’s how things really are — happy and sad, together. Because there are infinitely many consequences for everything that happens, and some are happy and some are sad.
Danny-Boy: Do you hate me, Ariel?
Ariel: Don’t be silly, of course not.
Danny-Boy: Do you think Jason will forgive me?
Ariel: I think so, especially since I’m going to go over there and hang out with him.
Danny-Boy: You are?
Ariel: Yes, I am. And it looks like he’s talking to a very lovely girl, so I’ll be hanging out with her too.
Danny-Boy: I can live with that.
Ariel: You always could. You just had to let yourself.
Danny-Boy: Have fun, baby.
Ariel: I will. Catch you all a little later!
Bobby: Well, this certainly has been some evening. I’ve seen about thirty things I’ve never seen before. I’m starting to wonder whether we’ve broken nature or something.
Claire: Maybe, Peter was right.
Peter: Maybe?
Bobby: About what?
Claire: About the nights at the Land of Turquoise and Pink and how they last forever.
Bobby: Heh, weirder things, right?
Claire: Exactly.
Peter: Danny-Boy, why don’t you and I go throw some darts? Darla can cover for me. Let these two kids go about their business.
Danny-Boy: Excellent idea.
Claire: Aw!
Peter: Don’t worry, we’ll be back. This one’s going into the wee hours.
Claire: Yay!
Bobby: See you, guys. And thanks for everything!
Peter: You got it, man. It’s all on the house tonight. Enjoy yourselves!
Claire: We will!
Bobby: Let’s take over that couch over there.
Claire: Snuggle time!
Bobby: Bingo.
Claire: Darla, we’re heading over there. Can you send another round of drinks?
Darla: Coming right up!
Bobby: So, Ariel’s finally done it, huh? Come out of her shell.
Claire: Seems to me it’s Danny-Boy who really came out tonight. Ariel was just biding her time.
Bobby: I hadn’t thought of it that way. Then again, I don’t know Danny-Boy very well or Ariel either for that matter. I always feel awkward around them; inadequate.
Claire: I know the feeling — he’s so big and powerful and she’s so beautiful and transcendent — but they’re human, Bobby, as you just saw.
Bobby: Yeah, I guess that’s true.
Claire: Holy shit!
Bobby: What?
Claire: Look, over there. Is that Anaita?
Bobby: My god, it is! And she’s with Dina. Wow!
Claire: I know the Religious Caste hang out here, but I can count the times I’ve actually seen them out on one hand.
Bobby: I feel like I shouldn’t let them see me smoking and drinking.
Claire: That’s crazy.
Bobby: Is it? They look like nuns.
Claire: The habits aren’t for modesty, Bobby. The girls in the Religious Caste aren’t prudes or teetotalers. Shit, they make the best white wines in Southern California. They wear the outfits as a kind of homage to the Orders of the past and to identify themselves here in the present. It definitely helps with discipline, too, when they teach the younger grades. They get a lot more respect than when they dress in civies.
Bobby: Are they all teachers?
Claire: Yes. I mean, obviously they have a bunch of religious and spiritual roles too, but their main job is to teach the kids, when they come here; to make up for the lack of school, you know? And to make sure they know the history of the Cult. nd of course, to provide religious education; to teach them about the Eternal Teenager.
Bobby: I kind of regret I’d had school already, before coming here. It would have been really useful to have been taught that stuff. I feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up.
Claire: Let’s see if they want to come over and hang out. Anaita! Dina! They see us. Dina just waved.
Bobby: So much for snuggling.
Claire: Patience, my dear boy.
Anaita: Happy Birthday!
Dina: Happy Birthday, Claire!
Claire: Everyone knows it’s my birthday!
Dina: Well, we’d better know when the Ascended’s birthday is. We are supposed to be teachers, after all.
Claire: So, what’s going on?
Dina: Taking a much needed rest. We’re at a really challenging point in the curriculum, and it’s tiring me out.
Claire: What are you guys doing?
Anaita: The Cold War. The kids are reading The Gulag Archipelago.
Claire: That’s heavy stuff.
Dina: Not as heavy as the topic we just finished doing: the Holocaust. I could barely make it through Survival in Auschwitz. I can’t imagine how badly I taught it.
Anaita: You’re too emotional, Dina. The kids need to learn that stuff, not watch you blubber.
Dina: I know, I’m probably exaggerating, but it was tough. There was a lot of crying in those classes. I’m looking forward to getting to the Sixties, Seventies, and Eighties. They’re always fun to teach.
Claire: Ooh, that was my favorite part of school! Especially the movies. I could watch Easy Rider, Saturday Night Fever, and Fast Times at Ridgemont High a thousand times.
Dina: I love ‘em too, they’re so relevant. I mean, that’s why the units from the Sixties-on take up so much of the curriculum. They’re the decades that produced the world we live in now. And it’s not as if it’s all popular culture studies, there’re still some really important historical events in that period — the Civil Rights movement; Vietnam; Watergate…
Claire: Guess I wasn’t that serious of a student. It was the social and pop-cultural stuff that always interested me the most. I would dream that I was living back in those days, when being young meant being on top of the world.
Anaita: It will mean that again, Claire. When the Eternal Teenager returns.
Bobby: Amen. What are you girls drinking?
Dina: Well…
Anaita: Nothing, Bobby, thanks. It’s late for us. We should be heading out.
Dina: One more couldn’t hurt, could it?
Anaita: In the morning it could. It’s a weeknight, and we have classes, remember? You don’t want to be hung-over.
Dina: Yeah, you’re right. Grumble, grumble.
Anaita: I hope to see you at Services this weekend, Claire. It’s been a while.
Claire: I know. I feel terrible about it. But, I’ve been really preoccupied lately; lots of worries and doubts.
Anaita: Those are the times we most need the company of others, Claire, otherwise, we become morbid.
Bobby: Yes! Haven’t I been telling you that, Claire?
Claire: Incessantly. I could tell time by it.
Dina: What have you been worrying about?
Claire: Nothing specific. Just a general, vague disquiet.
Anaita: Is it the Sight?
Claire: Yes, it is. I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s definitely the Sight.
Anaita: And you turned sixteen today?
Claire: Right.
Dina: Do you think?
Anaita: The Prophecy. Claire, you should come see me in my office tomorrow. Privately.
Claire: Prophecy? What Prophecy?
Anaita: There are texts — commentaries on the Diary — which are only read by the members of the Religious Caste. They tell of a Prophecy that may be triggered, when one of the Ascended reaches her sixteenth year.
Claire: May be triggered?
Anaita: If certain conditions are met.
Claire: What conditions?
Anaita: Not here. In my office. Tomorrow.
Claire: Well, what’s the Prophecy, then?
Anaita: Not here. In my office. Tomorrow.
Dina: You don’t have to sound like the fucking Pope, ‘Nait. It’s just not something we talk about in public, Claire. The Commentaries are considered “mysteries.”
Anaita: Yes, that’s right. And don’t curse.
Dina: Ooh, sorry! Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
Anaita: Now you’re just baiting me. Definitely time to go home.
Dina: On that we agree. Have a great birthday, Claire!
Claire: Thanks! And it was so nice seeing you guys out!
Bobby: Seriously, it was awesome seeing you.
Anaita: Bless you, Claire. And you too Bobby.
Claire and Bobby: Night!
Claire: Hmm.
Bobby: You’re going to obsess about this Prophecy, aren’t you?
Claire: It’s likely.
Bobby: Can I talk you out of it?
Claire: Probably not, but let’s not discuss it now. I’m having too good of a time.
Bobby: Anyway, there’s no point in speculating, until you see Anaita tomorrow.
Claire: Oh, I plan on hitting the Library tomorrow morning, before I see her. I might even pop over there tonight, after we take off.
Bobby: Another round?
Claire: Absolutely. And roll up a joint of that delicious ganja, while you’re there. Something tells me that the three hundred year old hookah isn’t supposed to be moved.
So, I’m making my way up the back stairwell. Gotta’ think, so I don’t want to run into anyone. What does Ted want? Bobby was right: Ted never talks to me the way he did tonight. I know it’s my sixteenth birthday and it’s special and all, but Ted isn’t normally sentimental. He’s too in control for that; too calculating. He never shows his hand. So, what do I make of this? Sharing information? Working together on everything? It’s unbelievable and scary, because it means that something big has happened; enough to freak out Farmer Ted.
The Third Floor. I know I already talked about it a little, but I don’t remember if I explained how incredible it is. The bar’s in the center of the room — a perfect circle — lined with red velvet upholstered stools. Surrounding it, making an even bigger circle, is the dance floor. The DJ — I think it’s Rico T. tonight — is up on a riser, off to one side, while on the other, there’s a row of video screens running newsreels, clips from gangster movies, and old rap videos from MTV. Add a huge array of lights and lasers and disco balls, and you’ve got a place with a trippy and political vibe.
I’m lucky. The place is hopping and there’s a pack of Fly Girls on the dance floor: chunky gold earrings; tube tops; hot pants; biker shorts; high tops; the whole deal; grooving out to Schoolly D. “Are we Black Enough For You,” fuckers? Heh.
And there’s Farmer Ted, a drink in one hand, and a fat-assed joint in the other, black Wayfarers and a smile on his face.
As always, Manny’s behind the bar, keeping an eye on things. He looks like the kind of guy who you’d think would’ve been Ted’s worst nightmare back in the day: a macho, hard-talking, fast-punching Italian tough guy. But in the here and now? He’s Ted’s personal bodyguard and most loyal Captain. He also happens to be an Army auxiliary and is a pretty sophisticated dude. Speaks at least three languages other than English — Italian, Portuguese, and Russian, I think — is a tournament grade chess player and ring-tested Thai boxer. (I’ve seen him do that shit on raids…fucking badass.) He’s one of these people no one knows anything about — anything prior to his coming to the Cult, I mean — and as you’d expect, rumors abound, the most popular being that he’s a rich mobster’s kid and was educated overseas. Frankly, I couldn’t care less. I fucking love him.
Farmer Ted: Ah, Claire, it’s good to have you up here. I can be myself.
Claire: If you were any more yourself, I don’t think I’d know who you were. I was just wondering if you’d been body snatched or something; whether I’d find the real you molting in some alien cocoon somewhere.
Farmer Ted: No molting, Claire, just clarity.
Claire: Clarity.
Farmer Ted: Clarity.
Claire: About what?
Farmer Ted: I’m not ready to say, just yet. Look, I know I’m being annoying, but humor me a little more, OK? I promise I won’t keep you here all night.
Claire: Are you kidding? This is the best night I can remember. Take as long as you want.
Farmer Ted: That’s the spirit! I knew I liked you. What are you drinking?
Claire: You know, Ted, that’s a good question.
Farmer Ted: I’m full of them. So, drink?
Claire: You’ve got me hooked on the Bombay, Ted. But not with tonic, I think. I want one of Manny’s martinis.
Farmer Ted: Smart girl. Manny! Two Bombay martinis, medium dry, with a twist.
Claire: Yummy.
Farmer Ted: Here, help me with this monster joint.
Claire: I can do that. Mmm, it’s heavenly. God, that girl on the left riser is gorgeous. She looks Spanish.
Farmer Ted: She is. Guatemalan, I think. I don’t know her. Manny?
Manny: Selena Vasquez. She’s a messenger: brings correspondence to and from the Executive Council. Came over from one of the other cells.
Claire: That’s a dangerous job. Girl must be tough.
Manny: Yeah, she’s got a few scars on her: one across her cheek and another down her back. I don’t want to know how she got them.
Farmer Ted: And how are you so well-acquainted with Selena Vasquez’s back, Manny?
Claire: She’s wearing a backless top, Ted.
Farmer Ted: Oh, right.
Claire: I want to dance with her…channel my inner Rosie Perez.
Farmer Ted: I think I have just the thing. Manny, tell Rico the PE.
Manny: Rico…Manny…Ted wants the PE.
Claire: PE?
Farmer Ted: Wait for it.
Chuck D: 1989 the number…another summer…sound of the funky drummer…
Claire: Public Enemy! Fight the Power!
Farmer Ted: I know you love it, baby.
Claire: Okay, I’m doing it. I’ll leave my tape-recorder here on the bar.
Farmer Ted: I was meaning to ask you about that.
Claire: Oh, it’s…well…I’m recording some memoirs.
Farmer Ted: I see. Now, go shake that fine ass of yours.
Claire: Ted!
Farmer Ted: So, here we are. Claire, I know you turned this thing off, but I’ve turned it on again. See, I like the idea of telling you a bunch of stuff and having you listen to it later, when you review these tapes. And it’s easier, too…I can say things without worrying about what you’re going to say back or how you’re going to look at me. Hearing something straight from someone’s mouth and hearing it days or weeks later on a tape…totally different experience, you know?
So where to start? Shit. I’m high and watching you dance with a hot girl. You’re laughing and grinding your ass up against her and she’s running her hands down your legs. Nowhere to start but here, I guess. Confession time. I’m totally hot for you, Claire…in love…bowled over…mooning like a lovesick girl…got it? But I’m not gonna’ do a goddamned thing about it, and you know why? ‘Cause Bobby’s the Man, and I know that you don’t feel the same way about me. That’s why it’s so much easier telling you this way — telling you that I love you on tape — because I don’t have to hear the answer — see the look — that tells me you don’t love me.
I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad, Claire. I’m telling you to get it out of the way, because you and I have serious work to do. And if we don’t do it? If we don’t get together and work as a team? I’m afraid we won’t survive the year.
And that brings me to what I want to tell you. But I have to do it in person. On this, I need to see your reaction and hear what you have to say. Because it’s crucial that we understand each other; that we agree about what’s at stake and what needs to be done.
But for right now — for this moment — I’m just gonna’ sit here and watch you and tell you what I see. Let it be my love note to you — the first and last time that I openly revel in you — because from now on, it’s strictly business. Risky business.
Selena’s digging you, Claire. I don’t know the girl; don’t know if she’s for real or seeing a chance for an inside connection and exploiting it; don’t know if she’s a dyke; don’t know a fucking thing. What I do know is that right now she’s hot for you — the way she’s looking at you, shaking her hair in your face, dancing in close — she wants you. And who can blame her? You’re the most beautiful girl in the building. Fuck that, you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole Scene — walking perfection; hair like a mane of fire; emerald eyes; freckles on your nose; and when you add everything that I know — everything that we all know — about your courage, your determination, and your fierce love for each and every one of us…the combination is breathtaking. You’re a goddess, Claire; a beautiful, dangerous, righteous goddess. There, Manny, I said it.
Manny: You sure did, boss.
Farmer Ted: I feel better, you know? Like I can tell her everything now.
Manny: I know it’s been weighing on you.
Farmer Ted: Alright, the song’s winding up and she’s gonna’ be back in a second. Is everything set up in my office?
Manny: Ready and waiting.
Claire: That was fun!
Farmer Ted: It certainly looked like it.
Claire: Oh, this martini tastes good; like liquid ice running down my throat.
Farmer Ted: Manny re-shook it for you.
Claire: You guys are the best.
Farmer Ted: So, you think you’re about ready?
Claire: For?
Farmer Ted: Our conversation.
Claire: Oh! Yes, of course. Shoot.
Farmer Ted: No, not here, in private.
Claire: Why in private? Ted, is this all some kind of elaborate come on?
Farmer Ted: No, really. It’s just that what I have to say is For Your Ears Only.
Claire: Of course. Sorry! Where do you want to talk?
Farmer Ted: Manny’s prepared my office. We’ll be comfortable in there and it’s soundproof.
Claire: Lead the way.
Farmer Ted: It’s right here, behind the DJ booth. Rico! Killer grooves tonight, man!
Rico T: Thanks, boss!
Claire: Kudos, Rico! My engines are revving.
Rico T: It’s my pleasure, Ma’am.
Claire: Ma’am? Who am I? Queen Elizabeth II?
Farmer Ted: Just protocol, Claire. My boys are all trained pretty strictly on that.
Claire: You crack me up, Ted.
Farmer Ted: Here we are.
Claire: Nice digs, Ted! You’ve got some serious hardware in here — sweet stereo system — and I’m loving the Farrah Fawcett posters. Where’d you get ‘em?
Farmer Ted: I have a connection with one of the few remaining used record stores in LA.
Claire: What do you mean a “connection”? With an actual store? In the Overground?
Farmer Ted: Yeah.
Claire: What, one of your Infiltrators burgled the place?
Farmer Ted: Oh, no, I’m friends with the owner.
Claire: Friends with the owner? Are you joking? You trying to get swept? Get all of us swept?
Farmer Ted: Look, this is the kind of thing I was talking about earlier. I know a lot about the Overground — have a lot of contacts — and it’d be a real asset for the Army, don’t you think?
Claire: Uh, ya! If you can trust them. Are you telling me that there are actually sympathizers up there, willing to work with us?
Farmer Ted: Don’t get too excited. These are business relationships, and I can trust them as far as they’re getting something out of it. Everyone’s shady in one way or another, though — some of ‘em are actually Mafia — I mean, that’s how I get shit like the Cristal.
Claire: Jesus.
Farmer Ted: Think about it, Claire. You can’t steal as much stuff as we consume. And there’re more of us every day — you and your Army are doing too good of a job liberating those hell-holes they’ve set up around the Valley — so I’ve had to put feelers out all over the Overground, just to sustain our collective lifestyles.
Claire: No, it makes perfect sense, and I guess I half knew it; just never gave it much thought.
Farmer Ted: You need to. The Restoration is weaker than you think. With the way they’ve destroyed the economy? Their phony, moralizing and crazy vice laws? The No-Fun-Ever public health initiatives? A huge underground economy has sprung up, among the adults — black and grey markets all over the place. Seas of drugs and booze and gambling and pornography and prostitution. There are a lot of opportunities up there Claire. But we gotta’ grab ‘em soon, ’cause I’m not sure how long they’ll last.
Claire: Why do you say that? I mean, with those fuckers in charge, things are only gonna’ get worse, right? By your logic, the black markets should thrive; drunken gambling and hookers forever.
Farmer Ted: Well, that brings us to what I wanted to talk to you about.But, first, music. Wu-Tang Clan.
Claire: You mentioned them before. I don’t know their stuff at all.
Farmer Ted: Manny turned me on to them. I don’t know what it is, exactly. The production’s subterranean, like voices from the deep. The grooves are hypnotic — there are weird instruments mixed in; violins, cellos, organs and shit — and the lyrics are ominous; literary; spiritual… You gotta’ hear ‘em.
Claire: Yeah, ok, but what do they have to do with what you wanted to talk to me about?
Farmer Ted: Well, the ideas came to me while I was listening to them; that and smoking this crazy-assed Chronic. It was kinda’ like a sudden inspiration or something — an epiphany — it’s hard to explain.
War of the masses, the outcome disastrous, many of the victim’s families saved the ashes…
Claire: That’s dark, heavy stuff, Ted. The raps are insane. It’s a little scary, to be honest.
Farmer Ted: Good. That’s the right mood. Now, pull up a chair next to me. You see these three screens?
Claire: Yeah.
Farmer Ted: Three screens, three line graphs, right?
Claire: Right.
Farmer Ted: Just looking at them, what do you notice? Don’t worry about what they’re graphs of just yet.
Claire: They all trend exactly the same way. Same downward curve. Same increments on the x and y axes, so I’m assuming they represent the same rate of some kind of decline.
Farmer Ted: That’s exactly right. And I could put up a dozen more that show the same trend.
Claire: Okay, so what do they mean?
Farmer Ted: These are forecasts, Claire. I’ve done dozens of them.
Claire: Forecasts, regarding what?
Farmer Ted: Various aspects of the Rebellion and Scene and of the Overground.
Claire: Go on.
Farmer Ted: Well, I was reading Foundation by Isaac Asimov, and one of the things it’s about is a man who’s taken a truly scientific approach to the study of history. His idea is that if you have enough economic, sociological, and other kinds of social-scientific information, you can predict the future, using statistical models, though there are two caveats.
Claire: Which are?
Farmer Ted: Well, for one thing, the predictions have to be for relatively large groups. You couldn’t predict a single person’s future, for example, but you could do a forecast for an entire city. For another, the predictions have to be somewhat far off. You couldn’t predict what’s going to happen next week, but you could forecast what’s going to happen in several years. It’s just a matter of how statistics work.
Claire: So you’re telling me you’ve done forecasts on the future of the Rebellion? That you can predict what’ll happen to us a few years from now?
Farmer Ted: It’s all a matter of interpretation. What these graphs show is stuff like stats on new recruits, successful and unsuccessful military ops, numbers and types of Overground contacts, overall wealth, technological development…that kind of thing.
Claire: And what? They’re all trending badly?
Farmer Ted: Yes, they all show decline to a baseline point, at exactly the same rate.
Claire: That’s freaky.
Farmer Ted: Freaky? It’s impossible.
Claire: I don’t get the thing about new recruits. You just said that we’ve been expanding, ‘cause of all the new kids we’ve been recruiting from the Refusenik Centers.
Farmer Ted: Those human resources are finite, Claire. They’ll run out.
Claire: And what about the Overground?
Farmer Ted: Same thing. Bad trends with respect to every variable. More censorship. More cops and surveillance. More political prisoners. More violence. More geopolitical and economic isolation. It’s the reason why I’m anxious for us to take advantage of my contacts Overground soon. My models show the police state growing to the point that the black and grey markets will be shut down; the Mob too. There’ll be no space to operate in any more.
Claire: My god.
Farmer Ted: Yeah, so we’ll be at our weakest, when they’re at their strongest and their worst. It’ll mean the end of the Rebellion and of the Scene. It’ll mean that a lot of us will be dead, and those who aren’t will wish they were.
Claire: Ted, this is trippy.
Farmer Ted: I know. The Geek in me wants to love it — fucking cool, right?! — but the human Ted is scared shitless.
Claire: No, no…I mean, yeah, it is scary, but that’s not what I was thinking of.
Farmer Ted: So what is it? Claire, we have to tell each other everything.
Claire: I know. It’s just that I know how you feel about these things.
Farmer Ted: What things?
Claire: It’s the Sight, Ted.
Farmer Ted: Oh.
Claire: I’ve been feeling something terrible coming for months now. It’s why you haven’t seen me all this time. I haven’t been out at all. I’ve had this awful sense of anticipation — that something big is going to happen — that we’re at some massive turning point, and I’ve been obsessed about it. Danny Boy tried to tell me that it was just a teen version of a mid-life crisis, but now? With what you’ve just shown me?
Farmer Ted: You know I don’t believe in that stuff, Claire. You fucking rule, but you don’t have ESP. There’s no Eternal Teenager. No big, cosmic story that we just happen to be the stars of. There’s just a bunch of kids trying to live and a bunch of adults trying to stop them. That’s all.
Claire: I know how you feel and that’s why I hesitated for a minute. But you said we have to tell each other everything and I’m telling you. What you got out of statistics, weed, and Wu-Tang Clan, I got out of the Sight.
Farmer Ted: I don’t know.
Claire: Why does it matter how I got it, anyway? A fairy could have flown in my room and whispered it to me in my sleep. The fact is, you and I have come to the same conclusion, without ever confiding in each other.
Farmer Ted: Agreed. It’s significant, whatever the reason.
Claire: So, how deterministic are you about this, Ted?
Farmer Ted: What?
Claire: I’ve studied philosophy. I know the implications of what you’re describing. Do you think this future is unavoidable?
Farmer Ted: Absolutely not. Given the number of variables and how interconnected social phenomena are? Just changing one of them might make everything turn out completely differently.
Claire: Which is why you want us to work together.
Farmer Ted: Exactly! It’s not just that we’ll be more effective if we pool our resources — or that you’ll have more peace of mind, knowing all the moves I’m making, before I make ‘em — it’s that our joining forces is a big change — a total reconceptualizing of how we run this place — and that’s gotta’ affect the trends. Time really is like water — that’s not just science fiction — and the bigger the rock you throw in it, the bigger the ripples. So, I figure, since every trend is fucked, if you assume the status quo, and since we can’t be sure which variables are the key ones, the best thing to do is change as many of them as possible.
Claire: I’m in this with you, Ted. One hundred percent.
Farmer Ted: Whew. I thought this was going to be an argument.
Claire: Yes, but you didn’t know the card I was holding; that I’d already come to the same conclusion.
Farmer Ted: That’s right. Funny.
Claire: And this audio diary you were asking about? This tape recorder I’ve been talking into all night?
Farmer Ted: What of it?
Claire: I’m narrating an extended account of the Rebellion and Scene, from my personal perspective. I’m talking to as many people as I can. Collecting as many stories — as much history — as possible.
Farmer Ted: For what purpose? In case we don’t make it?
Claire: Or in case we do. The way I see it, it’ll either serve as a guide and an inspiration to our successors or as a final gesture of defiance to our conquerors.
Farmer Ted: I can see who the real master strategist is in this room and who’s the kid playing James Bond.
Claire: I like that I can still surprise you, Ted.
Farmer Ted: And I like being surprised. It doesn’t happen very often.
Claire: So, how do you want to do this?
Farmer Ted: However it is, it won’t be tonight. We are done, Ms. Standish. Officially through with Official Business. The offices will reopen Monday. You are hereby ordered to resume your birthday celebrations. I hear through the social grapevine that you’re off to the Land of Turquoise and Pink, a fine establishment.
Claire: Yes, I am. And I should return to Bobby. He’ll run off with one of your go-go dancers if leave him too long.
Farmer Ted: I seriously doubt that.
Claire: Thank you so much! I don’t know what to say. I’ve always felt a connection with you, Ted — knew that we had a certain understanding, between us — but now, I don’t know how to explain it, it feels like we’ve known each other forever.
The G-Zone, epicenter of the Scene, royal court of the Geeks, and the personal fiefdom of one Farmer Ted, the King of the Geeks. (I’d tell you where he gets the name, but they’ve banned that film too, so you’ll just have to wonder.)
The G-Zone is three floors of 1980s goodness. Each level is characterized by different lighting, different music, and different clienteles. The main floor is strictly New Wave, New Romantic, and 80s dance music. It’s sleek and modern, with white walls and shiny surfaces; stretched gauze fabrics and abstract sculptures; a mile long bar; and all of it bathed in swathes of pastel colored light. It’s South Beach, SoHo and Hollywood all mixed together; paradise on earth.
But what’s paradise without angels? The dancers — the G-Girls — oh my god. They dance on the bar, right above you, so while you’re drinking and partying and carrying on, they’re slinking and slithering and shimmying in bikinis and silk and lace and platform heels. It’s mesmerizing. They’re the crème-de-la crème of the Scene and the G-Zone is their home turf, so the main floor is always packed.
The second level is all Post-Punk, Goth, and Industrial music. It’s almost like a negative of the first floor: same overall style, but the colors are completely different. Midnight blues and purples, blacks, grays, and silvers; periodic bursts of strobe lighting. It’s my favorite music: Siouxsie and the Banshees, Wire, Bauhaus… I go into trances when I hang out up there and listen to that stuff.
The third floor is all 1980s and early 90s Rap and Hip-Hop. Unfortunately, we don’t have any black kids in the Cult — there are no black kids in any of the Cells, since there are no black people anywhere anymore — but Farmer Ted keeps their spirit alive on the third floor. It’s also the place he tends to hang out himself. He’s got girls in hot pants and tube tops dancing — calls them his “Fly Girls” — and he loves to groove out to Run DMC, Public Enemy, and Wu Tang Clan. It’s also where he takes all of his important meetings, keeps his computers and files, and the bartender is his personal bodyguard. There’s even a contingent of Infiltrators who work exclusively for Farmer Ted and hang out up there — girls who are into Hip Hop and Kung Fu — and sometimes they do martial arts exhibitions on the dance floor. Anyway, the point is that the third floor is the nerve center, not just of the G-Zone but of the entire Geek empire.
But right now it’s the the incredible first floor, and Farmer Ted is standing at the bar, casually cool — immaculate sweatshirt, jeans and high-top sneakers, hair carefully and perfectly done — with his arms spread wide and a glass of Cristal in hand, waiting to receive me. You see, even though Ted’s not in the Army and doesn’t have to take word one from me, he pays me the respect of leadership and treats me like a dignitary, because he’s a fucking pro, and he knows how to play the game.
Farmer Ted: Claire Standish! Where have you been for the last month?!
Claire: Duly chastised, Farmer Ted. I’ve been brooding. So I came straight here; figured you could help.
Farmer Ted: You’re wise coming to me Claire, because I am the anti-brood. It is physically impossible to brood in my presence. One step up to my bar — you’ll notice that its glowing — and any thought of brooding will simply disappear.
Claire: That might have something to do with the fact that you’ve got a half-dozen, barely dressed girls wiggling their asses all over it.
Farmer Ted: It’s a fair point.
Bobby: Ted.
Farmer Ted: Bobby! My man! Welcome! Mi casa es su casa.
Bobby: I’m counting on you to get this girl good and liquored up. She’s been preoccupied and morbid for weeks.
Farmer Ted: You got it. Let’s do this properly — a toast — here you go, Bobby, Claire… Girls, stop for a minute and come and toast our leader’s good health. Okay, so, Claire.
Claire: Farmer Ted.
Farmer Ted: You are my inspiration, my conscience, and my hope. I’ve learned a lot from you. Happy Birthday and many, many more! Salut!
Claire, Bobby, and G-Girls: Salut!
Farmer Ted: Donnie! Another bottle! Shake it girls! Woohoo!
Claire: You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.
Farmer Ted: Now that we have all the formalities out of the way, when are your people gonna’ stop hassling my smugglers?
Claire: Ted!!
Farmer Ted: Sorry. Just thought I might remind you WHERE THE FUCKING CRISTAL COMES FROM! Woohoo! Salut!
All: Salut!
Claire: But seriously, Ted, I appreciate what you said, and I feel the same way. Shit, I’ve learned way more from you than you’ve learned from me.
Farmer Ted: Claire, I’m always on your side, even if you don’t realize it sometimes.
Claire: It’s hard to trust people, and sometimes you and your boys do things that scare me.
Farmer Ted: We’ll talk about this more later, but I’ve been thinking we should merge our organizations. If you knew what was going on from the inside, you wouldn’t be scared. I’m pretty conservative, and I calculate my risks — I mean, actually calculate them, mathematically — every time I set out on a new venture. I don’t do crazy stuff. I just make it look crazy, you know? I learned that from Christopher Lloyd. You gotta’ watch his movies and TV shows from back in the day. He can make walking across a room look crazy. Anyway, it keeps up the mystique, you know? Makes the Geeks look like miracle workers, since we don’t look so great in the cold harsh light of reality.
Claire: Oh, Ted…
Farmer Ted: I mean it Claire: you and me; partners in this, ok?
Claire: You don’t know how happy that makes me. You guys make the Scene happen, and it’s the heart and soul of the Rebellion. The idea of re-creating down here the life that we can’t have anymore up there was a stroke of genius, so I want you guys in with me, helping keep this amazing thing we have going.
Farmer Ted: Hear, hear! Salut!
Claire: I mean, can you imagine if your people join forces with mine? The intelligence?! The loot?!
Farmer Ted: I’m getting excited.
Bobby: Should I get you two a room or something?
Farmer Ted: Nah, I’m just juiced about working with Claire. Salut!
Claire and Bobby: Salut!
Farmer Ted: The Cristal’s getting a little cloying. I think a nice Bombay and Tonic would do everyone a world of good. Donnie! B&T’s! And here, try this — wait, let me light it — turns out one of my boys is a genius botanist. It’s the best weed you’ll ever smoke.
Bobby: Fan-fucking-tastic.
Claire: Ooh, yes! Wiggly dancers look even better stoned.
Bobby: I think she’s relaxing.
Farmer Ted: See? I told you! Ah, here are the Bombay and Tonics. Cheers everyone!
Everyone: Cheers!
Claire: Holy shit, Ted, this is amazing weed.
Farmer Ted: I know, right? I’ve been smoking that stuff while doing statistical analyses and listening to Wu-Tang Clan. Fucking trippy.
Bobby: Raps just came in.
Claire: Oh, shit. Is Nina here? I haven’t seen her.
Farmer Ted: She’s coming on in a minute. There’s a special spot for her over there on the riser. It’ll be when Blondie’s Do the Dark comes on. Wait for it…
Claire: Oh my God, there she is! Mile long legs and a mini. Wow!!
Farmer Ted: She’s an angel. Just showed up one day a month or two ago and said she wanted to dance; that she’d do it for free, if I’d give her a chance. I have to say, I wasn’t too sure… dressed normally, she looked kinda’ plain. But when she came out for the audition? Whoa! And she’s just about the coolest chick ever. I mean, no attitude at all, doesn’t play power games with the other girls, laughs at all my stupid jokes. She’s my biggest draw by far. I need a freaking truck to haul off all the flowers that get sent to her dressing room.
Claire: I’m not surprised. She’s absolutely stunning.
Bobby: Raps is going over to the stage.
Claire: I can’t look. What if she blows him off?
Bobby: She won’t, Claire. Nina isn’t some Scene player.
Claire: I know, it’s just that she’s so gorgeous and Raps is so, well, dweeby. You know I love him, Bobby, but sometimes I think he’s a middle aged accountant or something.
Bobby: He’s quiet and humble, for sure Claire, but I don’t know…that might be appealing to a girl like Nina. I think she’s a homebody at heart, and dancing’s just a release for her; a naughty thrill. She gets to play a persona for a while, in a safe place.
Claire: Jeez, how do you know so much about her Bobby? Are you in the Nina fan club or something?
Bobby: Aren’t you? Look at her.
Claire: Uh, ya!
Bobby: Seriously, though, I hang out with Margaret a lot. You know I’ve been working in the kitchens, trying to learn how to cook.
Claire: And I love you for it. Guys who cook are hot.
Bobby: Anyway, Nina comes in to help, and I’ve talked with her quite a bit. Give me that joint, I’ll light it again.
Claire: She’s going over to the side of the stage where Raps is standing.
Farmer Ted: I’m riveted. If he gets that girl, it’ll force me to rethink the basic principles of logic.
Claire: Be nice,Ted!
Bobby: Well, well, Raps just said something to her and she kicked off her boots and crouched down in front of him. You were saying, Claire? “Dweeby” was it?
Claire: Holy shit, she’s kissing him! Cigarette, Bobby! I’m about to chew my fingernails off.
Farmer Ted: She just hopped down off the stage and sat on his lap. Now they’re making out. That’s it. Do you two know of any monasteries around here?
Claire: Can this night get any better? I’m so relieved. Can I yell “Whoo Hoo! Raps!”?
Bobby: I wouldn’t. So, what sort of monastery are you looking for Ted? Jesuit? Cistercian?
Farmer Ted: Oh, I’m staying. It just hurts watching the social order crumble like that.
Claire: She’s going off the stage and heading to the back.
Farmer Ted: Going to her dressing room to change. She doesn’t walk around the bar in her dancing gear like the other girls do. Probably a good thing too. I’d have a horny riot on my hands.
Claire: Raps is coming over here. What do I say?
Bobby: Don’t embarrass the poor kid, he’s just scored a coup.
Farmer Ted: Embarrass him? The guy’s just taken over the Scene. I should become the fucking accountant.
Raps: Hey everybody! Claire! Happy Birthday!
Claire: Woo Hoo, Raps!
Bobby: You’re unbelievable.
Claire: I couldn’t help it…I’m too excited.
Raps: Yeah, I know. It was tense there for a minute. I felt like I was going to throw up.
Farmer Ted: Well there’s a pickup strategy.
Claire: Ted!
Farmer Ted: Sorry. I’ll go be bitter over here.
Raps: Don’t move, Ted! I’m buying you a drink!
Farmer Ted: No, I’m buying you one. Donnie! A B&T for Raps. You know, now that I’m thinking about it, just give him the whole bar.
Claire: Ted’s traumatized, Raps. You’ve upset the social order.
Raps: Sorry.
Bobby: So, what’s she doing?
Raps: Changing and then she’s gonna’ come and hang out with us.
Claire: Yay!
Farmer Ted: Why don’t you guys go commandeer those couches over there. I’ll give Donnie instructions to keep the drinks coming, and wait — here — take two more of those joints.
Claire: Ted, you are the King.
Farmer Ted: I’ve got some things to do upstairs, so I’m gonna’ send two of my captains over to take care of you guys. Claire, you know one of them — Billy H — he used to be in the Army.
Claire: Know him? He was my best sapper until you stole him.
Farmer Ted: I pay better. When you’re done, come up and see me. We can finish our conversation from before, okay?
Claire: I will, Ted. And thanks so much.
Farmer Ted: You know it, baby. Bobby, Raps, you’re all welcome. And everything’s on the house! Cheers!
All: Cheers!
Raps: Here comes Nina.
It’s hard to believe that the girl coming towards our table is the same one I just saw up on the riser. No mini-dress. No red lipstick. Just a girl in an oversized sweatshirt, leggings, and Chuck Taylors with barrettes in her hair. But somehow, she’s even more beautiful now then when she was dancing. I totally get Raps’ crush. This is a girl you want to spend time with, whose smiles and laughter are real and not calculated, and whose beauty is the kind that’s there even when she’s just woken up. This is someone you marry.
Nina: Thanks! It’s still a little embarrassing… I always take a few shots of vodka and chain smoke beforehand. Speaking of which…
Claire: Bombay and tonics tonight, Nin. Farmer Ted sent one over for you. Unless you want Cristal? We were drinking that earlier. I’m sure I could get a bottle for you.
Nina: No, Bombay and tonic is great. Champagne makes me sick.
Claire: Bobby, give her one of your cigarettes, and pass her a joint.
Nina: Drink and cigarette first, settle in, then smoke cheeba.
Claire: First I heard of you dancing here was from Raps a few hours ago, and Ted said you just walked in one day.
Nina: Yeah, I’ve been dying to do this ever since I first came here and saw the G-Girls, but I couldn’t work up the courage until a few months ago.
Claire: Why did you want to do it?
Nina: Well, I’ve always been nerdy and frumpy, but I’ve also always been into glamour. I love my comfy clothes and being the kind of girl who can just get up in the morning and go about my business, without hours of preparation. But at the same time, a part of me craves manicures, facials, designer clothes, salon-styled hair, the whole deal. I’ve been happy to sit at home with Margaret on weekends, but I also dream about being an Infiltrator like Gwen. I just don’t have the guts. Plus, Margaret would have a stroke — she’s really protective — so, go-go dancing is a kind of outlet. It’s as far as I’m gonna’ take my inner hot-chick.
Raps: Here’s to nerdy girls and their inner-hot chicks!
Bobby: Cheers!
All: Cheers!
Nina: Okay, I’m settled. Joint time.
Claire: Here you go. It’ll make you feel like you’ve been shot out of a cannon. Apparently, Ted has found himself a Doctor of Botany.
Nina: I know the guy. He’s one of my biggest fans; throws joints instead of money. He’s a sweetie, and it’s killer cheeba.
Raps: I can’t smoke that stuff. It makes me freak out and break into sweats.
Nina:I’m going to make you freak out and break into sweats, when we go back to your place later.
Raps: Totally. Wait, we’re going back to my place?
Nina: Mm hmm.. In fact, why don’t we go over to that booth over there and discuss it?
Raps: But…
Claire: Go with her, Raps. Don’t be a crazy person.
Raps: But, it’s your birthday, Claire!
Bobby: Go and make merry! That’s an order. We’ll be at the Land of Turquoise and Pink later, so you can catch us on the backside.
Raps: Well, okay. Happy Birthday, Claire!
Claire: Thanks, Raps! Come here and hug me. Mmm, I love you so much. Now go have fun you two!
Nina: We will! See you guys later!
Bobby: Here come the capos, Claire. I wonder what Ted’s up to.
Claire: ‘Dunno, but I’ve never heard him talk like he did before, have you?
Bobby: Never. I have to admit, I was totally blown away. I’ve never seen him that intimate. Usually it’s all face-man, all the time. I was only half-joking when I asked if I should get you two a room. For a second, I thought he was hitting on you.
Claire: No, definitely not, which means something’s up; something big.
Bobby: Well, you’ll find out soon enough. He summoned you up to the third floor after “we’re done.”
Claire: Hmm. I don’t know if I can wait that long. I’m going to try and get something out of Heckle and Jeckle here.
Billy: Hey you two! What’s happening? Happy Birthday Claire!
Claire: Well hello Billy, you fucking deserter.
Billy:Umbadegonderes. I had a good reason.
Claire: And what was that?
Billy: The money, of course.
Claire: You said a good reason.
Billy: Is there a better one?
Bobby: Spoken like a true Geek. Is there some capitalist breeding facility somewhere, where they get you people from?
Billy: Very nice, hey, this is my partner in crime, Jimmy. Jimmy, this is Bobby Richstone and of course, Claire Standish.
Jimmy: Claire, it’s an honor to finally meet you in person. Bobby.
Bobby: Have a seat boys. The drinks are free and the weed is…well, you try it.
Billy: Don’t mind if I do. Aralacarala! That’s fresh! It’s like smoking someone’s lawn.
Jimmy: Well don’t fucking bogart it, man, hand it over. Fuck, you’re right, it is fresh. I feel like I just inhaled a hedge.
Bobby: So to what do we owe this pleasure?
Billy: Ted didn’t want you to think he was ditching you. You know him, he takes diplomacy very seriously.
Bobby: And this urgent business Ted’s got upstairs?
Billy:Nobaramba. Need to know and we don’t. But I doubt it’s anything, really. He takes his work even more seriously than his diplomacy. There’s always something to do when you control as much as Ted does.
Claire: I know. The guy works more than any of us. Sometimes it doesn’t seem possible. It’s like he’s Superman or something. I mean, he pretty much runs the entire Scene — he’s the Cult’s primary supplier of goods — and he oversees the STEALTH techs and hackers for the entire SoCal Rebellion.
Bobby: Holy shit, that’s fucking insane.
Billy: Well, he does have over a hundred people working for him.
Bobby: What?!
Claire: That certainly explains a few things.
Billy:Acarulo! He is the Magic Man, after all.
Bobby: Humph. Magic Man…he’s fucking Caesar.
Claire: Enough shop talk. This is supposed to be my birthday party.
Billy: Abso-fucking-lutely. Donnie! We need more B & T’s here! And a round of shots too! Chilled Stolichnaya work for you guys?
Claire: Yes, please!
Bobby: Sounds great, thanks!
Billy: Chilled Stolichnaya for the shots, Donnie!
Jimmy: Joint’s out. Should I re-light it?
Claire: Only for yourself. If I smoke any more right now, I won’t be able to speak.
Bobby: I’m cool.
Billy: I’m good too. Ted doesn’t want me too wrecked when I’m watching the place for him.
Claire: So what have you been doing for Ted, Billy?
Billy: He has me working on STEALTH mostly. In fact, he wants me to take it over. He’s trying to focus on commercial operations. It’s another reason he wanted me to come over here and hang out with you two. I’m going to be your go-to guy on anything STEALTH-related next year.
Claire: That’s awesome. It’ll be like old times.
Billy: And we’ll also have an entirely new system up.
Bobby: Ted has been busy.
Billy: The idea is to have a lot more of it be remote. Instead of extending fields over huge areas like we do now, everyone who goes out will carry a mobile unit that’ll create its own field when triggered by a signal sent out from HQ. It’ll mean no holes. What happened to Johnny Street will never happen again. Here are the shots, guys. Thanks Donnie.
Bobby: To Johnny Street.
Claire: To Johnny, my beautiful boy. I miss you.
All: Johnny!
Billy: Yeah, that hit Ted really hard. He was already working on next-gen STEALTH, but after that happened, he swore he’d have it up by New Year’s. I don’t think he’s slept since.
Claire: I don’t know what to say. You guys just keep saving our lives over and over again.
Bobby: Word. Seriously.
Billy: It’s what we do, Claire. Always has been.
Claire: Since before the Scene even.
Bobby:Before the Scene?
Claire: Don’t you know the story?
Bobby: I don’t think I do. Remember, I’ve only been here two years. Before that, I was in PS242. There’s still a lot about the Scene and the Rebellion that I don’t know.
Claire: Hmm, that’s right. I always forget that you’re kind of a newbie. It’s just that you rose through the ranks so quickly, and I can’t imagine the Rebellion without you in it.
Bobby: So, the G-Boys were around before the Scene?
Claire: Well, not the G-Boys strictly speaking — there weren’t any G-Boys yet — but yeah, the Geeks were at the heart of the Rebellion from the very beginning.
Bobby: Go on.
Claire: Billy, correct me if I get any of this wrong.
Billy: Will do.
Claire: The Culling and Curfew started nine years ago, right?
Bobby: That much I know.
Claire: Well, at that time, there was no Scene. Even the proto-Scene didn’t exist yet. Kids and teens were locked in their homes at night and being sent to sex-segregated schools during the day. Those that weren’t in prison.
Bobby: Right.
Claire: That’s when the Geeks set up the first SUBNet. But because there was no organized Rebellion yet — and no infrastructure — they ran it on the commercial servers, behind a bunch of false lobbies. Basically, it was a network of chatrooms with video feeds. People posted manifestoes on it, ran strategy sessions, threw parties, had sex… They created a virtual Scene.
Bobby: So, what happened?
Claire: Pretty much what you’d expect. Tens of thousands of SoCal teenagers, having virtual parties and camfucking online, all at once? It crashed the internet across LA County for three days.
Bobby: Holy shit, that was you guys?
Claire: Not me. Before my time. We’re talking First Generation.
Bobby: Ah, of course.
Claire: Well, the hammer came down really hard after that, and not just the LAPD. The Feds got in on it too: “Interstate Commerce” or some bullshit like that. Remember, at that point, Pike and his gang were already in the Senate. The Restoration is their baby.
Bobby: And that’s when kids starting running away from home en masse.
Claire: Right. It was bad enough that the cops were locking kids up left and right and that they could never be with each other, in the flesh, but once it devolved to the point that they couldn’t see or hear or talk to each other, even virtually, well, that was it. It’s when the Rebellion really started. But, it had its roots in those early days of the virtual Scene, though it wasn’t called that back then.
Bobby: Amazing.
Claire: So, now the Rebellion exists. The kids have gone Underground, formed cells, the whole shebang.
Bobby: Right.
Claire: That’s when the proto-Scene gets created. The Geeks created these amazing living spaces and themed nightclubs in abandoned sections of town, and designed them so that they’d be invisible from the outside and so that they could be moved and rebuilt somewhere else at a moment’s notice.
Bobby: So, how’s that different from today?
Billy: No STEALTH, man.
Claire: Yeah, these sites were physically hidden, just like they are now, but there were no electronic defenses of any kind. So, any cop in the area with heat sensing equipment or radar would find the HQ and Scene spots immediately. And if you were going from one place to another on foot? Huge risk.
Billy: Although by then, the G-Boys had hacked into ONNet and set up their own private servers for SUBNet.
Claire: Yeah, they had plenty of intelligence and communications, so they’d often know in advance when shit was going down and could warn people, but still, they got Swept constantly. I mean, that’s why the first Claire Standish only lasted six months.
Bobby: Jeez, they had a lot of fucking nerve.
Jimmy: Truth.
Claire: It’s why we have so much respect for the Righteous Adults and formed the Executive Councils. They risked their lives to create this world for us.
Bobby: So, what about STEALTH?
Claire: Well, that brings us almost to the present and to Farmer Ted.
Bobby: What do you mean?
Billy: He invented it, dude.
Bobby: Holy fucking shit!
Claire: Yeah. Ted wasn’t a computer kid like most of the Geeks. He was into electronics: radios, televisions, microwaves, stuff like that. He said he got the idea for STEALTH, when he was on an airplane one time as a little kid, and the announcement came over the loudspeaker that everyone should turn off their electronics for landing. He asked his parents why, and they told him that the signals they put out could interfere with the plane’s radar and that it wouldn’t be able to see the runway. So, after that, he began experimenting, not just with jamming, but with putting out false signals; making it look on radar like something was there that wasn’t.
Billy: He told me that when he was seven years old, he made a device that turned every TV and radio station in his house into static.
Claire: I hadn’t heard that.
Bobby: So that’s why Ted’s such a fucking legend.
Claire: Well, ya! I mean, the guy singlehandedly created the Scene as we know it today. Well, not singlehandedly…he had and still has a lot of help. But it was his vision: the idea that you could perpetuate an Underground indefinitely, if you could just make it invisible to electronics. Tonight is living proof of it. Remember how I said I thought the Geeks deserved their perks? This is why.
Bobby: I take back every disparaging word I said. I had no idea.
Billy: Most people don’t. In that sense, Ted’s actually kind of modest. I know it sounds crazy, given how he acts, but he never goes around talking about that stuff or patting himself on the back. He’s a showoff, but not that kind of showoff. He’ll brag about a new girl he’s found or some high-end booze he managed to score, but never about his real accomplishments; never about the serious things he’s done.
Claire: Ted’s not embarrassed to be seen as a bad guy, only as a good guy.
Billy: Truth.
Claire: Guys, I think I’m gonna’ go upstairs and see him. Is that cool, Bobby?
Bobby: I’ve got booze, weed, and a bar full of hot dancers. I’ll manage.
Billy: It’s back to work for me…
Jimmy: Work. Right. Standing behind Donnie and doing shots.
Billy: Don’t be insubordinate!
Jimmy: How can I be insubordinate? We’re both Captains, dumbass.
Billy: I’ve been a Captain longer.
Bobby: These are the people who rule the world. The mind boggles. Have fun Claire, and find out what’s going on.
I finally made it outside! Another beautiful night on the LA docks; warm with just a hint of a cool breeze and the smell of the ocean. It’s something that I’ve always loved, ever since I was a little kid: romance and adventure and endless opportunity, all wrapped up in each and every puff of wind, lap of the waves, and glimpse of the horizon. There’s a silver-lining to these forced moves: Our last HQ and Scene were in a burned-out section of Compton, and I have to say it was pretty dismal. I mean, we’re always in one abandoned, burned-out, or boarded up section of town or another, but that last spot was grimmer than most. It was almost like you could still feel the presence of all those poor people — of our black brothers and sisters — and as I think back, as bad as it’s been for us, it was a hundred times worse for them. When that hammer finally fell, there barely was even a discussion; none of the intense public conversations; none of the agonized soul-searching that occurred when they decided to crack down on the kids. One day there were black people and the next day there weren’t. No one asked what happened to them, and given that every last bit of black culture has been banned — no more Rap music or funk, no more soul-food restaurants, no more black fashions — it’s like they never existed.
No guards out here. No visible presence. When our patrols go out, they do it under STEALTH, and even the Scene spots, HQ, and our residential blocks are covered by it. If you looked at them from the outside, you’d never know they were there. The interior of every location is set up so that there’s a ring of unused, unlit, unpowered rooms around a central core, where we live and work and play. Every room, every closet, every toilet is under a blanket of scrambler-signals. But, it’s not enough for us to be invisible to your computer networks, satellites, and electronic surveillance. We need to be invisible to foot and vehicle traffic too — to helicopters and drones with heat-sensing scanners — to anything and everything you might throw at us. So, a dead building will look like a dead building from the outside, even though inside it’s full of life. You could even walk in the front door and it would still seem like a dead building. But if you came through the second door? It’d be you who’d be dead.
There are a lot of derelict buildings in LA and probably everywhere else in the US too. I guess that’s another silver lining to having an enemy as sick and depraved as you are. It means that you make a lot of really bad calls. Every day seems like a new opportunity for you to shoot yourself in the foot. Every week, another section of town is abandoned and boarded up, as the country sinks under your miserable leadership. I mean, the only reason we were able to set up here, in docklands, is because it’s fucking abandoned. And why is the largest port in the country abandoned? Because no one will trade with us anymore: not the French; not the Germans; not the Brits; no one.
You didn’t actually believe all that crap they told you, did you? That we don’t trade with anyone anymore on purpose? That it’s all about “Economic Independence and Security” and “Bringing Jobs Back Home?” That the reason why it’s impossible to get a visa to go anywhere, other than a handful of shitty dictatorships, is because we “Refuse to compromise with people who don’t share our values?” Shit, maybe you did believe it. Weirder things, right?
Gotta’ check in with HQ, before I move on to the next block. I just sent them a signal, and any second they should confirm that the street’s clear. I really don’t want to run into any cops tonight. I mean, I can handle myself, but since I’m dressed up for my date, I’m only carrying my little Derringer — the tiny, four-barreled, gold-plated pistol that Bobby gave me for my birthday last year — and it’s so small that it fits into the palm of my hand. Anyway, I’ve got it strapped to the garter on my left leg, which means that it shows just enough under my cocktail dress to give everybody a hot little flash of gold against my skin — and I have to admit, my legs are killer — but it also means that I’m not exactly geared for real combat.
Bobby told me he got the Derringer from Gwen, who’d swiped it from the purse of some closeted, lesbian Assistant District Attorney she’d just finished fucking and who’d fallen asleep. It’s a great secret weapon — a last resort if someone gets too close — but it’s hardly something I could get into a gunfight with, and it won’t pierce even the weakest body-armor. I need to make sure I’m not seen on my way to meet Bobby, or I’ll go down the way the last Claire Standish did; if they even bother to take me alive.
Just got the all-clear. Two more blocks and Bobby should be waiting at an abandoned bus depot. The nights are strange all around the Overground, now. The Curfew may only be for kids and teens, but the result has been deserted nighttime streets. Other than a few of the downtown areas, where there’s a heavy concentration of restaurants, bars, and nightclubs, which cater to the adults who live in the urban parts of town, the rest of LA is completely desolate at night. And it kinda’ makes sense. I can remember back before all this started — before Pike’s gang took over the Capitol — and even then the suburban streets were basically empty at night, except for the teens. I mean, that’s always been the American Dream, right? To live in a cookie-cutter house in the suburbs and work and commute and go to bed by nine o’clock and never see anyone? Any stores or restaurants or clubs that were in the suburbs and open at night had an almost exclusively young clientele, so once there weren’t any young people out any more after dark, they all closed. The only ones on the streets at night now are cops enforcing the Curfew and the surveillance robots and drones that they bring with them.
And then there’s Bobby. Every time I see him, I remember the first time — the time I told you about earlier — when First Squad broke the Refuseniks out of the LA County Boys’ Center in the Valley — what used to be PS242. Bobby was one of them. He was fifteen, tall, with light brown hair and baby blue eyes and the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.
We’d had our eye on the place for quite a while and then, on one lucky day, an Infiltrator got hold of a district-wide janitorial IDENT card, which meant that we could access the building through the delivery and trash chutes without tripping the alarms.
‘Refuseniks’ are what they call kids and teens who resist the Culling and Curfew, but who haven’t found their way to the Rebellion. They’re rounded up and placed in Boys’ and Girls’ “Centers,” where they’re boarded and “worked with,” which means that they’re subjected to brutal brainwashing and conditioning. We’d heard about these places but had never found the opportunity to bust into one, so PS242 was the first. The G-Boys had gotten us the architectural blueprints for the place, as well as a sense of how many guards there were and how they were distributed, so we came in well-prepared and with the element of surprise.
I’d broken the squad into five teams of three and we’d picked five different spots from which to enter, and if you can forget the ugliness of it all, it was a beautiful operation. Simultaneously, all five groups burst out of delivery hatches and garbage chutes throughout the facility and jumped the guards who were so surprised that they barely resisted. It was remarkably silent — First Squad prides itself on its sneak attacks — and most of it was done with knives and small caliber arms, fitted with silencers. The room I came into must have been some kind of conditioning chamber, because there was a boy strapped into a chair — he couldn’t have been more than ten years old — with all sorts of wires and pads and stuff attached to his head and neck. My entry point was through a dumbwaiter just behind where the torturer was standing, and the fucker didn’t even hear me when I crawled out of it. He was saying something to the boy, when I grabbed him from behind and drove a double-bladed knife into his spine.
Even though I’d motioned to him to keep quiet, it was too much for the poor kid — the guy I’d stabbed fell right into his lap, and he gave out this desperate yelp. In less than a second, two guards who must’ve been standing right outside the door, came rushing in. The first one caught a second knife in the face — I just threw it at him from across the room — but the other one got close and wrestled me to the ground. Fortunately, I had a third knife strapped to my ankle, so while he was struggling to get me prone, I stabbed him in the temple.
When the kid and I got out into the hallway, it was complete chaos. I’d given orders to my squad to trash the place once they’d secured it and freed all the kids, and they were already doing it — setting fires, smashing windows and furniture — a total fucking riot, and that’s when I first saw Bobby. He was one of the older ones and tall, lean, and inhumanly beautiful. Shit, he practically glowed.
Anyway, he’d stopped one of my squaddies from trashing a particular office, and as I approached them, I could hear him telling her that it belonged to the Director and that there were important files on the computer, which might help us get into other Refusenik centers in LA county. I followed them inside and it was there that we first locked eyes. I know it’s clichéd, but it was love at first sight. He gave me this little smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkled and he said, “You’re going to be my girlfriend. You know that, right?” Well, I was totally floored. I mean, here we are in this horrible place, where he’d been imprisoned and tortured — there are dead bodies everywhere, half the place is on fire — and he’s hitting on me. I tried to keep my cool — play the Big Serious Leader and all that — and said something like “Oh, you think so, huh?” but it came out all stuttering and girly, and I must have looked completely insane. Some chick in a red wig, decked out in burglar’s gear, clutching a grisly knife, and covered with blood from head to toe, giggling and flirting like a junior-high schooler with a crush.
Of course, Bobby was right, and the information stored on that computer got us into three more Refusenik centers in the county. In total, we’ve freed over a hundred and fifty kids and teens. Some of them have come to us, some of them have gone to other cells in the Rebellion, but every single one of them is free or at least, as free as any of us are. As for Bobby, he turned out to be a total star. Not two weeks had passed before we did another raid on another Center, and Bobby was right there with us. He’s a brilliant tactician, a tough fighter, and a sensitive and gentle lover. Yeah, he was right about that too. We started dating two days after we met, and two days after that, we were going steady. And now? He’s my First Advisor too.
Claire: Bobby!
Bobby: Hey, Red! Happy Birthday!
Claire: Kiss first. Talk second.
Bobby: I like your priorities.
Claire: They didn’t make me leader for nothing. Mmm, taste it baby, apricot lip gloss.
Bobby: I like your lip gloss.
Claire: It’s quiet tonight.
Bobby: Yeah, ever since Johnny Street… Shit Claire, I was training that poor kid for leadership. I can’t fucking believe it.
Claire: I know, honey. I couldn’t stop crying for days. I was his receiver, when he first came. Used to give him warm milk at night. I’m totally devastated.
Bobby: Your speech at the funeral was beautiful; that poem you wrote for him.
Claire: That’s the first time I’ve actually felt comfortable reading in front of people. There was so much love in the room. It was like singing to your children; the most natural thing in the world.
Bobby: So, what’s the first stop on the Claire Standish birthday tour? The G-Zone?
Claire: You know it. Raps is gonna’ be there, and Farmer Ted told me that he’d have me hauled in to answer for myself, if I didn’t let him give me complimentary bottles of Cristal all night. I mean, where does he get all that shit?
Bobby: Please. They’ve got gifts pouring from every Infiltrator from LA to La Jolla. The geeks are Like Gods Among Us, and you know they’re the only ones getting a kick out of this fucking nightmare we’re all in.
Claire: I love them for that. It’s subversive. They don’t realize it, but they’re totally punk.
Bobby: You can’t be punk if you rule the world, and they do. They’re in charge here, Claire, not us. They’ve got their own thing going on, you know? And nationally? Who fucking knows? I hear rumors that Farmer Ted’s just one of several regional bosses. How scary is that? They’re like the fucking Navigator’s Guild in Dune or something. Way too much power.
Claire: You just betrayed your inner Geek there, Bobby.
Bobby: It was the first comparison that came to mind.
Claire: And you’re ranting.
Bobby: Sorry.
Claire: Anyway, I think they deserve it.
Bobby: Deserve what? Endless luxury? Exemption from patrol and from combat operations? Groupies? I mean, really.
Claire: The Geeks give ‘em all the toys they want and they give the Geeks …well, they give the Geeks what every Geek wants: a hot girlfriend. I think of it as Social Justice.
Bobby: That’s one word for it.
Claire: Do you remember what it was like for them before the Restoration? Think about it: they had it bad, even when it was good for the rest of us. And it wasn’t the adults picking on them, it was the other kids piling on the insults and humiliation, and especially the pretty girls. Well, now the Geeks are at the top of the heap, and suddenly, every hot girl wants a Geek boyfriend. How is that not justice? I mean, when they put STEALTH up and we were suddenly invisible? They saved all of our fucking lives, including all the kids who would have been pushing them down and stealing their lunch money. So, as far as I’m concerned, every time some cutie gives a Geek a blowjob, we all get to live another day.
Well, the third Claire Standish. The first died just six months after her Ascension, in a clash between LAPD and the then-newly-formed Army of the Eternal Teenager, when a raid on a Proto-Scene nightclub turned into a bloodbath. The second led the Army to two of its greatest victories — the storming of PS242 in the San Fernando Valley, which had been converted into a re-education center for Refusenik boys, and the burning down of the LAPD headquarters — until the Feds swept her one night while she was making her nightly rounds. I was her First Advisor, and my own Ascension took place just two days later, in this very room.
That was two years ago. I was fourteen. Today, I turn sixteen, and tonight I’m going out with my boyfriend. Yes, you heard me right. Going Out. With My Boyfriend. And there isn’t a goddamned thing you can do about it.
You’ve heard of the Teen Rebellion haven’t you? Then you know that we aren’t willing to let our lives to be destroyed, just for the sake of the latest sick idea that you and the other adults have hatched up. Why would we trust you? Why would we believe that you have our best interests at heart? For most of human history, you ignored us — children are better seen than heard and all that — and then, suddenly, for a few brief decades, you changed your minds and showered us with attention and gifts and sometimes even love. But then, when you realized that raising kids was actually work and was spoiling your fun, you changed your minds again and abandoned us in a flood of convertibles, divorces, and sleazy affairs, which you called “Finding Myself” and “Making Time for Me.”
And now, at the height of the Restoration? You’re separating and segregating us — the kids from the teenagers, the girls from the boys, the queers from the straights — and locking us in at school during the day and at home at night. “Culling” and “Curfew” is what you call it. And what happens to those of us who refuse to be culled or curfewed? We’re hunted down like animals. Just last week, they caught Johnny Street coming back to our HQ after a night out on The Scene. Gunned him down in an alley like a dog. He was thirteen years old.
The government justifies all of this by saying that we’re troublemakers, delinquents, and deviants. They say that we’re out of control and that we lack judgment. When they explain why they’re incarcerating and killing us, they say that “things are different now” and that “adult problems require adult solutions.” I know how you portray us — our G-Boys have been hacking into ONNet for years — and you can say whatever they want. The fact is, we’re just teens who want to live and love and to be free.
I don’t know why I’m recording this diary. Maybe it’s because I’ve been having this feeling lately that a big change is coming, even though I’m not sure what it will be. We’ve always believed that the Ascended have the power of foresight, but in my experience, even though I can see, what I see isn’t always clear. One thing I know for sure, though, is that things will never be the same. This beautiful world that we’ve created and where we’ve lived for eight years will come to an end. So, I feel like I should get it all down; make sure that what we created here lasts forever, even if it’s only in the memories of our enemies.
I know what you’re thinking. Why her? Her name is banned. The film that made her famous is banned. Everything that she and that film represents is banned. But you have to remember, we’re not like you. Our souls aren’t dead like yours. What you hate, we love. What disgusts you turns us on. What you ban, we worship. So, we’ve taken her as our icon. And if you want to lead the Army of the Eternal Teenager, you have to embody her in every aspect of your being: in your hair; your lips; your clothes; your way of speaking — everything, down to the smallest detail. Everything that you despise. Everything that we insist on being.
And you have to take her name: “Claire Standish.”
I am Claire Standish.
The Army of the Eternal Teenager is part of the Cult of the Eternal Teenager, the only religion ever to be created by and for kids. Our sacred book is the Chronicle of the Eternal Teenager, which was banned immediately after it surfaced ten years ago, but went viral on CALnet and other SUBnet servers. For those of you not familiar with the Cult, these are our core principles and beliefs:
We believe that the Eternal Teenager travelled through time, from the year 1985 to the year 2014.
We believe that in doing so, He changed the future and that this is the world we find ourselves in today.
We believe that the Chronicle not only gives a true account of the origins of our current world but provides valuable clues for deciphering the future.
We believe that the Eternal Teenager does not age and is immortal.
We believe that the He is our Savior and will return to us, but that this will only happen once we have defeated the Restoration.
We believe that when the Eternal Teenager returns, He will reset the world to 1985, where we will remain for eternity.
The purpose of the Army of the Eternal Teenager is to fight the Restoration. When we can, we do it by subversion. That’s what The Scene is all about. But when subversion isn’t enough, we fight with knives and guns and bombs. And if those ever run out, we’ll fight with our hands, our nails, and our teeth. We’ll never stop fighting.
Whoa! I haven’t been watching the clock! I’m supposed to be meeting Bobby soon, but on our way out, let’s talk to some of the others here at AET headquarters. To my friends. Because you should know us. Not for sentimentality’s sake — as if you’d ever be sentimental about us — but so that for the rest of your lives you’ll remember who we really were and not whomever or whatever you wanted to think we were.
So, let’s see who’s around tonight. Ooh! There’s Raps. Let’s talk to him!
Claire: Hey Raps! Say ‘Hi!’ to the microphone.
Raps: Hi, microphone.
Claire: Raps — John Rappaport — does all of our internal communications: walkie-talkies, intercoms, stuff like that. He also coordinates with the G-Boys, who are in charge of external communications and with keeping our locations invisible to surveillance. Have I got it right, Raps?
Raps: You’ve got it, Claire.
Claire: So, what are you doing this evening?
Raps: I’m checking batteries. Every battery in every walkie-talkie, radio, and flashlight. Do you know how many walkie-talkies, radios, and flashlights we have?
Claire: No, I don’t.
Raps: A lot. And given that each one has more than one battery in it, we’re talking about a lot of batteries.
Claire: I had no idea.
Raps: Yeah, and then after that, I have two shifts on patrol. I owe Warren for covering my shift last week.
Claire: What Raps is talking about is the patrol of the local streets that every gun-certified member of the Army has to do once a week. Even though the G-Boys do an amazing job of making our setup invisible to electronic snoopers, we’re still vulnerable to street patrols.
Raps: Yeah, Warren covered for me, so I could go to that Smiths tribute show at the Lava Lounge.
Claire: I’ll have you know, if Raps wasn’t such a brilliant tech, he’d be our top sniper. This guy can shoot.
Raps: I’m okay, I guess.
Claire: Okay?! I watched you hit three pennies, dead center, yesterday in the shooting range. You’re the best shot I’ve ever seen.
Raps: I’m pretty good, yeah, but isn’t a big deal. I could never be a sniper and, you know, shoot people or at least not on a regular basis. I still haven’t gotten over the guy I had to shoot during that raid last month. I see his face whenever I try to go to sleep. I searched through his wallet afterward. He had a wife and kids.
Claire: I know. I’m sorry I brought it up. It’s just that I love telling people how awesome you are. Hug?
Raps: Hug.
Claire: So what’s this bullshit about tonight? You’re really not going out?
Raps: Well, if I do get out at some point, I’ll be going to the G-Zone. There’s a girl dancing there tonight I want to see.
Claire: Ooh, Raps has the hots for someone. Who is she? I could use my influence to get you a date.
Raps: Oh, God, no! That would be embarrassing!
Claire: OK, I won’t say a word. Who is it?
Raps: You know that new girl? The one who works in the kitchens? She came to us about six months ago?
Claire: Margaret? Of course I know her. She’s the best cook we’ve ever had. But I can’t see her go-go dancing. I mean, she’s sweet and nice and all, but she’s kinda full-bodied.
Raps: No, not Margaret. Her sister, Nina.
Claire: Ooh, her? Yeah, she’s gorgeous. Black hair, cut short. Pixie face. Legs up to her chin. She’s dancing at the G-Zone, now? Good for her! The G-Boys must be drooling in their Cosmos.
Raps: Heh, yeah…so, anyway, that’s why I want to go.
Claire: Well, you’d better! ‘Cause it’s my birthday today, and Bobby’s taking me out. We’ll definitely be stopping in at the G-Zone.
Raps: Holy shit, that’s right! I forgot. Maybe Warren will cover for me again. I’ll offer him my mint condition copy of Kick Ass.
Claire: Now I know you love me! To sacrifice so much, just to be with me on my birthday.
Raps: Of course I love you, Claire.
Claire: Come here and kiss me, baby. Yeah, sweetie — mmm. So, tonight? The G-Zone?
Raps: I’ll be there! And Happy Birthday!
Claire: Ciao!
Raps was the one who first received me when I came to the Cult. I was just twelve years old and scared to death. I remember how kind he was and how he took me around and introduced me to everyone. Showed me how things worked. He comforted me when I would cry — I cried constantly for weeks — but he never once tried to take advantage in any way. He wasn’t like any boy I’d ever met. Quiet and thoughtful and compassionate. I knew from the minute I met him that he would do anything for me, and It had a huge effect on my confidence and on my ability to make the transition to life in the Rebellion. I wouldn’t be the person I am today if it wasn’t for Raps.
I also remember that terrible night he described. The cops had found one of our drop boxes, by accident — they were hassling some poor homeless guy who was loitering by the box and knocked it over — and traced it back to our last Headquarters. It was about two in the morning, and they broke in through one of the walls in the kitchens. Sarah was there, in her pajamas, making herself a sandwich. She’s our youngest, just seven years old, and we’re all really protective of her. Well, these animals burst in and within a second, she’s got some ski-masked fucker pointing an HK at her. We all came running — they’d made a lot of noise breaking through the wall — and Raps got there first. I arrived just in time to see him lift up his revolver — a .357 Magnum — and drop the guy, with one shot right to the center of his forehead. There was no expression on his face, but he went white as a sheet, and he really hasn’t been the same since. I’ve been worrying about him, so I’m really glad to see that he’s got a girl on his mind. It’s just that he’s so gentle and vulnerable. God, I hope she doesn’t reject him. I don’t think he could bear it.
We’re just about at the end of the hall, near the stairs. Lessee. Hey! Here are two girls you’re definitely gonna’ want to meet.
Claire: Gwen! Sybelle! Hold on a minute! Looks like they’re headed out. I’ll try to grab them for a second.
Gwen: Hey Claire! Syb, come back! Claire wants to talk to us!
Sybelle: Coming!
Claire: Sybelle and Gwen are two of our Infiltrators. Though Sybelle is sixteen and Gwen fifteen, they can look like women in their twenties when properly dressed and made up. Their job is to go out during the day and at night and mix socially with the adults: to get information, steal IDENT cards and access codes, and peddle influence whenever they can. It’s an incredibly dangerous job. One minute you might be on your back, getting plowed by some District Attorney or School Board Chairman, and the next you’re in a knife fight with his bodyguard, who managed to mark you when you came through the door. But they love it; incredible, right? In fact, they’re a pair of clowns, the funniest people in the Cult. So, how are you ladies doing tonight? What’s shaking?
Gwen: My ass, mostly. I’m pulling troll duty in the bars around City Hall.
Claire: Gwen is doing the lord’s work and turning tricks for local politicians, in order to steal their IDENT cards and plant listening devices.
Gwen: Yeah, it’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say? I’ve got my eye on that fucker, Wade Johnson. You know, the Mayor’s new Press Secretary? He’s a class-A dirty bastard and his IDENT card has Epsilon-level clearance. Plus — and this is a big plus — he’s closely tied to Pike’s gang.
Claire: Oh shit! Are you serious?
Gwen: Yes, I’m fucking serious. Syb, give me a cigarette. Light it first, thanks. He’s a total Pike groupie, Claire, and he likes to fuck whores.
Claire: Raymond Pike, Senior Senator from California and Architect of the Restoration. His Caucus is one of the few Overground organizations that we’ve never been able to infiltrate. They seem immune to influence, whether it’s through money, sex, or violence.
Sybelle: Tell her what he does, Gwen.
Gwen: He wants me to wear gym leotards and ballet outfits and pigtails and talk like a goddamned six year old while he jerks off.
Claire: Jesus, Gwen.
Gwen: It’s fucking hilarious. I’ve taken pictures of him with a hidden camera, and spread them all over SUBNet. We have an ongoing discussion thread on what a fucking tool he is. I think I’ll get his IDENT card this time, but after that I’ll have to disappear. I know a few women — adult prostitutes — who pissed him off and wound up hospitalized. I could probably take him, but who wants to deal with it, you know? It’s a big score — totally worth it, if I can pull it off — but it’ll close down City Hall for me. Still, I’m on the Organized Crime beat next, and I’m actually looking forward to it. It’ll be a relief to deal with Mafiosos after this crowd. No pervs. They just like to get drunk on Chianti and fuck and take bribes and eat scungili.
Claire: What have you been doing Syb?
Sybelle: I’ve been trying to get inside the LA County School Planning Board. All the information on what’s going on inside the schools is there, as well as everything on the Refusenik facilities. I took a part-time job as a receptionist, but I haven’t had the chance to run the software the G-Boys cooked up for me to hack into their computers. I’m getting some promising vibes from the Director though — he pressed me up against a water cooler at a staff party and groped me — so I may have another way in. I mean, if I can get with him and dope his drink or something, I can rifle through the files he keeps in his office.
Claire: Are you heading out on your assignments now?
Sybelle: Afraid so. Gwen says that Mr. Pervo usually gets to the bars around nine o’clock, so she needs to boogie, and I’m supposed to be meeting the Eager Director at some Greek restaurant in Beverly Hills.
Gwen: We know it’s your birthday, and we’re really sorry we can’t come out and celebrate with you!
Sybelle: Yeah, we feel terrible about it, but we got you a rocking present! So, why don’t you come to our room this weekend and we’ll give it to you? I’ve rigged a still and cooked up some pretty sweet gin, so we’ll shake up some martinis and toast your health!
Claire: That sounds awesome! It’s a date. And don’t feel bad for a minute. We all appreciate the risk you’re taking. Just come back to us in one piece, okay?
Gwen: You know we will, honey. Hugs! Happy Birthday!
Sybelle: Give mama a kiss. Happy Birthday!
Claire: Thanks girls! Good night! Be careful!
Gwen and Sybelle: We will! Night!
Gwen was a street kid living in alleys in West Hollywood, eating out of dumpsters, the whole deal. None of us know how she got there or what her life was like before — well, maybe Syb knows, but if she does, she’s not telling. Anyway, Gwen got swept eventually. There just aren’t any kids on the streets unsupervised anymore, so if you’re out there on your own, you will be noticed. The cops that swept her couldn’t even manage to get her back to the party van, before she broke loose — stabbed one of them in the eye and bit the other’s thumb off — and came to us. It was four years ago, so she was about eleven, and she was totally out of control: fighting, stealing, and pulling risky stunts that threatened to bring the whole organization down. Our Executive Council put Sybelle in charge of her. There was no question of kicking her out — the cops would have shot her on sight after what she did to them — but something had to be done.
At first, Sybelle acted almost like a mother, setting down rules, maintaining bedtimes, working her through a basic curriculum, but it changed pretty quickly. Gwen is intuitive and passionate, and all she needed was to trust someone for all her glory to come out. I’ll never forget the first time she kissed Sybelle. We had a “graduation” for her after she finished her studies, complete with regalia and mortarboard hats and everything, and Sybelle could barely get through her congratulation speech, she was so choked up. Well, she was just saying how proud she was of Gwen and how much she meant to her, when Gwen snatched away the microphone and said “I love you Syb,” then threw it down, grabbed Sybelle, and kissed her with such strength and passion that she actually swooned. They’ve been inseparable ever since, the most solid couple in the Cult, which would be amazing, under any circumstances, but in this fucked up world, but given the jobs they do? It’s a miracle.
The back stairs lead to the clinic, which is just down the hall. It should be pretty quiet now — there might be a few in there with colds or headaches or whatever — but there’s one person who I know will be there — someone special — whom I want you to meet.
But first, Danny-Boy. It’s a funny name for him really. I mean, he’s six feet four inches tall. A former all-state wrestler. And he’s no boy, but a twenty year old man; a big, muscley badass. When shit really goes down, he plays cleanup. During that raid I told you about — the one where Raps dropped that cop — well, a second later, Danny-Boy grabbed the other two pigs by the throats, one in each hand, lifted them up above his head and smashed them down onto one of the steel prep tables. I’m not kidding, the guy is like a fucking superhero.
He has the temperament too. Cool as a cucumber. Sweet. There’s an aw-shucks, Clark Kent quality to him. And he’s from Ohio, from a small rural community. I mean, how perfect is that? But all that cool and nice is just on the surface. Danny-Boy is an intense guy, committed to one single thing, in the way only a guy can be: His little sister, Ariel. He is totally devoted to her, to the point that he won’t leave her side. Even when she’s working in the clinic, he stands outside the door, on guard. I sometimes wonder if he ever sleeps. Anyway, I’ll tell you more about it in a minute.
Claire: Oh, Danny-Boy, the pipes are calling you!
Danny-Boy: The only pipes I hear are the one’s playing you the Happy Birthday song. Sixteen is it? Does that mean I can’t tell you what to do anymore?
Claire: It better not. You telling me what to do is what’s kept the place from falling apart.
Danny-Boy: I try to help. So what do I hear? You and Bobby are going to light up the Scene tonight?
Claire: As if. We’re squares.
Danny-Boy: They’ll be happy to see you, Claire. It’s good for morale. You don’t do it enough.
Claire: I know. The Scene is half the battle. It’s just that I’ve been preoccupied lately. Like I’m not entirely there, you know?
Danny-Boy: Is it the Sight?
Claire: I don’t know…I guess. The thing is, I haven’t actually seen anything. It’s more like a feeling that something’s about to end; like something’s over. I can’t get it out of my mind, and it’s making it hard for me to get into things.
Danny-Boy: So, you’ve sensed that the Scene is going down? That the Army and the other cells will be defeated?
Claire: Nothing that specific, just this feeling of of a book closing.
Danny-Boy: Are you sure it’s the Scene you’re seeing?
Claire: What do you mean?
Danny-Boy: Maybe it’s you. You just turned sixteen. In the Scene, that’s old. By the time you’re eighteen, you’re not really in it anymore, are you? And by the time you’re twenty, like me? You’ll have paired up by then, surely, and if not, then you’ll have something else. I’m not a typical case. But the Scene is for the kids. Yeah, it’s still for you, for a little bit longer. But, after that you go into the Executive Council, move offsite, and everything changes.
Claire: So, you’re saying that maybe what I’m seeing is my own departure, two years from now? That it being my sixteenth birthday has triggered the Sight?
Danny-Boy: Why not? Adults have mid-life crises when they hit their forties. In the Scene, you’re past middle age; four years into a six year party.
Claire: I just feel like something big is going to happen; something bigger than me.
Danny-Boy: Just don’t forget to enjoy the two years you still have left in the Scene.
Claire: Thanks Danny-Boy. I don’t know what I would have done without you or Ariel.
Danny-Boy: We all love you Claire. You’re the best leader the Army has ever had. Come here. You’re still not too old for me to hug you.
Claire: Definitely not! I’ve been on a hugging tour all evening. Mmm. Okay, I’m gonna go see if Ariel will chat with me for a few minutes. Then I’ve gotta go meet Bobby. If I’m too late, he’ll worry that I got swept…or worse.
Danny-Boy: She’s just finishing up with Philip. I think he hurt his arm. I’ll just run down to the kitchens and get her some dinner, while you two are talking.
Claire: Okay! Ciao!
And now, Ariel. She’s just finished setting a cast on Philip’s arm. He looks scared. It’s hard for the younger kids not having their parents around. Sarah cries almost every night. It’s gotten so bad that Raps has started sitting with her and rubbing her back, so she can fall asleep. Others get freaked out when they get sick or have a nosebleed. Almost all of them go through periods where they just feel kind of unsettled; like they’re wondering, “Who’s flying the plane?” We do our best for them, and the older ones try to look after the younger ones, but, in a sense, they’re right to be worried, because no one is flying the plane. Sure, there are the Executive Councils, but they only advise the teen leadership. Other than the Army itself, which has a clear chain of command, the larger Cult is only loosely organized — led, in a vague, general sense, by the Religious Caste — and the greater Teen Rebellion? The other Cells? We’re only mutually affiliated. There’s no larger organization, other than a set of delegates who communicate with the Executive Councils. On a rare occasion, when the teen leadership asks them to — like with the Gwen situation — the Council will make a ruling, but they’re not “in charge,” in any real sense. And that’s on purpose. Adults had their chance, and they blew it. Sure, these are our adults — they all grew up in the Rebellion and the Scene (or the Proto-Scene) — but as we all know, something happens to you when you get older. Your priorities change, your feelings change, your bodies change. You don’t necessarily become bad — that’s just the adults overground, and they’re all bad in one way or another — but you do become different. And because of what’s happened — and is still happening — we can never put ourselves in adult hands again. They’d be the first to agree. In fact, no one has been a stronger advocate for teen leadership than the members of the Executive Councils. And it makes sense: the oldest of them are the ones who created all of this.
Ariel defies categorization. She’s only thirteen but has an aura of maturity and goodness that gives people a feeling of security and comfort. I’ve seen a girl go from hysterically crying to peacefully dozing off in a matter of seconds, just from Ariel touching her. I’ve seen two boys stop fighting, mid-punch, after Ariel hugged them and they caught her scent. She and her brother appeared out of nowhere on the very day that I Ascended — Danny-Boy was just a few months short of eighteen and Ariel was only eleven — and I’ll never forget it. He was like a beautiful sculpture, exuding all this strength, but with a deep sadness in his eyes, and she was almost otherworldly: hair like spun gold and eyes like sapphires. It was almost as if she was surrounded by a shimmering dust, which would shift as she moved. Within six months, she’d taken over the clinic and was doing incredible things with the wounded and the sick. She would meditate and whisper over them and over the dead. Absolutely spellbinding.
Meanwhile, every girl in the Cult was dying to go out with Danny-Boy, but he wasn’t available. He never left Ariel and never took a life for himself. He just waited, until his time had passed and he was over the line. But, he never took an adult lover either. He just stood there, like a titan, straddling two worlds, with one foot in HQ and the Scene, alongside Ariel, and the other in the world of the Councils and the Righteous Adults.
Ariel: Hold on one minute, Claire, I’m almost done. How does that feel Philip?
Philip: Not too bad. It’s weird not being able to move it though, and it’s a little sore.
Ariel: I’m afraid you’ll be in that sling for a few months. But the soreness should go, once the meds I gave you kick in.
Philip: I’m also…
Ariel: What is it, sweetheart?
Philip: I’m scared. I’ve never been hurt like this before. What if something else happens?
Ariel: It won’t. It was just bad luck.
Philip: But what if it does? What if it’s even worse next time?
Ariel: There’s always a slight chance something bad might happen. Even sitting around doing nothing, you could get sick. That’s no reason not to play anymore. Here, take my hand…yes, like that.
Philip: I’m not scared anymore! Thanks!
Ariel: You are most welcome! Now go and play with your friends!
Phillip: I will! Bye!
Claire: Ariel, sometimes I wonder if you ever leave the clinic. Do you work all the time?
Ariel: I love working here.
Claire: So, how are you?
Ariel: Great! We’ve been able to expand, thanks to some of the new … er … revenue streams acquired by our fabulous Infiltrators, so I’ve been in a particularly good mood lately.
Claire: I just talked to Gwen and Sybelle a minute ago. Gwen thinks she might have an in with Pike’s organization.
Ariel: I worry about her. Powerful, but fragile. Not a day goes by, when I don’t wonder if she’s going to be brought in here on a stretcher covered in blood.
Claire: I know. Thank goodness for Sybelle, right? I don’t think Gwen would have made it without her.
Ariel: Sybelle is one of the saints you know; sent to us from the Eternal Teenager.
Claire: You think so? I don’t know…
Ariel: You don’t know whether she’s one of the saints? Or you don’t know whether the Eternal Teenager sends saints to us?
Claire: Both. I say the right things… Maybe I even believed them, once, but it seems harder now.
Ariel: If you don’t believe, then why do you do it? Why not live up there in the overground, with them?
Claire: Because what they’re doing is wrong, whether there’s an Eternal Teenager or not! Because I don’t want to see my friends hurt, enslaved, or killed. Because I love the Scene. That’s why!
Ariel: You see? You do believe.
Claire: How do you figure that?
Ariel: You love the others, and you love the world that we’ve created together. That’s the whole point of the Eternal Teenager’s mission.
Claire: Yeah, but what I was saying was that all of that would matter even if there wasn’t an Eternal Teenager.
Ariel: You’re being too literal about this, Claire. Leave that to the Bible-thumping creeps overground. You’re fulfilling the mission of the Eternal Teenager, and that’s an act of piety, not doubt.
Claire: Ariel, sometimes you’re so wise, I think you’re a thousand years old.
Ariel: I am.
Claire: Heh, weirder things, right? So, you, Danny-Boy, Bobby and me? Tonight? The Land of Turquoise and Pink? Midnight? A toast to my sixteenth?
Ariel: For sure, Claire. We wouldn’t miss it.
Claire: Really? Just like that? I thought I’d have to turn it on a little bit. Whine and beg.
Ariel: I’ve been spending too much time in the clinic. I have good staff now, and I should trust them. I think it’s important that I socialize more.
Claire: I’m so glad! But what about Danny-Boy? It’s gonna’ be hard to socialize with him hulking around.
Ariel: We’ve spoken about it. He agrees, intellectually, but emotionally, he’s having a hard time letting go. We’ve been working on it together. I whisper to him and stroke his head while he sleeps, and with each day it’s like a layer peels off.
Claire: It amazes me how you do that.
Ariel: They’re gifts from the Eternal Teenager: touch; scent; breath; voice.
Claire: You make me believe it, Ariel. And you’re right about Sybelle: She is a saint…at least, in any sense of the word that means anything.
Ariel: “You shall know them by the goodness they bring to the world.”
Claire: I love when you paraphrase scripture. Are you going to do the reading this weekend? Because if you are, I might actually go to services.
Ariel: I will, if it means you’ll go.
Claire: You’re sneaky!
Ariel: Yes, I am.
Claire: I love you my dear Star Child. Gotta’ go meet Bobby now. See you in the Land of Turquoise and Pink at midnight!
Ariel: Love. Midnight.
When Danny-Boy and Ariel came to us, they were on the run, but wouldn’t tell anyone why or who from. Ariel had a black eye and a bruised face, and Danny-Boy wouldn’t go more than a foot away from her. They kept to themselves at first — it was almost as if they were nursing each other and feeling us out at the same time — but eventually we learned the whole story. Their parents were hardcore Jesus-freaks and Danny-Boy and Ariel had grown up “in the church” in rural Ohio. Anyway, Ariel was about seven when her powers began to show. She could read people’s minds, convince them of things, change the mood of a room in a second, and her parents totally freaked out. They thought she was a witch or something insane like that. Well, she and Danny-Boy were getting dragged to church twice as often now for special “spiritual counseling,” and their dad was flying into terrible rages, screaming that he wouldn’t have “devils” in his house and all that. Danny-Boy was scared and had taken to not letting Ariel out of his sight, especially when their father was around, but one day when he was at wrestling practice, the bastard came home early from work. The Church “counseling” hadn’t been having any effect on Ariel’s powers. and he was in a black mood. When he came into the house, Ariel was sitting cross-legged in the living room, whispering over a bird who’d flown into one of the big picture windows in the living room and seemed dead. Within a few seconds, it flexed its wings and flew from her hands, past her father’s face, and out the front door, which he’d left open. This set him off and he went berserk and hit her across the face. Then he began to beat her.
From what I understand, Danny-Boy came in just as his father was really laying into Ariel. He’d just punched her in the eye, when Danny-Boy grabbed him from behind and broke his neck, with one twist. Then, he and Ariel packed their things and made the long journey from Ohio to our HQ, here in LA. Apparently, Ariel had learned of us months earlier — she’s never told me how — and had already been planning their escape.
But here’s the thing, physical wounds aside, it’s not Ariel who suffered the worst. It was Danny-Boy. Not only had he seen his kid sister beaten black and blue, he’d killed his own father with his bare hands. I think his heart simply broke that day, and now he only lives for her. Ariel has told me that she worries that if anything ever happens to her, Danny-Boy will kill himself and sometimes I wonder myself. So, all of this time — all these days and hours and minutes that he’s been standing guard over her, never leaving her side — it hasn’t been him watching over her. She’s been watching over him; knowing that he needed to believe he was protecting her and hiding the fact that she didn’t need protecting; that with her powers, no human being could harm her; that she is inviolable.
And I’ve hidden something from Danny-Boy too: my plans for Ariel. You see, I’ve got her pegged for Ascension. In fact, I’m absolutely determined that she should succeed me, when I go. The thought of her running things is the only thing that calms the rising panic I feel, because she’s the only one I believe can handle the change that I know is coming. I’ve had my eye on her since she and Danny-Boy arrived. I mean, how often does a full blown Empath show up at your door? But, since I’ve started having these premonitions, these feelings, I’ve been thinking of her more and more. Sometimes, at night, just as I’m falling asleep, I see her face, in my mind, and I always wake up feeling better the next day. It makes me think that she just might have the power to actually pull this thing off: to defeat the Restoration and bring the Eternal Teenager back to us.
I guess what I’m saying is that to me, Ariel is Hope.
It took us about a half hour to get back to school. We passed by the front, where the buses were starting to line up, and then circled around the building to the backlot. As we pulled in, I noticed that there was a guard in the booth at the entrance, and this surprised me, because there never was anyone in there. In fact, it was a running school joke.
I pointed this out to Eddie, but he was unimpressed. “It’s probably because Mike Kaplan’s car got broken into last week.” He gave a little wave as we passed through the entrance and pulled into an empty spot. Turned off the engine and climbed out, while I pressed the button to put up the top. Then I got out too.
We used the back stairs just like we’d done in the morning, and in a few seconds we were in the courtyard again. But when we tried to get into the building through the courtyard doors, they were locked.
“Shit.” Eddie looked annoyed. “I guess we’ll have to go through the front entrance.” He turned to go back down the steps, but I stopped him.
“Wait, there’s a girl coming. Maybe she’ll let us in.” A young girl, probably a freshman, was walking down the hallway inside. I banged on the doors.
“Hey! Will you let us in?”
The girl looked around the hallway twice before finally opening the doors. I found her caution strange, but didn’t say anything other than “Thanks” while slipping past her. She stared at us for a moment and then turned and went the other way.
“So, where to?” I asked.
“Well, it’s almost 1:45. We can catch the end of Barb’s class.” Barb Newman is our physics teacher and an ex-hippie who was actually at Woodstock. She has long shaggy hair, streaked with grey, a somewhat worn but pretty face, and a killer body. She’s also the coolest teacher in the school: ducks into the supply closet to chain-smoke between class periods; helps us cheat on state Regents exams (which she calls “a fascist conspiracy”); throws end of the year pool parties at her house… She’s also a brilliant teacher and will often skip whatever class material we’re supposed to be doing, sit on the edge of her desk, and talk to us about the Theory of Relativity, Quantum Mechanics, Singularities, and other far-out stuff. Everyone loves her.
“Great idea! And she won’t care if we come in late.” I thought that seeing Barb would make me feel a lot better.
Eddie turned left at the end of the hall, which was the way to the science wing, and for a moment I lost sight of him around the corner.
“What the…?” I heard him say. A second later I was standing next to him and saw it: a table at the far end of the hall, with a cop sitting at it. There are no cops in our school.
“Did something happen while we were gone?” I whispered.
“I don’t know.” Eddie looked genuinely confused.
The cop made me nervous. “Let’s go the long way, so we don’t have to pass him.” Eddie nodded, and we turned left.
We had only been walking for a minute or two when Eddie tugged on my sleeve. It gave me a little jolt, because I’d been spacing out.
“What?” For some reason, I was still whispering.
“Where the hell is everybody?” Eddie was whispering too.
I realized, then, that other than the girl who had let us in, we hadn’t seen a single person in the halls.
“It’s the middle of classes,” I said.
“Yeah,” Eddie replied, “but are you telling me that not one person in our school has a free period now?”
He was right. In fact, I could think of half a dozen people whom I knew didn’t have class during this period. Yet, no one was around.
Something is not normal, I thought. I could see Caribbean Dennis Hopper in my mind now, his face looming. We came around another corner…
…and ran smack into another table, with another cop seated at it.
We froze.
“Hall passes…” The cop didn’t even look at us. He seemed bored.
“What?” I managed to croak. Eddie just stood there with his mouth open.
The cop looked up. “Hall passes. Where are your hall passes?”
“Hall passes?” I felt like I was on some kind of weird autopilot. “We don’t have any.”
“No hall passes.” The cop shook his head. Then he scrutinized us more carefully. “Where are your lanyards?”
The last time I had seen or heard of lanyards was in day camp in 1977, when I was eight years old. I remembered that I’d liked the Cobra stitch best, but could only manage a simple Box stitch myself. “Camp Shibley?” I was flailing.
The cop gave me a withering look. “So, it’s going to be like that, huh? Let’s see your Drivers’ Licenses. I’ll check you on the school roster and give you temporary IDs.”
Eddie and I opened our wallets, took our Drivers’ Licenses out and placed them on the table in front of the cop. I saw Eddie’s eyes widen and looked down. The licenses were orange and blue, rather than the grayish green they’d always been, with some kind of laminate covering them, and had our photos at the bottom right hand corner. I gasped.
The cop ignored me and pulled out a device consisting of a flat rectangular screen, almost like a thin, knobless TV. He tapped on several screen icons, which brought up the school roster. I took the opportunity to lean over to Eddie and whisper in his ear. “What the hell is going on? Some kind of crackdown? Martial law?”
“Maybe, but what about the driver’s licenses? And how about that mini-tv thing?” I had no answer.
The cop was scrolling through the roster by sliding his finger down the screen, so I checked out the licenses a bit more. They were made of hard plastic and had weird symbols that looked like holograms. I’d never seen anything like them before. Eddie tugged on my sleeve again, and I leaned over.
“I know what happened,” he whispered.
“You do? What?”
He didn’t answer but pointed up at the ceiling. My eyes followed the line of his arm to the tip of his finger. Hanging above us was an enormous banner, painted in white and blue, which are our school colors.
My mind raced, but before I had a chance to digest what I’d just seen, the cop was talking again.
“Ah, here we are: Daniel____ and Edward_____.” He pulled out a sheet with stickers on them marked “Temporary” and wrote our names on two of the stickers with a black marker. Handed them to us.
“Now don’t let me catch you in the halls during classes without passes again, you hear? If I do, you will be reported. And make sure you wear those lanyards tomorrow. I don’t know how you got in the building without ‘em, but it’s your responsibility to remember. If you don’t…”
“We’ll be reported. Right. Sorry! It won’t happen again.” We started backing away from the table. My whole body was tingling, and I felt like I had to confer with Eddie right away. There was no chance, though, because at that very moment the buzzer rang and the halls were mobbed with students.
“You two had better get to your last class and hop to it.” The cop looked back down at his screen-thing, and we slipped into the crowd.
“What the fuck do we do?!” I hissed at Eddie. He was frowning.
“We can’t talk here.” He held up a hand. “And if we don’t get to our last class quickly, those cops will be onto us. Who knows how many more there are? There might be a whole police substation in here.”
“But how do we go to our class? If it’s 2014, our classes don’t exist anymore. Our teachers won’t be here anymore either!” I looked around.
“I don’t know, but I have this hunch…” Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “I bet that if we go to whatever class we should be having, our names will be on the attendance list.”
I cocked my head. “Huh? Why?”
“We were on the student roster weren’t we?”
“Yeah.”
“And don’t you think it’s funny…?”
“Think what’s funny?”
“That our pictures on those new licenses are of us, at our current age? It’s 2014, and we have current Driver’s Licenses with current photos on them?”
This hadn’t occurred to me. Eddie saw the look on my face and grabbed my arm. “C’mon. We’re supposed to have Social Studies in Room 304. Let’s go and see what happens.” He pulled me along.
“How could we not have noticed during the ride back?” I asked, as we made our way through the crowds. “I mean, it’s been twenty-nine fucking years. Shouldn’t there be flying cars or something?”
“Clearly things haven’t changed very much or at least not in ways that are obvious.” I wasn’t paying much attention on the road. But you saw that weird screen thing the cop was holding. And look around, do you notice anything about the kids here?
“What?” I was too stunned to notice much of anything.
“No goths. No punks. No greasers.”
I studied the students streaming by us. He was right.
“And notice something else.”
“What?”
“No one is talking.”
He was right again. Aside from the bustle, the halls were quiet.
“And look up at the ceiling corners. Subtly. Don’t draw attention.” I feigned a yawn and glanced up. There were security cameras, like the ones you see in stores in the mall.
“Jesus…”
“And you see what the cop meant by ‘lanyards’? Everyone has a rope thing around their necks with IDs attached to them. That’s why he couldn’t understand how we’d gotten in. There’s probably a checkpoint at the main entrance. The courtyard doors are locked, so they don’t expect people to come in through there.”
“Yeah.” I felt a sudden wave of depression.
“And the reason why we didn’t see anyone in the halls — the reason that chick was so stunned when she saw us — is because the campus is closed and there are no free periods.”
“Our school has been turned into a prison.”
“Looks like it,” Eddie said grimly. “Here we are.”
Mr. Russo should be inside, I thought. A hilarious, grumpy man who would refuse to allow us to leave during fire drills, on account of the fact that our room was right over the boiler, and in the case of an actual fire we (as he put it) “wouldn’t even make it to the door.” Instead, there was a very young woman who looked like she was barely out of high school herself, dressed in a way-too-short skirt that stuck to her body like cling wrap, an equally tight strapless top, and high-heeled boots. She was dressed like no teacher I’d ever seen and had we not just found out that we’d travelled almost thirty three years into the future and that the future apparently sucked, I might have appreciated this a bit more, but as things were, I pined for cranky old Russo.
Other than the change of personnel, the room looked pretty much the same as before, and Eddie and I took our regular seats, one behind the other. Then, the buzzer rang and Miss Cling Wrap took attendance.
“Clark…Cohen…Dimson…Gross…” I braced myself.
“…Jacobson…Kaplan…______….,” as she called my name, I felt the blood drain out of my face.
“Klein…Kraus…______…Levine…” at mention of his name, I saw Eddie’s back stiffen. Then, he turned around.
“I told you!” he whispered. I was in too much shock to reply.
The rest of the class passed in a haze. It was a weird civics lecture in which Miss Cling Wrap went on and on about some “Restoration,” our responsibilities as “budding citizens,” a “Senator Pike” whom I never heard of, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t understand. At one point I even answered a question that she posed to me, though I have no idea what the question was or what I gave as a response. Then, the class — and school — was over, and everyone poured into the halls again. The underclassmen who took the bus made for the front of the building, while we and the rest of the upperclassmen who had driven to school made our way towards the courtyard doors, which had been opened by two cops who were standing on either side. In a couple of minutes, Eddie and I were back in the car again. We sat without speaking for a few moments, and then I turned to him.
“So we’ve travelled forward in time twenty-nine years…” I had regained some of my composure.
“Maybe…” Eddie said. He was looking down at the wheel.
“What do you mean, ‘maybe’? You saw that banner.”
“I agree that it’s 2014, but that doesn’t mean that we’ve travelled forward in time.”
I sat back in the passenger seat. Eddie started the car and put it into reverse, but before he could start moving, I gripped his arm.
“Wait, what are you doing? Where are we going?”
“Home, of course.” He backed out of the spot and drove out the gates onto Harbor Road.
This struck me as a terrible idea. “What?! Are you crazy?!”
“I figure home will be just like school,” Eddie remarked, making a right onto Eastern Boulevard. “Our parents will be there and will be whatever age they were this morning. My brother will be there, and he’ll still be twelve. And they’ll all act as if nothing has happened.”
For some reason the thought of this made me feel even sicker. “And how do you know this?”
Eddie gave a short laugh. “That’s the way everything’s been since we got back to school. The only people who’ve noticed that anything has changed is us. I’m guessing things will stay that way.”
Eddie made a left onto Sunnyvale, which would take us to my house in a few minutes. I was scared to death and realized that I hadn’t let go of his arm.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” I said. “I’m really freaked out.”
Eddie dislodged himself from me. “Let’s have as little interaction with our families as possible; give ourselves some time to think. I’ll call you after dinner, ok?”
“Alright.” I had to agree with him, not because I thought I’d handle the scene with my parents well, but because I didn’t know what else to do.
Eddie pulled into my neighborhood, and when we stopped at the first Stop sign, I looked at my old bus stop, on the corner of Sunnyvale and The Maples. I wondered if it was still a bus stop. I wondered if eight year old kids still stood there flipping baseball cards while waiting for the bus. I wondered if Gregg Rollins still lived in the house on the corner and had a sheep dog. I wondered if I walked there tomorrow morning, I’d find kids whom I knew. I wondered…
Then, Eddie was pulling into my driveway. I felt a wave of anxiety.
“I don’t think I can do this.”
“Of course you can.” Eddie patted me. “Just be deadpan and monotone and get to your room as soon as you can. Then, think. Think!”
“Right.” I felt like a wigged out robot. Got out of the car and closed the door. “You’ll call me right?”
“You know I will.” Eddie winked and gave me the “be seeing you” sign from The Prisoner, which is one of our favorite classic TV shows. Then, he backed out of the driveway.
I let myself into the house and put my book bag on the floor in the hallway. I was tempted to run up to my room, but that would seem suspicious. Better to do what I’d normally do and seek out whomever was home, which inevitably would be my mother, since my father never gets back from work before 6:30 and I have no siblings.
I found her in the kitchen, reading the New York Times. She looked exactly as she’d looked in the morning. Not a second older or different in any other way. I stared at her with a kind of dumb amazement, having to remind myself that twenty nine years had passed, and realized that I was holding my breath. I let out a loud exhale, and she looked up.
“Oh, there you are. How was school?”
“Uh, fine. Nothing interesting happened.”
“Hmm.” She looked back down at the newspaper. I noticed that the pictures were in color, which initially struck me as cool but after a moment seemed wrong. From what I could tell (scanning the front page upside-down), there were widespread riots and uprisings across the Middle East, from Tripoli to Tehran, and we were apparently in at least two wars, one in Central America and the other in Scandinavia of all places. My mother looked back up again.
“So, what are you going to do now?”
For some reason, this question caught me off guard. “I’m a little tired. I think I’ll take it easy and read until dinner.”
“Ok. We’re having quiche.” She readjusted the glasses on her nose and returned to her paper.
“Right. Awesome.” I turned around and made for the stairs and my room on the second floor.
It seemed familiar at first. Twin beds, with blue bedspreads, perpendicular to each other in the far left corner; two sets of double windows, with the choo-choo train drapes that I never bothered to change; the great old wooden desk with the lid that opens and closes. But then I started noticing differences: There should have been a bunch of pictures of Brooke Shields on the wall, but they were gone and replaced with several posters of athletes whom I didn’t recognize; and on top of the dresser, where my record player should have been, there was a sleek silver box with no apparent wires of any kind and a number of illuminated buttons. But, the most noticeable thing was on my desk. I figured that it must be a computer, because it bore some vague resemblance to the Apple 2E that I have — it had a screen and a keyboard and the Apple logo — but that’s where any similarities ended. This looked like something out of a science fiction novel: an enormous thin, silver screen; a tiny keyboard with nothing connecting it to anything; and a little biscuit shaped thing next to it, also seemingly connected to nothing, which slid across the desk when I poked it. I saw no obvious way to turn the computer on, so I left it alone.
I threw myself on one of the beds and stared at the ceiling. My mind turned to the question of when the switch could have happened. It must have been 1985 when we left school in the morning, since that clearly was no longer possible. It also had to have been 1985 when we first got to the beach, because we ran into Jessie, Claudia, and Jill.
I wracked my brains, but the memories came slowly, which was a little strange since all of this just happened earlier today. I figured that it also had to have been 1985 when we went to the bar, since we used the fake driver’s licenses that we’d gotten on 42nd street and not the new licenses we have now.
Then we had that weird encounter with Caribbean Dennis Hopper, and it was after this that everything changed. Could he have made it happen? I couldn’t see how. I mean, we travelled through time, for God’s sake. Something else must have happened. But, I couldn’t think of anything. There’d been no cosmic event between the time we were done with him and the time we arrived at school. We just drove back and found that everything was different. I focused on the drive back but couldn’t remember thinking that the cars seemed strange or that anything was out of the ordinary, whether traffic signals, street lights, retail signs, gas stations, or anything else.
I thought that I must be forgetting something; that I’d missed some crucial detail that would have given away exactly when time had jumped forward. But, just as I was setting my mind to go back over all the events of the day again, I heard the door open and shut downstairs and voices come up through the floor. My father was home.
I’d better go down and say ‘Hello’, I thought. They’ll expect that. I got up from the bed and hurried out of my room.
Dad was still hanging his coat up at the front door and putting all of his stuff down, when he saw me. “Hey there!” He looked harried, as he usually does when he gets home from work.
“Good day?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said, “except for that goddamned commute. Two and a half hours tonight. Some goddamned tractor trailer overturned on the goddamned L.I.E.” My father always invokes God when discussing New York traffic.
“Dinner’s ready,” my mother said. “We can eat whenever you want.”
“Let’s do it now,” my father pulled at his tie. “I’ve got more work to do afterwards.” He gave up on the tie, which dangled around his neck, and made his way into the kitchen.
I watched him as we ate. Not one thing was out of place. The same brown and grey combover hair. The same fifty-seven year old face. The same manner of speaking. The same everything. I prayed that I wouldn’t be drawn into any kind of conversation and made a show of concentrating on my food.
Fortunately, my father wasn’t in a talkative mood. I’ve seen this many times. Four hours of commuting — two hours each way — plus eight hours of work, plus the prospect of more work after dinner often leaves him kind of blank. After lighter workdays, he typically talks about politics or business (and I emphasize “talk” — my father isn’t much of a listener, but whose father is?) and it’s usually pretty heated. He’s a powerful, intense man. But there are limits to what even he can take, and as I watched him eating, I wondered whether in the twenty-nine years that passed, the grind of the typical workday had gotten even worse than it was in 1985. I thought to myself, With the exception of a few stray weekends and vacations here and there, when’s the last time I saw my father while it was still daylight? and if you asked me to guess, I would say that it was when I was a little kid, in the early 1970s.
The table wasn’t completely silent. My mother and father made some small talk and asked me a few simple questions, which I answered, and then dinner was over. Dad shuffled off to his home office to do whatever work he’d brought home with him, and I cleared the table of all the dishes, which my mother loaded into the dishwasher. Then she settled back into her paper, and I returned to my room. Once there and after closing the door, I breathed a sigh of relief. Even though nothing happened, I felt like I’d been through an interrogation.
I lay down on the bed again thinking I’d go over the day’s events one more time, but at that moment the phone rang. It was Eddie. The relief at hearing his voice was almost overwhelming.
“How’d it go at your house?” I asked.
“Weird as hell but OK. Everything seemed normal. My mother’s still cool, my brother’s still annoying, and my father’s still a dick.”
I shook my head. ““You were right. It’s like nothing’s happened.”
“What makes you think anything has?” Eddie’s voice was quiet.
“You said that in the car, and I still don’t get it.” I wrapped and unwrapped the curly phone cord around my finger. “This morning it was 1985. Now it’s 2014. Which means that we’ve travelled twenty-nine years forward in time.”
“Not necessarily.”Eddie was being infuriatingly mysterious.
“You’ve obviously got some theory about this that hasn’t occurred to me, so let’s hear it.”
“You keep assuming that we traveled through time,” Eddie said. “That first we were in 1985 and then, suddenly, we were in 2014.”
“Well, yeah. It’s what happened.”
“Is it?” I heard Eddie take a sip of a drink. “What if it’s been 2014 all along and we didn’t travel anywhere?”
“What?!” I wondered If he had gone nuts. Or was drunk. “I’ve been thinking along the lines of a miniature black hole or a tesseract or something like that.”
Eddie took another sip. Cleared his throat. “There’s a number of things that don’t make sense on that sort of theory.”
I moved the phone cradle to the side of the bed. “Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, how do you explain the fact that we were on both the school and class rosters? If we’d traveled through time, we wouldn’t have been on any list of students.”
He was right, of course.
“And the licenses. How do you explain them? Current driver’s licenses with our current pictures on them?”
“I can’t.” I began to feel sick again.
“And what about our parents or my brother? Why are they exactly the same age and in the same places they were this morning? If we went forward in time, they should be twenty-nine years older. I doubt my brother would still be living here, and as for my parents…,” he paused, “they’d probably be divorced.”
“Are you saying we’ve gone crazy? Or that we hallucinated the whole 1985 thing?” I frowned. “It doesn’t feel like any hallucination I’ve ever had. I mean, I’ve tried ‘shrooms, Mescaline… they’re nothing like this.”
“Hallucinating? Both of us? At the same time?” Eddie snorted. “I doubt it.”
“Then what? Mind control? Someone or something made us think it was 1985 or that it’s 2014 now?”
“No…” Eddie sounded like he was struggling. “Nothing like that. You’re being too literal.”
“And what about Caribbean Dennis Hopper?”
“What about him?” Eddie asked.
“Maybe he had something to do with it.” I was groping. “I mean, he told us that it wasn’t … isn’t … you know, 1985.”
“I’ve been wondering about that.” Eddie sniffed. “Wasn’t it odd the way he described high school? That what he described was identical to what’s been our normal experience…or at least, what we thought was our normal experience.”
“Yeah, I didn’t really understand that. I was kind of floored by the whole thing.”
“Well, think about it. That Dennis Hopper guy was in his late forties or early fifties, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what I remember too.”
“So, if it’s 2014 now, then he….”
“Was in high school in the late seventies or eighties. Christ.”
“So, he was right. Things were better when he, not you or I, was in high school.”
It was as if for a moment I could see impossible figures. Dennis Hopper had described something that had already happened — was happening — to us in 2014, and it was he who had been a teenager in 1985, not Eddie and me.
I swallowed. “I don’t see how this affects what we’re talking about, though; how Dennis Hopper proves that we didn’t travel through time.”
“He doesn’t.” Eddie admitted.
“And your theory — that the only thing that’s changed is us — it’s got some problems too.”
“Like what?”
“That school we saw this afternoon? Cop Central?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think anyone could get out of there at ten thirty in the morning and go on a merry ride to the beach?”
“No.” Eddie seemed hesitant.
“So, how did we do it?”
“I guess it’s my turn to admit I can’t explain something.” I beamed to myself at the thought that I’d stumped him and that my theory wasn’t stupid after all.
“And yet…” My beam was prematurely cut off.
“What?”
“I still think you’re being too literal; too straightforward. This thing that’s happened might be really subtle. Don’t think along the lines of an Asimov or Heinlein novel, but something more like Kafka or Philip K. Dick. Think about The Man in the High Castle.
I thought about it. Didn’t like it at all.
“I mean…” Eddie trailed off. “We were there. I know it. But we’ve also always been here. I feel like I know that too.”
I half understood him and half didn’t, and what he said gave me goosebumps. Because at that moment I knew that whatever had happened, it might never be undone. We weren’t going to make a pact with the physics teacher and figure out a way back home through a wormhole; there’d be no violent confrontation with the leaders of the conspiracy forcing them to return our memories to us; we wouldn’t go back to the beach to find Caribbean Dennis Hopper and convince him to send us back to 1985. There was no solution, a la Doctor Who or Star Trek. We might very well be stuck here for the rest of our lives.
“So what do we do now?”
“Carry on.” Eddie said. “What else is there to do?”
“Just pretend? Act as if we know people whom we’ve never met? That’s going to be hard.” I tried to imagine getting through conversations at school without using anyone’s name and then realized that it wouldn’t be difficult at all, since I could just look at the IDs hanging on their lanyards. The thought made me feel sad.
“It won’t be so bad,” Eddie said. “It’s not as if anyone pays that close attention to what people say. The students and teachers here — not to mention our families — obviously know us and will give all sorts of cues as to what kinds of guys we are, whom we hang out with, what we do; stuff like that. It’ll be a little awkward at first.”
“And what about Benji? Jessie? All of our friends? They’re just gone?”
“I don’t know, Danny.” Now, Eddie sounded sad too.
“I’m exhausted,” I said to myself as much as to him.
“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. “Wanna call it a night? I mean, we’ll see each other tomorrow morning.”
“I’m scared.”
“Why?”
“What if we wake up and don’t remember any of this?” I was huddled against the wall, now, cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder, the curly cord wrapped around my arm. “What if you and me aren’t even friends here?
“I don’t think that will happen.” Eddie sounded reassuring. “I mean, haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“What?”
“That when things suck, they always suck in a boring way, not an exciting one?
For some reason, this made me feel better. “Alright, I’ll sign off. See you tomorrow?”
“You know you will.” Eddie hung up. I could see him, alone in his bedroom, giving the “Be seeing you” sign.
I put down the receiver, and in the moment before it went into the cradle, I found my attention drawn to the rotary dialer and the numbers 1 through 0.
I don’t really know how to start this, but I have to do it fast. It’s almost midnight, and I don’t think I can keep myself awake much longer. I’ve got to get it all down before I fall asleep, because I’m afraid that tomorrow morning, I might not remember what happened.
At first, I was convinced that we’d travelled through a black hole or crossed into another dimension. But, after what Eddie said on the phone, I’m not sure anymore. He insisted that there was nothing more to it than us; that we’d changed, not the world. But, I can’t escape the nagging feeling that the details don’t really matter; that by coming here — however you understand it — we made this happen.
And if that’s true… If we did this…
Then we’re the ones who killed the world.
___
Eddie and I planned this day last weekend. Neither of us had anything going on: no tests; no assignments due; no special in-class activities. The weather forecast was good: warm and sunny. What better time for a day off than our last week as Juniors in this very excellent year of 1985?
The plan was our usual one for skipping school. Drive in for homeroom, make sure we get counted as present (so no one from the office would call our parents), and get through the first two periods, since both Mr. James and Mrs. Hart take attendance and the teachers we have later in the day do not. Go back to the parking lot and head out in the red 1968 Mustang convertible that Eddie and I bought together when we were fourteen and spent two summers working on. WLIR on the radio, a boombox and a bag full of tapes in the back seat, and Jones Beach. All the ingredients for a perfect day.
Benji wanted to come with us. He had to make an appearance in Mrs. Krevik’s class, because she takes attendance, but unlike Mr. James and Mrs. Hart, she gets so lost in the material as class goes on that she doesn’t notice when someone leaves. Of course, Benji couldn’t do this like a normal person and just excuse himself to the bathroom and not come back. Instead, when Mrs. Krevik was in the middle of one of her weird fugues — staring off vaguely, muttering, and tracing patterns in the air with her finger — he climbed out of the window.
Eddie and I were waiting in the courtyard below — Mrs. Krevik’s class is on the second floor — and it looked pretty funny: Benji’s feet suddenly sticking out of the window; then his ass; then the rest of his body; until he dropped down onto the grass next to us.
From there, it was easy to make it down the school’s back steps to the rear parking lot. Not that we had to sneak or anything. Our campus is open, and the rules are lax. In fact, if you’re smart about making your schedule (and a little lucky), you can set things up so that your day ends at lunch time, after which you can take the rest of the day off. I remember that David and I did that last year, and it was awesome, although we spent way too much money on Defender, Centipede, and all of the other video games we played during those long afternoons at the arcade.
After a couple of minutes, we were on the Northern State Parkway heading towards the Meadowbrook, which leads to Jones Beach. Eddie was driving with the top down, and we were singing at the top of our lungs (and out of tune) to Elvis Costello’s “Beyond Belief,” which was playing on the radio. Benji messed around with the boombox in the back, rummaging through the pile of tapes Eddie and I had dumped there.
“This shit sucks!” he yelled, trying to compete with the noise from the highway, the radio, and our singing. “Don’t you have any Maiden or Priest?” Benji hates New Wave.
Eddie made a disparaging remark, most of which got swallowed up in the wind and highway noise, and as tempted as I was to instigate, I turned around and reached into the pile. “Here, I brought Billy Idol, Rebel Yell.” Idol was metal enough for Benji.
He took the tape, slid it into the boombox and pressed “play,” as Eddie turned off the radio. The tape was queued to “Do Not Stand in the Shadows,” Benji’s favorite Idol song. I braced myself for what I knew was about to happen.
“Fuck yeah!” Benji leapt to his feet, and began playing air guitar while banging his head up and down. I stared at him glad that we were in the car and not in Benji’s room during a sleepover, when he would put on this performance in his underwear. Eddie looked like he wanted to do a Willy Loman and drive into one of the trees along the parkway, but all he did was suggest that Benji should sit down before he fell out of the car.
The drive to the beach is really cool: the parkway weaves through the bays and canals that riddle the south shore of Long Island, until you finally get to the ocean. My favorite part is the series of art deco bridges that span the canals and bays you pass before reaching the beach road. At this point, Benji was spacing out and thinking about all the girls he was going to see on the beach, so I changed the tape from Billy Idol to Duran Duran, and as we hit the first of the bridges, “Rio” came on and with the late morning sun sparkling on the water and on the gold embossing on the bridges and the yachts and fishing boats passing underneath, I had this overwhelming feeling of how good it is to be alive and seventeen.
We were approaching Parking Field 3, and as Eddie waited to make the turn into the lot, I pointed at Benji. “Listen! No metal talk while we’re on the beach. No army talk. No guns talk. None of the Soldier of Fortune crap you’re always spewing. That stuff is girl-repellent.”
Benji reacted with a combination of outrage and incomprehension. “You’re telling me this? Like you’re some kind of expert? I know how to get girls!”
“Maybe,” I said, “but I’m talking about girls in this country, not foreign lands.” Benji’s alleged girlfriends always seem to be from Canada or other places too far away for anyone to verify. The argument was a phony one anyway since everyone — Benji included — knows that I’m far more successful in the girl department than he is. I mean, at this point, that’s the only reason he hangs out with me; in the hope that some of the girls I hang around with might be willing to go out with him. The truth is, we don’t have much in common anymore. He thinks I’ve turned into a pussy, and I couldn’t care less about the macho bullshit he’s gotten into since we started High School. We’ve known each other since we were little kids, though, and for that reason alone I could never bring myself to ditch Benji, even if I really can’t stand him.
The beach was packed with college students from local universities like Hofstra and Adelphi, as well as with young women and their babies and toddlers, but there also was a decent sprinkling of high school kids who, like us, had decided to take the day off.
You can always tell the high school kids from the college students. We cluster together in nervous knots, talking at an almost frantic pace, while they drift around and give off an air of nonchalance. The high school guys, especially, look much younger: a lot of them still have baby faces, and they may not even have hair on their chests or legs yet. With the girls it’s a little harder — they mature earlier and have just as good a sense of style as the college chicks, if not better — but you still can tell who’s who by the way most of them carry themselves. The college girls look comfortable in the way they stand and move, while the high school girls come off as nervous. You can see it in their darting eyes and crooked smiles and in the awkward way that they stand. So, even though a sixteen or seventeen year old girl might have the face and body of a supermodel, the vibe she gives off is of an overgrown junior high schooler.
Benji has no use for such subtleties, and since the college girls tend to wear skimpier bathing suits, his attention gravitates towards them. This time, as we crossed the beach, he made a big show of ogling a group of college chicks in string bikinis, to the point that he looked like a teenage version of Mr. Roper from Three’s Company leering at Suzanne Somers. I was embarrassed and wanted to punch him, but fortunately, the girls ignored us entirely.
We found an open spot, spread out our towels, and flopped down. It was a bright morning, and if I hadn’t been wearing my Ray-Bans, I wouldn’t have been able to see much of anything through the blinding glare that came off the sand. I was contemplating whether to go down to the water, when a beach ball suddenly landed in the middle of our spot, and a girl yelled out (too late): “Hey, Danny, catch!”
It was Jessie, one of my “semi-punk” friends with whom I’ve been hanging out a lot over the last year. Now, I’m not a punk, semi- or otherwise, but one of those people we call “floaters,” which means I don’t really belong to one group or another, but have friends in a bunch of different groups. I have jock friends; nerd friends; greaser friends; Goth friends — well, one — and punk friends.
Jessie is beautiful: tall, thin, with pale skin, and a pretty, but complex face. The truth is, she’s too good looking to be a convincing punk: instead, the punk elements make her beauty a little dangerous, which is a real turn-on. We also like a lot of the same music (Adam and the Ants turns out to be one surprising taste that we have in common), which we discovered in the conversations we used to share across the aisle in Mrs. Nardozzi’s Geometry class during our sophomore year.
She stood in front of me, laughing, in a black Clash t-shirt and black bikini bottom. I noticed that her lips, fingers and toes were all painted purple and that she was wiggling the latter in the sand.
“So you guys are playing juvenile delinquents too, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s us, a bunch of real criminals. Who are you here with?”
Jessie gestured behind her, where two more girls were approaching. The first was Claudia, who is a bona fide punk; the kind of girl who goes into the men’s bathroom during concerts (to avoid the lines at the women’s), pulls down her pants and spray pisses into the urinals. She’s shorter than Jessie, relatively plain looking, but with a tough, aggressive demeanor, and is way more punked out. On this particular day, she sported spiked black hair, thick black lines painted under her eyes like a baseball player, and a torn Dead Kennedys t-shirt and plaid shorts. I was sure that she was the only girl on the beach wearing steel-toed boots, and as she trudged across the sand, seething with what looked like a general resentment at the entire beach culture, I wondered how Jessie had convinced her to come.
Bringing up the rear was Jill, who’s more of a greaser than a punk. She likes to hang out behind the school, smoking joints and cigarettes and blasting Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin, and has Farrah Fawcett-style hair, feathered and parted down the middle; usually wears jeans, high top Converse All-Stars, and some sort of sixties or seventies rock t-shirt. (Today she wore a halter top that ties in the middle). She also had on a blood red bikini bottom, which showed off her fine behind and long, tanned legs, and was carrying a small radio that was tuned to WLIR and playing the Hooters, “All You Zombies,” which came out a month ago and has been receiving heavy rotation on the station.
Benji has a massive crush on Jill, and the eager look that came over his face when he saw her made me dread the incompetent courtship antics that would inevitably come. Still, it meant that they would leave at some point (He would follow her around, and she would try to escape), so I could hit on Jessie without Benji ruining it with some stupid remark.
“Hey, Claw. Jill.” I nodded to each of them.
“I hate the fucking beach,” Claudia declared, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the scene. “Look at all these fucking phonies. Let’s blow up the lifeguard tower!” She gestured towards the parking lot. “I’ve got a King-Size Tide in the car that I picked up for my mom. I read somewhere that if you light it on fire it turns into napalm.”
“Powder or liquid?” I asked.
“Powder, of course. How the fuck are you going to light liquid on fire?” She snorted in disgust. I was going to point out that gasoline is a liquid, but decided against it.
“Ah, right.” I adjusted myself on the beach towel. “So, Jessie, are you in on this violent plan?”
“I’m still catching up with the plans Claw made in the car on our way here.” She began counting on her fingers: “Spray paint the school buses with pink penises; break into the Royal Crown Players’ set room and write “You can’t spell ‘Crap’ without ‘R, C, P’” on everything in black permanent marker; and last but not least, sneak into the Principal’s office and write ‘I’M A DICK’ on the back of his suit jacket in white paint. Are you getting the vandalism theme here?”
“I’m getting it.”
“Yes, but I’m chucking all of that now,” Claudia said. “This is much more important. These people must be stopped!” Then, abruptly, she wandered off. “I’m getting a hot dog.”
“Hey, Jill! How’s it going!” Benji found his mojo.
“Uh, ok.” Jill shifted around. Looked at Jessie and me, who were staring at each other, and rolled her eyes. “I’m going down to the water.” She put down the radio and started making her way to the shoreline.
Benji ran after her, “Can I go with you?”
“Why not?” Jill probably thought it would be more boring to watch Jessie and me flirt than to have Benji flirt with her.
Eddie rolled over on his stomach. “I’m taking a nap. You kids don’t talk too loud now, you hear?” Jessie sat down next to me on the beach towel.
We chatted for a while, about nothing in particular, and then the conversation steered to the time last year when she got mildly trampled during a Billy Idol concert at the Beacon Theater, and I carried her out of the crowd and gave her CPR on the carpet in the lobby. She always describes me as having saved her life whenever she recounts it.
“Seriously, you did save my life, you know. I would’ve died in there, if you hadn’t carried me out.”
“Yeah, though I think it was my expertise at CPR that really saved the day.”
“Uh, yeah, about that,” Jessie looked at me pointedly. “I know that was just an excuse to make out with me.”
“How can you say that? My motivations were entirely restorative.” I was wounded.
“Restorative, right. You felt me up.”
“Those were chest thrusts…part of the treatment.”
She moved closer. “Some treatment.”
I was inches away from kissing her, when the DJ announced the next song: “Now a little ‘ant music’, from their 1980 album, here’s the title track, “Kings of the Wild Frontier.”
Jessie jumped up. “Adam and the Ants! We have to dance to this.” She reached down and pulled me to her. We started dancing and singing.
“A new royal family, a wild nobility, we are the family!” Jessie shouted.
“No method in our madness! Just pride about our manner!” I yelled back.
“Antpeople are the warriors!” she countered.
“Antmusic is the banner!” I jumped on her and we collapsed in the sand, laughing. I leaned in to kiss her again.
“Hey Guys!” Benji and Jill appeared next to us as if out of the ether. I fantasized about shoving his face into the sand and making him eat it.
“You’re back fast.” I tried not to sound too resentful.
“Fast?” Benji laughed. “We’ve been gone for over an hour.”
“I can confirm that.” Jill said. “Definitely more than an hour.”
“We had fun.” Benji put his arm around Jill who seemed to shrink. “I dunked Jill in the water.”
“Yeah, that part was great.” Jill picked up her radio. “Jessie, we should find Claw. We’re supposed to be at Frankie’s house in an hour.”
“Right.” Jessie got up and brushed the sand off. I watched her hands run up and down her legs and experienced a momentary surge of Benji-hate. “I bet you she’s sitting in the car smoking that joint she brought.”
“She better not be smoking it without us! Jill hurried towards the parking lot.
“Bye!” Jessie came up and kissed me quickly on the lips, her eyes sparkling. “See ya’!” Then, she was off too.
“Did I miss something?” Eddie rolled over.
“You didn’t, but I sure did.” I gave Benji a harsh look, but he wasn’t paying attention, as another group of college chicks was drifting by. Then he turned around.
“Let’s go up to the boardwalk and get some food.”
Eddie and I were hungry too, so we gathered up our stuff and headed over to the boardwalk. In a few minutes, we were sitting at one of the plastic tables, eating Nathan’s hot dogs with crinkle fries. No one said much, and after twenty minutes or so, I could sense Benji getting antsy.
“Let’s go to the bar,” he said, standing up. “I want a beer.”
I thought this was a fine idea, and Eddie didn’t care one way or the other, so we made our way across the boardwalk to the bar, which has a partly enclosed room with tinted windows and an outdoor area that is partially covered by a white awning. There was a free cocktail table with tall stools, so we planted ourselves there and signaled for the waitress.
Benji ordered a Heineken, I ordered a vodka tonic, and Eddie ordered a Sea Breeze. The waitress asked us for ID, and we pulled out the fake ones that we’d gotten just a few weeks ago, on a little adventure on 42nd street. She checked them, nodded, and went off to get the drinks, and I thought about how lucky it was that Driver’s Licenses don’t have pictures on them because if they did, they’d be much harder to fake.
The drinks came and we polished them off pretty fast, so we ordered another round. The sun beat down on us, making everything seem hazy. Benji was in the middle of telling a crude joke when we realized there was a man standing by our table. He was middle aged, maybe in his late forties or early fifties, and wore a dingy white linen suit with a rumpled turquoise button-down shirt underneath. Sunburned and wild-eyed, he looked like a Caribbean Dennis Hopper.
“Sup…” Benji muttered, trying to do a low-key brush off, but it just made the guy realize that we’d noticed him, and he leaned into our faces.
“So, you guys are hanging out, huh? Cool guys with cool brewskies!”
“Uh, yeah, right.” Eddie had the Willy Loman look again.
“This isn’t a brewsky,” I remarked. “It’s a vodka tonic.”
“Never mind that!” Dennis Hopper straightened up with a sudden jerk. “I just wanted you to know that I get it, you know? I feel what you’re going through!”
Benji looked around for the waitress. “I haven’t had enough of these to be dealing with this shit.”
“What do you mean?” Eddie asked
“Good thing you should ask!” Caribbean Dennis Hopper fumbled in the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a crumpled cigar. Lit it. “Because I’m here to tell you to wake up! Take a stand while you still can! Some of us out here support you!” He put a brotherly arm around Benji.
“Hands off, man!” Benji shrugged off his arm, while Eddie looked on with a kind of gleeful amazement.
Dennis Hopper got even more excited and started waving his arms. “You’re worried about me?! Are you crazy?!”
I tried to retain my composure, but Benji’s murderous glare at the guy, who was sucking meditatively on his cigar now — and seemed less Caribbean Dennis Hopper and more deranged Cuban cigar maker — was making it difficult. I raised my hand.
“I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but what are you talking about? What are we going through? Who are ‘they’ and what are they doing to us?”
“AHA!” My question must have reinvigorated him, because he leaned in like before, but this time with a lit cigar. “What they’ve done is just outrageous! It’s a violation of your civil rights! In my day, there was none of this locked-in-the-school business and getting thrown in jail left and right for no good reason! None of this law-and-order bullshit! We could roam around as we liked! Have trysts in the stairwells! Even go out to lunch!!” This last point seemed to really upset him, because he spluttered with rage and shook his fist in the air.
Eddie recovered. “Dude, we skipped out of school at 10:30 this morning. No problem, no hassles. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but things aren’t any different now than they were when you…” he looked at Dennis Hopper dubiously, “…were in High School.”
“That’s what you say!” The wild eyed look was back. “But how do you know that’s what happened?”
“We just started drinking a half hour ago.” I was starting to feel confused. Was he fucking with us or really this nuts? Neither option was comforting, and the whole encounter was starting to freak me out.
Benji elbowed me. “Don’t talk to this loser. He’s just some fucking hippie burnout having a flashback or something.” He turned to go, but Dennis Hopper put his arm around him again, harder and tighter this time. He didn’t seem funny anymore.
“Wise guy, huh?”
Eddie was looking steadily at him now, almost like he was studying him. Then, Dennis Hopper got right up in Benji’s face, but he was talking to all of us. “And what year do you gentlemen think this is, exactly?”
Benji snorted, “It’s 1985, douchebag. Why don’t you go drop some more acid or something? We’re out of here.” He pulled away from him.
“No! No! Don’t you see?! That’s what they want you to think!” Dennis Hopper’s tone was pleading. “That everything’s fine and dandy; that this is perfectly normal; that no one has to do anything; that we can just go on, the way things are. But, don’t you see that’s the trap? It’s not okay!” He pointed at us. “And it’s not 1985!”
His performance jarred me, and it wasn’t because I was scared (even though I was), but because I was starting to believe him; that we really were in some terrible situation and that somehow, we’d all forgotten.
Benji was unmoved. “I can’t believe you guys are buying this shit. I’m calling John and having him come pick me up. We’ll probably go hit another bar. You can stay here with Dr. Voodoo and have a wacko party.” He headed towards the restrooms, where the pay phones were, and Eddie and I were left with Caribbean Dennis Hopper. Everything had gone quiet, and I realized that we were the only people left in the bar.
I turned to the guy in order to get some clarification on what he’d said, but he’d lost interest. “Well, I can’t stand around here talking to you cool cats all day! Gotta’ go comb the beach for lost relics!” In a second, he was gone, and when we left the bar and looked around for Benji, it was clear that he’d left too.
Eddie tilted his head towards the parking lot. “I think we should go back to school.”
“What, you actually believed all that?”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but that was weird enough that we oughta’ check it out.”
“Alright.” I was reluctant but also relieved that he was making the decisions. The beach had emptied out, and there were just mothers with little kids and old people; no teenagers or college students. We got back in the car, and the leather seats were burning hot from sitting out in the sun. Eddie started the engine and pulled out of the parking field.
I turned the radio on, but WLIR wasn’t coming in, just static. So I reached into the back and pulled the boombox up onto my lap, replaced Duran Duran with one of my sprawling compilation tapes, and pressed Play. It was queued to Wang Chung’s, Dance Hall Days. I don’t know if you know the lyrics, but they go like this:
We were so in phase
In our dance hall days
We were cool on craze.
When I you and everyone we knew Could believe do and share in what was true.
A KABC News Special Report with John Stacy reporting from the news desk.
John Stacy: In an extraordinary series of events, State and County Police raided the New Ridgemont High campus at about 10am this morning after a brief staging operation that took place several blocks from the school gates. Witnesses from the neighborhood reported seeing police cars and several armored transports entering Ridgemont early this morning by way of Reseda Boulevard, the only local road that can support such heavy vehicles.
Cut to a clip with a Ridgemont resident, standing on the front porch of her house.
Resident: I was in the kitchen making coffee, when my husband told me the cops were flooding the neighborhood. I came out and saw a whole line of vehicles just over there. [Points out towards the street] Police cars, vans, and some big trucks — SWAT, I think — plus a bunch of press. They waited for about ten minutes and then headed towards the school.
Video of the police convoy entering the NRH campus.
John Stacy: [Voiceover] Anonymous tips alleging widespread drug and alcohol consumption as well as cigarette-smoking were some of the reasons given for the raid.
Cut to an interview with a State Police lieutenant on the scene.
Lieutenant: We’ve been receiving these sorts of tips for several months now, and we take any reports involving child endangerment or abuse very seriously.
Reporter: This seems like a rather heavy-handed operation. Can you explain why SWAT is present?
Lieutenant: You have to remember that the City of Ridgemont has returned to 1980s level policing, which means there’s been very little by way of local law enforcement with respect to juveniles. Unlike all the other schools in LA, there’s no police substation on New Ridgemont High’s campus and no security camera footage that we might have reviewed before drawing up our plans. Scores of state and county ordinances have not been enforced in Ridgemont for almost a year. So we had no way of knowing what the situation was on the ground.
Video of William Friedman in handcuffs being walked out of the building by several officers who are holding him firmly by both arms. He looks dazed.
John Stacy: [Voiceover] Principal William Friedman was arrested on multiple counts of providing alcohol to minors, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and child endangerment. Authorities also said that allegations that Friedman and several teachers engaged in inappropriate intimate relations with one or more students are being investigated and may lead to further criminal charges.
Video montage of scenes from the school during the raid.
John Stacy: [Voiceover] Mayhem ensued as state and county authorities swept through school grounds, detaining and arresting teachers and members of staff. Students reacted with shock and grief and in a few cases, there were violent confrontations. Caution: What you are about to see is disturbing.
Armored County Police converge on the shop room, where Kevin Reilly, Mary Savini, and Jon Baronare standing guard, brandishing heavy pipe wrenches.
Policeman1: Stand down! Lay down your weapons and get on the floor! Now!!!
Kevin: [Hefting the pipe wrench] Why don’t you come and take it? I’ll crack open your fucking skull.
Jon: [Tossing his wrench from hand to hand] Yeah, tough guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.
Policeman2: [Tilts his head to the walkie-talkie at his shoulder] We have armed students here. We’ll need SWAT, ASAP.
Marty: Aw, whatsamatter? The two of you with your guns and body armor can’t take on a few teenagers with wrenches. Fucking pussies!
Video from another angle during Friedman’s arrest. Joanne Genduso, Valerie Saunders, and Fran Rosenbergare struggling to restrain Chloe Gold who is lunging at the officers escorting Friedman out of the building.
Chloe: [Snarling with almost feral rage] You sick FUCKERS!!! I’ll rip your GODDAMNED throats out!!!!! Let GO of me!!!! Will!!!!! WILLLLLLL!!!!!!
The girls finally subdue Chloewho collapses to the ground sobbing. Valeriegathers her up in her arms and rocks her.
Valerie: Okay, sweetie…okay…. [Strokes her head, as tears stream down her own face]
Joanne: [Grimly, her hands balled into fists] Goddammit…
Fran: [Looking around frantically] You guys got this? I’ve gotta’ find Sean…Kevin…
Valerie: We’ve got this, Fran. Go!
Fran: [Sprinting off] Please, God, let them be OK…
Cameras follow law enforcement as they burst into Bobbie Novak’s classroom. Students scream in terror as several officers shove her roughly against the wall, turn her around and handcuff her hands behind her back, then drag her past the laboratory tables and out of the room. She is silent, her face blank and body limp, as the kids huddle together and watch her being removed.
Cut to the cafeteria, where Anna Harry, Marissa Preston, Billy Johnson, and Jaime Cohen have been hanging out during a free period. Several members of SWAT enter the room, bearing shields and wielding batons. One is holding a launcher for shooting pepper balls.
SWAT 1: [Shouting] Clear this room! Assemble outside of the building!
SWAT 2: [Grabs one of the lunch ladies by the arm and pushes her towards the doors] Outside! Now!
Marissa: [Glaring at them] What are you doing?!
SWAT 3: Clearing the building! Everyone is ordered to the courtyard where you’ll receive further instructions!
Billy: [Stands up] We’re not going anywhere until you tell us what’s going on. This is our school. You can’t just come in here and order people around. We have rights!
SWAT 1and 2 grab Billy and force him to the ground. One of them puts his knee in Billy’s back, and the other kneels down beside him.
SWAT 1: [Snarling in Billy’s face] I’ve got your rights here, kid. Do as I tell you or I’ll handcuff you and drag you out. You think you’re special? You think you’re different from any other fucking teenager in this state?
Anna: [Hysterical] Billlllyyyyy!
Jaime: [With a calm betraying fury] Billy, do what what he says. [To SWAT 1&2] You Gestapo shitheads will regret this. Parents are gonna’ be suing you until you’re living in cardboard boxes under bridges.
SWAT 3: Yeah, right, little Miss Rich Bitch. Shut up and get outside, before I take you down too.
Cut to the Student Lounge, where Mitch Bennett, Ben Gibbs, Myron Freelander, Charlie Smith, and Randy Dixon are listening to music on a boom box, when two County deputies enter.
Deputy 1: [Into a shoulder mic] Looks like we might have a few gang bangers in here. Requesting backup.
Mitch: Gang bangers? What are you talking about?!
Deputy 2: Back away, son. You don’t want to be too close if we have to use force.
Mitch: Force?! Are you serious?! You racist bastards!
Deputy 1: [Raises his baton menacingly at Mitch who shrinks back] Watch your mouth kid, or I’ll shut it for you!
Randy: Mitchie! Stand down! [Looks hard at the two cops] There’s no need for violence. We know the drill.
The four black students lie down on the floor, face down, their hands behind their backs. Mitch kneels beside them, weeping.
Cut back to John Stacy at the news desk.
John Stacy: Assemblywoman Shirley Putsis, one of New Ridgemont High’s fiercest critics, issued a statement from the State Capitol. There have been accusations that she and her coalition, The Citizens for Character in California, played a significant role in today’s raid.
Cut to video of Shirley Putsis on the Capitol steps. She is at a podium, flanked by other members of the Citizens for Character in California, and is speaking to the gathered press.
Shirley Putsis: What we’ve long suspected has now been confirmed! New Ridgemont High, operating under the guise of an “experimental charter school,” was in fact a place where students as young as fourteen were smoking, drinking alcohol, and using illegal drugs! Where teachers were indoctrinating our kids with a steady stream of anti-American propaganda! And where the Principal and several others [shudders dramatically] may have been having sex with students!! I am grateful to State and County authorities for shutting down this criminal operation, and I will be introducing legislation this afternoon to insure that California’s children, whether in Oakland or Berkeley or anywhere else, will never again be subjected to this sort of predation on the part of those whom we entrust with their education!!
Reporter 1: Mrs. Putsis! There are rumors that you and your group were the source of the complaints. Do you have any comment?
Reporter 2: What evidence is there for the allegations of sexual misconduct against Principal Friedman and other teachers, Assemblywoman?
Reporter 3: Will you be taking questions, Assemblywoman?
Cut back to John Stacy in the studio.
John Stacy: Assemblywoman Putsis declined to take questions after making her statement. Our reporters caught up with Governor Jerry Brown, who entered the State Capitol just a few moments afterwards.
Cut to Jerry Brown who is talking with reporters outside of the State Senate chambers.
Reporter 1: Do you have any response to the statement just made by Assemblywoman Putsis?
Governor Brown: I don’t see how any of us can be talking about “protecting our children,” when we’re treating them collectively like a criminal gang. The United States has the highest rates of youth incarceration in the world. Teen suicides are through the roof. The whole point of New Ridgemont High was to address this catastrophe before it’s too late.
Reporter 2: But what about the allegations that students were smoking and drinking on campus?
Governor Brown: Anyone can allege anything. I’d like to see the evidence. And it’s worth remembering that there isn’t a single person over forty in this country who didn’t get up to similar shenanigans when they were teenagers. No one lost their minds over it. And let’s be clear: we lost our minds today. Since when do you send in SWAT for kids smoking cigarettes behind the building?
Reporter 3: But surely the allegations of sexual abuse of minors give you pause.
Governor Brown: Again, anyone can allege anything. I wouldn’t trust a word that comes out of Shirley Putsis’ mouth. She lies as easily as most people breathe. And she’s had it in for Will Friedman and for New Ridgemont High since the place opened. But I never thought that even she would sink as low as this.
Reporter 2: What is going to happen with the Berkeley and Oakland expansions?
Governor Brown: I’m going to confer with the Majority Leader in the State Senate and members of the Caucus on that subject right now. But given that the Attorney General has opted to do what he’s done in New Ridgemont High, I can’t be sure of anything going forward. The Assembly has coalesced around Putsis in opposition to the project. We’ll just have to see.
Reporter 1: Are you regretting your decision to back New Ridgemont High given what’s happened?
Governor Brown: Absolutely not. I continue to have complete confidence in Will Friedman, whom I am convinced is a decent and honorable man trying to serve his community and the State of California. Unlike Shirley Putsis and her rotten coalition, I’m not ready to throw an entire generation of California kids on the trash heap. Thank you. [Turns around abruptly and heads into the Senate chambers.]
Cut back to John Stacy at the News Desk.
John Stacy: We attempted to contact Congresswoman Susan Best of the 28th Congressional District, who has been one of New Ridgemont High’s biggest champions, but she is in Washington and could not be reached for comment on the situation, and her office has yet to release a statement. Mayor Harris Clark of the City of Ridgemont made the following remarks just a few minutes ago.
Cut to Mayor Clark, who is standing in front of the Mayor’s Mansion, surrounded by reporters.
Mayor Clark: I’m just going to make a brief statement at this time. I won’t be taking any questions. There’ll be a full press conference this evening, once I’ve had time to fully assess the situation.
This morning, a joint task force of State and County police raided the campus of New Ridgemont High. They detained or arrested teachers and members of staff, dragged Principal Friedman out in handcuffs, and terrorized and in some cases assaulted students in a shocking display of force. You’ve all seen the footage by now, so you all know what happened.
I want to make absolutely clear that Ridgemont PD was not involved in this operation. Indeed, neither my office nor that of Ridgemont’s DA, Lana Kurtzman, were notified prior to the event. I only found out the operation was underway when my office began receiving frantic calls from Ridgemont residents.
This is nothing short of an outright invasion of our city by county and state authorities. I spoke with Governor Brown not too long ago, and he told me that the Attorney General acted contrary to his wishes. As you know, however, Attorneys General have substantial independence from state and national political leadership and enjoy tremendous latitude, which in this case seems to have been grotesquely abused.
New Ridgemont High is closed indefinitely. We will have to figure out what to do with the students, who have yet to take their final exams and receive their final grades and some of whom were about to graduate.
Not for one second do I believe the allegations against Will Friedman or any of the other teachers or staff at New Ridgemont High, a school that has been an overwhelming success by any measure. Partisan opposition to our efforts to change course with respect to how we treat Los Angeles and California youth has been building for some time now, led by some of the most extreme elements in Californian — and American — politics. This reeks of dirty tricks.
I would be shirking my duties as Mayor, however, if I didn’t get the full picture before making a more comprehensive statement and pursuing a course of action. I am going to spend the rest of the day investigating this situation and speak to you again this evening. But mark my words: if this is what it looks like, the City of Ridgemont will aggressively resist this assault on our sovereignty, in both the legislature and in the courts. This is not California, and this is not America. Thank you.
Cut back to John Stacy at the news desk.
John Stacy: We will continue to update you on this story, as we obtain more information. We return you now to our regular programming, Days of Our Lives, which is in progress.
___
May 1, 2011, 1:00 PM PST
Tom Rosenis in his car, parked down the street from the entrance to New Ridgemont High. The last few police vehicles are pulling out, and what reporters and bystanders were still milling around have left. Two State policemen close the front gates and lock them shut with a heavy, steel chain. Then, they stretch yellow police tape across it, after which they depart on foot.
Tomsits for several moments contemplating the scene, which after all the tumult is now eerily quiet. He sighs and slides a mobile phone from his pocket. Turns on a small encryption device lying on the passenger seat, before dialing a number and holding the phone up to his ear. Waits until someone answers.
Tom: Hello, Kat? Yeah, it’s Tom. Get me Cross, will you?
Will Friedman and Chloe Gold are in Friedman’s rooms at New Ridgemont High putting the final touches on their plans for the Senior Party. They are sitting on the floor, flanking a large piece of posterboard on which they’ve sketched a layout for the party’s furnishings and decor.
Will: When does Laurie start painting?
Chloe: This week. She told me she needs a few more supplies.
Will: The idea of a wraparound mural was inspired, Chloe: a permanent homage to our first graduating class. People will see it at every varsity game; every time they walk into PE.
Chloe: [Performs a seated bow] Thank you. They more than deserve it. Laurie came up with an incredible design and is good enough to pull it off.
Will: The fact that it’ll be ready before the party is amazing. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.
Chloe: Laurie got Anna and Marissa to help her out.
Will: [Studying the posterboard] The only thing is, I’m starting to wonder if our gym is big enough for this thing. We’ve got over a hundred seniors.
Chloe: It’s the largest indoor space we have, once you retract the bleachers. We’ll make it work.
Will: I’m not sure how. [Points at the sketch] Once you add the DJ setup, food and drinks tables, and all the folding tables and chairs for people to sit, there’s no room left for a dance floor.
Chloe: What about this? [Takes her pencil and reworks the sketch] The gym is a rectangle, right? In fact, it’s almost a square. Instead of the east wall, put the DJ setup in the center. Place the tables and folding chairs around the perimeter, and have the food and drinks tables in the hall just outside the doors. People won’t be lining up inside the gym, and it leaves a big, empty ring around the DJs for dancing.
Will: Those are swinging doors, and they’re heavy. With a bunch of kids balancing drinks and plates piled up with food, I see accidents happening.
Chloe: Have the custodians take the doors off the hinges before the event.
Will: [Eyes lighting up] Yes! That might actually work! [Stretches and looks at his watch] God, I’m tired. We’ve been at this for almost two hours, and I’ve been here since six in the morning. I owe the Governor a report on the college admissions data, and I’ve been replying to panicky, last minute messages from the Oakland and Berkeley Principals.
Chloe: [Slides over to him and hooks her arm through his] I know you’ve been busy as hell. I’ve barely seen you in, like, a month.
Will: The end of the Spring semester is hectic at any school, but here it’s a whole different level of crazy. Closing out our first year and getting two new schools ready has me spread thin, even with you guys helping. Without you, it would be completely impossible of course. You were right to insist that I let you work with me on the expansions.
Chloe: I take it the college admissions numbers are good?
Will: Stratospheric. We’ve got a dozen graduates going to Ivies, equally as many going to SLACs like Swarthmore and Amherst, and about twenty-five going to Stanford, Berkeley, or Cal Tech.
Chloe: That’s wonderful!!
Will: And here’s something that’ll make you really happy. Kevin’s graduating with a Journeyman’s and doing a special Masters in advanced auto-mechanics and engineering over the summer. I’ve hired him as a full time auto-shop teacher, starting in the Fall!
Chloe: [Puts her hands over her mouth] Omigod! We get to keep Kevin?! That is so exciting!
Will: Kevin’s dad wants to retire, so he’s hired Marty to run the repair and auto-body business. Every Senior is doing something terrific after graduating.
Chloe: It’s the best PR New Ridgemont High could possibly have!
Will: It is indeed. Our students are succeeding beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.
The two get up and stretch after sitting so long on the floor. Chloe goes to the fridge, takes out a bottle of Chablis, and pours herself half a glass. Pours a generous measure of Scotch for Will from the bottle on his desk. Will cracks the window and lights a cigarette. Chloe hands him the Scotch, and the two settle themselves contentedly into armchairs.
Chloe: So, I heard that Sal had a certain “chat” with you, and it wasn’t pleasant.
Will: [Lets out a heavy sigh] Yeah. [Suddenly confused] Wait, how do you know that?
Chloe: Tom told me.
Will: [Slaps his forehead] Of course…Sal mentioned that Tom was talking to you.
Chloe: He took me to Chasen’s, Zuma, the whole deal. Trying to soften me up. I saw through it immediately of course. It was just so completely out of character.
Will: How did it go?
Chloe: Better than your conversation with Sal from what I understand. I got a little pissed at first, but Tom was really sensible. He said he understood my position and that he only took a different one because he’s more — how did he put it? — “Risk averse.” [Laughs]
Will: Sal was angry with me, and I lashed out at him. It’s been kind of cold between us ever since. [Looks crestfallen]
Chloe: Funnily enough, our discussion brought Tom and me closer together. It was like some pressure valve had been released. Things felt softer afterwards; the most tender we’ve been with one another since we were children.
Will: I am regularly reminded of the ways in which you kids are more advanced than we are. Something happens when you get older, and it isn’t good.
Chloe: [Softly] “When you grow up, your heart dies.”
Will: [Bitterly] How else could we be doing this to you? Treating your entire generation like a bunch of criminals; worse, like animals. [He spits out the last word as if it’s poison]
Chloe: [Straightens up and looks him in the eye] You aren’t doing anything except working yourself to exhaustion trying to help us. Ditto for every single adult in this school and in our community.
Will: [Shakes his head as if dispelling something] You’re right of course.
Chloe: Tom said something funny to me while we were talking. When he realized that he and I were having essentially the same conversation as the one you and Sal had he said, “You and Friedman must share a soul or something.”
Will: Were they really that close?
Chloe: Tom said almost word-for-word.
Will: Wow.
Chloe: I know. Weirder things, right?
Will: So Tom didn’t push, huh? Sal shoved so hard, I could have fallen out the window. It got my back up, and everything deteriorated from there.
Chloe: [Slowly] He started out pretty aggressively, but I told him that you and I talked on the beach last semester, and it really heightened my sense of urgency; convinced me that we had to go full throttle or we wouldn’t get another chance.
Will: Oh, so you told him.
Chloe: I didn’t tell him anything beyond what I just said. There was no need. The trust we have is fundamental. Even when we’re angry at each other, there’s a point past which we simply won’t go.
Will: I wouldn’t have minded if you did tell him. Do you think he would have believed it?
Chloe: [Thoughtfully] I’m not sure. He could have gone either way: completely bought it or thought we’d both gone nuts. With his quirky, conspiratorial mind, it’s impossible to tell. I didn’t want to risk it, and as things went, what I said was more than enough. He backed off immediately.
Will: I wish I could be as confident as you. The exchange with Sal really shook me up. I’ve been questioning myself a lot.
Chloe: I had the benefit of a little dress rehearsal with Mitch, remember?
Will: I’m not following.
Chloe: [Laughs] You helped me through it, silly!
Will: [Pleadingly] Middle-age memory!
Chloe: It was during that same night; on the drive to Zuma. I was upset that Mitch hadn’t told me about his then-new girlfriend.
Will: I remember now. He’d been nursing a crush, and you thought you’d been leading him on.
Chloe: Do you recall what you told me?
Will: I’m afraid not.
Chloe: I was beating myself up for always hugging him and kissing him, and you said, “That’s just who you are. It’s a lovely quality.”
Will remains silent.
Chloe: And then you said I’d been a great friend to him.
Will: Which you were and continue to be.
Chloe: Well, you’ve been a great friend to all of us. It’s just who you are, and it may be the only thing that saves us from these evil people. What was it you said during Stage Night? “We’re suffering from a serious compassion deficit.”
Will: Yes.
Chloe: The only chance we have is uncompromising love for each other and for every kid in this country. Because what we’re facing is nothing less than undiluted hate. For whatever reason, a significant number of people in the US hate their own children. Enough for politicians to take up their cause.
Will: [Shudders] You’re reminding me of that Priss Pruitt documentary I was in, “The Rise and Fall of the American Teenager.” And the convo Bret and John did on Charlie Rose, where Bret made that point explicitly. He said this is happening because Baby Boomers and Gen Xers are embittered over their lost youth and are taking it out on their children.
Chloe: I saw the documentary — it was terrifying — but I haven’t seen the Charlie Rose convo. It’s as plausible a theory as any, though. Still, it’s complete madness. Why become parents if you hate kids?
Will: I mean, this has been my life’s work since, well…you know…but watching it unfold in real time has been surreal. I’ve almost been hiding in here. It’s easier to forget what’s going on when I don’t leave the school, even though the only reason for New Ridgemont High is what’s going on in the state and the country.
Chloe: Well, never mind! We’ll beat these bastards, and we’ll do it in style! New Ridgemont High style! [Raises her glass]
Will: [Leans over and clinks his glass against hers] That we will, my dear! L’chaim!
It’s Spring Break and school is out for the week. William Friedman and Sal Levy are drinking scotch and hanging out in Will’s rooms at New Ridgemont High.
Sal: I like it when the building’s empty like this. It’s so quiet and peaceful.
Will: [Wistfully] It feels lonely without the kids.
Sal: They’ll be back soon enough.
Will: [Takes a long drag off of his cigarette and gazes out the window] I’ll miss the hell out of them over the summer.
Sal: With how hectic the year’s been, we just didn’t have it together enough to get summer school up and running. We’ll do it next year.
Will: I know.
Sal: Most of the faculty will be around, though. I’ve talked with Bobbie, Pat, Jules, and a few others.
Will: [Absentmindedly] Yeah.
Sal: [Pours himself another scotch from the bottle on Will’s desk] You should hang out with us, Will. You haven’t spent any time with the other teachers outside of school since the pool party. We have a weekly poker night, and it’s a lot of fun.
Will: I’m just so busy. I don’t have much left in me by the end of the week.
Sal: That’s because you’re always doing stuff with the kids. You should socialize with people your own age.
Will: [Wearily] I sense a speech coming.
Sal: No speech. Just your friend expressing concern, that’s all. You’ve been more isolated this semester.
Will: [Flicks his cigarette butt out the window and crosses the room to the desk. Pours himself another scotch.] I feel burdened, Sal; not just by the expansion, but by the political opposition. It’s gotten so vicious.
Sal: [Gently] Well, I don’t want to burden you further, but I do want to talk to you about something, and now is as good a time as any.
Will: I have a feeling I’m gonna’ need another smoke for this. [Lights another cigarette and goes back to the chair by the window]
Sal: It’s about Chloe.
Will: What about her?
Sal: I don’t know how to put this.
Will: Put what?
Sal: The two of you are together in public a lot.
Will: Well, she is the Student Body President. I am the Principal. We get invited to a lot of things: by the Mayor, the Governor, news programs…
Sal: [Steels himself] The optics are bad, Will.
Will: Optics? You’ve lost me.
Sal: Of you and her.
Will: [Angrily] Stop dancing around, Sal. We’ve known each other for too long. If you have an accusation, make it.
Sal: [Shaking his head] You poor, silly fool. I’m not accusing you of anything.
Will: What are you getting at, then? I’m lost.
Sal: Tom and I have been talking about this for a while, but Stage Night really sealed it. You and Chloe look like you’re together, if you get my meaning. Everyone in the school knows you aren’t, because they know you two well enough by now to understand that you’re both just incredibly warm and gregarious, not to mention tight as hell. But the people out there don’t know that, Will. [Sal gestures towards the window] And our enemies don’t know it either. And even if they do, it doesn’t matter. They’ll just fucking lie about it and use it to hurt us.
Will: [Struggling to keep up] Wait, you and Tom have been “talking for a while” about Chloe and me?
Sal: We’ve been concerned for some time but weren’t sure whether it was worth getting worked up about. As you know, Tom and I tend to be overly cautious. We wouldn’t have even said anything if the opposition hadn’t come on so strong and shown such venomous colors. But after Stage Night, when the two of you came off like a Royal couple, we thought it was urgent that we speak with both of you.
Will: We? Tom hasn’t said anything to me.
Sal: We agreed that I would talk to you, and he would talk to Chloe.
Will: [Rubs his face with both hands] What are you suggesting, Sal? That we hide our working relationship? Our friendship? Stop visiting schools? Turn down media invitations? Cease all the promotional stuff we’re doing?
Sal: Yes.
Will: [Exasperated] It’s not just that you’re saying we should capitulate to the worst people in the country; exactly the people whom this whole project is designed to oppose. What you want us to do is impossible. Like it or not, Chloe and I are the proverbial “tip of the spear” on this thing, and there’s no going back. We take our chances and see it through to the end. We’ll meet their worst with our best. Chloe and I discussed this at length with the Governor and Congresswoman Best at a private dinner in February.
Sal: [Heatedly] Don’t you understand? You’re giving them ammunition. This thing won’t make it to next year if they really come after us. You should be strategic, especially given the magnitude of what’s going on across the country. This may be our only shot, before the reactionaries really put the boot in, and we swore that we wouldn’t let that happen. Goddamit, Will, we saw it!
Will: Didn’t you just say they would lie, Sal? That it wouldn’t matter what the truth was?
Sal: Yes.
Will: So what good will it do if Chloe and I hide? Putsis and her gang can still make up whatever stories they want about us. But, if we kneecap ourselves — if Chloe and I pull back just when this thing is starting to take off — it’ll be stillborn. Our opponents won’t need to do anything.
Sal: [Points at him, visibly frustrated] I tried to warn you, Will. That’s all I can do. Whether or not you listen is up to you, and God help us all if you don’t.
The two sit, drinking in silence.
March 16, 2011, 7:30pm
Chloe Gold and Tom Rosen have just finished dinner at Chasen’s and are in Tom’s 1980 Mercedes 450SL convertible, heading towards Zuma beach. It is warm and there is a gentle breeze.
Chloe: How long have we been going to Chasen’s?
Tom: For as long as I can remember.
Chloe: My earliest memory is that Christmas our families did there, when our moms didn’t want to cook.
Tom: If I recall, we pulled down Chasen’s Christmas tree. But since we were, like, three years old, everyone just rolled with it.
Chloe: [Leans back into the seat, closes her eyes, and stretches her arms over her head, her hair streaming behind her in the wind] Mmm, this is heavenly.
Tom glances over at her but doesn’t say anything.
Chloe: [Opens her eyes and turns to him] So, what’s this all about, Tom?
Tom: What do you mean?
Chloe: [Gestures around her] All of this. The dinner. A nighttime drive to the beach. You’re dating Jaime, so I know it isn’t some kind of elaborate come-on, and you never ask me to hang out otherwise. So what’s up?
Tom: [Sighs] I have to remind myself not to underestimate you.
Chloe: Indeed.
Tom: Okay, I’ll tell you. But you aren’t going to like it.
Chloe: I didn’t think I would. You don’t do all of this if you want to talk about the weather.
Tom: [Takes a deep breath] It’s about you and Friedman.
Chloe: What about us?
Tom: The way you two act in public. It’s not good.
Chloe: [Bristling] And how do we “act in public,” Tom?
Tom: You know what I’m talking about.
Chloe: I don’t, actually. You see, not everyone is as jaded as you are.
Tom: So, you’re going to make me do this.
Chloe: I’m not “making” you do anything. This little exercise is one-hundred-percent your choice.
The two arrive at Zuma Beach, and Tom parks the car in the drive that snakes down between the hills and the sand. They are the only ones there.
Tom: [Turns to Chloe]: Okay, here it is. You guys look like two people in an intimate relationship.
Chloe: [Rolls her eyes] Not you too. I thought this was just some imbecile rumor being passed around by excitable freshmen.
Tom: I’m not talking about any rumors in school. At this point, no one at NRH thinks there’s anything between you and him.
Chloe: Good, because there isn’t. [Disgusted] For god’s sake.
Tom: I’m talking about how it looks to people outside of the school. And to our enemies in particular. I was prepared to let it go until Stage Night. After that, Sal and I agreed that we needed to do something.
Chloe: [Angrily] You and Sal “agreed”? You’ve been conferring about Will and me behind our backs?!
Tom: He and I have been talking on and off since the Celebration Ball last year, and we’ve become increasingly worried about the — how do I put it? — “optics” of your relationship.
Chloe: [Through clenched teeth] I thought we’d already been through all this, when you hinted at the same thing during the last Executive Council meeting. It was about as subtle as a hippo in a tutu.
Tom: We never went through any of it. You shut me down immediately.
Chloe: So, now you’re coming for seconds?
Tom: Do you remember what you said when you asked me to be your veep?
Chloe: Refresh my memory.
Tom: When I asked why, you said this about you and Friedman: “We both love New Ridgemont High so much that we might not see trouble coming if it ever does.”
Chloe: [Looks down] I remember.
Tom: I think this is one of those times, and it’s the only reason we’re having this conversation. I am well aware of how much this hurts you, and that’s the last thing in the world I want to do.
Chloe: [Looks up at him, her eyes glassy with tears] I know you aren’t being deliberately cruel, Tom. I’m sorry I suggested it. But what are you saying? I mean, what would assuage your fears?
Tom: Given how depraved our adversaries are, I don’t know if anything will soothe me at this point. But, I think you and Friedman need to stop making public appearances. And… [hesitates] not be seen together so much in school, so the “excitable freshmen” will move on to some less damaging subject.
Chloe: [Regaining her composure] I don’t think we can do that, Tom. And I’m not even sure it’s a smart move.
Tom remains silent.
Chloe: For one thing, the success of this effort is dependent on us at this point. Will and I have become the public face of school reform in the US and of the opposition to this “war on teens” more generally.
Tom: And?
Chloe: And for another, Putsis and company have no compunction about lying and dissembling. They can make up stories about Will and me or about anything else, regardless of what we do.
Tom: But why make it easier for them? Why hand them a damaging narrative on a silver platter?
Chloe: You can’t defeat evil people by constantly checking yourself. You have to stay straight and true and see it through.
Tom bursts out laughing.
Chloe: That’s a strange reaction, even for you. Did I say something funny?
Tom: Not at all. I just can’t believe this conversation. You and Friedman must share a soul or something.
Chloe: [Visibly confused] Huh?
Tom: Sal called me this morning and told me he spoke to Will last night. Their conversation went the same way, almost to a word.
Chloe: I see.
Tom: Though their exchange was a lot more heated. Sal read Will the riot act. He got really pissed off.
Chloe: But you aren’t.
Tom: Sal is much more certain in his judgment than I am in mine.
Chloe: Why?
Tom: Because what you’re saying is reasonable, and because I’m guessing. I come down on the side I do, because I’m more risk averse than you are.
Chloe: [Rests her head on Tom’s shoulder] I don’t want you to think I’m reckless; that I haven’t thought this through.
Tom: I don’t.
Chloe: Will and I actually came here in December and had a lengthy talk. At the end, he… [pauses] told me something. It didn’t change my views on this, but it did cement them.
Tom: What was it?
Chloe: I don’t want to betray his confidence. Suffice it to say that it persuaded me that this is the only shot we have and that if we fail, things will go so far south they’ll be beyond saving. Like, dystopian-fiction level stuff.
Tom: I see.
Chloe: So, I’m afraid it’s full-speed ahead, guns blazing. We have very little time.
Tom: I understand. And I’ll have your back to the end.
Chloe: [Kisses him on the cheek] I know you will, Tom, and I love you for it. We started this together, and we’ll finish it together.
The two sit quietly together watching the waves roll in.
Location: The NRH auditorium at 5:45 pm. There is a steady stream of students and faculty filing in for the inaugural NRH Stage Night.
Kevin Reilly and Jon Baron: [To Sean Albertson] Yo! Yo! Yo!
Sean: What’s up Kev? Jon?
Kevin: Looking to win mucho dinero tonight! [Climbs over Sean and plops down into the seat next to him.]
Sean: Mucho dinero?
Jon: [Climbs over them both and sits next to Kevin] Dude bet Mitch Bennett that Kids of the Black Hole is gonna’ win the Battle of the Bands.
Sean: How much?
Jon: A hundred bucks.
Sean: What?!
Jon: It’s worse than that. He bet Mitch that they’d win by… what did you call it? “A landslide”?
Kevin: [Looking very pleased with himself] That’s right!
Sean: And what does that mean, exactly?
Jon: Basically gave the kid points. He said KOBH would win by at least 20 votes.
Sean: If Francie was here, she’d say you were a fucking idiot, and she’s in the band.
Kevin: [Shrugs] What can I say? I feel confident. And I’ve made so much cash working on Doc F’s car, I can afford a risky bet here or there.
Sean: Shit, man, if you’re gonna’ throw money around, send some my way.
Several rows down, Lance Donaldson, Brian Millman, Laurie Pence, Anna Harry, and Marissa Preston are hanging out and waiting for the show to start.
Laurie: [To Marissa] How stoked is Tim for this?
Marissa: [Holds up a hand] Don’t even get me started. He’s been driving me nuts.
Anna: If I never hear “I Love Livin’ in the City” again, it’ll be a mercy.
Laurie: [Laughing] Okay, there’s clearly a story that I missed.
Marissa: Look, I’m really happy for him. I’ve never seen him this hyped. But hearing the same songs played over and over again for months gets really old.
Anna: What about hearing the same parts of songs over and over again? Billy’s been playing the bass line for the main riff from “I Love Livin’ in the City” constantly. He even hums it to himself. Thank god this thing is tonight or I’d lose my mind.
Marissa: [Nods sympathetically] I know… it’s terrible. I’ve heard the Hammond organ intro to “Curtain Call” about a thousand times.
Brian: [To Lance] Did you and Colleen go to the Mall last night?
Lance: Yeah, we were there until it closed. Where were you guys? We looked for you.
Brian: Danielle had midterms today, so she had to stay in and study.
Lance: Boo.
Brian: Did you have fun?
Lance: Tons. Colleen made it to, like, the seventh or eighth wave of Defender. Girl’s an 80s arcade game genius. She’s even good at Tempest.
Brian: I can’t play that game, it gives me panic attacks.
Lance: [Laughing] Life gives you panic attacks.
Brian: Hey, I’m getting better! I can go out with Danielle now without breaking out in cold sweats. The first time, I had to change outfits twice before picking her up.
Lance: Who do you think wins this thing?
Brian: Compton Boys, for sure.
Lance: Why?
Brian: Mitch invited me to their dress rehearsal. Those Fly Girls from Compton and Crenshaw…whew!
Lance: So, they’re gonna’ win because they have hot chicks dancing?
Brian: Not just that. The whole thing is choreographed like some Public Enemy video. And their set list is super groovy. People will be dancing in the aisles.
Lance: Mitch bet with Kevin Reilly.
Brian: Yeah, he told me. I hope Kevin doesn’t mind losing a hundred bucks.
Lance: I don’t know…Kids of the Black Hole are pretty good. I saw them practice a few weeks ago.
In the back row of the orchestra seats, Denise Diamond, Valerie Saunders, Liz Goodman, and Erica Carlson are lounging with their feet up on the empty seats in front of them.
Denise: Why isn’t Jaime sitting with us?
Valerie: She’s with Tom and Sal Levy.
Denise: [Rolls her eyes] Why would anyone want to sit with one of the teachers.
Liz: I think Sal’s cool. I have him for Physics 1 this semester.
Two somewhat geeky boys make for the row below, but Denise throws them a look dripping with disdain.
Denise: Move along, dorks. These seats are taken.
One of the boys mumbles, “sorry,” and the two hurry off.
Valerie: [Turning to Denise] What is your problem, Dee?
Denise: What are you talking about?
Valerie: Why did you do that?
Denise: Tell those two dweebs to get lost? I’m comfortable.
Valerie: [Closes her eyes] For god’s sake.
Erica: Don’t you think it’s enough by now?
Denise: Uh, hello? Star Crew? [Gestures at the girls and then to herself]
Liz: It’s gotten stale, Dee. We’re not in Junior High.
Denise: You had no problem with it at Central, last year.
Erica: Are we seriously arguing about whether we should bully nerds?
Valerie: [Eyes still closed] Apparently, we are.
Denise: I don’t know what your guys’ major malfunction is. First Jaime and now you three. Even Sandy’s lost his mind.
Liz: [Quietly] Maybe, we figured out that you can be cool without being a jerk.
Denise: So, it’s a moral superiority pose? Please…get over yourselves.
Valerie: [Opens her eyes and growls] You know why Jaime doesn’t hang out with us, Dee? Because she can’t take your assholery anymore. Grow the fuck up!
Denise: [Jumps up from her seat] Screw all of you! I didn’t want to come to this stupid thing anyway. I’ll hang out with Mike, Carl and the other handful of cool kids left in this dumb school. [Storms out]
Erica: [Calling after her] Don’t hurry back!
The girls look at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.
Tom, Sal, and Jaime are sitting in the front row, just off the center aisle.
Jaime: I won’t lie: I could do without the whole “talent show” part. I really don’t need to see some kid juggling oranges or doing magic tricks.
Tom: Let’s be nice, now.
Jaime: What happened to the guy who was mocking “teen theater” five months ago?
Tom: It wasn’t mocking, I was making a point.
Jaime: Oh, is that what it was?
Sal: It is a good thing the talent portion is first. I’m afraid if they’d opened with the Battle of the Bands, half of the audience would leave when it was over.
Tom: I suspect that was deliberate on the organizers’ part.
The lights dim and Mitch Bennett comes onto the stage, where there is a single mic set up. He raises his hands for quiet.
Mitch: My fellow students, faculty, guests, I want to welcome you to New Ridgemont High’s first Stage Night!!
A hearty cheer goes up. There is hooting and hollering. Loud whistling.
Mitch: But, before we start, I want to welcome our Principal and Student Body President: Will Friedman and Chloe Gold!!!
A single spotlight shoots up to the balcony, where the faculty are seated. Will and Chloe stand arm in arm. Chloe is radiant in a turquoise, strapless linen dress and matching open-toed heels, her golden curls spilling around her shoulders. Will is dressed in a white linen suit, a pastel pink open collar shirt, and close-toed sandals. With the light on them both, it is as if they are surrounded by a halo.
Chloe and Will each raise a hand in greeting, and the audience goes nuts. Shouts of “New Ridgemont High!” ring out. The two stand for a few moments, beaming, and then take their seats.
Tom: Oh, my.
Sal: [His mouth open] Well, that certainly is…something.
Jaime: [Stares at them for a moment and then leans over to Tom, whispering] I officially apologize for what I said to you at the last Exec meeting.
Sal: What was it you called them, Tom? “The King and Queen of New Ridgemont High?”
Tom: Yes. And they certainly are.
Mitch: [From the stage] So, what do you say we get this thing started?
The crowd roars, and the auditorium goes dark. Then, the curtain rises and Stage Night begins…
___
It’s 6:45 PM, and the talent portion of Stage Night has wrapped up. The curtain has come down again, and the house lights are on. Mitch is once again at the mic.
Mitch: And now the part of the evening that I know everybody has been waiting for.
Kevin: [Shouting] ROCK AND ROLL!!!!
Sean: Woo Hoo!!!
Mitch: The first act in our Battle of the Bands is Kids of the Black Hole!
Boy in the Audience: YEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!
Mitch: With Joanne Genduso and Stacy Singer on vocals!
Someone blows an air horn.
Mitch: Fran Rosenberg on guitar!
Sean: [With his hands cupped around his mouth] FRANCIE!!!!!!
Mitch: Tim Goldstein on keyboards and Billy Johnson on Bass!
Anna and Marissa leap up and cheer.
Mitch: And Marty Savini on drums!
Kevin: MARTYYYYYY!
The lights dim and Mitch leaves the stage. The curtain goes up, and Joanne emerges from the darkness into a single spotlight. She’s in black leather pants, red Chuck Taylors and is wearing a Germs t-shirt. Grabs the mic with authority.
Joanne: Are you ready?!
A wild cheer from the crowd.
Joanne: I said, ARE YOU READY?!
The audience is on their feet now, and there is the deafening thunder of hundreds of kids stamping their feet.
Joanne: We are Kids of the Black Hole, and I love living in this FUCKING CITY!
The stage lights come ablaze and the band rips into Fear’s, “I Love Livin’ in the City”
Bobbie Novak is sitting with Pat Stark, Steve Fortunatoand John Jameson up in the balcony.
John: Okay, these kids are freaking amazing.
Bobbie: I actually saw Fear back in the day. Fran plays better than Lee Ving.
Steve: You don’t seem like the punk type, Bobbie.
Bobbie: I saw as many shows as I could in the early 80s. You could tell something really special was happening in SoCal. We used to road trip to LA from Santa Barbara. We even went down to the Cuckoo’s Nest sometimes.
Pat Stark: I used to be a punk. I actually saw The Damned in 1980 in Newcastle, where I grew up.
Bobbie: That’s cool as shit.
Pat: The Clash too. Never saw the Pistols, though. They just seemed like a bunch of wankers. I couldn’t stand Johnny Rotten, that little twerp.
Steve: [Cracking up] Wankers?!
John: You certainly are full of surprises, Pat.
The band tears through the punk portion of the setlist and comes to the last number. The lights dim and Joanne steps up to the mic.
Joanne: Alright, guys, this is my last song before Stacey takes over vox.
Boy in the audience: You fucking RULE!!!!!
Joanne: This song is special to us. It was written by Rikk Agnew, who gave us permission to use the name for our group.
Sean: Oh boy, here it comes!
Joanne: And even though it’s about another place and time, it says a lot about where we are right now in this broken country of ours.
Valerie: [To Liz] She is soooo good.
Liz: I’m completely mesmerized, and I don’t even like punk rock.
Joanne: So, we dedicate this song to Rikk. To the city of Ridgemont. To all of you. To Doc F, especially. And to New Ridgemont High, our home and our refuge.
Girl in audience: YEEEAAAHHHHHH!!!!
Joanne: [In spoken voice]
No sound is heard from unit two
When there was once so much to do
Was once a green mansion, but now it’s a wasteland
Our days of reckless fun are through…
The lights blaze on, Fran leaps forward, and the band blasts out the opening riffs of the Adolescents’ “Kids of the Black Hole.” The students in the orchestra seats all jump to their feet, shaking their fists in the air to the beat.
Chloe: [Clutches Will’s hand. Tearfully] We have to win this fight, Will!
Will: [Squeezes her hand back] Courage, sweetheart. We’re all in this together.
Chloe: Something about what Joanne just said really struck a nerve. It hit me how much I care about everyone here.
Will: [Offers her his handkerchief] You always have, and your classmates feel it. You were exactly what this school needed. Honestly, you’re what the whole country needs. We’re suffering from a serious compassion deficit.
Chloe: [Hisses, teeth clenched] I could tear that fucking Shirley Putsis to pieces with my bare hands. And that wretched gang of hers too. They won’t be satisfied until every teenager is in some labor camp…or prison.
Will: Me too. But the only way we see this through is on the High Road, to the very end.
Chloe: [Decompresses and rests her head on Will’s shoulder. Whispers] To the very end.
The band finishes their punk set and Joanne bows and heads backstage. The cheers from the audience are relentless, so she returns and bows again, her eyes shining with excitement and a triumphant smile on her face.
The auditorium goes dark and is then illuminated with a deep blue light. Lee Lindberg, who is crouched behind the back curtain, switches on a dry-ice machine, and mist begins crawling across the stage. Tim Goldstein appears under a spotlight, alongside a stack of keyboards, and he and the entire rig seem to float on the mist until they stop just to the left of Marty’s drumkit.
Brian: [To Lance] Oh, wow……
Lance: I told you, man. Don’t count them out.
Brian: I had no idea. This is incredible.
Tim begins playing the opening chords to The Damned’s “Curtain Call” on the Hammond organ. Stacey Singer appears on the right of the stage and moves slowly over to the mic. She’s in a white lace, high collared Victorian dress and stands tall in six inch, stiletto-heeled white patent leather boots. An echo effect has been added to her voice, which gives it a ghostly quality.
Can you taste the grit
Between your teeth
The heat of the lights
The crack of the whip
The snapping sound
Of someone’s nerves
If you pay you get
What you deserve….
The audience seems stricken, and a hush goes through the auditorium. Fran’s guitar comes in, quiet and restrained.
We’re coming up from the deep
The lizard sheds its skin
Night obliterates the day
And all the fun begins
Shadow boxing with yourself
Just seems to get you nowhere
You don’t want to cheat
When playing solitaire…
Pat Stark: I can’t believe what I’m watching.
Steve Fortunato: [His arm around Pat’s shoulder] It’s sheer magic is what it is.
Stacey takes the mic from the stand and moves to the edge of the stage. Raises her hand and passes it over the awestruck kids in the front row like she’s giving a benediction.
Three faces come alive
Try and focus and be one
never let it be said that
The jester comes undone
A reckless gambling pace
With time enough to borrow
Time enough to measure
All of our tomorrows
Tim and Billy add their voices to Stacey’s, forming a three part harmony.
Curtain call and lights grow dim
Tragedy, love all lie within
Each player takes his chance to play
And lives to fight another day!
The stage lights come on and the full band comes crashing in, playing with raucous abandon. There is a gasp from the crowd, and then the kids are back on their feet, cheering KBOH on.
Twenty minutes later, the second set is finished, and Joanne returns to the stage as the band takes their final bows, their faces flushed with excitement. The applause is deafening. Lee comes out from the back, clapping so vigorously that his hands turn red. He grabs the mic.
Lee: How great is this band, everyone?! Give it up one more time for Kids of the Black Hole!
Another roar from the crowd. The members of the band wave one last goodbye and disappear behind the stage.
Kevin: [To Sean and Jon] What did I fucking tell you guys?! They absolutely SLAYED!
Jon: No doubt man, that was killer. I can’t believe how good Joanne was. And Stacey… she’s like the freaking Goth Queen.
Sean: Francie tore it up.
Jon: They were all amazing.
Kevin: I can already feel that hundred bucks in my wallet!
Sean: You might want to wait and see what the Compton Boys have up their sleeves, before you start counting your winnings.
Kevin: No way, man. No chance.
Jon: Shhh, Mitch is back on the mic.
Mitch: And now for the second act in our Battle of the Bands. Please welcome MCs Myron Freelander, Ben Gibbs, and Charlie Smith!
Boy in the Audience: CHARLIE!!!!!
Mitch: And give it up for DJ Randy Dixon!
A shout of RAN-D! goes out.
Mitch: Also please join me in welcoming some special guests — the creme de la creme of Compton and Crenshaw’s cheerleading squads, the CC Girls!
Several Boys: YOWZAAAA!
Mitch: It is my supreme pleasure to give you, THE COMPTON BOYS!
The curtain goes up, and the stage is completely dark, except for four spotlights. Three of them are on mics at the front, and the fourth is on a set of turntables on a riser in the back.
Randy steps up to the turntables, his arms crossed in front of him. Then, Myron, Ben, and Charlie approach their mics. All three are dressed in Adidas track suits. Myron is sporting a fedora, and Charlie is in a Kangol bucket hat.
Ben: [In a heavily affected “ghetto” voice] Yo’, Myron.
Myron: Ben.
Ben: Where we from, Myron?
Myron: California.
Ben: Yo’, Charlie.
Charlie: ‘Sup, Ben?
Ben: Where we from?
Charlie: The good ‘ol USA.
Ben: [Waves a hand at them dismissively] You boys are trippin’. Hey Randy!
Randy: Yes, Ben?
Ben: Tell everyone where we’re from, man.
Randy: [Shouts] STRAIGHT OUTTA COMPTON!
There’s a flash of light and smoke from a machine offstage, and Randy hits the turntables, which immediately come to life. Six girls in biker pants, tube tops, and basketball sneakers burst out, three on each side, and the Compton Boys break into NWA’s “Straight Outta Compton.” The audience is momentarily stunned and then leaps to its feet.
Bobbie: [In amazement] This just gets better and better.
John: Crazy. Blown away.
Chloe: [Jumps up, dragging Will with her] Dance with me!
Will: [Laughing] Take it easy or I’m gonna’ pull something!”
When the song comes to a close, the lights dim and Ben and Charliestep away from their mics, leaving Myron on the stage. One of the dancers — Mitch’s girlfriend, Kim — takes up a position just behind him to his right.
Myron: When we were putting this thing together, we reached out to all the OGs for their permission to cover their songs. Each and every one of them answered us and gave their blessing. But one group in particular went above and beyond. They actually traveled across the country to watch us rehearse our set and gave us some invaluable pointers and advice.
The song we chose from this group was a no-brainer given what’s going on today here in LA and across the country. They’re dragging kids out of their homes, beating ‘em up in the streets, throwing ‘em in jail. So, at this point, there’s only one thing to do….
Randy starts up a heavy groove. Kimbegins dancing in the classic Hip-Hop style.
Myron: And that’s FIGHT THE POWER!!!!!
The stage lights blaze on. While Myron was talking, Charlie and Benhad performed a quick costume change into black Mao suits, berets, and Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses. They perform elaborate marches around Myron in rhythm with the music, and the rest of the CC Girls join Kim in her Hip-Hop dance.
The crowd erupts and within seconds, everyone is dancing in the aisles.
Liz: [Dancing with Erica and Valerie] Now this is the shit!
Erica: Grooooovvvvyyyy!
Valerie: Say ‘Yeah!’ boyyyyyyyy!
Erica: Elvis was a hero to most…
Liz: …but he never meant SHIT to me!
Valerie: …that sucker was simple and plain!
Liz: Fuck him and John Wayne!
When the number is finished, the stage goes dark again. This time Charlie comes up to a lone illuminated mic.
Charlie: Now, outside of Ridgemont, the cops been hassling everyone between the ages of twelve and twenty, but you know they’ve been saving some special grief for the brothers and sisters…
Whistles from the crowd.
Charlie: …and the Latinos and Latinas…
Boy in the Audience: Fuck the po-lice!
Charlie: So, to the LAPD and to the Feds, I have just one question….
Girl in the Audience: Ask it Charlie!
Charlie: AM I BLACK ENOUGH FOR YOU?!
Randy hits the turntables and Myron and Benjoin Charlie at the mics, where they rap in unison.
Am I black enough for ya’, America?
I don’t need no Isis esoterica
All I need is, my blackness
Some other seem to lack this
Black joy, and my black vibe
Gonna be a black man ‘til the day I die
I’m just rough and tough and takin’ no stuff
All I really wanna’ know y’all … am I black enough?
Will and Chloe have returned to their seats to give Will a breather.
Will: Our students aren’t just brilliant musicians and performers, they’ve packed some serious messages into their sets. And the audience is really responding. I mean, look at them! [Gestures at the crowd, which is pulsing with energy]
Chloe: We’re in a weird position, Will. Things are heavenly inside our little bubble, but they’ve gone to hell outside of it. We all know kids who are still out there; most of us have cousins or siblings or friends in the regular school system. We hear what’s going on. I’m not surprised how intense this has been.
Will: [Soberly] I know.
Chloe: All of these conflicting feelings — sadness, hope, fury, joy, misery, ecstasy — and some of these kids are young — just fourteen or fifteen — not to mention inexperienced. They grew up in a run-of-the-mill American suburb. How many of them could ever have imagined they’d find themselves in the middle of all this?
Will: I was so fixated on insulating you guys that I never considered how torn you’d be; that you might even feel guilty about being at New Ridgemont High. [Hangs his head.]
Chloe: [Takes his hand and whispers to him] Courage, sweetheart. We’re all in this together.
The Compton Boys play a string of classic Rap songs from the 1980s, until they reach the end of their set. Randy joins Myron, Ben, Charlie, and the CC Girls at the front of the stage.
Myron: This is our last number, y’all!
Charlie: And we want to dedicate it…
Ben: …to Mitch Bennet.
Loud hoots and whistles. Several blasts from an air horn.
Randy: Come out here, Mitchie!
Mitch has been standing stage right and comes jogging over. Kimhugs and kisses him. He is glowing.
Randy: [Puts his arm around Mitch] We were hanging out in the student lounge listening to this one, when we first met you, man.
Mitch: [Choked with emotion] I remember it like it was yesterday.
Myron: And since then, you’ve become one of the posse.
Ben: A dear friend.
Mitch: I feel the same way!
Charlie: So, this one’s for you, Mitch. [Turns to the audience] Let’s see you all on your feet!
The audience, as one, rises from their seats.
Randy: And please welcome back the Kids of the Black Hole. We need everyone in on this.
The crowd roars as Joanne, Stacey, Tim, Billy, Marty, and Fran return to the stage. Lee rolls out Marty’s drum kit, which is on a wheeled platform.
Marty sits at the kit and begins laying down a beat.
Kevin: [To Sean] Holy shit!! They planned this all along!
Sean: [Grinning from ear to ear] Looks like it!
Randy: [Having returned to the turntables and at the top of his lungs] ROCK BOX!!!!!
Fran cranks out the opening riff of the RUN DMC classic, and the two bands close out the show together. The atmosphere is electric.
It’s almost 9pm. Mitch, Laurie, Brian, Lance, and Lee have collected the ballots from the audience. (The faculty agreed ahead of time that they would not vote.) After running through them twice and conferring among themselves, the five convene on the stage around the mic.
Mitch: Students, faculty, we’ve tallied the votes, and we have a winner!!
A huge cheer goes up from the crowd. There are shouts of “Call it!” and “Tell us!” Mitch holds up his hands, until there is silence.
Mitch: In what may be the closest Battle of the Bands in history, our winner is The Compton Boys, by a single vote!
There is a chorus of shouting, cheering, and stamping of feet. Lee disappears offstage for a moment and returns with a large gold trophy.
Mitch: Myron, Charlie, Ben, Randy, girls, please come up and receive your trophy as the winners New Ridgemont High’s first Battle of the Bands!
The audience goes crazy as the Compton Boys and CC girls come up to the stage to accept their award, which Charlie and Ben hold aloft. The Kids of the Black Hole join them and they all raise their hands together in a final moment of exuberance, triumph and joy.
Location: William Friedman’s rooms at NRH at around 7pm. The members of NRH’s Executive Council — Will, Sal Levy, Mitch Bennett, Tom Rosen, Chloe Gold, Kevin Reilly, and Jaime Cohen — are engaged in an intense discussion of statewide political developments. Will and Tom are sipping Scotch and Chloe is having a Pinot Grigio, while Sal and Mitch are drinking coffee. Kevin is nursing a Guinness.
Sal: I just don’t see how things keep going on like this. Putsis and her miserable coalition are really surging now that she’s won that special election.
Kevin: Lady’s a bona fide cunt.
Jaime: I call ixne on that word.
Mitch: They’ve certainly been active. There are a bunch of bills being introduced in the Assembly that seem to be pointed straight at us.
Chloe: “Seem”?
Mitch: I’m not suggesting they’re subtle. Just that they’re not explicitly “Kill NRH” bills.
Sal: Would you care to give a “Greatest Hits” for those of us who can’t bear to watch the news?
Will: I’m gonna’ need a smoke for this. [Drags his chair over to the window and cracks it open]
Kevin: [Following suit] Right behind you, man.
Mitch: [Counting on his fingers] A bill prohibiting “politicized curricula”; a bill requiring all charter school teachers to be vetted by an “independent committee”; and here’s the big one: a bill stripping charter schools of their discretion over school security and surveillance.
Sal: Jesus H. Christ.
Kevin: It’s a little late, isn’t it? I mean, NRH is already up and running.
Jaime: It’s not about us. It’s about the expansions. They don’t care if one school plays weirdo hippie out in the Valley. They want to make sure the thing doesn’t spread and interfere with their plans to make every teenager in America a freaking criminal.
Tom: Not the most elegantly put, but correct.
Will: [Takes a drag off his cigarette and blows it out the window] Alright, let’s not dive down the hole. The bills haven’t passed yet.
Sal: Those knuckle-draggers control the Assembly, Will. The bills will pass.
Will: There’s still the Senate, Sal. And the Governor.
Sal: I know, it’s just so nerve-wracking. If we lose the Senate and they get a veto-proof majority…
Will: [Laughs] How about we not worry in advance Sal?
Kevin: Isn’t all worrying in advance?
Jaime: [Rolls her eyes] Just ignore him.
Kevin blows Jaime a kiss.
Chloe: All of that will take a lot of time. Meanwhile, we’ll have great schools up and running in Oakland and Berkeley and record-breaking college admissions here at home. Successful teenagers. Happy parents. Relieved communities. The politics won’t be in their favor.
Tom: It’s not the politics I’m worried about. At least not the above-board politics.
Chloe: What do you mean?
Tom: They’re showing their intent, what they’re focused on, and how far they’re willing to go.
Chloe: And…?
Tom: I’m afraid of dirty tricks.
Chloe: Would you care to elaborate?
Tom: All they need is one kid planted in this school. Or bribe a kid who’s already here. He (or she) feeds them information about what’s going on, and they bust the whole thing wide open.
Chloe: That’s dark, Tom, even for you.
Kevin: You’ve seen way too many spy movies, man.
Tom: Alright, forget the spies. Teenagers aren’t exactly discreet. All that has to happen is for one kid to blab to his parents and his parents blab to some other parents, and this thing spills out into the greater atmosphere. The media gets hold of it, and Putsis and Company have a big club to beat us with. And not just PR-wise. I wouldn’t put it past them to try and sic the Attorney General on us.
Jaime: Yeah, what the fuck, Tom?! Where do you come up with this shit?
Will: It does seem a bit exotic. I mean, you’ve chained like twenty “if-thens” together.
Tom: [Shrugs] You all saw that Shirley Putsis rally that NRH TV reported. She’s already talking about “criminal activity” going on at NRH. We’d be stupid to ignore it.
Sal: As awful as it is, I have to agree with Tom. We’re in dangerous territory.
Chloe: [Angrily] I’m not hearing any suggestions from you, Tom. What are we supposed to do? Pack it in? Cancel the expansions? We can’t control what every sick degenerate in California does. You offer nothing constructive, just misery and defeatism.
Tom: [Coolly] You asked. I answered.
Chloe: [Holds up her hand in Tom’s face] Can we please discuss something more pleasant?
Will: Yes! [Flicks the butt of his cigarette out the window and drags his chair back to the group] Stage Night. Are we all set?
Mitch: We are! The talent competition is fully stacked, and our “battle of the bands” between The Compton Boys and Kids of the Black Hole is scheduled. The talent portion will go first, and the battle of the bands will close the evening. Billy and Tim have put together an incredible program.
Sal: And how will the winner be decided?
Mitch: By a vote of the audience. My news team has printed ballots, and we’ll pass them out as people enter the auditorium.
Kevin: [Lights another cigarette] Kids of the Black Hole are gonna’ sweep, man. They kick ass.
Mitch: [Coolly] We’ve already had this conversation, and all I can say is that the Compton Boys have the grooves and the moves.
Jaime: I’m still struggling with the idea of you in that whole scene.
Kevin: Care to put a bet on that, little man?
Mitch: Absolutely.
Kevin: We’ll talk later.
Will: It sounds fantastic, Mitch! Just what everyone needs. With everything going on right now, it’ll be good for morale.
Kevin: As will the Senior Party. I am so psyched for that.
Chloe: [Beaming] I promise it’ll be the party to end all parties. Will and I have been hard at work on it!
Will: [Raises his glass] That we have!
Kevin: Suhweet!
Sal: Do we have college acceptance data yet?
Will: Some Early Decision bids, yes. We’ve got a sprinkling of Berkeleys, Michigans, and MITs. One got into USC… The bulk of them should be coming any day now.
Mitch: Once you’ve got them all, pass them on to me or Laurie. We’ll do a press release and a big feature on NRH TV: student profiles, interviews…, all that kind of stuff.
Will: I’ve also got a bunch of media invites: KABC, the NBC affiliate, CNN…
Sal: You’re taking them, right? I mean, given everything we just discussed, we’ve got to have good press on our side to counter Putsis’s toxic brigade.
Will: Yes, of course. John Stacy — the guy on KABC — actually invited both Chloe and me. He wants to interview us together for a kind of “Year in Review” sort of thing.
Mitch: That’s awesome! I can’t think of better PR for the school than the two of you!
Chloe: [Squeezes Will’s arm] I know you hate these things, but it’ll be fun. I promise.
Will: [Pats her hand and laughs] I’ll be alright!
Tom: Are you sure that’s a good idea?
Will: What? Doing press?
Tom: No, you and Chloe doing press together.
Will: I don’t see why not. I’m the Principal, she’s the Student Body President. Between the two of us, we can speak to both the administrative and student side of things.
Tom: [Looks thoughtful] Hmmm.
Chloe: I don’t like the sound of that ‘hmmm’, Tom. What are you getting at? [Shoots him a look]
Tom: Nothing. Forget it.
Will: Well, that’s all I’ve got. Has anyone got anything else?
Sal: Nope.
Mitch: No, that covers things.
Jaime: I’m good.
Kevin: Still up for the boardwalk at Zuma tonight, Doc? Three live bands.
Will: You know it! I’ll meet you there.
Kevin: Right on! I’ll pick up Marty and Jon and meet you in about half an hour.
Will: Sal, wanna’ come along?
Sal: No, I’m going home and acting like an old person.
Chloe: Mitch, you need a ride home? I’ve got the car.
Mitch: Cool! Thanks!
Jaime: C’mon Tom. Take me home, and I’ll teach you how not to be so miserable all the time.
Lance Donaldson and Brian Millman have just arrived at the New Galleria Mall. Brian is driving.
Brian: Why did we have to take my car?
Lance: It’s your parents’ car.
Brian: Why did we have to take my parents’ car?
Lance: Because your curfew’s two hours later than mine.
Brian: How does that help us? You still have to be home two hours earlier.
Lance: My parents made an exception, since I’m not using their car.
Brian: Great.
Lance: Chill out. It’s not like we’re going drag racing.
Brian: And why did we have to dress up? [Looks down at his aquamarine Lacoste shirt]
Lance: A polo shirt and khakis is “dressed up”?
Brian: We’re just going to the arcade.
Lance: There might be girls there.
Brian: Since when do you care about that?
Lance: Since the celebration ball, last semester. Remember what Marissa said? That she’d go out with me, if she wasn’t dating Tim?
Brian: Has it occurred to you that she was just being nice?
Lance: [Coolly] Marissa wouldn’t lie about something like that. She’s not that kind of person.
Brian: And how would you know what kind of person Marissa Preston is?
Lance: Just a feeling, man. [Checks his hair in the mirror. Primps it.]
Brian: What are you doing?
Lance: Just making sure the look is happening.
Brian: You have a look?
Lance: Are we going in or what?
Brian: I guess. All these expectations are throwing me a little.
Lance: Relax. You’re not going on Love Connection.
Brian: [Suspiciously] Are you drunk?
Lance: [Cracking up] What?!
Brian: I don’t know. You seem smoother, somehow.
Lance: Watching Mitch make it to the top of the social ladder has definitely bolstered me a little.
Brian: A little? It’s like a whole new Lance.
Lance: Just embrace the cool, man.
The two boys get out of the car and make their way to the Mall entrance. Once inside, they find that it is packed with teenagers.
Brian: There are a lot of girls here.
Lance: That’s a good thing, isn’t it?
Brian: I don’t know if I can do this.
Lance: You’ve been to the arcade a gazillion times.
Brian: Yeah, but not at night.
Lance: That’s what’s bothering you? That it’s night?
Brian: There aren’t this many cool people here during the day.
Lance and Brian reach the arcade, which is even more packed than the rest of the Mall. They stop at the change machine to get quarters.
Brian: So, what do you want to play first?
Lance: [Points] Defender’s open.
The boys commandeer the Defender machine, placing several stacks of quarters on the cabinet, and begin playing.
Brian: Watch the master. I made it to the fifth wave last week.
Lance: [Looking around the arcade] Cool.
Brian: [Jerks the joystick up and pounds the “Fire” button] Aw, crap. Died. Your turn.
Lance takes the controls but dies almost immediately.
Brian: [Takes back the controls] Your head’s not in the game. [Notices Lance looking around] What are you looking at?
Lance: Just checking out the scene.
Brian: We’re in the arcade, Lance. There is no “scene.”
Lance: [Gesturing at the entrance] I’d call that a scene.
Two somewhat nerdy girls have entered the arcade. They are both wearing jeans and Capezios, with matching oversized “Choose Life” t-shirts and are quite pretty. Lance makes eye contact and tilts his head.
Brian: [Grabs his arm] What are you doing?!
Lance: Trying to get those two girls to come over here.
Brian: Why?!
Lance: You’re in Miss Furst’s Human Sexuality class. Figure it out.
Brian: I took it as an elective.
Lance: You could’ve taken shop.
Brian: I was afraid the greasers would beat me up.
Lance: [Points at the screen] Better watch out, you’re about to…
Brian pulls up violently on the joystick but dies anyway. Turns to Lance, his mouth open to complain, only to see that the two girls are standing next to them.
Brian: Ahhh…
Girl No. 1: Yes?
Brian: I…
Girl No. 1: You were about to say something?
Brian: Yeah, no…you see, he…
Lance: [Leans in front of him and extends his hand] I’m Lance.
Girl No. 1: [Shakes it] Colleen. Carter. [Gestures at the girl next to her] This is Danielle.
Danielle: [Steps forward and shakes Lance’s hand] Danielle Richstone.
Lance: Nice to meet you! This is…[looks around for Brian, who has disappeared behind the Defender machine]…Brian.
Danielle: [Stretching her neck to look around the corner of the game cabinet] Nice to meet you, Brian. Everything all right back there?
Brian: [Making a show of checking the power cables] Oh, yeah, just making sure. It’s been playing a little funny.
Lance: I’m sure it’s fine.
Brian comes back around, reluctantly. He seems to have shrunk several inches.
Brian: Brian.
Colleen: Yes, we got that.
Brian: Millman.
Colleen: [Puts her hand out] Nice to meet you Brian Millman.
Brian: [Looks at her hand like it’s a cobra. Shakes it] Nice to, uh, meet you too.
Danielle: So, what’re you guys doing?
Brian: Ahhh…
Lance: Nothing much. Chillin’. Playing some games.
Danielle: Cool. [Examines them for a moment] You two look nice.
Brian shoots Lance a murderous look.
Colleen: You guys go to New Ridgemont High?
Lance: [Laughs and lifts up a penny-loafered foot] Hard to hide it, huh? How about you two?
Danielle: We go to Stevens.
Brian: [Looking them up and down quizzically] So, why…?
Colleen: The 80s clothes? Seemed like the thing to do. The whole town’s gone retro. We felt kind of stupid walking around in our usual gear.
Danielle: I kinda’ like it, anyway. Even a flat-chested girl like me can look good in one of these giant t-shirts.
Brian gulps, his face turning several shades of purple.
Lance: You girls wanna’ play with us? We can do teams.
Brian: Yeah. I mean…you don’t have to, if you don’t want to…
Colleen: We’d love to play with you.
Brian: You would?
Danielle: [To Lance] Your friend’s funny.
Lance: [Dryly] He’s the comedian in our group.
Danielle: And cute.
Brian turns several more shades of purple.
Danielle laughs and takes Brian’s arm. Lance puts two quarters in the machine and the four begin to play.
It’s several hours later, and the four are sitting in the New Galleria’s food court, sipping milkshakes, chatting animatedly.
Danielle: Mall’s gonna’ close soon.
Brian: [Mournfully] Yeah.
Colleen: I should probably call my parents to pick us up.
Lance: [Chivalrously] No need! We can give you a ride.
Colleen: You guys drove?
Lance: Yeah.
Danielle: You have your own car?
Lance: Yup. We took Brian’s tonight.
Danielle: [Impressed] Way cool.
Colleen: Well, then, we accept. Just give us a minute, while we go and powder our noses.
The two girls depart for the bathrooms.
Brian: You told them it was my car? Are you crazy?!
Lance: A little white lie.
Brian groans.
Lance: I’d say it was justified. Did you see how Danielle reacted?
Brian: And that’s another thing. What the hell are we gonna do with two girls in our car?
Lance: You mean, besides driving them home?
Brian: [Letting the implications of the “besides” sink in] Oh, God.
Lance: Just be cool, man. This is totally happening.
Brian: Oh God.
Lance: You said that already.
Brian sits speechless, his mouth open, with an air of panic.
Lance: Get that stupid look off of your face, they’re coming back.
Colleen and Danielle return to the table.
Colleen: We called our parents and everything’s cool. We told them my friend Yvette is giving us a ride.
Lance: [Rising from the table] Great! Let’s do it.
The four leave the Mall and walk through the parking lot, which by now is half empty. They arrive at the car, where Lance holds open the back door for the girls. Then, he settles into the passenger seat, next to Brian, who is gripping the wheel as if his life depended on it.
Lance: So, which way?
Colleen: You’ll have to get on the Freeway, East.
Brian: [Starts the car] Freeway. East. I can do that.
Colleen: There’s no need to rush, though.
Brian: There isn’t?
Colleen: I told my mom it might take us a while. Something about Danielle having to stop at the Kwik-Mart to get milk.
Brian doesn’t say anything. Gulps.
Danielle: This seating arrangement is all wrong.
Lance: [Grinning widely] I agree entirely.
Colleen: [To Lance] Why don’t you and Danielle switch places?
Brian looks like he is about to protest, but doesn’t get the chance, because Danielle climbs over the seat, squeezing herself between him and Lance. Then, Lance climbs into the back.
Colleen: Much better. [Snuggles up against Lance]
Brian looks in the rearview mirror to the back seat, where Colleen and Lance have started to make out.
Danielle: [Shimmies herself up against Brian. Whispers in his ear] Much, much better.
Brian gulps again.
February 24, 1:55pm, PST
Sunday afternoon, in the NRH studios. Kevin Reilly and Marty Savini are hosting their weekly program on local music acts. Joanne Genduso and Lee Lindberg are also in the studio, sorting through piles of tapes that are strewn around the floor. “Angel Witch” is blaring loudly from the studio monitors.
Kevin: You gotta’ find that tape, guys. The interview starts at the top of the hour.
Joanne: [Irritably] We’re looking!
Lee: It would help if the studio wasn’t so trashed. [Gestures helplessly at the pile of tapes] I mean, what the fuck?!
Kevin: [Growling slightly] Just find it. The song’s about to end. Marty, do you have what’s-his-face on the phone?
Marty: You mean “Lord Baphomet?” Yeah, he’s holding.
Joanne: [Incredulous] Lord Baphomet?!
Lee: It does seem kinda’ lame.
Kevin: [Coolly] He’s channeling King Diamond. Metal Militia is a retro-80s thrash band. Cool as shit.
Joanne: “Metal Militia”?!
Marty: Yeah, they’re freaking awesome. They do Mercyful Fate and early Slayer and Metallica covers.
Joanne: [Muttering] Never Been Laid Militia.
Kevin: Shhh! The song’s finishing up.
Lee: [Holding up a cassette triumphantly] Found it!
Kevin gestures vigorously to Lee who hands Marty the tape.
Kevin: [In his best radio DJs voice] That was Angel Witch, playing “Angel Witch,” from their 1980 debut album, Angel Witch.
Joanne: Definitely won’t forget that one.
Kevin: [Glares at her] And now for our weekly focus on local artists. We have Lord Baphomet from the band Metal Militia on the phone. Lord Baphomet, welcome to Metal Odyssey, on KNRH!
Lord Baphomet: Glad to be here, Kevin.
Kevin: We’ve got Marty Savini here in the studio as well, Lord Baphomet.
Lord Baphomet: ‘Sup.
Marty: Heya.
Kevin: It’s really great to speak with you. I caught your show down at the Roxy last week, and you guys killed it.
Lord Baphomet: Thanks, man! It was a good show.
Kevin: People may not know that you guys are Ridgemont natives.
Lord Baphomet: Born and bred. We all graduated from Central in 2002. Lord Beelzebub and Lord Asmodeus still live in Ridgemont. Lord Astaroth and I live in Laguna now.
Kevin: How long has Metal Militia been going?
Lord Baphomet: We actually started in high school. We were called “Blood Feast” back then.
Kevin: And what kind of stuff were you doing?
Lord Baphomet: Blood Feast was a horror-rock band. Alice Cooper, Sabbath, some KISS. We used to open with “God of Thunder.” It was a whole theatrical thing.
Kevin: Awesome! So, when did Blood Feast morph into Metal Militia?
Lord Baphomet: It didn’t. There were two other bands in between.
Kevin: And what were they?
Lord Baphomet: After Blood Feast dissolved, we formed High Society.
Kevin: Some kind of stoner rock band?
Lord Baphomet: [Laughing] No, nothing like that. It was all New Romantic: Duran Duran, Missing Persons, Culture Club…
Joanne: [Whispering to Lee] Did he say “Culture Club?”
Lee: [Whispering back] He did.
Kevin [Somewhat perplexed]: Well, that’s a little weird.
Lord Baphomet: We felt like we needed a change of direction.
Kevin: I’d say. But wasn’t it…y’know…odd?
Lord Baphomet: Wasn’t what odd?
Kevin: “Lord Baphomet sings Culture Club.”
Lord Baphomet: [Laughs] None of us were lords back then. We used different stage names.
Kevin: Ah.
Lord Baphomet: So, we did that for a year or two, and then we shifted gears again and put together Lords of the Manor.
Kevin: So that’s when the Lords thing started.
Lord Baphomet: No, ‘Lords’ was just part of the band name.
Kevin: But, this is when you went back to metal, right?
Lord Baphomet: No. Lords of the Manor was a sort of easy listing/folk sort of thing. We played a lot of Carpenters tunes.
Kevin: Carpenters?
Lord Baphomet: Carpenters.
Kevin: As in “Close to You” Carpenters?
Lord Baphomet: That’s the one!
Kevin: I guess this was another one of those “changes of direction?”
Lord Baphomet: Something like that. We were playing a lot of old age homes, and the whole makeup and Flock-of-Seagulls hair thing wasn’t going over too well.
Kevin: So, now we get to Metal Militia, right?
Lord Baphomet: Right!
Kevin: And what made you decide to go back to metal?
Lord Baphomet: Y’know, we were starting to feel a little bit like pussies.
Joanne: Who would have thought?
Kevin: [Signaling her to shut up] Entirely understandable.
Lord Baphomet: So, we decided that we should return to our roots.
Kevin: Good call.
Marty: So that’s when the Lords thing started?
Lord Baphomet: Yeah, we came up with the names, the stage show, the whole concept.
Kevin: Thrash metal.
Lord Baphomet: Yeah, but old school. When it was still heavily Venom and Mercyful Fate influenced. Devils and demons and upside down crosses and all that kind of stuff.
Marty: How’s the gigging been?
Lord Baphomet: Not that great actually, but then NRH opened and the whole area went retro. That’s when things really got rolling. No more old age homes!
Kevin: So, it’s the club circuit now.
Lord Baphomet: Well, not entirely.
Kevin: But you guys were at the Roxy. That’s where I saw you.
Lord Baphomet: Yeah, but that’s the first club show we’ve done as Metal Militia.
Kevin: So, where have you guys been gigging?
Lord Baphomet: High school gyms mostly. Oh, and some Bar-Mitzvahs.
At ‘Bar-Mitzvahs’, Marty gropes frantically for the mic, which he turns off, after which he explodes in a fit of laughter and coughing.
Kevin: [Slowly] And how does that go, exactly?
Lord Baphomet: Better than you’d think! With this 80s thing you guys have started, all this devil shi… — er, stuff — is totally in. They really like it when we do our Black Metal version of “Hava Nagila.”
Kevin: [Struggling] Still, it is a rather strange kind of gig, don’t you think?
Lord Baphomet: Hey, man, we gotta’ pay the bills. I mean, we all still have full-time jobs. It’s not like we can live off of Metal Militia. All the revenue that comes in goes straight back into the band.
Kevin: You guys are working full time, while recording and gigging, huh? Sounds intense. What do you do?
Lord Baphomet: Me? I’m a florist.
Kevin: A florist?
Lord Baphomet: At Freddie’s Flowers, downtown. I do all the floral arrangements and bouquets for special events – weddings, funerals…
Marty: [Who has turned his mic back on] Bar Mitzvahs…
Lord Baphomet: Those too.
Kevin: And what sorts of things are the other guys doing to make money?
Lord Baphomet: Let’s see. Beelzebub and Asmodeus own Adelstein’s on the square. You know, the stationary store? And Astaroth is a social worker in Reseda.
Kevin: Fascinating.
Lord Baphomet: Yup.
Kevin: [Rubbing his face vigorously] Well, it’s been great talking with you, Lord Baphomet. How about we get to the music?
Lord Baphomet: Awesome!
Kevin: Here’s Metal Militia, playing “Necrophiliac,” from Slayer’s 1985 album, Hell Awaits. [Queues the song, turns off the mic, and slides off his headphones.]
Lee: Kevin, man, what the fuck?!
Kevin: What?
Lee: Old age homes? The Carpenters? Social Workers? Florists?!
Kevin: How was I supposed to know? I just saw them at the Roxy and it was totally Metal.
Lee: Haven’t you ever heard of doing a little research?
Kevin: Research? How? There’s no internet, remember?
Lee: You don’t need the internet to find out if a band’s chief audience is a bunch of geriatrics and children. You could have asked them during the pre-show interview.
Kevin: Pre-show interview?
Lee: You know…the conversation you had with him before you decided to put him on the show.
Marty: We were supposed to do that?
Kevin: We definitely didn’t do one of those.
Lee: Oh my god.
Joanne: [Gleefully] Stacy and I are gonna’ kick your guys’ asses in this week’s listener numbers!
The phone rings and Lee answers it.
Lee: Hello? Yes, this is Metal Odyssey.
Joanne: Your audience is gonna’ tear you to pieces!
Lee: What’s that? [Three more lines light up] Could you please hold? [Presses a button] Hello, Metal Odyssey. Huh? You do? Yeah, could you please hold. [All the lines start blinking. Lee turns to the others] They love it. Everyone wants to talk to Lord Baphomet.
Joanne: What?!
Lee: Yeah, though they didn’t all get the names right. One girl said that she wants to talk to “Lord Carpenter,” and another one says she wants to join…[looks down at a note he had written while on the phone]…“Beelzy-Bubba’s Mile High Club.”
Joanne: Mile High Club? Isn’t that, like, people fucking on planes or something?
Lee: [Shaking his head, as the second phone’s lines start lighting up.] I don’t know…I just don’t know.
Kevin: [Looking at Joanne with a smug expression] Looks like we’re still Number One, baby!
Joanne: Mrrrngghmm!
Kevin and Marty [High-fiving each other]: Righteous!
William Friedman and Chloe Gold are driving from Monterey to Sacramento in Friedman’s Mustang with the top down.
Chloe: [Breathes in deeply, her arms stretched above her head] I’d forgotten how gorgeous Monterey is. It’s been years since I’ve been there.
Will: The hotel was particularly beautiful. That view.
Chloe: [Contentedly] Indeed.
Will: I thought our presentation went well.
Chloe: They did seem very enthusiastic. I wonder, though. At this point, don’t we have enough schools in the wealthy parts of California?
Will: Yes, especially now that we’re adding Berkeley, though Oakland is more mixed. Still, you’re right, the thing to do now — well, after we see how Berkeley and Oakland work out — is to try it in one of the really tough districts. Oakland should give us some interesting data; provide a bridge to the more difficult environments.
Chloe: How about Compton? Myron and his friends live there and have close connections with the students. They should be able to help us a lot.
Will: [Looking unhappy] I’m afraid that’s still premature. I was thinking of one of the white working class districts.
Chloe: Why? I can’t believe that it would be that much more of a challenge. Poor and middle class people are poor and middle class regardless of their color. Same needs; same concerns. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was because of…
Will: Racism? It is. But not on my part.
Chloe: What, then? The State Legislature? The Assembly may be conservative but the Senate is still solidly liberal. And it’s not as if the Governor’s racist.
Will: Actually, it’s local law enforcement I’m thinking about. I just don’t see the LAPD agreeing to the hands-off approach in Compton that the model requires. At least, not now.
Chloe: I see.
Will: I’m hoping that if we demonstrate that it can work in a tough, white working class neighborhood, they’ll be more amenable to the suggestion of trying it in Black and Latino neighborhoods.
Chloe: But you’re saying that they still might not be amenable.
Will: That’s right.
Chloe: Well, that’s disgusting.
Will: [Grimly] Yes, it is.
Chloe: [Shaking her head, as if to dislodge the thought] So, why Monterey?
Will: We need to build support statewide, now that we’re seeing organized opposition.
Chloe: You’re talking about that miserable bitch…what’s her name? Sally Putrid?
Will: [Gives a short, bitter laugh] Shirley Putsis. Yes, her and that whole “Citizens for Character in California” gang. I mean, you saw the report on NRH TV a few weeks ago, didn’t you?
Chloe: Yes. It was revolting. I’m just wondering whether it wouldn’t be better to ignore them completely. It’s not like you’re ever gonna convince them.
Will: My intention isn’t to convince them. It’s to prevent them from convincing others. People who might be on the fence.
Chloe: I think we diminish ourselves by engaging with people like Putsis. Success is its own argument, and I know that Berkeley and Oakland are going to succeed just like we have.
Will: If success was its own argument, the entire South and Lower Midwest wouldn’t refuse to teach sex-ed.
Chloe sighs.
Will: You can never ignore ideological commitments and personal narratives. They make people do incredibly stupid and destructive things.
Chloe: It’s hard for me even to imagine anyone wanting to live in a world like the one Shirley Putsis describes.
Will: There’s no end-run around politics, I’m afraid. At the end of the day, no matter how good the ideas are, if you want a better society, laws have to be passed; institutions have to be created; regulations have to be put in place; all of it has to be enforced. And that means you have to fight.
Chloe: Feeling it isn’t enough. Being good isn’t enough.
Will: From what I hear, Steve had a pretty intense conversation on that very subject in his class a few weeks ago.
Chloe: [Closes her eyes and sighs again] Well, never mind. Screw those horrible people.
The two drive on in silence.
February 18, 5:00pm, PST
Location: The Governor’s Mansion. William Friedman and Chloe Gold have just parked the car and are headed up the front steps. It is strangely quiet.
Chloe: This was supposed to be a dinner party, wasn’t it?
Will: That’s what I thought [looks around], though now I’m not sure. I didn’t receive a formal invitation; just a handwritten note from the Governor asking us to come to “a dinner.” I may have over-interpreted the indefinite article.
Chloe: There are only three other cars in the lot.
Will: Let’s see what’s up. [Rings the bell]
Chloe: [Gazing down at her silver cocktail dress and high heels] If this isn’t a party, I’m seriously overdressed. Or underdressed, depending on how you look at it.
The door opens, and Will and Chloe are surprised to see that it is the Governor himself and not a butler or some other member of staff. He is wearing jeans with a blue blazer and open-necked shirt and has a somewhat distracted, disheveled air about him.
Chloe: [Under her breath] Definitely overdressed.
GovernorBrown: [Brightly] Will! Great to see you! And this must be Miss Gold. [Extends his hand] A pleasure to meet you!
Chloe: [Shakes his hand firmly] Thank you, Governor Brown. The feeling is more than mutual.
Governor Brown: [Looks them up and down] You two certainly are fancy.
Chloe turns several shades of red.
GovernorBrown: [Vaguely, to himself] Maybe it’s a New Ridgemont High thing. Everyone dressed like idiots in the 80s.
Will: We may have been under a misimpression.
Chloe: [Wrinkles her nose at him] Ya’ think?
Will: You see, we thought that you had invited us to a dinner party. Hence, the whole dressed-up thing.
GovernorBrown: Dinner party? Who on earth would want to have one of those? [Beckons] Come into the lounge, Susan’s already here.
The three enter the lounge, where Congresswoman Susan Best is sitting on one of several leather couches, sipping a drink. Like the Governor, she is wearing jeans, but with a black shirt and peach blazer.
Congresswoman Best: [Rises to shake Will’s hand] Will, a pleasure as always. [Turns to Chloe] Well, Miss Gold, it’s certainly getting big now, isn’t it?
Chloe: More exciting than big. We can take on just about anything.
CongresswomanBest: [Laughs] Spoken like someone who hasn’t received her first real ass-kicking yet. [Squeezes Chloe’s arm and raises her glass in a toast] And here’s hoping you never do!
Chloe raises an invisible glass and smiles.
GovernorBrown: You probably want drinks.
Congresswoman Best: It’s what one typically has when one is drinking, Jerry.
The Governor makes his way over to a stocked bar in the far corner of the room.
Governor Brown: I know yours is Scotch, Will. [Pours a double Macallan and slides it to the end of the bar] And Miss Gold… let me guess [stares at her], wine…white…dry. [Pours from a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that has been sitting in an ice-bucket]
Chloe: That’s incredible. How did you know?
Congresswoman Best: What’s incredible is that the Governor of California is giving a seventeen year old girl booze.
Governor Brown: A glass of wine Susan. Keep your shirt on. [Winks at Chloe]
Congresswoman Best: [Suddenly serious] Look, this is a casual — meaning a candid — meeting. Serious talk. No bullshitting. Everything is off the record.
Chloe: Yes, of course. [Pauses, her eyes narrowing. Turns to the Governor] You want to brainstorm the politics of this don’t you? And the whole private dinner thing. You didn’t want the media or anyone else to know we were coming; that we’re working together.
Governor Brown: [Laughs] You were right, Susan. The girl’s a natural.
Will: You’re worried about the opposition.
Governor Brown: [Snorts] The CCC? They’re a malevolent bunch. [Pours himself a Macallan and settles himself next to Congresswoman Best] And Shirley Putsis is the worst of them all.
Congresswoman Best: I agree that we have to take them seriously, but I think that you’re overstating the threat they pose.
Governor Brown: How can you overstate it? That mob has dirty tricks written all over it. They’re making it personal. Nasty.
Congresswoman Best: Personal and nasty have been the M.O. of the Republicans since Nixon, Jerry. Dirty tricks are all these people ever do.
Governor Brown: There’s another angle here, Susan. We’re dealing with kids now. [To Will] Are your students prepared for how ugly this could get?
Will: [Looking down] I don’t know.
Chloe: [Coldly] Those of us who need to be prepared are.
Will: I expected some opposition, but I thought it would be primarily on pedagogical or fiscal grounds. I didn’t expect anything like this.
Congresswoman Best: Then you were naïve.
Will looks crestfallen.
GovernorBrown: That’s not fair, Susan. Will’s a scientist and a teacher, not a politician. His job is to give us the best schools he can. Protecting those schools — and him — is our job.
CongresswomanBest: [Her face softening] I wasn’t criticizing you, Will. But you need to know what’s going on; what’s likely to happen. And the kids need to know too. The media has latched onto this story, and your students are gonna hear every salacious rumor and vicious slander that these bastards can dish up.
Chloe: NRH TV and The Standard have been offering quite extensive coverage, already, Congresswoman Best, and we’re handling it just fine. We aren’t a bunch of fragile flowers.
CongresswomanBest: No, of course not. I was just…Will’s gotten a lot of you kids involved in the running of the school. I don’t want to see you get hurt.
Chloe: [Steely] We wanted to be involved in the running of the school. It’s not like Will shanghaied us.
CongresswomanBest: [Her hands up] Okay, I’ll drop it.
Chloe: Do.
GovernorBrown: What’s our move?
CongresswomanBest: There’s not much I can do from the Congress, Jerry, other than support the project with as much strength as I can muster. But the State Capitol? My influence there is limited. California state politics is your territory.
GovernorBrown: Putsis is gonna’ win that goddamned Assembly seat.
Chloe: I don’t see that mattering too much. The Assembly’s already lost to the conservatives. It’s the Senate you need to work on. That’s where you’ve got to stop them.
CongresswomanBest: She’s right, Jerry. It’s the same in Washington. The House produces one crazy bill after another and the Senate slaps them down. It’s a nail-biting experience, but it works.
Governor Brown: Okay, so I work the State Senate. [To Will and Chloe] And what do you guys do?
Chloe: I said this to Will in the car and even though he was skeptical, I think it’s our best move. We lead with our best foot forward.
Governor Brown: Meaning?
Chloe: New Ridgemont High succeeds beyond everyone’s wildest dreams. Ditto Oakland and Berkeley. Gobs of graduating seniors head off to Harvard, Princeton, Stanford, Berkeley… Let the facts speak for themselves.
Congresswoman Best: But you’ve got a high-quality newsroom. Don’t you think you should at least defend the school? Editorials, op-eds, that sort of thing?
Chloe: I think that we should use the newsroom, but not like that.
CongresswomanBest: Then how?
Chloe: To document and highlight all of the amazing things we’re doing. Show them what goes on in the classroom; on the athletic fields; in the theater; the shop. Show them New Ridgemont High in all of its glory.
CongresswomanBest: That’s all very well, but you have to remember that the image you present is going to be challenged. Putsis and her gang are telling everyone that what’s really going on in New Ridgemont High is sordid; criminal even. You can’t keep taking an attack like that in a defensive posture. You have to go on offense yourself.
Chloe: But don’t you see? By doing what I’ve described, we are refuting their characterization of us. After watching Kevin Reilly and Marty Savini fully restore a 1963 Mustang to mint condition, no one is going to say “Well, those are two real degenerates” or believe anyone who says it. No one who watches Jules Longo engaged in a serious class discussion on Madame Bovary, entirely in French, is going to say, “They’re getting a crappy education at New Ridgemont High” or believe anyone who says it.
Governor Brown: Demonstrated quality and dignity versus a bunch of baseless allegations? Sounds like a winner to me. [Points at Congresswoman Best] And they don’t get themselves dirty. Goddammit, Susan, those kid shouldn’t have to fight in the mud with these fuckers!
Chloe: You sound exactly like Will.
Governor Brown: Old hippies think alike.
Will: [Laughs] Hear! Hear!
Congresswoman Best: The quiet man speaks. You haven’t said much, Will.
Will: I didn’t have to. Chloe said it well enough. Quite well, in fact.
Chloe: But in the car you said that the whole “success is its own argument” thing is bogus. You even gave me a counterexample.
Will: You’ve convinced me. And Jerry too. I don’t want you getting into political knife fights. Stand tall, proud, accomplished. Leave the dirty stuff to us.
Chloe: [Frowns] I’m not sure I like the sound of that. A bit too “Father Knows Best.”
Will: [Laughs gently] I’m agreeing with you Chloe. You’ll be more than a match for their nastiness and dishonesty. Dirtying yourself is counterproductive.
Chloe: [Smiles] Okay.
Governor Brown: [Mumbling into his drink] The fact that she’s even heard of “Father Knows Best” is reason enough to keep the damned place open.
The door at the far side of the room opens, and a stout woman, dressed in chef’s garb, announces that dinner is ready. The four gather up their drinks and depart for the dining room with Will and Chloe bringing up the rear, arm in arm.
Mitch Bennett: In the wake of mid-semester grade reports and student performance on standardized tests showing that New Ridgemont High students are leading the state, California governor Jerry Brown has issued a mandate to create two more high schools based on the NRH model. After a brief period in which applications were submitted and considered, it was announced that Berkeley High School and Skyline High School in Oakland had been awarded the Special Charter, with a tentative opening date of September 8, 2012
Whether or not this ambitious target is met depends not just on how quickly the Berkeley and Oakland Unified Districts can implement the core elements of the model — an enormous task in itself, involving curriculum, technology, and administrative and physical infrastructure — but on whether the respective communities can recreate a 1980s environment in local businesses, media, and law enforcement. In a recent speech to the Oakland Metropolitan Chamber of Commerce, William Friedman, the creator and Principal of New Ridgemont High, discussed this crucial element of the NRH model.
Cut to video of William Friedman, at the Oakland Metropolitan Chamber of Commerce. He is responding to questions from a packed audience.
William Friedman: Put succinctly, we don’t know the precise reasons for the current problems we are experiencing with our youth. We can point to any number of plausible causes, but in all likelihood, the social and psychological problems we are seeing are the result of some combination of them, working in tandem. Addressing one or even several of them in isolation is unlikely to succeed in addressing this challenge.
Current trends in school administration — the rules of the schools, so to speak — are one likely cause. The standard curriculum is another. But these only scratch the surface. The ubiquity of social media and its effects on socialization; the inordinate attention paid to youth by law enforcement and the draconian punishments we have in place; media and popular culture; they all have a role to play. And they all must be addressed in a coordinated fashion if we are to have any hope of dealing with the situation. That’s what Social Immersion Theory tells us, and it’s the foundation on which the New Ridgemont High experiment was built.
Man in audience: But have you considered the economic impact of what you’re proposing? Ridgemont is just one city, in a very large state. Now we add Berkeley and Oakland. Presumably, if they’re successful, the idea is to extend the model to even more schools, which means to even more cities and towns. How can California survive on what will be, essentially, a retro-economy? The public subsidies will have to be astronomical.
Friedman: I reject your underlying premise. We are engaged in a social science experiment, not a reconfiguration of every school in California. The model has to be implemented in a representative enough sample of school districts to produce any really fruitful data, and the current expansion will go a long way towards that goal. My hope is that once we have that data, we’ll be able to narrow the variables and determine which of the apparent causes are the really crucial ones. At that point, we can shift to more modest reforms, which can be implemented within the high schools and districts we have now.
Man in Audience: How many more are you thinking about, then?
Friedman: Ten, maybe twelve. I can’t say for sure at this point.
Another Man in Audience: [Shouts] That’s almost a fifth of the total number of high schools in the State!
Friedman: Of the independent districts, yes, but that number doesn’t include the Unified districts, so it’s really a much smaller percentage than that.
The room erupts into noisy conversation.
Friedman: [Holds up his hands] Ladies and gentlemen, please, one at a time. You’ll all get a chance.
Cut back to Mitch Bennett in the NRH TV studios.
Mitch: Heading the media outreach effort, NRH Board Members John Hughes and Richard Linklater have taken to the airwaves, appearing on local television and radio stations to raise support among the Berkeley and Oakland residential and business communities. At the ground level, the work is literally a business by business, residence by residence affair, requiring dozens of outreach workers and advisors. Antonio Bruno, owner and proprietor of Tony’s Pizzeria, a popular lunch spot with NRH students, has been coordinating advisory efforts with Berkeley and Oakland businesses, and Steven Gold, noted LA attorney and father of NRH Student Body President, Chloe Gold, has been conducting seminars with local neighborhood and residents’ associations.
The task of advising Oakland and Berkeley students falls to several NRH student teams, selected by the New Ridgemont High Student Executive Council and charged with consulting with Berkeley and Skyline student leaders on every area of student affairs and student life. A similar group, made up of NRH teachers and administrators, will advise their counterparts on curricular and administrative matters.
NRH TV spent several days following the student advisory teams, and the following report comes to you live from NRH TV Chief Correspondent, Nicole Parker. Nicole.
Cut to Nicole Parker, reporting from the student lounge at Skyline High School in Oakland. Standing next to her are Denise Diamond and Valerie Saunders amidst a boisterous throng of Skyline students. Visible in the background are Lee Lindberg and Kevin Reilly.
Nicole: [Loudly, one hand cupped over her ear] Nicole Parker, reporting live from Skyline High School. Can you hear me in the middle of all this?
The camera pans behind her to a particularly noisy group of Skyline students who become even louder when they see they’re being filmed.
Mitch: [Laughing] We can hear you just fine, Nicole. What’s going on over there?
Nicole: Earlier this morning, Tom Rosen, New Ridgemont High Student Body Vice President, spent over two hours with Skyline students, faculty, administrators, and staff, discussing the details of the transition to the NRH model. Needless to say, the students were happy with what they heard. [Turns back to the crowd of Skyline students who erupt with another round of hooting and whistling]
Mitch: What were some of the points that elicited the greatest response among the students?
Nicole: [To a girl, next to her] I know, right? [To the camera] What was that Mitch? I didn’t get that.
Mitch: To which parts of Tom’s presentation did the students react the most positively?
Nicole: [Pushes the girl off gently, whispering something to her, then turns back to the camera] The open campus and the free periods definitely provoked the biggest and most enthusiastic response.
Boy in the crowd: [At the top of his lungs] They raawwwwkkk!!!
Mitch: I see what you mean, Nicole.
Nicole: They’re excited about being able to hang out with each other during the school day without a structured activity or supervision.
Mitch: What else caught students’ attention?
Nicole: The lack of security cameras or police. These kids have spent their entire lives under surveillance, so it means a lot to them.
Mitch: Anything else that stands out?
Nicole: Yes, there was one other thing that really got the Skyline students going and that’s the party schedule. [Gestures towards Valerie and Denise] I have Valerie Saunders and Denise Diamond here with me from the NRH Social Committee, and for the last several days they’ve been consulting with Skyline student leaders on how to party 1980s style. So, how’s it been going, girls?
Denise: [Eagerly] Freaking awesome!
Nicole: Well, yes, but perhaps you could fill in our audience on some of the details.
Valerie: What everyone needs to remember is that there were a lot more official school parties back in the 1980s then you have today. In addition to Prom, you had at least two seasonal formal dances, an incoming Freshman party, a Senior Party, a Halloween party, a Homecoming party, a Spring Fling, and of course, Stage Night.
Nicole: That’s a lot of parties.
Valerie: Yeah, and the schools today are totally incapable of throwing them..
Nicole: Why is that?
Valerie: I’d say the main reason is financial. Today, a party schedule like that would be a budget-buster.
Nicole: So, the lack of parties is due to school budget cuts?
Valerie: No. Even adjusted for inflation and population growth, the school budgets today are larger than they were in the 80s. It’s the percentage of the budget that’s taken up by insurance. A busy, happening party scene sends your liability costs through the roof.
Nicole: How have you guys overcome that obstacle?
Denise: Not a clue.
Valerie: I won’t pretend that I understand all the details, but we’ve been working pretty closely with Dr. Friedman on this particular problem. It’s one of the few things we really couldn’t handle on our own, because it involves dealing directly with the insurance companies. In fact, we didn’t know whether it was even gonna’ happen at all, until the very last minute, because Dr. Friedman was still in negotiations with one of the insurers. He obviously worked something out, though, because the night before we were scheduled to go to Berkeley, he called and gave us the green light.
Nicole: So, back to the subject of the parties themselves.
Denise: They’re gonna’ be freaking awesome!
Nicole: I think our audience has gotten that.
Valerie: We’ve been trying to get them up to speed on everything, Nic, and there are a million details. Decorations, music, food and drinks. Advertising. I mean, how do you get people to come to these things without social media? Even clothes…kids used to really dress up for some of these gigs.
Nicole: Period clothing is a big part of the New Ridgemont High experience.
Denise: [Interrupting] Well, ya! Duh! You think I’d have a perm and be wearing frosted Guess Jeans and Capezios if it wasn’t?
Nicole: What I was going to ask was whether you two have been advising on clothes, beyond just party attire.
Denise: Oh! Sorry! Uh, yeah! I mean, who else would you ask about fashion? Like, hello, we are the Star Cr…
Valerie: [Stepping in front of Denise] Even though our formal charge from the Council is to consult on the social calendar, Dr. Friedman has asked us to take on the job of advising both the Berkeley and Skyline students on everyday school clothes. We have a number of people helping us on that front, though, so all the various constituencies will be represented.
Denise: A big mistake, if you ask me. I mean, why would anyone want to dress like some greaser?
Nicole: Valerie Saunders and Denise Diamond, thank you so much for speaking with us today!
Denise: Oh! Right. You’re, uh, welcome!
Valerie: Thanks for having us!
Nicole: [To the camera] Of course, the New Ridgemont High model isn’t just about parties or clothes but encompasses every area of student life, whether academic or extracurricular. One such area is school media, of which broadcasts like this one are just one part, and another is vocational education, involving substantial investment into several fully stocked shops and an entire curriculum of skilled-trades classes.
Lee and Kevin make their way through the crowd until they are flanking Nicole.
Nicole: Standing with me, now, are Lee Lindberg and Kevin Reilly, who have been charged with consulting Berkeley and Skyline students on a number of these areas. So, I gather that you guys are wearing a bunch of different hats.
Kevin: [Grinning] You could say that I have many talents.
Nicole: Now, Kevin, you coordinate all of the vocational-ed related stuff, right?
Kevin: Right.
Nicole: And what does that involve?
Kevin: Auto-shop; carpentry; basic electrical work and major appliance repair, also known as “HVAC.”
Nicole: How many of these programs did Berkley and Skyline already have and to what capacity?
Kevin: Nothing. Zip. Nada. We’ve had to start completely from scratch.
Nicole: That must be an enormous job.
Kevin: [Laughs] Yeah, it is. We spent two days just receiving and installing equipment. And we’ll probably have to stay here another week after everyone else has gone, if we’re going to work through the curriculum, safety protocols, and all the rest.
Nicole: What’s the reaction been like?
Kevin: Fu…freaking amazing. A lot of kids want this stuff, and the adults seem pretty happy about it, too. They know what this economy looks like and how much starting salaries are in these trades. The classes are gonna’ be packed.
Nicole: Let’s bring Lee Lindberg into this discussion. I gather that you’ve been working primarily in the computer labs.
Lee: Well, technically, Mitch Bennett has oversight over all the tech-media stuff, but we try to reserve his special genius for the really big, complicated tasks. My job is to get all the computers, modems, disc drives, printers, etc., unpacked, installed and tested. Also, to train students how to be techs with this kind of equipment, ‘cause once school starts, they’ll have to be able to run, fix, and maintain it themselves.
Nicole: So, between the two schools, you’re talking about hundreds of pieces of equipment.
Lee: Try thousands. I mean, the whole school basically has to be rewired for the tech we’re installing. The existing cables, wires, junctions are the wrong size, the wrong voltage, the wrong everything.
Nicole: So, this is as big of a job as the one Kevin’s got on his hands.
Lee: Totally. I do have two of our best techs working on it — Brian Millman and Lance Donaldson — but it’s still a crazy amount of work. Let’s just say, we’ll be here as long as Kevin and his crew are.
Nicole: I also understand that the two of you are working together on a project.
Lee: I’m in charge of the radio station, and Kevin hosts one of our programs.
Kevin: [Very pleased with himself] Your most popular program.
Nicole: What’s the program?
Kevin: Metal, baby! METAL! [Does devil horns on both hands and gives a wicked cackle]
Nicole: [Staring at him] Like, wow.
Lee: [Coolly] Kevin and Marty Savini air a metal show several times a week, and yes, it is our highest rated program. They’ve taken over the peak slots.
Nicole: So what kind of music do you play, Kevin?
Kevin: [With gravity] Old school, Nicole. Sabbath. Priest. Deep Purple.
Nicole: Sounds rocking.
Kevin: [Vigorously] And we can’t forget the New Wave of British Heavy Metal.
Nicole: We can’t?
Kevin: Hell, no! Iron Maiden? Diamond Head? Angel Witch?
Nicole: No, we definitely can’t forget those.
Kevin: [Suddenly suspicious] Wait, you’re not making fun of me, are you?
Lee: [Leaning into the camera] We have a broad selection of programming on the station, Nicole. Stacey Singer and Joanne Genduso are doing a punk and post-punk show twice a week, and [his speech slows, as if he is suddenly having trouble forming simple words] Denise Diamond and…uh…Erica Carlson do a New Wave and New Romantic show every Wednesday night. [Almost mournfully] That one’s almost as highly rated as the Metal show.
Kevin: Gah! You never told me that! What the fu…?!
Nicole: [Brightly] Well, there you have it Mitch. Just a glimpse of the incredible work being done by NRH students, on behalf of their Berkeley and Skyline brothers and sisters. [Points at the camera, cocks her hip, wrinkles her nose, and winks sexily] Back to you and everyone else at the News Desk!
The camera cuts back to Mitch in the studio.
Mitch: Thanks, Nicole! We’re going to break now for several brief announcements and then return, with our final story.
Laurie calls “Cut!” and Mitch relaxes, removing his earpiece.
Mitch: [Rubbing his face] How do you think that went?
Laurie: Fantastic, Mitch. Really good.
Mitch: [Looking suddenly like he’s aged fifteen years] I guess. You got a pen and paper handy?
Laurie: [Pulls a pen from behind her ear and brandishes a yellow pad] Yessir.
Mitch: Then, take this down. [Puts his feet up on the desk and begins counting off items] One: under no circumstances is Denise Diamond ever to appear on our cameras again.
Laurie: Ixne Denise Diamond. Check.
Mitch: Two. No more sexy reporting.
Laurie: I thought Nicole did a great job.
Mitch: I can’t have my reporters acting like Ginger Lynn.
Laurie: She’s like, sixty or something Mitch.
Mitch: You know what I mean.
Laurie: No porny reporting. Got it.
Mitch: And anyone who even dreams about appearing on any of our programs reads and signs a document, outlining NRH TV’s acceptable-language policy.
Laurie: We don’t have an acceptable-language policy.
Mitch: You’re going to write one.
Laurie: Write “No cursing on NRH TV” policy. Si.
Mitch: [Wearily] I think that’s it. Did you catch that little shot Lee got in?
Laurie: Mitch Bennett’s “Special Genius”? Yeah, I caught that. You gonna say something?
Mitch: No. It’ll just encourage him to do it more. Otherwise, he was fine. He even headed off a potential Kevin Reilly meltdown.
Laurie: Agreed. [Looks at the clock] Thirty seconds, until the next segment. Cameras, get ready for a ten second countdown.
Mitch sighs, removes his feet from the desk, and puts the earpiece back in. Sits up, straight, and slicks his hair back with his hands.
Laurie: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6…
Mitch: Welcome back. After a brief “honeymoon period,” voices of opposition to the New Ridgemont High Project are appearing across California’s political landscape. What began mostly as scattered objections to the project’s potential economic effects by local chambers of commerce has developed into a more substantial political opposition, at whose heart lies what can only be described as intense apprehension. From State legislators representing California’s most conservative districts to traditionalist parents groups and family-values organizations, critics belonging to the “Citizens for Character in California” are pushing to repeal the Governor’s mandate and revoke all existing Special School Charters, including the one given to New Ridgemont High. Chief spokeswoman for the group and aspiring Assemblywoman, Shirley Putsis, made the following remarks on the steps of the Santa Ana City Council building, to a large crowd of activists.
Cut to Shirley Putsis, speaking from a podium.
Shirley Putsis: Leave it to so-called “progressives” to want to turn back the clock; to return us to the days when our schools were unsafe, and when we allowed malcontents, troublemakers and delinquents to undermine our children’s ability to learn.
A loud cheer goes up from the crowd.
Shirley Putsis: Have these people forgotten Thurston? Columbine? Newton? Have they forgotten why our schools partnered with law enforcement in the first place? Do they want the blood from another school massacre on their hands?
Woman in audience: Murderers!!!
Shirley Putsis: Do they want our children pushed into the arms of drug dealers, gang bangers, and predators?
Man in Audience: Degenerates!
Shirley Putsis: Do they want our kids to think that they should be ashamed of their country? That we’re racists and warmongers? That they should always side with the other guy, instead of with the good ol’ USA?
Another man in the audience: Damned liberals!
Shirley Putsis: [Holds up her hands] Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if we continue with this sick experiment; this “idea” hatched up in the ivory towers of our so-called “institutions of higher learning.” A return to the 1980s means more drugs, more crime, and more teen pregnancy. It means teaching trash like this [brandishes a copy of Hunter S. Thompson’s “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”] and obsessing over Vietnam, Watergate, and Kent State. It means yet another generation of our children brainwashed into the 1960s liberal mindset.
Woman in Audience: You tell ‘em Shirley!!
Shirley Putsis: We’re hearing rumors about it already from their flagship school, New Ridgemont High. Kids drinking on campus, smoking on campus, doing drugs on campus [her voice raises to a piercing shriek], having sex on campus!
Loud gasps and mutterings.
Shirley Putsis: And what is William Friedman doing about this outrageous situation? Nothing. He’s from New York and was educated at the most left-wing school in America, the “New School for Social Research.” He’d like nothing more than for our kids to become a bunch of drug-addled, sex-crazed, America-hating hippies.
An ugly titter runs through the crowd.
Shirley Putsis: [Wags her finger] Well I have news for Dr. Friedman and his supporters. Those may be New York values, but they’re not Orange County values, and they damned well shouldn’t be California values!
Man in Audience: SHHHIIIIRRRRLLLEEEYYY!!!!
Shirley Putsis: That’s why we’re putting a stop to this madness right now; why good, hardworking, patriotic people of faith across California are saying “Enough is enough! We’re taking our schools back from the liberals and the communists and anyone else who wants to hurt our kids!”
The crowd roars.
Shirley Putsis: So, I hope you’ll all join me in Sacramento next week, when we put our case to the Governor and to the State Assembly. [Raises three fingers] Rescind! Revoke! Reject!
Audience: [By now whipped up to a feverish pitch] Rescind! Revoke! Reject!
Cut back to Mitch Bennett, in the studio.
Mitch Bennett: We’ll have more for you, on this emerging story, in future broadcasts, and you can find more extensive coverage in this week’s Standard. Thank you for watching. This is Mitch Bennett, signing off.
Laurie Price: Cut!
Silence reigns over the newsroom, as Mitch slumps back in his seat. Laurie kicks the base of the nearest camera. She is crying.
Location: Tim Goldstein’s basement. Tim, Billy Johnson, Fran Rosenberg, Marty Savini, Joanne Genduso, and Stacey Singer are practicing their set for Stage Night. Marissa Preston and Lee Lindberg are watching.
Tim: [Leaning across his keyboards] So, what have we decided? Are we doing a split set or integrating it?
Billy: I say split. Start with the punk: guitar, bass, drums, vocals. Then, add the keyboards, switch singers, and move into the post-punk part of the set.
Tim: It would certainly be more coherent that way.
Marty: I don’t know. You split the set, you split the audience.
Billy: What do you mean?
Marty: The hardcore fans who don’t want to hear keyboards are going to check out for the second half of the show.
Marissa: Are there any “hardcore” fans at New Ridgemont High?
Marty: I’m just saying… I know a bunch of metal kids who’ll do the punk, but they’ll draw the line at twinkly keyboards.
Tim: [Twists a few knobs and lays down the opening chords from The Damned’s “Street of Dreams.”] I wouldn’t call this “twinkly.”
Fran: The Damned are totally punk.
Marty: Yeah, but the stuff we’re playing isn’t from the early records. It’s from when they went Goth. “Grimly Fiendish” ain’t punk.
Joanne: [Gestures at Stacey] It’s gonna’ be weird alternating vocals. And some of those post-punk songs — Siouxsie, Toyah — they’re almost operatic in parts. I don’t know how you’re gonna mix any of that shit with Fear or Circle Jerks.
Stacey: They’re just too different. It’ll sound like a mess, if you don’t split the sets.
Lee: The issue isn’t just punk or not-punk. It’s sound and presentation.
Tim: Go on.
Lee: [Leans forward] When the band first comes on, it’s pure raw rock n’ roll, right? Stripped down stage; minimal lighting; screaming [looks at Joanne] er, aggressive vocals; energy overload. Then, there’s a break; the stage goes dark while the keyboards are brought out; Stacey replaces Joanne; that first synth chord from “Street of Dreams” hits and the stage is bathed in purple light; maybe throw some dry ice in; heavy on mood; atmosphere.
Marty: Okay, I’ve changed my mind. That sounds cool as shit.
Tim: [Nodding] It does sound great; in theory, at least. But my keyboard rig is pretty extensive. I don’t know how you just “bring it out” mid-set.
Lee: [Smiles and puffs himself up] We’ll put something together so that the whole thing will be mobile. Roll that baby right onto the stage.
Billy: You guys can build something like that?
Lee: Well, no.
Stacey: So, why the fuck did you suggest it?
Lee: We can design it. But actually building it… [Looks at Marty]
Marty: You want us to build it in the shop.
Lee: Yes.
Stacey: You, in the shop? [She seems skeptical.]
Lee: I wouldn’t actually have to be in the shop very much. Just give the guys the designs, you know?
Marty: [Laughing] It’ll be fine. He is one of the Heights Boys, now, Stace.
Stacey: We’ve already been through that particular bit of bullshit.
Tim: [Rubs his face with his hands and sighs] Can you do it, Marty?
Marty: If the designs are good? Yeah, of course. We’ve got an auto shop at our disposal. Your rig’s not that big.
Billy: It will look fucking awesome. If it works.
Lee: It’ll work. And you guys are gonna’ need it. Trust me.
Joanne: Why do you say that?
Lee: It won’t be enough to have a great set. The Compton Boys have a great set too, as well as a seriously happening stage show.
Tim: What are they doing?
Lee: They’ve got live dancers: guys dressed up in Mao suits and berets marching around like Professor Griff, and half a dozen “Fly Girls” in biker shorts and tube tops; cheerleaders they recruited from Compton and Crenshaw.
Marty: Fuck.
Marissa: Can they do that? Bring in ringers?
Lee: I don’t know whether they “can,” but they are. And I don’t see Friedman doing anything about it, do you?
Stacey: [Suspiciously] And how do you know this? You’re not exactly the type that would be up on the latest goings-on in the Hood.
Lee: [Gives her a pained look] Mitch is dating one of the Compton girls, remember?
Stacey: [Shudders] I’d blotted that bit of weirdness out of my memory.
Lee: Well, he is. And she happens to be one of the dancers, and Mitch is, like, best buds with Myron and the rest of the Compton crew. He’s seen them rehearse, and as annoying as he can be he doesn’t lie or exaggerate.
Stacey: Well that’s just fucking great. We could be The Clash, and it wouldn’t matter, with a bunch of hot Black and Mexican chicks shaking their asses all over the place.
Tim: [Holds up his hands] We need to stop worrying about what the competition’s doing. Nobody’s ever won anything like that.
Marty: He’s right. We gotta’ concentrate on our shit.
Lee: Anyway, we have our own hotties.
Stacey: I just threw up in my mouth a little.
Lee: Well, you are, I mean…
Stacey: [Putting her head in her hands] Just stop. Please.
Tim: We have a killer set and Lee’s idea for a stage show is cool as hell. We’ll do just fine.
Marissa: Where does the set stand right now? Have you finalized it?
Billy: Pretty much. Here’s what we have in mind. [Reaches behind him, to the bass stool and grabs a large piece of cardstock. Holds it up for everyone to see.]
Fran: Yeah it is! When did you get the thing all designed and shit? It was scribbled on a yellow pad the last time I saw it.
Billy: You can thank Laurie Pence for the art design. Tim and I figured we needed a lobby card.
Fran: Who’s Laurie Pence?
Marty: You know, the computer chick; works on the news. She’s dating Weber.
Fran: Who’s Weber?
Lee: [Impatiently] No one important. [Takes up the lobby card and examines it] This is really good.
Billy: She’s got the band logo on a silkscreen. We can get t-shirts made.
Joanne: Fucking mint!
Lee: So, you’re using the name. Did you actually get the rights?
Billy: [Looking very pleased with himself] Better than that. Rikk Agnew gave me his personal blessing. Said he’d be honored if we play under the name “Kids of the Black Hole.”
Joanne: When did this happen?!
Tim: He called this morning. Billy and I contacted him through his agent last week.
Fran: [Shakes her head] And he said, “Yes?” Incredible.
Lee: [Sourly] New Ridgemont High effect. Do you think he would have even returned your call if you didn’t go to Will Friedman’s famous school?
Joanne: [Smacks him on the back of the head] What the fuck, Lee?!
Marty: That’s dark shit, man.
Billy: [Coolly] If it was anyone else, you’d be right. But not Rikk Agnew. Not the Adolescents.
Fran: They’re the real fucking deal.
Marty: And why are you trashing Doc F? He’s righteous, man.
Marissa: [Quietly] Aren’t you better off at New Ridgemont High, Lee? [Gestures around the room] You never could have gotten into a scene like this at your old school.
Lee: There was no scene like this at Clark. [Exasperatedly] Look, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a little sick of the whole “William Friedman is our savior” routine. [Mutters] Why does someone always have to be the goddamned star?
Joanne: There are enough real shitheads out there. Doc F. has done right by us, and that’s good enough for me.
Lee: [Holds up his hand] Alright. Forget I said anything.
Billy: Forgotten. So how about this set? One more time?
Fran: Rock and Roll!
The band rips into X’s “Los Angeles.”
Wednesday, January 20th, 2011, 10:30am, PST
Location: Stephen Fortunato’s American History class. The subject is the failure of the 60s counterculture, as portrayed in Hunter S. Thompson’s “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” and the class is engaged in vigorous conversation. Participants include Valerie Saunders, Elizabeth Goldman, David Weber, Myron Freelander, and Randy Dickson.
Mr. Fortunato: So how’d everyone do with decoding all the metaphors?
David: That was the hardest part.
Valerie: Yeah, I definitely missed Google on this one.
Myron: Word. It would’ve made the job a lot easier.
Randy: But not better, brother.
Mr. Fortunato: [Nods] Randy understands.
David: I dunno’… seems to me that this is the sort of thing that the internet is actually good for. Beyond all the porn and sensationalist crap, it also gives you access to unlimited information.
Mr. Fortunato: The key word being “unlimited.”
David: How can unlimited information be bad?
Mr. Fortunato: [Smiles] You haven’t been grading student papers for the last twenty years.
Randy: They’ve gotten worse.
Mr. Fortunato: Much worse. And you can date it — mark the beginning of the slide — and it’s when internet access became ubiquitous.
Myron: Now, that’s hard to understand; not that student papers have gotten worse, but that it’s because of kids’ access to unlimited information.
Randy: What if you tried to learn Kung Fu that way?
Myron: What way?
Randy: By going on the internet. Googling “Kung Fu.” Clicking on the links that come up. Watching YouTube videos…
Myron: [Laughs] That wouldn’t work. You gotta’ learn it from a Master.
Liz: [To Mr. Fortunato] Your point is that “unlimited” also means “indiscriminate.”
Mr. Fortunato: Unless you already know a lot about your subject, internet searches are more likely to provide you with garbage than with good information.
Valerie: [Her eyes narrowing] But, even if there is more crap on the internet, there’s also more good stuff. I mean, we have one library here. But with the internet, you get access to every library on the planet, as well as every other possible resource.
Liz: Don’t think about how much there is, in total, Val. Think about how likely it is you’re gonna’ find the good stuff.
Mr. Fortunato: [Pacing] You’re researching the structure of DNA for Bobbie Novak’s Honors Bio class. There are two rooms, both filled with books. In the first room, there are a hundred books, handpicked by a group of molecular biologists. In the second room, there are ten thousand books, which include those hundred books, plus nine thousand, nine hundred other books selected indiscriminately. So, it’ll include stuff written by mediocre biologists, science popularizers, Young Earth Creationists, and assorted cranks of every other variety. You have a limited amount of time and know nothing about the subject yourself. In which room are you more likely to find a greater number of good sources on DNA?
Valerie: [Her eyes widening] The first room.
Mr. Fortunato: [Nods] An academic library, like ours, is the first room. Every book in it has been hand-selected by experts. The history teachers pick which history books the school buys. The science teachers pick the science books, and so on. And Will Friedman picks the best teachers. But a Google search…
Valerie: …is the second room.
Mr. Fortunato smiles broadly.
David: [Murmurs] Doing research is as much about learning how to research as it is about what you’re researching.
Mr. Fortunato: So, what did you guys discover in our humble little library?
Liz: The Counterculture failed because of widespread American racism.
Mr. Fortunato: Explain.
Liz: The Southern Strategy. That was an appeal to racism, obviously. Also, the whole “Silent Majority” thing.
Valerie: [To Liz] Did you read that article from the New York Times on Kevin Phillips…the one from 1970?
Liz: That was probably the best source I found.
Valerie: I couldn’t believe how open Phillips was about it. He just came right out and said that the Republicans could win the South by convincing racist, white Democrats to switch parties, because the “Negroes” were voting for the Democrats.
Mr. Fortunato: And what does that openness — that brazenness — tell you?
Valerie: That he wasn’t afraid of it hurting his cause; that the public was already racist enough for him to admit it.
David: You’d never be able to get away with that, now.
Randy: You sure about that?
David: If you’re openly racist like that today, people call you on it.
Randy: The whole South is still Republican. Senators, Congressmen, Governors. And the only Democrats that can become President are from the South: Johnson, Carter, Clinton…
David: Fair enough. That last point, though. It goes beyond the South. Presidential elections are national.
Randy smiles grimly.
David: [Turning to Mr. Fortunato] I think we have to disambiguate. The Silent Majority stuff doesn’t seem to be about racism, at least not in the book.
Mr. Fortunato: Go on.
David: The constant references to the “Spiro Agnew” set. That crazy scene with Debbie Reynolds singing the Beatles. It seemed like the focus there was on hippie culture, not race.
Mr. Fortunato: What point do you think Thompson was making?
David: [Struggling] It almost seemed like — shit, how do I put it — the reactionaries had figured out that the best way to beat the hippies was by appropriating their music and their iconography, rather than trying to ban them.
Valerie: That totally makes sense. You hear it in supermarkets. It’s been turned into Muzak.
Myron: They do that to every musician. Look at Hip Hop: you’ve got Snoop Dogg selling Hot Pockets. Brother used to be a Crip.
David: Right. The whole Silent Majority thing was about opposition to the youth culture; to liberal attitudes and free lifestyles [laughs] “sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll.” But not to racial minorities; at least, not per se.
Randy: You can fit a lot into that “per se.”
David: Fair enough.
Randy: And you’re forgetting the most important metaphor in the book.
David: Which one?
Randy: Ali losing to Frazier.
Mr. Fortunato: [Eyes sparkling] Ahh.
Randy: It ties the two pieces together: the racism and the hatred of youth culture.
David: How?
Randy: [Leans forwards] Frazier was a common, blue-collar type, a Christian, and a patriot, while Ali was aristocratic, a Muslim, and anti-war. He refused to go to Vietnam and was arrested; had his heavyweight title stripped from him. Now, who do you think the “Silent Majority” was rooting for? And who do you think the counterculture was rooting for?
Mr. Fortunato: [Passes David’s seat] Do you see it?
David: I think so. The Ali-Frazier fight is a metaphor for the entire battle between the counterculture and the forces of reaction, aka “The Silent Majority.”
Randy: You’ve got it.
David: It’s all there. The racial angle — civil rights, Black nationalism, the Nation of Islam — and the central issue of the youth movement, 1960s rock and roll, Vietnam, and the draft.
Liz: [Deliberately] You know what, though? I don’t think that Thompson is really blaming the Silent Majority.
David: What?!
Liz: [Raises her hand] He hates them and their vision of America, but he doesn’t think that the failure of the counterculture is their fault.
Mr. Fortunato: Why do you say that?
Liz: Because Thompson flat out says that it was ultimately their own fault. That the counterculture failed, because it was naïve and self-indulgent.
Mr. Fortunato: Too much Haight Ashbury and not enough SDS.
Liz: Pretty much.
Mr. Fortunato: [Walks to the blackboard, his hands on his hips, and turns around.] And don’t forget what he says about the why of it. The terrible mistake that they all made.
Valerie: What mistake?
Mr. Fortunato: The mistake of thinking that being right was enough. That living freely would make others love freedom too. That feeling it, in all its glory, would make those who opposed you feel it too…
David: …that putting a flower into the barrel of a National Guardsman’s rifle would make him decide not to shoot you.
A long silence and bowed heads, and then the bell rings, marking the end of the period.
January 8, 10:30 AM, PST
Location: The NRH Studios. Chloe Gold is there, alone, waiting for Mitch and Tom to arrive, for their first meeting of the semester. She is drifting around the room, her hand coming to rest lovingly on each piece of equipment that she passes, a faint smile on her face.
Mitch enters the room, unnoticed by Chloe, who is lost in her thoughts. He watches her for a moment, then clears his throat.
Chloe: [Turns to him, her face breaking open into a broad smile.] Mitch!
Mitch: Chloe, it’s good to see you.
The two approach each other, until they are just a foot or so apart. A moment passes and then Mitch puts out his arms.
Chloe [Hugs him to her, tightly] I missed you.
Mitch: It did seem like a long break. Good, but long.
Chloe: I was missing you before the break started. It felt like…
Mitch: I know.
Chloe: I didn’t want to…
Mitch: [Takes up her hands and kisses them] It wasn’t you, Chloe. It was me. I needed to…work some things out.
Chloe: [Looks down] Yeah.
Mitch: [Reaches out and gently touches her chin, pulling her face up] It’s OK, Chloe, really. [looks her in the eye] I mean it.
Chloe: [Her face shining] Oh, Mitch, I’m so glad.
Mitch: Everything’s happened so fast. I needed some time to figure out what it meant for me, you know? What I’d become; what I’m becoming.
Chloe: [Tousles his hair and traces the side of his face] Magnificent. You’ve become magnificent.
Mitch: [Presses her hand against his cheek.] Thanks to you, Chloe. The studios; the documentary film; Kim. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.
Chloe: [Moves her hand from Mitch’s cheek to his chest] It was there all along, Mitch. Someone just needed to help bring it out.
Mitch: Not just someone. You.
Chloe: [Turns and walks slowly to one of the computers. Stops with her back to him] You’ve helped me just as much as I’ve helped you, Mitch. More, maybe.
Mitch: I doubt that.
Chloe: [Turns to face him again] Don’t. I was as broken as you when I first came here.
Mitch: [Sighs] Yeah, I guess I knew that; or at least, a part of me did. It’s why you never talk about your life before; about Beverly Hills. It’s just so easy to forget. You always seem so comfortable with everyone; so in command.
Chloe: [Laughs, with just the slightest hint of bitterness] A carefully maintained image. When you’re as wealthy as I am and move in the circles I do, you learn to do it at a very young age. It’s practiced.
Mitch: [Shakes his head] Hard to believe…
Chloe: The world I live in is a very lonely place, with very few kids. Most of the people I’ve hung out with have been adults. And once I figured out what the sick scene at Beverly Hills High was all about, I was completely isolated, except for Tom.
Mitch: He was the only one you could share it with; the only one who’d understand it from the inside.
Chloe: That’s right. And then I came here.
Mitch: [Smiling] And we met.
Chloe: And for the first time, I could be myself with everyone. It wasn’t about money or looks or any kind of status. It was about us — students, teachers, administrators — together in this magical place. [Gestures around her]
Mitch: It was when you became magnificent.
Chloe: [Moves up against him, resting her head on his chest. Whispers.] Yes.
A long moment passes, as they stand there, like that, Mitch stroking the back of Chloe’s head. Then the door opens and Tom enters the room. Stops short, when he sees them.
Tom: Should I come back?
Chloe: [Lifts her head from Mitch’s chest, her eyes wet, but her face aglow] No, come in. We were just talking about…
Mitch: Being magnificent.
Tom: [Raises an eyebrow] I see. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that sort of thing to you two.
Chloe: [Mock whispering to Mitch] He’s magnificent too. He just won’t admit it.
Mitch nods knowingly and touches the side of his nose.
Tom: So, is this just a feel-good session or are you guys up for talking some business?
Mitch: Aren’t you going to tell us about your vacation?
Tom: No.
Mitch: But you went to Aspen!
Tom: Did some skiing; met some old friends; you know.
Chloe: Let it go, Mitch. That’s all we’re gonna’ get.
Mitch: I don’t suppose he wants to hear about our vacations.
Chloe: Definitely not.
Tom smiles contentedly.
Mitch: Business it is!
Tom: Excellent.
Mitch: Have a seat guys. [Walks over to the news desk, where there are three neat stacks of papers. Distributes two of them to Tom and Chloe and takes the third for himself.] I’ve put together a status report.
The three sit in silence, for a few moments, while Chloe and Tom scan the report.
Tom: Jesus.
Chloe: Ya.
Mitch: It is a lot.
Tom: Let’s see. [Thumbs back to the first page, where there is an outline] Advisory teams to the new schools; print, radio, and television broadcasts; Stage Night; the Senior Party; Graduation.
Chloe: [Her head in her hands] Ohhh…
Tom: And don’t forget, we’re supposed to be students too. I’ve got Honors Physics with Sal; Honors Calculus with Miss Stark…
Chloe: Soon to be Mrs. Fortunato, from what I hear.
Tom: That’s hardly the point.
Chloe: Love blooms at New Ridgemont High.
Tom: Work, Chloe. I’m talking about the fucking work. This semester’s going to be insane.
Chloe: I choose to look at the bright side of things.
Tom: [Tossing the report onto the table] My social life evaporating is not “the bright side of things.”
Chloe: But that’s one of the things that’s so great about New Ridgemont High. There’s no line between school and social life.
Tom: Jaime and I like to go out, Chloe. On dates. We don’t want to spend every minute in the school. I mean, not everyone has their…
Chloe: [Eyes narrowing] Has their what?
Tom: [Catches her gaze and looks down] Nothing.
Mitch: [Interrupts] You guys are overreacting.
Tom: We are?
Mitch: You’re forgetting that a lot of this work is gonna’ be done by other people. We sorted this out at the last Executive Council meeting.
Tom: [Grumbling] It’s still a fuckload of work.
Chloe: [Strokes Tom’s arm] It’ll be OK, honey.
Tom: [Straightens himself and smooths back his hair] I agreed to it. Now, it’s time to do it.
Mitch: [Apologetically] I thought we might just go through a few of the details.
Tom: I’ve been fortified. Speak.
Mitch: Valerie Saunders and Denise Diamond have been wondering why they can’t plan the Senior Party. [Rubs his eyes] To be fair, we did make them the heads of the “social committee.”
Chloe: Will and I are doing the Senior Party.
Mitch: I know, I know, it’s just that they’re agitating a little.
Chloe: Are they really pissed about it?
Mitch: No, they’re just wondering.
Chloe: It’s a special thing. Our first graduating class. Will and I want to make sure they have a rocking sendoff.
Tom: I’ll talk to them. Now that I’m dating Jaime, I see them sometimes.
Chloe: Do you think it was a mistake putting them in charge of the parties?
Tom: No. Valerie’s actually really smart. In fact, she’s a lot like Jaime: bitch exterior with a lot underneath. I guess that’s why they’re best friends. And Denise will do whatever Valerie tells her. It’s just… God, that whole fucking scene.
Chloe: [Pats his arm] It’s worth it, Tom. Jaime’s good people. I used to dislike her, but I’ve come around..
Tom: In truth, it’s been a lot of fun. I just find myself going through bouts of self-loathing.
Chloe: That’s just the past talking. This isn’t Beverly Hills. We’re not floating anymore. And Jaime may be a bitch, but she’s no Beverly Hills bitch.
Tom: Thank God for that.
Mitch: [Makes a check mark on his yellow pad] So, there’s just one other thing.
Tom: Shoot.
Mitch: The guy from the ABC affiliate: John Stacy. He’s been bugging me for an interview with you.
Tom: He wants to interview us?
Mitch: [Apologetically] Not you, Tom. Chloe.
Tom: Why am I not surprised?
Chloe: [Looking uncomfortable] Me? What for?
Mitch: What for? Are you serious? New Ridgemont High is the biggest news in the state. And like it or not, you’re the face of New Ridgemont High.
Chloe: I would have thought Will would be the face of New Ridgemont High, not me.
Tom: Your face is prettier. And you’ve got nicer legs.
Chloe: Ugh. Talk about a reason to say “No.”
Mitch: I think you’d better do it. We’re counting on good PR.
Chloe: [Sighs] Okay.
Mitch: [Picks up his pen] Tuesday?
Chloe: Sure.
Mitch: Twelve O’clock?
Chloe: Fine.
Mitch: Do either of you have any business?
Tom: Thankfully, no.
Chloe: Me neither.
Mitch: [Gathering his papers] Well, then, if you don’t mind, I’m meeting Kim at the New Galleria.
Tom: Now that’s something worth doing.
Chloe: [Waves at Mitch, as he makes his way out the door] Have fun!
Tom: Do you need a ride home?
Chloe: No, Will is picking me up.
Tom: Will’s taking you home?
Chloe: No, we’re going out to a restaurant.
Tom: A restaurant?
Chloe: Yeah, there’s a lot we need to discuss. We’ve been invited to the Governor’s mansion this weekend for a party. Congresswoman Best is going to be there. [Gestures helplessly] We’ve gotta’ talk about it, y’know?
Tom: At least he’s buying you a nice dinner.
Chloe: [Laughs] Yeah, well, anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. [Picks up her handbag]
Tom: [Curls his thumb and fingers into the “OK” sign] Be seeing you.
Chloe exits, leaving Tom alone in the room. He stares at the door, stroking his chin, thinking.
Location: The Oak Bar in the Hotel Jerome, Aspen, Colorado. Tom Rosen, His father, Samuel, and his mother, Annabelle, are having drinks.
Mrs. Rosen: [To Tom] So, what will you be doing tonight?
Tom: I’ve made plans.
Mrs. Rosen: What plans?
Tom: People to see, conversations to have…you know.
Mrs. Rosen: Sam, he’s being abstract again.
Mr. Rosen: Let him go, Annie. He doesn’t want to hang around with a bunch of old people.
Mrs. Rosen: Are you upset that Chloe and her family didn’t come this year, Tom?
Tom: [Sipping from a tumbler of Scotch] I see Chloe all the time at school. It’s not so bad to take a break from each other.
Mrs. Rosen: You used to be inseparable.
Tom: I don’t know about inseparable. We used to hang out a lot.
Mrs. Rosen: I’d always hoped that the two of you…
Tom: I’m seeing Jaime, Mom.
Mrs. Rosen: [Sighs] I know, and she’s perfectly lovely, though a little fresh at times. I just…
Mr. Rosen: You’re nagging.
Mrs. Rosen: [Sighs again] Alright, I’ll let it go.
Mr. Rosen: Do you have the key to the suite, Tom? You’ll get in much later than us.
Tom: Yeah, I’ve got it.
Mrs. Rosen: Do you have any idea when you’ll be in?
Tom: Not really, Mom. No.
Mr. Rosen: He’ll be fine, Annie.
Mrs. Rosen: Well, make sure you have your cell phone with you, just in case.
Tom: [Removes a mobile phone from his inside jacket pocket and checks the charge on the battery] Got it, Mom. It’s weird carrying this around. [Looks at it thoughtfully]
Mr. Rosen: That’s one thing Friedman has demonstrated, hasn’t he? How unnecessary these goddamned devices are.
Mrs. Rosen: Sam!
Mr. Rosen: Well, they are, aren’t they? As far as I’m concerned, unless you’re an emergency room surgeon, there’s no reason to be “always available.” Not to mention the rudeness. People are always fiddling with the things while you talk to them.
Mrs. Rosen: I don’t like it when people check their phones while they’re talking to me either, but you have to admit they’re convenient. Remember that time my car broke down on the highway a few months ago?
Mr. Rosen: Pay phones and emergency call boxes were just fine. The handful of times I had to use them in my life was barely an inconvenience compared to the constant interruptions and distractions caused by these things.
Tom: Dr. Friedman certainly was right about their effect on students. I’d forgotten what it was like to talk to people and actually have them look you in the face.
Mr. Rosen: It was a good decision you made to change schools, Tom. I’m glad you convinced us.
Mrs. Rosen: Don’t you miss Beverly Hills High?
Tom: No.
Mrs. Rosen: Not even a little bit?
Tom: No.
Mr. Rosen: Why should he miss it? Nothing but a bunch of snobs, as far as I could tell.
Mrs. Rosen: [Weakly] We’re…friends…with some of the parents from Beverly Hills High.
Mr. Rosen: I always hated the place; people included.
Tom: [Finishes his drink and rises from his chair] I’m gonna’ take off.
Mrs. Rosen: [Reaching up to give him a hug] Have a good time. And be careful.
Tom: I will, Mom.
Mr. Rosen: [Stands up and grasps his son’s hand] Have fun, Tom. We’ll see you tomorrow.
Tom: You guys have fun too.
Mr. Rosen: I suspect you’ll have a better time than us. Our plans consist of “dinner and dancing” with the boring Robinsons.
Mrs.Rosen: I thought you liked the Robinsons.
Mr.Rosen: How did you ever get that idea?
Tom: [Waves] Well, Happy New Year!
Mr.Rosen: Happy New Year!
Mrs. Rosen: Yes, Happy New Year, dear!
Tom pushes through the heavy doors out onto the street. It is cold, and his breath comes out in wispy, vaporous threads. A light snow falls. The sidewalk is filled with people on their way to the restaurants, bars, and nightclubs that line the Main Street. After a moment’s pause, Tom turns right and then makes another right down a small, dark alley, at the end of which is a bar, the only indication of which is a red door, above which is a blue neon sign that says “Lounge.” Tom puts his hand on the door and hesitates for a moment. Then, he goes inside.
He makes his way down a long, dark corridor, sliding his hands along the walls as he goes. The Stooges’ “Search and Destroy” emanates from another red door at the far end of the hallway, and there is the murmur of voices and the sound of clinking glasses. On entering the bar, Tom is greeted by a cloud of smoke that smells like a mixture of marijuana and cigarettes.
A man, who looks to be in his sixties comes from around the bar, his arms stretched out in welcome. He is wearing a black t-shirt, jeans and white snakeskin cowboy boots.
Tom: [Accepts the man’s embrace] Cross, it’s good to see you.
Cross: How’s my boy?
Tom: I can’t complain. [Looks around] Still defying that smoking ban, I see.
Cross: Why shouldn’t I? It’s not as if anyone in this town has the balls to come here and enforce it.
Tom: The sheriff doesn’t want to tangle with the Beatnik Mafia, eh?
Cross: This is Aspen, Tom. Hunter was almost elected sheriff here.
Tom: In 1969.
Cross: It could’ve been 1869. The townie population hasn’t changed that much.
Tom: Colorado wasn’t a state in 1869.
Cross: [Lifts up his head and his eyes narrow] Now you’re just being a smartass.
Tom: I try to be accurate.
Cross: [Laughs gustily and claps Tom on the shoulder] Still the master of misdirection.
Tom: [Bows slightly] I learned from the best.
Cross: [Goes back behind the bar] You’re better at it than I am at this point. I don’t have the patience anymore. Drink?
Tom: Scotch.
Cross: [Takes a bottle of 15 year old Laphroaig from the top shelf and pours two fingers into a glass. Slides it across the bar to Tom and pours one for himself. Holds it aloft] To the cause.
Tom: [Raises his glass] Eternal vigilance.
Cross: [Removes a cigarette from a crumpled pack of Camels and lights it] Mafia analogies aside, you don’t have to check in anymore, you know. I’ve released you from service.
Tom: I’ll drop in once in a while, if you don’t mind.
Cross: Is that sentimentality? [Searches Tom’s face] Or are you trying to replenish yourself at the well?
Tom: Can’t it be both?
Cross: [Stares at Tom for a moment and then lets out another noisy laugh] Why not? It’s good to see you. [Takes a long draught of Scotch. Gestures towards a booth, with shiny, black patent leather seats] Let’s sit down.
The two take their drinks over to the booth. A girl emerges from the back room, and Cross calls her over. She is young, with a thin, wiry body and is wearing black leather pants and a matching corset. Under the bar lights, her long, dark hair shines with a blue sheen, framing her small, angular face, which is both pretty and tough.
Kat: [Tilts her head at Tom] Who’s this?
Cross: Kat, meet Tommy Rosen. Tommy…Kat.
Kat: So, that’s him. I thought he’d be taller. [Looks Tom over]
Tom: Sorry to disappoint you.
Cross: Kat helps out with things.
Tom: That’s nice.
Cross: She’s very efficient. The best assistant I’ve had, since…well, since you. [His face breaks open into a craggy, toothy smile.]
Tom: I’m happy you’ve been able to keep quality staff.
Kat: Was there something you wanted, Dad? ‘Cause if this is just a social call, I have a lot of inventory to check in the storeroom.
Cross: I want to chat a little bit with Tommy here, baby. Keep an eye on the bar and the door.
Kat: Right on. [Nods at Tom and crosses the room to the bar, where she plants herself, arms crossed in front of her chest, and stares stonily at the entrance].
Tom: “Dad”?
Cross: They all call me that. It’s a term of endearment.
Tom: Like you’re a cuddly Abbie Hoffman or something?
Cross: Do I look like some hippie joker to you?
Tom: Definitely not. [Raises an eyebrow] “Baby”?
Cross: [Cracks another toothy smile] I won’t deny that there’s a little romance there.
Tom: Is that girl even old enough to be in a bar, let alone in a romance with you?
Cross: [Looks up at the ceiling] If I recall correctly, you started with me at the ripe old age of thirteen.
Tom: As a courier, yes. As a “baby,” no.
Cross: She’s a former street kid, who wants to serve the cause. I’m not married, she’s not thirteen, and she digs me. Why should I object?
Tom: No reason at all. Plus, she’s efficient.
Cross: I’ll tell her you were concerned about her well-being. She’ll either be grateful or knife you in the alley, depending on her mood.
Tom: Sorry. I’m just not in this head space anymore. I’m not questioning you. Really.
Cross: [Puts a heavy, lined hand on Tom’s] You were never gonna’ do this for long. You just needed a little technique and a little toughening up. I provided those things. We did good work together. But I knew that the small-time operations of an ex-Weatherman who liked drugs, booze, women, and good conversation more than revolution wouldn’t be enough for a boy with your talents. And I was right. The shit you guys are doing at New Ridgemont High is incredible.
Tom: You know about New Ridgemont High?
Cross: Do you think there’s anything you do that I don’t know about?
Tom: I appreciate you keeping an eye on me.
Cross: Don’t flatter yourself. I keep tabs on all my ex-associates.
Tom: I appreciate that you consider me an associate.
Cross: You’re becoming irritating now. [Slides a long, slim joint from the cigarette pack. Lights it and takes a long drag, then hands it to Tom, who takes it between his thumb and forefinger and sucks gently]
Tom: Fantastic.
Cross: That’s from Hunter’s personal stash. He grows it at Woody Creek.
Tom: How is he?
Cross: Depressed as hell. The last time he was here, he got blind drunk and begged me to shoot him.
Tom: Jesus.
Cross: This isn’t his country any more, Tom. I’m surprised he hasn’t already offed himself.
Tom: Well, let’s hope he doesn’t. There’s still important work for him to do. [Raises his glass] To Hunter…
Cross: [Clinks Tom’s glass] To Hunter.
The two down their drinks and Cross pours two more. They pass the joint between them several times, in comfortable silence.
Cross: So, this thing you’re doing.
Tom: [Rubs his face and smoothes back his hair] Yeah.
Cross: It’s big time.
Tom: [Wearily] Yeah.
Cross: You’re worried.
Tom: Yeah.
Cross: The place is a success.
Tom: A wild success.
Cross: I can see why you’re worried.
Tom: Things are happening too fast. It’s not the school itself I’m worried about. New Ridgemont High is like the best kind of dream. But the way things are ramping up politically; the whole state is counting on Friedman to save their kids.
Cross: You’re afraid it won’t work, and they’ll blame him for it.
Tom: Him and the school.
Cross: That’s not all, though.
Tom: No.
Cross: You’re thinking about the attention this is gonna’ bring. All eyes on New Ridgemont High, all the time.
Tom: Something like that. I don’t need to tell you how nasty the opposition is. Lee Atwater level stuff.
Cross: [Leans in] Are there things going on there?
Tom: [Gives a short laugh] It’s an 80s school, complete with kids smoking joints behind the building and spiking the punch at school dances. Friedman lets it all happen. And everyone’s cool with it.
Cross: Everyone inside that is.
Tom: Yes.
Cross: Any other things going on?
Tom: [His eyes narrowing] Maybe…I’m not sure.
Cross: [Pats Tom’s hand again] Just remember, if it all goes south, we’re ready.
Tom: I know.
The two settle back into their seats, smoking in silence.
December 31, 2010 10:30pm, MT.
Tom is back on the Aspen streets. The snow has stopped, and the air is much colder. He checks his watch and then heads back up the alley, making a right at the Main Street, which he follows for several blocks. He weaves through the throngs of people clustered around the entrances to several popular night-spots, and then makes a left onto a narrow road that eventually leads to a dead-end and a large, bustling bar with “Triumph!” emblazoned in chrome over the front doors. Loverboy’s “Working for the Weekend” is playing loudly inside.
Two bouncers are trying to maintain control over the scores of people, waiting to get into the bar. The crowd consists almost entirely of townies, and the bouncers sport mullets, muscle shirts, leather jackets and jeans. One of them spots Tom.
Nick: Tommy! [Pushes a kid in a Def Leppard t-shirt out of his way and holds out his arms, a wide grin on his face.] Tommmmyyy!
Tom: [Embraces him warmly] Nick, it’s good to see you, man.
Nick: [Yelling over to his partner, who is in the process of breaking up a minor scuffle] Paul, it’s Tommy!
Paul: Hold on a minute. [Grabs one of the combatants, a scrawny kid in a jean-jacket, and throws him off the front porch, into a snowbank, then puts his boot on the rear end of the other and shoves him down the stairs.] This way, Tommy. Just climb over that guy. [Grabs Tom in a bear hug] Yo, yo, yo!
Tom: It’s the New Year!
Nick: [Puts his arm around Tom’s shoulder] And that means it’s time…
Paul: [Comes around Tom’s other side and adds his arm to the clinch] For the boys to come out!
Tom, Nick and Paul: Hoo! Hoo!
Kid: Can we go in now?
Nick and Paul: No!
The Kid mumbles something inaudible and returns to the crowd.
Nick: Go inside, Tommy. We’ll follow you once we’ve taken care of these people.
Paul: Everyone’s here, man. You’re gonna’ flip.
Nick: [Leaning over and counting on his fingers] Joey is here. Marlene is here. Helene is here. [Pumps his fist] And Dougie is fucking here!
Tom: No way.
Nick: Way.
Tom: Okay, I’ve gotta’ get in there. See you in a little bit!
Nick and Paul: [Point at him]You know it!
Tom pushes through the front doors and into the bar, which is packed with locals: teenagers and twenty-somethings, mostly, with a sprinkling of weathered old-timers. Makes his way over to the bar, which bristles with beer taps and the back of which is lined with gleaming bottles and glasses. Standing behind it is Triumph’s owner and head bartender, Robert Black, who is engaged in a vigorous conversation with one of the old timers, over a bottle of bourbon. Just as the guy launches into an impassioned tirade, Black sees Tom and holds out his arms, a broad smile on his face.
Black: Tommy! Tommy Rosen!
Tom: [Leans across the bar and hugs the heavy set, grizzled man] It’s awesome to see you, Mr. Black!
Black: Where ya’ been, Tommy? It’s gotta’ be at least three years.
Tom: We’ve been coming with another family — the Gold’s — lately. Haven’t had a chance to get back to the old haunts, you know?
Black: Not their scene, eh?
Tom: Something like that.
Black: [Taps the side of his nose] Need to know.
Tom: Exactly.
Black: [Brings a bottle of Macallan from behind the bar and dusts it off. Holds it up for Tom to inspect]
Tom: You remembered!
Black: [Pours Tom a triple and slides it across the bar] It’s been back here since the last time you came. No one else drinks the stuff. Beer and bourbon and some foo-foo drinks for the girls. That’s about the whole of it.
Tom: [Sips at the Scotch] How’s Marlene?
Black: You can ask her yourself. She’s in the back room, with the rest of the crew.
Tom: [Looks down at his drink] I’m a little nervous.
Black: [Laughs] Nervous? She’s gonna’ go ape-shit when she sees you.
Tom: I haven’t been the best about keeping in touch.
Black: None of that matters, Tommy.
Tom: Yeah, I know, it’s just…we were tight, you know?
Black: You were her first real boyfriend.
Tom: I feel like I ditched her.
Black: Bullshit. I’d have kicked your ass if you did.
Tom looks at Black guiltily.
Black: We’re used to it, us year-rounders. We do seasonal trade here. We know you’ve got another life back in LA.
Tom: [Wistfully] Another life…yeah.
Black: But you always come back to the family.
Tom: [Murmurs] To my real life.
Black: Damn straight. [Pours himself a Scotch and holds it up] To real life!
Smiling, Tom holds up his glass and clinks it against Black’s.
Black: Marlene’s fine, Tommy. She’s moved on. I even hear that Nick’s got a thing for her…through the grapevine, of course.
Tom: [Laughing] Why would you have to hear things through the “grapevine”?
Black: You don’t think she actually tells me anything, do you? The girl’s seventeen years old. She doesn’t tell me shit.
Tom: Nick’s a righteous guy.
Black: You think I’d allow him near her, if he wasn’t?
Tom: [Grasps his drink firmly and drains it. Straightens himself up] I’ll go see her now.
Black: [Pours Tom another drink. Lifts his up and nods approvingly] Good boy.
Tom puts his hand on Black’s arm and squeezes it gently. Takes his drink and heads towards the bar’s back room. Marlene Black and Helene Roberts are reclining in a booth, talking, laughing and sharing a cigarette. They wear matching black long-coats, under which sparkle silver cocktail dresses, and are barefoot, their boots kicked out across the floor. At the Jukebox, Joey Russo and Doug Whittaker are arguing over what song to play next. They make an odd twosome: Joey, with his slicked back hair, a skintight white t-shirt, cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve, and worn Levi’s and boots, and Doug, who sports an Argyle sweater, pegged corduroy pants and suede shoes.
Joey: [Waving a cigarette expressively] It’s not just about what we want, man. The shit we pick plays throughout the entire bar.
Doug: Since when are you so multicultural? I mean, Loverboy? Really?
Joey: [Puts out his arms] I’m just sayin’…we gotta’ think about the working man, y’know?
Doug: And the “working man” wants Loverboy?
Joey: Well…
Doug: What we need is some Metal.
Joey: [Nodding vigorously] Metal is good.
Tom enters the room.
Tom: Autograph. “Turn up the Radio.”
Doug smiles. Jams his elbow back against the Jukebox. A second later, the opening riff of the 1984 anthem echoes across the PA.
There is a long pause. Marlene and Helene jump up and embrace Tom, covering him with hugs and kisses. Then, he’s nearly knocked over by an enormous slap on the back from a very enthusiastic Joey.
Joey: TOMMMYYYY!
Tom grabs Joey up in a bear hug. Squeezes him tight.
Tom: Joey, my God is it good to see you….all of you. Dougie, Helene…
Marlene: We’ve missed you, Tommy.
Tom: Marlene…
A long moment passes, as Tom and Marlene stare into each others’ eyes, their friends maintaining a respectful silence. Joey turns momentarily from the group to light a cigarette.
Marlene: Why didn’t you call? Write?
Tom: [Looks down] Marlene…
Marlene: All these years, you’ve been coming to Aspen. And you never stopped by; never came to see me. Why?
Tom: We’ve…been coming with the Golds the last few years.
Marlene: [Cocks her head] So, now that you’re making it with Beverly Hills chicks, the townie girlfriend in Colorado isn’t so appealing anymore?
Helene: [Stroking Marlene’s arm] It’s Tommy. You know that isn’t true.
Tom: No, it isn’t.
Marlene: [Looks at him, her eyes moist] Then explain it to me.
Tom: I was miserable at Beverly Hills High.
Doug: Who wouldn’t be? [Hugs Marlene] Why do you think I hang out here, with you guys?
Helene: You’re not from Beverly Hills.
Doug: No, I’m from Forest Hills Gardens. Same shitheads, different coasts.
Tom: [Takes up Marlene’s hands] When you and I got together that Christmas, we were thirteen years old. I was in the middle of my last year of Junior High.
Joey beckons to Doug and they confer for a moment, then leave for the bar.
Tom: I had no idea what was in store for me that coming year. How fucking awful Beverly Hills High was. [Clenches his teeth] The gross displays of wealth. The cliques. The shaming and abuse. It was terrible.
Helene: I don’t mean this the way it’s gonna’ sound [takes a long sip from her drink], but isn’t your family, like, way rich? Even for Beverly Hills?
Tom: That made it worse. There were all these sick expectations: that I should be the King of the Dicks, because I was the richest; that I should be the one shoving the nerds into lockers and humiliating fat kids in the lunchroom. And when I refused to go along with it, everyone thought it meant that I was a druggie, a weirdo or both. Overnight outcast.
Marlene: Jesus.
Tom: I was lucky, though. Chloe was there. I’ve known her as long as I’ve known you guys; well, except for Joey, maybe.
Joey and Doug return with a tray filled with drinks. They pass them out.
Joey: Except for Joey, maybe, what?
Tom: How old were we when we first met?
Joey: Five years old. We used to have robot wars with my father’s industrial vacuum cleaners out on the rug in the Jerome’s Great Hall.
Tom: My god, I’d forgotten that.
Helene: That is so cute.
Tom: [Takes a long draught from a fresh Scotch] Anyway, I was lucky to have Chloe. She hated Beverly Hills as much as I did, so we got together, gathered up a bunch of other misfits and started our own thing.
Marlene: Got together?
Tom: [Shakes his head] Not like that. We were best friends, and it stayed that way.
Marlene: Okay, so you didn’t ditch me to chase other girls. I still don’t understand why you never came to see me. Never called. Never wrote.
Tom: I don’t know if I can explain it.
Marlene: [Her lips tight] We said we loved each other.
Tom: [Eyes closed. Exhales] And I meant it.
Helene takes Joey and Doug by the arms.
Helene: Buy me shots, boys. I want shots. [The three head out to the bar.]
Marlene: Why didn’t you come back?
Tom: I couldn’t.
Marlene: Why?
Tom: I can’t give you a rational explanation. I can only tell you how I felt.
Marlene: I’m listening.
Tom: When all the shit started going down at Bev Hills, things were really dark.
Marlene lights a cigarette and takes a drag off of it. Hands it to Tom, who puffs slowly.
Tom: But this…you…it was good.
Marlene: [Takes the cigarette backs from him] Go on.
Tom: And then when all the anti-youth stuff really started to ramp up. When campuses started closing. When every high school was overrun with cops. When kids started getting arrested or “detained” left and right…
Marlene: I know. It’s everywhere.
Tom: That same year, we started coming here with the Golds. I felt like I was in a weird secret war, and I brought that whole thing with me to Colorado. I just couldn’t see you. Not like that.
Marlene: Oh, Tommy…
Tom: There’s more. I started going out on my own; hanging out on the other side of town. You know, the southwest alley; The Lounge?
Marlene: Tommy, that place is dangerous.
Tom: Of course it is. That’s what attracted me to it. But that’s not the point. I felt like I had to do something.
Marlene: What?
Tom: Even now, I can’t say for sure. But with what’s happened this year…
Marlene: You’re talking about your new school.
Tom: New Ridgemont High.
Marlene: Right.
Tom: It could change everything.
Marlene lights the cigarette, which has gone out. Hands it to Tom, who drags on it and hands it back.
Tom: I knew that things were only going to get worse. I felt like I had to do something.
Marlene: [Brushes Tom’s hair away from his face] That’s pretty vague.
Tom: I’m being vague, because it’s vague to me. But the feeling was strong. Strong enough to have made me think that I needed training from Cross.
Marlene: Cross?
Tom: The head honcho at The Lounge. Former SDS and Weather Underground.
Marlene: Training in what?
Tom: Subversion. Propaganda. Spying. Bomb-making. You name it.
Marlene: Jesus, Tommy.
Tom: And it turns out that I was right. I’m sitting in the middle of the biggest revolution the country’s seen since the 1960s, and I’m gonna’ need everything Cross has taught me — and more — to make it succeed.
Marlene: Look, I’ve heard about New Ridgemont High. Who hasn’t? But aren’t you taking a little bit too much responsibility for it? I mean, you’re just a student.
Tom: [Laughs] Just a student? I’m Student Body Vice-President to Chloe Gold’s Student Body President, working shoulder to shoulder with Principal William Friedman, Ph.D. It’s no joke. He’s doing this in full collaboration with the Student Government.
Marlene: Holy crap.
Tom: And both of them are relying on me.
Marlene: How so?
Tom: They’re true-believers. They love everyone, and they really mean it. No bullshit. It’s amazing how they run the place together. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Marlene: Sounds like they’re in love with each other.
Tom: Now, that is a very interesting thought.
Marlene: I don’t see where you come in, though.
Tom: I’m there to protect them. Those two love everyone so much that they don’t realize how many bad people there are out there or what they’ll do to them, if they’re not careful. This means everything to Chloe, Mar…everything. If this goes badly, it’ll destroy her. [Grips Marlene’s hand, his eyes glassy with tears]
Marlene: [Touches his cheek] I get it, Tom. I understand.
Tom: [Grasps her and hugs her tightly to him] Thank you.
Marlene: And what about us? What now?
Tom: Now, you go out with Nick. And I go back to New Ridgemont High and make sure the happy hippies don’t traipse into a nest of snakes.
Marlene: How do you know about Nick?
Tom: I hear things.
Marlene: [Laughing] You are just the most…
The door swings open and Nick and Paul are there, brandishing two bottles of Champagne, each. They stride into the room, followed by Joey, Helene, and Doug, who are also holding Champagne bottles.
Paul: Five minutes to 2021!
Tom: I don’t think you guys brought enough champagne.
Doug: What? A bottle for each of us. Half of it is gonna’ wind up on the floor anyway.
Nick: [Goes over to Marlene, who is drying her eyes. Puts his arm around her shoulder.] Everything OK,?
Marlene: [Smiles, her eyes shining] Just catching up with Tommy. We’re good.
Joey: Let’s head back out to the bar. The whole family should be together for this.
The group leave the back room, arms linked, their animated conversation and laughter adding an additional level of energy to the already crackling bar atmosphere. They gather around Marlene’s father, who is smiling so broadly it looks as if his face might split.
Robert Black: [To everyone] Listen up! This is a special New Year’s eve celebration. The first time in three years that all the Triumph kids have been back together, under my roof.
A wild cheer goes up from the crowd.
Black: And a special welcome back to Tommy Rosen. May we never go another year without him.
Marlene: [Whispers to Tom] You hear that? You’d better not disappear again.
Tom: [Kisses her cheek] Never. I’m back home for good.
Paul: [Shouts, pointing at the clock] Time for the countdown!
All: Ten! Nine! Eight…!
Doug: [To Tom] Twenty fucking eleven.
Tom: I know, it’s hard to believe.
Doug: Where have the years gone, man? Weren’t we just nine years old, doing our first double black?
All: Seven! Six! Five…!
Tom: [To Doug] We should hit the slopes tomorrow. See if those two boys are still there, you know?
Doug hugs Tom to him.
All: Four! Three! Two…!
Nick takes up Marlene’s face in his hands and kisses her. They embrace.
All: One!
Tom, watching the two lovers, smiles.
All: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!
There is a tremendous roar and the simultaneous popping of dozens of champagne corks. Kiss’s God Gave Rock ‘N Roll To You echoes from the PA, and the night’s revelry kicks up to a transcendent pitch, resonant with love, friendship, and unadulterated joy.
January 1, 2011. Time Unknown.
It is very late, when Tom returns to the Aspen streets, which are now completely empty and silent, except for the crunching of his booted feet in the snow and a whistling, bitterly cold wind that cuts through his coat and chills him to the bone. He puts up his collar and tucks his chin down, in order to keep as much of his face from the icy air as possible.
He makes his way up the road, on which are located the Jerome and several other hotels, but when he reaches the corner, rather than turn right, onto the Jerome’s long, curving drive, he turns left, walking several hundred yards further, before going up the drive of a lone hotel separate from the others. It is significantly older and built in the style of a great hunting lodge. There is no sign or anything else indicating the hotel’s name.
Once inside, he goes to the elevators at the back of the deserted entry hall, which is lined with stuffed bears, elk, and other assorted taxidermy. After waiting several moments, the elevator arrives and he takes it up to the second floor. He walks slowly down the main corridor, moving silently across the thick carpeting, his eyes scanning the room numbers on the doors, until he stops at one: Room 237. He reaches out to open it, but before his hand can touch the doorknob, the door clicks open on its own. He enters a dark, narrow vestibule, which is dimly lit, from an unknown source. It is lined with red wallpaper, and on either side stands a full-sized replica of the Venus de Milo. The most noticeable thing is the carpeting, which is also red, and across which runs a bizarre, zigzag pattern that continues into the living room of a large suite.
The suite’s furniture has been moved in order to make room for several long tables, arranged in a semi-circle, at which sit eight teenagers; a mixture of boys and girls. In front of each of them is a small card, denoting a region: Northeast, Southeast, Upper Midwest, Lower-Midwest, Mountain States, Southwest, Pacific Northwest, and lastly, California, the chair for which is unoccupied.
Tom: [Gives a short laugh, gesturing around the room] A bit dramatic, no?
The boy who sits in the Northeast chair stands up.
Mr. Northeast: I don’t follow you.
Tom: The oldest hotel in Aspen. Rumored to be haunted. Room 237. Crazy carpet…
Mr. Northeast: [Smiles faintly] It serves.
Tom: I suppose you’re waiting to hear my report.
Mr. Northeast: Yes.
Tom crosses the room and seats himself in the California chair.
Tom: I hope you’re all caught up on your sleep. This may take a while.
Chloe Gold and Will Friedman are driving in Friedman’s Mustang, after the Executive Council meeting.
Chloe: Kevin Reilly is a freaking riot.
Will: He certainly is. At one point, I thought Jaime was going to punch him.
Chloe: I’m still not sure about her. That whole Star Crew thing…
Will: She’s grown beyond that. It’s mostly for effect now.
Chloe: Yes, but do you actually like her?
Will: I do. She’s spirited. And there’s a lot more underneath that exterior than you realize.
Chloe: Well, she’s certainly been good for Tom. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him let himself go like this. He’s always been so controlled.
Will: I was surprised that Mitch hadn’t told you about Kim. They’ve been going out for almost a month now.
Chloe: [Quietly] I’m not.
Will: Oh?
Chloe: [Sighs and looks guilty] He’s been nursing a pretty strong crush on me, and I don’t think I’ve helped any.
Will: It’s not like you’ve been leading him on.
Chloe: Haven’t I? I’m always hugging and kissing him. Holding his hand.
Will: That’s just who you are, Chloe. It’s a lovely quality.
Chloe: Not so lovely for him I’ll bet. You remember your first crush, don’t you?
Will: Yes, I do.
Chloe: Was it reciprocal?
Will: No.
Chloe: So, how would you have felt if she’d been all over you, even though she hadn’t the slightest romantic interest?
Will: It would have been hard.
Chloe: [Bitterly] That’s what I’ve been doing to Mitch for the last four months. Some best friend I am.
Will: [Pulls the car over to the side of the road. Turns to Chloe] You’ve been a great friend to him.
Chloe: I can’t stand the thought that he’s been carrying this around, and I’ve been treating him so casually.
Will: Why haven’t you talked about it with him?
Chloe: [Shakes her head] I couldn’t. Mitch is proud, Will. He’d be mortified if I even mentioned it.
Will: [Puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes it gently] He’s got someone now, Chloe.
Chloe: [Looks down] Yeah, and he didn’t want to share it with me.
Will: He wouldn’t even be seeing Kim if it wasn’t for you. In fact, I’m not sure he would be doing any of the amazing things he’s doing, if it hadn’t been for your friendship.
Chloe: How do you figure that?
Will: He’s sixteen, but he looks twelve. Shy by nature. I’ll bet you he was terrified of girls until now. And leadership? Running an operation like the Media Center? Managing people? That’s something entirely new for him. You’ve given him confidence.
Chloe: Mitch was painfully timid when I first met him. It was all I could do to convince him to start those videos he’s been filming around the school, and now he has an archive of footage.
Will: He had to talk to people he’d never have dreamt of talking to before. It opened him up; allowed him to discover all of those qualities that we see now. And as for girls, do you think someone like you ever gave him the time of day before?
Chloe: [Looking down again]. I wouldn’t know.
Will: Drop the idealism and look at it in the cold, hard light of our present reality outside of the school; at Central or Stevens or Beverly Hills. Would a girl like you pay a guy like him even a moment’s notice?
Chloe: No, I guess not.
Will: Sure, he had to work through his feelings for you. Sure, it must have been difficult. Maybe it even felt like torture at times. But you’ve given him an incredible gift, and he’s not the only one.
Chloe: What do you mean?
Will: You’ve made everyone in our school feel like a million bucks. You cracked the social barriers; brought all the students together. The day you become Student Body President was the day that New Ridgemont High really came into its own.
Chloe: [Rests her head on his shoulder] Oh, Will…
Will: [Puts his arm around her and squeezes] Are we done with the “I’m so rotten” stuff?
Chloe: We’re done.
Will: Outstanding. [Slides a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and lights it] Shall we go?
Chloe: Yes, but not this way. Take the boulevard.
Will: [Pulls away from the curb] But your house is this way.
Chloe: I don’t want to go home yet. Let’s go to Zuma beach.
Will: Won’t your parents be worried? It’ll be late when we get back.
Chloe: Stop at the convenience store on the corner, and I’ll call them from a pay phone. Tomorrow’s Saturday. They won’t mind.
Will: Right on! [Executes a three-point turn and heads for the boulevard]
December 18, 2010, 10pm PST
William Friedman and Chloe Gold have parked the car at Zuma Beach.
Will: [Opens Chloe’s door and offers his hand] Zuma Beach, as requested.
Chloe: [Takes Will’s hand and rises from the passenger seat. Raises her face to the sky and savors the air.] Mmm, that sea breeze.
Will: It’s wonderful. I’ve always lived near the ocean. Well, except for the four years I spent in Ann Arbor.
When they reach the sand, Chloe bends down and removes her sneakers. Hands them to Will, who ties the laces together and hangs them over his shoulder.
Chloe: [Wiggling her toes in the sand] This is heaven. Don’t you want to take off your shoes?
Will: I wouldn’t inflict my feet on any innocent person.
Chloe: Your age really bothers you, doesn’t it?
Will: Let’s just say it’s an unfortunate reality that I choose to ignore as much as possible.
Chloe: I’d call it fortunate. There’d be no New Ridgemont High if you were twenty years old.
Will: True.
Chloe: And you’d be much less interesting to talk to.
Will: Maybe.
Chloe: [Examining him] And you wouldn’t be nearly as handsome.
Will: Now you’re talking crazy.
Chloe: Off with those damned shoes. That’s an order, straight from the Office of the President!
Will: [Laughs and removes his loafers. Ties the tassels to Chloe’s sneakers and throws both pairs back over his shoulder] God, the sand does feel good.
Chloe: [Takes his hand] Let’s go down to the water.
The two make their way down to the water’s edge and stand, silently, watching the waves churn and break onto the shore.
Chloe: It’s like time has stopped…
Will: Mmm.
Chloe: …and we’re the only two people in the world.
Will: Wouldn’t you miss everyone?
Chloe: I’d miss our friends. I’d miss my parents. But, everyone? I’m not sure about that. Not loving “everyone” right now.
Will: Things have become ugly in this country of ours, haven’t they?
Chloe: Yes, but we’re going to take it to them; show them the way.
Will: [Singing softly] 🎜I want you-oo-oo to show me the way.🎜
Chloe: It’s really working, Will. Soon it’ll be working across all of California, and where California goes, the rest of the country goes.
Will: I’ll take your word for it. It’s hard for me to see past the obstacles sometimes.
Chloe: [Turns and stands in front of him.] What you said to Jaime, at the meeting; about how you don’t have anyone?
Will: Yes?
Chloe: Why don’t you have someone?
Will: [Slowly] I guess Sal’s right. I’m married to the company.
Chloe: And what about before?
Will: I don’t know. I’ve always been pretty wrapped up in my work.
Chloe: Didn’t you date? In High School? College? Graduate School?
Will: Yes, of course.
Chloe: So why didn’t any of your relationships work out?
Will: I never met someone who mattered to me as much as the work.
Chloe: In all those years?
Will: [Wistfully] There was one girl in high school. She was smart; beautiful; tough. A little punk, a little goth; but there was much more to her than that.
Chloe: What happened?
Will: It was on and off, for a few years; almost like we were circling around each other. Then this really weird thing happened and…. [Hesitates]
Chloe: Yes?
Will: Oh…well…it just never came to anything.
Chloe’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, but she remains silent. The two continue walking.
Will: I could ask you the same question. Why don’t you have someone?
Chloe: I asked for that, didn’t I? My parents are wealthy.
Will: I understand.
Chloe: I’m not sure that you do. Aside from the house in Beverly Hills, we have a place in Nice; condos in Manhattan and Miami Beach; we ski in Aspen; we fly on a private jet. We’re not normal, Beverly Hills rich.
Will: It’s isolated you from people.
Chloe: Yes, but not in the way you’re probably thinking. It wasn’t just that other kids only liked me for my money or that they resented me for it. I couldn’t identify with them. I’d been to too many places; seen and heard too much; done too many things. The guys I went with fell too hard, and I always wound up hurting them in the end.
Will: So, you became a “floater.”
Chloe: Yeah, along with Tom. His parents are crazy rich too, and he’s as traveled and experienced as I am. We could share things; talk in a way that the others couldn’t; compete on an equal level. So, we stuck together mostly; drifted around, picking up the stray friend here and there; other kids who didn’t quite fit in.
Will: I was a floater too.
Chloe: I figured you were. It fits you.
Will: And no one at New Ridgemont High has asked you out? Expressed interest?
Chloe: Aside from Mitch, who didn’t exactly express interest but couldn’t hide it? No.
Will: Seems hard to believe. Why?
Chloe: Well, for one thing [pauses], half the school thinks I’m fucking you.
Will: What?!
Chloe: [Laughs and puts her finger on his lips] Shhh, don’t worry. It’s just a stupid rumor that’s been going around since the election.
Will: Now I get Lee’s “line of questioning” at the debate. I had no idea. Jesus…
Chloe: Fortunately, Lee’s a lot more cooperative now.
Will: [Bitterly] Of course he is. He’s getting laid for the first time in his life.
Chloe: Now, you sound like Jaime Cohen.
The two stare at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.
Will: So, I shouldn’t worry about this rumor?
Chloe: [Suddenly more somber] I have to think that we can trust everyone; that they understand what’s happening out there and how important New Ridgemont High is; that they wouldn’t blow it all for some juvenile gossip.
Will: You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.
The two approach a lifeguard tower and Chloe beckons to Will to follow her.
Will: [Climbing up onto the platform] Why are we doing this, exactly?
Chloe: It’ll give us perspective. [She settles into one of several chairs] Sit, and let’s work this thing out while we control the tides.
Will: I have to admit, I’ve had more than a few worries, but this wasn’t one of them.
Chloe: I don’t know that it should be. Those kinds of lurid rumors are a dime a dozen. “The principal is boning the student-body president!” Please…
Will: It does seem rather absurd.
Chloe: So, what have you been worrying about?
Will: Political opposition in the State. The conservatives just won control of the Assembly and the balance in the Senate is razor thin. And obviously, the national political situation is a disaster.
Chloe: Yeah, I heard my parents talking about it. We’ve all been trying to stay off of contemporary media, but they still watch the nightly news. I can’t bear to look at it.
Will: The worst is this “Shirley Putsis” woman. She’s a right-wing nutjob and has a bug up her ass about “liberal bias” and “Marxists” in education. I don’t put it beyond her to make some serious mischief. Sal is really apprehensive. He’s been begging me — us — to keep a low profile.
Chloe: But that isn’t really possible, is it? I mean, the whole point is to expand on the NRH model. That means new charter schools and that means publicity; lot’s of it.
Will: It’s our marketing and promotion efforts Sal’s concerned about. That and my “let it all hang out” way of doing things. He dressed me down for paying for taxis for everyone after the Celebration Ball. And do you remember what he said during our first Executive Council meeting? He was only reassured after Tom told him he’d run every broadcast through a “vice” filter before airing it.
Chloe: [Defiantly] I remember, but as much as I love Sal, he’s wrong. The purpose of the NRH experiment is to reverse current trends in K-12 education. That isn’t going to happen if we hide what we’re doing. The public has to see it as a change from the status quo. Otherwise, the thing has no raison d’etre.
Will: Tu parles français!
Chloe: [Bows in her seat] Courtesy of Monsieur Longo’s class. And what were you supposed to do? Let everyone drive home drunk? How would the school have looked with an evening news full of underage DUIs?
Will: I think Sal wishes I’d put the kibosh on the punch-spiking thing sooner or done more to prevent it from happening in the first place, but I get what you’re saying.
Chloe: That level of surveillance and control is a good part of what’s wrong with schooling today. You promised everyone that New Ridgemont High would be different.
Will: I know, and I stand by it. These are worries, not deterrents.
Chloe: Good.
Will: It’s almost midnight.
Chloe: [Reluctantly] I know. We should start heading back. [Slowly gets up]
Will: [Following her] Let’s do this again.
Chloe: [Takes Will’s hand and squeezes it.] Many more times.
The two make their way up the sand, until they reach the pavement, where they stop and put their shoes back on. Will helps Chloe into the passenger seat, then slides in, next to her. Starts the car and lets it stand, idling. He seems lost in thought.
Chloe: Will?
Will: Yes?
Chloe: When we were at the party at the Mayor’s Mansion, you and the Mayor were talking about the school crackdowns, state- and nationwide.
Will: I remember.
Chloe: Right afterwards you said something that I didn’t understand. [Looks up at the sky, reciting from memory] “It’s happening now. Four years early. What does it mean?”
Will: Ah, that.
Chloe: You seemed distressed.
Will stares out through the windshield at the ocean, with the air of someone trying to make a difficult decision.
Will: Maybe there is one more thing we should talk about.
Chloe: [Settles back into the seat and closes her eyes. Inhales deeply and smiles] Then take the long way home, and tell me everything.
Location: William Friedman’s rooms, at NRH. Friedman and Sal Levy are meeting with the Student Executive Council (SEC), consisting of Chloe Gold, Tom Rosen, Mitch Bennett and new members Jaime Cohen and Kevin Reilly.
Friedman: [Handing out drinks from a tray] Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. Beers for Jaime and Kevin, Pinot Grigio for Chloe, Scotch for Tom and me, and coffee for Mitch and Sal.
Tom: [Sipping his Scotch] Correct to the last. You have a good memory.
Jaime: What impressed me was how you carried the tray, without dropping it.
Friedman: [Laughing] After a decade of waiting tables and bartending on and off, through college and graduate school, it’s second nature.
Tom: So, what’s on the agenda?
Friedman: First, I’d like to offer a special welcome to the newest members of New Ridgemont High’s Executive Council, Kevin Reilly and Jaime Cohen.
Sal: Hear, hear!
Tom: [Holding up his glass] Cheers! Welcome.
Chloe: It’s awesome that you guys are joining us!
Jaime: [Raises her glass] Thanks!
Friedman: I’ve put this group together, because you represent the full breadth of New Ridgemont High’s student body, and because each of you has demonstrated leadership within your respective social circles.
Kevin: And here I thought you invited me for my studliness.
Jaime: What do you want us to do?
Friedman: Strategic planning and internal communications. You know your constituencies better than anyone; what they care about and what they need. This will allow you to represent their interests at the highest level.
Tom: What do you want to talk about first?
Friedman: [Leans back and glances over at Sal] What should we do first, Sal? The expansions? The Spring event calendar? Graduation?
Sal: I’ve always been a believer in leaving the fun stuff, until the end.
Friedman: Okay, then, the hard stuff first. [Pauses to take a drink] Let’s talk about the expansions. I take it you’ve all been following the reporting that Mitch and his team have done on the state’s plans to open two more schools based on the NRH model?
Kevin: I don’t know if I’d exactly call it following, but yeah, I have a decent idea of what’s going on.
Jaime: They’re gonna’ be in Oakland and Berkeley, right?
Friedman: Yes. And the plan is to follow up with a half dozen more, if things go well.
Tom: [Whistles] Damn. Not even a semester in and we’re a runaway success.
Sal: [Dryly] I think of it more as a runaway train.
Tom: [Laughing] You would.
Friedman: Let’s just say that there is definitely an air of urgency in Sacramento.
Jaime: So where do we come in?
Friedman: In a consulting capacity. Mitch will be coordinating, so I’ll let him speak to it.
Mitch: [Puts down his coffee and stands up] I thought we might send small teams over to the new schools to advise them on setting things up. Given the wide social territory this group covers, we’re well-positioned to help them with every aspect of student life.
Kevin: What do you have in mind, specifically?
Mitch: [Looks slightly embarrassed and reaches for a stack of papers] Well, I was informed of the composition of the committee ahead of time, so I took the liberty of typing up some suggestions for the different areas we might cover. [Hands around mimeographed sheets]
Kevin: [Scans the sheet and laughs.] You should come down and organize the shop. I haven’t been able to find my favorite pipe wrench for, like, two weeks.
Mitch: Yeah, well, this is how I figure it. Chloe and Tom cover student government.
Jaime: No, duh.
Mitch: Ixne on the Star Crewisms, please.
Jaime: Sorry, I forgot that we’re in a cool-free zone.
Mitch: [Looks at the ceiling and counts silently] My team will cover all the computer implementation. We’ll also consult on school newspapers and media.
Jaime: I won’t say “No, duh” again.
Mitch: Thank you.
Tom: But, you did say it again.
Jaime smiles sweetly.
Mitch: Kevin, I figured you could put a team together and consult with the new schools on shop.
Kevin: What kind of shop?
Mitch: There are kinds?
Kevin: Carpentry, electrical, auto…
Mitch: Oh, right, of course. What kind do we have?
Kevin: All three. I’ve been talking with Doc F. about adding a fourth: TV and major appliance repair.
Mitch: Well, those then.
Kevin: [Saluting] Aye aye, sir.
Mitch: [Puts the sheet down] That just leaves Jaime.
Jaime: I’m all ears.
Mitch: Well, cheerleading, obviously, but I thought you might consult on athletics more generally. I mean, you’re friends with all the sportos. You could easily put together a team to help familiarize the new schools with 80s varsity.
Jaime: I’ll need contact info. Athletics directors, team coaches, student managers…
Mitch: You’ll have it. I’m gonna’ prepare packets for each of you.
Chloe: What about the purely social stuff? Student clubs, parties and dances, that kind of thing.
Jaime: Valerie Saunders and Denise Diamond, for the parties and dances at least.
Tom: Now, there’s a brain trust.
Jaime: [Indignantly] I’ll have you know that Valerie is very smart.
Tom: Denise has a low enough IQ for both of them.
Chloe: Why them in particular, Jaime?
Jaime: They throw the best parties in Ridgemont. What other qualifications are there?
Tom: Oh, I don’t know, organizational skills, responsibility with money, the ability to play nicely with others.
Chloe: [Laughs] They’ll be fine. I can help them with the budget.
Tom: What about the clubs?
Chloe: Well, since most of them are themed, we could just divide the work up according to our respective interests and expertise. I’ll take the charities, you help with the political groups, Mitch can do the science and math clubs, that sort of thing.
Tom: Good plan.
Friedman: Okay, then you’ll coordinate with Mitch regarding your assignments when the time comes.
Kevin: When will that be?
Friedman: Probably around Spring Break. I don’t see them being ready earlier than that.
Kevin: So much for my trip to Cancun.
Jaime: You’re going to Cancun for Spring Break?
Kevin: No, it just seemed like the thing to say.
Jaime: Mexico will be relieved.
Sal: What’s next, Will?
Friedman: Event planning for the Spring. What we’re doing and who’s doing it.
Kevin: Could we break for a few minutes? I’m dying for a butt.
Jaime: You’ve got a one-track mind don’t you?
Kevin: A cigarette, Jaime.
Jaime: Oh.
Kevin: Looks like I’m not the one with the one-track mind. [Raises one eyebrow, suavely] Not that this makes me unhappy.
Tom: Don’t you think it might be better to hit on a guy’s girlfriend, when he isn’t sitting right next to you?
Kevin: [Strokes his chin, nodding] It’s a good point.
Friedman: [Laughing] You can light up here, Kevin. I’m gonna’ have one too. We’ll crack the windows.
Kevin: Righteous! [Lights a cigarette, which he offers to Friedman, then lights another for himself]
Sal: Why don’t we just meet in a bar from now on?
Tom: You can’t smoke in bars in California.
Sal: Only in high schools, apparently.
Friedman: Stop being an old woman, Sal. [Blows a stream of smoke in his face] Alright, events. What have we got?
Chloe: Stage Night, the Senior Party, and Graduation.
Friedman: Sal and I have graduation covered.
Sal: We do?
Friedman: That’s one event that we – the “adults” – should be in charge of.
Chloe: I was thinking that the arts kids could run Stage Night. I know that Billy Johnson and Tim Goldstein are chomping at the bit to do it.
Friedman: Great choice.
Kevin: [Downs the remnants of his beer] That show’s gonna’ fucking kill. Tim’s band rocks. Marty’s a monster drummer and they’ve got Joanne singing.
Tom: Somehow, Joanne Genduso and singing don’t seem to go together.
Kevin: Okay, screaming. It’s a punk band.
Mitch: They are good. Lee’s brought me over a few times to watch them rehearse. They’re gonna’ have some tough competition, though. The Compton boys are doing old-school rap. Run DMC, Public Enemy, Schoolly D…. They’re amazing.
Kevin: [Waving his cigarette] And how do you know this? I didn’t think you got out much.
Mitch: I’ve been hanging with the brothers a little bit.
Tom: He’s being modest. From what I hear, Mitch has been seeing the hottest girl in Compton. Kim isn’t it?
Mitch: [Coolly] Yeah, we’ve been chilling together.
Jaime: “Chilling’”? You? In Compton?
Kevin: My mind is bending.
Chloe: And why haven’t I heard about this, until now?
Mitch: It never came up?
Chloe: [Eyes narrowing] Never came up…riiight.
Mitch: [Weakly] Well, it’s my thing, you know?
Chloe: [Laughs and hugs him] I’m just kidding, honey. It’s wonderful.
Kevin: [Shaking his head] First Lee and Joanne. Then Tom and Jaime. Now Mitch and Queen Latifah. I mean, what the fuck?
Jaime: [Sighing] It’s the death of the cliques, Kevin. You’ll just have to learn to cope, like I did. [Finishes her beer] It’s a one day at a time kind of thing.
Chloe: And I figured Will and I would plan the Senior Party. [Looks at Kevin] Give you guys the best sendoff you could ever dream of.
Kevin: Rocking!
Friedman: [Finishing his drink] Well, that’s all I have for tonight.
Tom: [Laughs] I’d say that’s quite a bit.
Friedman: Anything you guys want to bring to the floor?
Chloe: I have something.
Friedman: What’s that?
Chloe: A number of students have asked me if we could keep the building open later.
Friedman: I’m not opposed in principle, but why?
Chloe: We have a lot of two-parents-working households. With the LA traffic the way it is, many of them don’t get home until 7 or 8 o’clock. Students are spending hours alone, in their houses, every day, and for the ones who can’t drive yet, it means they’re almost completely isolated. Doing their homework by themselves; working on projects by themselves. They’d rather stay on campus.
Friedman: It’s an excellent idea, Chloe, one I should have thought of. Starting Monday, the building will stay open until 7pm.
Sal: You can’t ask the staff to stay that late, Will.
Friedman: Of course not.
Sal: You can’t let the students stay in the building by themselves, either.
Friedman: Why not? You think they’re gonna’ burn the place down or something?
Sal: Could you please put on your practical hat for just one minute?
Friedman: I am being practical. These kids shouldn’t have to stay at home alone for hours because it’s impossible for a family to survive on one salary.
Sal: Not that kind of practical. There are insurance issues, not to mention state laws. Minors can’t be in the building by themselves.
Tom: I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Sal. One kid slips and falls and a lawsuit could bring the whole thing down.
Friedman: No problem.
Sal: But what about…?
Friedman: They won’t be alone in the building. I’ll be here.
Sal: Every night.
Friedman: Every night.
Sal: [Throwing up his hands] Fine.
Friedman: [Puts his hand on Sal’s shoulder] This is important.
Sal: I know. I just wish that you could accept the limitations imposed by reality; at least sometimes.
Friedman: A reality that hurts young people isn’t something to be accepted. And it’s not like this is a hardship for me. I’m here most nights, anyway. Shit, I sleep here half the week.
Jaime: But don’t you have, you know, a personal life to go to after school?
Friedman: Not really.
Jaime: You’re not seeing anyone?
Friedman: [Looking down] No.
Jaime: I’m sorry.
Sal: [With a tinge of bitterness] Didn’t you know? Will’s married to the company.
Friedman: [Holds up a hand] Sal, please. Chloe, you can spread the word that school will stay open late. I’ll make an official announcement, when we come back after the weekend.
Chloe: Thank you.
Friedman: Well, I think that’s more than enough for one meeting. Everyone cool to drive?
Kevin: Si, senor.
Tom: Fine. None of us had more than one.
Chloe: Have you two decided to go out to the clubs?
Tom: [Looks at Jaime] I think so. We can still drop you off, though.
Chloe: No, I’m on the opposite side of town. [Squeezes Friedman’s arm] How about giving me a ride home?
Friedman: [Smiling] It’ll be a pleasure. Clear skies; full moon. We can put the top down. [Turns to Sal] Want to take a ride under the stars?
Sal: Sorry, but I’ve gotta’ pass. I have, like, a gazillion exams to grade.
Friedman: We’ll catch you next time.
Sal: [Gives the “ok” sign, as he makes his way out the door] Be seeing you!
Friedman: What about you, Mitch? Want to take a ride in the convertible?
Mitch: [Looks from Friedman to Chloe] Uh, I’ve got my Mom’s car, so…
Chloe: It’s okay, sweetie.
Kevin: [Heaves himself up and takes his leather jacket from the back of the chair.] I’m off, too. [Points at Will] You take care of that car. No hot-rodding or drag racing or any of that shit.
Friedman: [Laughing] I won’t wreck it Dad, I promise.
Tom and Jaime: [Arms around each others’ waists] We’ll see you guys on Monday.
Friedman: Have fun!
Chloe: Don’t stay out too late!
Mitch: Wait, I’ll leave with you! [Hurries to catch up with them.]
Friedman: [Turning to Chloe and offering his arm] Shall we, my dear?
Chloe: [Taking his arm and nodding] We shall.
The two depart, pausing just for a moment, to turn out the lights.
Location: William Friedman’s residence on a warm L.A. afternoon. The occasion is an informal meeting of the New Ridgemont High department heads: Bobbie Novak (science); Jules Longo (foreign language); John Jameson (English); Patricia Stark (mathematics); Stephen Fortunato (social studies); and Kenneth Cameron (computer science). Sal Levy is also in attendance. The meeting is taking place around Friedman’s pool.
Will: Does everyone have drinks?
Sal: Check.
Will: Ashtrays are on the side tables, for anyone who wants to smoke. Let’s get started.
Steve: [Lighting a cigarette and reclining in his chaise lounge, happily] I could get used to meetings like this.
Pat: Yes, thank you for opening your home to us, Will.
Will: It’s my pleasure. I prefer to do business as informally as possible.
Steve: [Holding up his drink] A fine policy!
Pat: So, do you want us to actually read our reports?
Will: No, put those through to my secretary. I just want to chat; hear your impressions of the semester.
Pat: Sounds good.
Will: So, how’d we do our first term?
John: Do you really need us to tell you? You’ve seen the numbers.
Will: The numbers only tell part of the story and at a pretty fair level of abstraction. I am interested in how things are going in the classroom; your personal observations of the students and their development; whether the curriculum is working; that sort of thing.
Bobbie: The students are absolutely fantastic, Will.
Jules: Hear! Hear!
Ken: A little too fantastic.
Will: What do you mean?
Ken: Oh, nothing really. I just wonder how qualified I am to teach this group. The students who work in the computer lab know more about the old hardware and programming languages than I do.
Bobbie: I think you’re in a bit of a unique situation among us, Ken. There’s been so much progress in computers in such a short time. It’s not surprising that a few teen enthusiasts know more esoterica than you do.
Will: We’re not just teaching the subject-matter, but how to learn and apply it. You are more than qualified.
Ken: I find myself saying “I don’t know” a lot.
Will: Socrates would have said that demonstrates great wisdom on your part.
Ken: Socrates didn’t have twenty-five fifteen and sixteen year olds asking him to help them write engineering software in Fortran 77.
The group breaks out in laughter.
Will: What do you think of the revised Social Studies curriculum, Steve?
Steve: Fan-fucking-tastic.
Will: Would you care to, uh, elaborate?
Steve: I think the emphasis on history since the Second World War is inspired. It really resonates with the students. The Cold War in particular: they’re starting to grasp how big an influence geopolitical bipolarity had on American culture and politics, and how its absence poses real challenges for contemporary statecraft.
Will: How about the rest of you? What do you think of the overall emphasis on modernity in the curriculum?
John: If you’re asking whether I miss spending half the semester on Beowulf and Julius Caesar, the answer is “no.” I’ll take Joyce, Faulkner, and Hemingway any day and so will the students.
Jules: They’re responding very strongly to modern French literature. We finished Robbe-Grillet’s Les Gommes this week, and the conversation was both substantial and spirited.
Bobbie: It hasn’t been that much of a change for us. There never was all that much science, pre-Newton, in the curriculum to begin with.
Pat: Same here. I wonder, though.
Will: About what?
Pat: Let me be clear, I think the curriculum is great and that the students are receiving a first-class education. I’m just not sure I get the underlying educational philosophy. My understanding was that New Ridgemont High would be modeled on a mid-1980s high school, but with the exception of computer science and shop, this is not a 1980s curriculum.
Steve: [Downs his drink and mashes out his cigarette] I was wondering about that too. I mean, students in the 1980s learned all that boring, useless stuff that we’re not teaching. I remember slogging through Beowulf and having to learn about the Ming Dynasty and all that shit.
Will: You’re both right. But, remember, New Ridgemont High is an experimental school, not a nostalgia trip. It’s not meant to be an 80s clone.
Steve: You have to admit, though, that’s the impression that people have gotten.
Sal: You know what happens when stuff gets run through the popular media meat grinder, Steve.
Will: It’s an oversimplification, of course, but not essentially an untrue one. New Ridgemont High is culturally very 1980s, and that was the main intent, from the standpoint of social immersion.
Bobbie: Well, in that sense, you’ve succeeded beyond all expectations. Being on campus and out about town is like being on an alien planet, compared with the rest of L.A. County. A very nice alien planet, I should add.
Will: The curriculum is a response to a different set of problems, having to do primarily with relevance. In order to really participate in the contemporary economy and political scene, you have to know recent history. The schools, traditionally, do exactly the opposite, emphasizing knowledge of “classics,” broadly understood, and the result is that students know more about the Anglo Saxons and the Ming Dynasty than about Watergateand Glasnost.
Steve: Which is entirely useless.
Pat: So, why the retro computer education? Why all the vo-tech?
Ken: I can see the value of learning old computer technology. It’s rare that young people learn actual programming anymore, other than at the highest levels. Computer education today is almost entirely about learning how to use already existing applications, and the kids know that already. Shit, they know it from the time they’re in elementary school.
Will: As for the vo-tech, it’s something I believe in very strongly, for a number of reasons. [Gets up and crosses over to the pool bar to pour himself another Scotch] You need a refill, Steve?
Steve: I do. Gin and tonic, with a twist.
Pat: So, what are the reasons?
Will: For one thing, not every student is college material. But within the not-college-bound population, there are quite a few who boast substantial skill, which we have as much of a responsibility to help cultivate as their academic counterparts.
Bobbie: [Raises her glass] Right on!
Will: [Hands Steve a gin and tonic and returns to his chaise lounge.] And for another, we desperately need an infusion of fresh, talented craftsmen into the trades: electricians, plumbers, carpenters, auto mechanics…
Sal: My plumber recently told me that he’d like to expand, but can’t, because there aren’t enough skilled plumbers out there for him to hire.
Will: We’re shoving everyone into the damned university. The trade school system is practically non-existent, and the community colleges are turning into cheapo colleges offering B.A. and B.S. degrees in addition to Associates’.
Pat: I just wanted a better grasp of what we’re doing and why.
Sal: You’ll have to excuse Will. He loves his shop.
Will: I do love my shop.
Pat: [Laughing] You’ll get no argument from me. Kevin Reilly and Marty Savini have my old Volvo running like a greyhound.
Will: That’s what I mean. Those boys are seriously talented. In their own way, they’re as talented as Mitch and his gang.
Steve: It’s a good point, Will. [Gestures with his drink] I mean, think about how clueless Lance Donaldson or Brian Milman would be, if they were confronted with an overheating engine. [Lights another cigarette] Given how fucked my car always is and how much it costs to take it into the shop, I’d say Kevin and Marty’s talents are more valuable.
Will: I’d say equally valuable.
Steve: I’ll drink to that. [Clinks Will’s glass and takes a long swig from his own]
Bobbie: Well, I don’t know about you people, but I’m jumping in that very inviting looking pool. [Stands up and sheds her robe, to reveal a tiger-striped bikini.]
Pat: [Looking hard at Bobbie] Okay, I am so not taking off my robe, now.
Will: [Laughs] I’m afraid Bobbie’s in a class of her own. I doubt any of us are going to win any swimsuit contests.
Steve: I’d take that class.
Bobbie: So, get in here, big shot. Put your money where your mouth is.
Steve undoes the sash around his robe. He is wearing a loose-fitting, boxer-style bathing suit, whose only remarkable quality is that it is bright, fluorescent yellow.
John: [Holding his hands up, as if to shield his eyes] Holy shit, Steve. What the fuck?!
Pat: I’m like, blinded looking at that.
Steve: [Looking very proud of himself and pointing down at the bathing suit] 1980s baby! [Jumps in the pool, with an enormous splash] C’mon, Pat. If I’m willing to bare my pasty, out of shape body, you can come in too.
Pat: [Shrugs] Alright. [Removes her robe, under which is a stylish, one-piece suit, which fits snugly on her petite frame.] Geronimo! [Does a cannonball, into the pool]
Will, Sal, and Ken join them in the pool.
Will: [To John and Jules] You guys coming in?
Jules: I prefer to watch from the sidelines.
John: I’ll keep my eye on the bar. [Pours himself another drink]
Bobbie: [Floating on her back] Mmm. This is heavenly.
Will: You haven’t said much, Jules. What’s your impression of the students?
Jules: They’re remarkably integrated. I’ve never seen so much inter-clique socializing.
Will: Chloe Gold gets a lot of the credit for that. She’s done quite a bit of ambassadorial work between the cliques.
Steve: I’m doing an independent study with Chloe on the internal politics of the Warsaw Pact. She’s brilliant and intensely interested. I was at UCLA for years and rarely encountered a student that smart…or mature, for that matter.
Bobbie: She’s an incredible girl, Will. The best student body president I’ve ever seen. You lucked out with her.
Will: You should have seen her at the Mayor’s dinner party. She made a serious impression. Congresswoman Best offered her a job after graduation.
Sal: She’s got magnetism, that’s for sure.
Bobbie: On the broader question of school culture, what you’ve accomplished is nothing short of a miracle. Athletes taking advanced foreign language courses. Computer kids dating greasers. It’s amazing.
Jules: Agreed. Sandy Kendel has become one of my best students and has decided to pursue a degree in French literature, when he goes to college. How many star athletes can you say that about?
Will: They are a fantastic group. I feel extraordinarily lucky.
Pat: [Swimming to the side of the pool and pulling herself out] We all do, Will. Working at New Ridgemont High is a teacher’s dream.
Steve: You’re getting out already?
Pat: I’m gonna’ try a dive off the board.
Steve: Yay!
Pat: Are you hitting on me, Dr. Fortunato?
Steve: I’m working up the courage.
Pat: [Standing at the edge of the diving board] You are so full of shit. [Performs an elegant swan dive]
Steve: [While Pat is still underwater] God, that woman is sexy.
John: I’d dial it back a little, Steve. She doesn’t seem like a bullshitter.
Bobbie: I think she’s loving every minute of it.
Pat: [Coming up for air at the far end of the pool] What am I loving?
Bobbie: Steve’s subtle advances.
Pat: [Laughing] With you around, I’m glad anyone’s noticed me at all.
Steve: Bobbie may have flash, Pat, but you’ve got class.
Bobbie: So, you’re saying I have no class?
Steve: Oh, no, that’s not…
Bobbie: [Narrowing her eyes] So, what are you saying, exactly?
Steve: I, uh…
Bobbie: Yes?
Steve: Well, there’s no reason to…after all…
Bobbie: [Suddenly breaking into a smile] Gotcha!
John: Oh, man, you are so burned.
Ken: She fooled me too.
Steve: Okay, I’m a total loser.
Pat: [Soothingly] It’s alright. She would’ve gotten anyone.
Will: [Climbs out of the pool and dries himself off with a towel] How about some dinner? You guys hungry?
Jules: I am. What’s on the menu?
Will: Crab cakes to start. Then spinach and artichoke quiche, with a dandelion salad.
John: Holy shit!
Jules: C’est magnifique!
Steve: Not exactly a manly meal, is it?
Bobbie: Ignore him. I didn’t know you could cook, Will.
Will: You learn these things as a bachelor. Cooking is one of my passions.
Pat: And shop.
Will: Yes.
Steve: Cooking and shop. I don’t know what to make of that.
Bobbie: It means he’s sensitive and manly, Steve. I’d call that a winning combination.
A hearty laugh goes up among the group. Will heads into the house to get the food, while the others chat animatedly.
December 10, 2010, 8:00pm, PST
Location: William Friedman’s home, after the meeting. Will, Sal, and Bobbie are hanging out in Will’s hot tub.
Bobbie: [Rummages in her bag, at the side of the tub and produces a joint] Anyone interested?
Sal: Hell, yeah!
Will: Sounds great.
Bobbie lights the joint and takes a long drag off of it. Hands it to Sal, who puffs enthusiastically.]
Sal: This is amazing weed, Bobbie. [Hands Friedman the joint]
Will: [Takes several long hits] It’s delicious. Heady.
Bobbie: [Pleased] You cook. I grow weed.
Sal: [Impressed] You grew this?
Bobbie: Yeah. I’ve got a half dozen plants in my backyard. It’s an Indica/Sativa hybrid. I call it “Bobbie’s Best.”
Sal: [Taking the joint from Will] A fine name!
Will: [Contentedly] I thought the meeting went well.
Sal: It was outstanding. The food, the conversation… everything. You’re forging a really tight group, here.
Bobbie: You’ve picked some talented teachers, Will, and cool too. Very cool. Teaching at New Ridgemont High has been a blast.
Sal: So, do you think Pat and Steve are gonna’ become a thing?
Will: [laughing] If Steve has his way. I’ve never seen him that smitten.
Bobbie: He’s perfect for her. Hilarious and a sweetheart. He’ll bring her out of her shell.
Sal: Pat did seem pretty awkward at the beginning. She rallied, though.
Bobbie: “Plain girl” syndrome. She has no idea how gorgeous she is.
Will: I’m happy for Steve. He’s had it rough, since his divorce. When I asked him to join the team, he was pretty low.
Bobbie: How long have you known him?
Will: About ten years. I was doing a visiting professorship at UCLA, while he was still there.
Bobbie: [Nods her head at Sal] And what about you two? How far do you go back?
Sal: Far.
Will: We grew up together, on Long Island. Went to Michigan together. Got separated during graduate school. He went to Caltech, and I returned to New York to study at the New School. But, we always planned on working together at some point.
Bobbie: And now, here you both are.
Will: Sal was the first person I thought of, when it came time to staff New Ridgemont High. I stole him from MIT.
Sal: He doesn’t pay as well, I can tell you that.
Will: [Brandishes the joint] But the perks, Sal.
Sal: [Laughs] Of course. The perks make up for it.
Will: [Passes the joint to Sal] What about you, Bobbie? What’s your story?
Bobbie: I’m a California beach hippie. Grew up in Santa Barbara. I was good at science and liked kids, so I became a biology teacher.
Sal: [Puffs on the joint and then hands it to her] I want to be a California beach hippie.
Will: You burn too easily.
Sal: Humph.
Bobbie: [Takes a final hit off the joint and puts it out] I think I want a drink now.
Will: I’ve got a pitcher of margaritas in the fridge. [Gets out of the hot tub and goes inside]
Bobbie: He’s really happy, isn’t he?
Sal: The happiest I’ve ever seen him.
Bobbie: It’s strange though. He’s warm and sociable; intimate, even. And yet… [she takes a cigarette from her purse and lights it. Smokes thoughtfully] …there’s a distance. It’s like he’s far away, even though he’s close.
Sal: Will’s a dreamer, Bobbie. He’s constantly thinking; imagining. The only time he’s totally engaged is when he’s with the kids.
Bobbie: [Exhales a cloud of smoke and shakes her head] I don’t think he sees them as kids.
Sal: No, he doesn’t. In fact, he’d correct me if he heard me call them that. He takes them very seriously. I mean, you don’t invest the kind of responsibility that he’s invested in Chloe, Tom, and Mitch, if you think of them as kids.
Bobbie: It’s not just that. It’s like he’s one of them, you know? [Smokes intently]
Sal: He is one of them. He may operate in our world, but his heart is in theirs.
Bobbie: Does that worry you?
Sal: Sometimes. He can get so involved that he forgets the bigger picture and crosses, like, eighteen different lines. Of course, that’s also the only reason why the whole damned thing works. [Shakes his head]
Bobbie: [Wrinkles her nose] I would say that part of the point of New Ridgemont High is to question where those lines are and to redraw them.
Sal: You and Will are kindred spirits. I’m just glad that Doubting Tom Rosen is keeping an eye on things.
Will comes out with a tray, on which is a pitcher and three glasses. He puts it down, pours two margaritas, and hands them out. Pours a third for himself and slips back into the hot tub.
Bobbie: [Sips her drink and sighs with pleasure] I see that you’re a mixologist, as well as a chef.
Sal: Let’s just say that Will is a master of all the Epicurean arts.
Will: That’s his nice way of saying I’m a hedonist.
Sal: The best kind of hedonist, of course.
Bobbie: [Raises her glass] To Hedonists!
Will and Sal: [Clinking glasses] Here! Here!
Will: So, Bobbie, any significant other?
Bobbie: No, I’m single…well, divorced.
Sal: Do tell.
Bobbie: Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid. Got married too young. I was in love, in the way that only a young hippie can be. It never occurred to me that love wasn’t enough; that there had to be a basis for growth; a purpose for the relationship once the head-over-heels part was over. We didn’t last two years.
Sal: Are you dating anyone?
Bobbie: Not at the moment. [Takes a long drag off of her cigarette.] There’s no lack of suitors, though.
Sal: Some of the other teachers have expressed interest?
Bobbie: [Laughs] Them and the students.
Will: Is that awkward for you?
Bobbie: Not at all. They’re sweet about it. Kevin Reilly has a serious crush. He gave me roses on my birthday.
Sal: Jeez, how do you handle that?
Bobbie: There’s nothing to handle. He hits on me — in creative and flattering ways, I should add — I reject him — drolly — everyone laughs. Rinse, wash, and repeat.
Sal: Seems like treacherous ground.
Bobbie: [Rolls her eyes] Please, spare me that bullshit. The boy is eighteen years old and has a healthy libido. I can’t get all hyped up about him hitting on me, and he can take the rejection.
Will: I like your attitude.
Sal: You resemble her attitude.
Will: She’s right, Sal. People his age and a couple of years older won the Second World War. Don’t buy into this week’s panic.
Sal: I’m not buying into anything; just pointing out the realities.
Will: We all know the realities. The point is to try and change them. Otherwise, what the hell are we doing?
Sal: You know that I agree with you, in principle. Just don’t forget that the people outside of the NRH universe don’t.
Will: [To Bobbie] He gives this sermon every Sunday. The last time I heard it was when I refused to bust the students for drinking at the Celebration Ball.
Sal: Refused to bust them? You cheered them on and got them all taxis. I’m starting to wonder whether you would have spiked the punch if they hadn’t thought of it first.
Bobbie: I heard about that. Fucking awesome!
Will: I’m not re-litigating this, Sal. Suffice it to say that I don’t subscribe to the “We all had fun, now you don’t get to have any” school of thought.
Sal: I hate when you play the hypocrite card.
Will: That’s just because you know I’m right.
Sal: Humph.
Bobbie: [Laughing] Do you two always go around and around like this?
Sal: Always.
Will: It’s part of his job description: “Save Will Friedman from himself.” You’ll find it in his contract, between teaching physics and sponsoring the chess team.
Bobbie: The chess team?
Sal: I’m a nerd, okay? So, sue me.
The three laugh, and Will pours another round of margaritas.
Location: The living room of the Gold residence. Chloe, her father, Steven, and mother, Rachel, are talking, while they wait for Will Friedman to arrive. Chloe is wearing a white cocktail dress and pale turquoise pumps.
Chloe: I’m so excited!
Mr. Gold: You should be. It isn’t every day that a high school Junior gets invited to a dinner party at the Mayor’s mansion.
Chloe: It’s just because I’m the student body president.
Mr. Gold: There’s a reason why you won that office. The students saw something special in you; something that made you deserving of the presidency.
Chloe: I guess. It just makes me uncomfortable, tooting my own horn.
Mr. Gold: You should never feel embarrassed about being good at what you do, Chloe, or about being popular.
Mrs. Gold: I understand what she’s saying, Steven. [Squeezes her daughter’s arm] Chloe’s never been an attention-hound.
Mr. Gold: Sometimes you get the attention, whether you want it or not. Chloe’s been put in a position of authority. The Mayor’s invitation is just the most recent indication of that. There’ll be more.
Chloe: Both Principal Friedman and I were invited to represent the school, Dad. It’s New Ridgemont High they’re interested in, not personalities.
Mr. Gold: [Laughing] You’ll do anything to avoid taking credit.
Chloe: New Ridgemont High isn’t any single person’s triumph. Everyone’s special.
The doorbell rings. Mr. Gold crosses the room and opens the door to greet Friedman, who is dressed in a tuxedo and holding a bouquet.
Friedman: [Bowing slightly and offering Mrs. Gold the bouquet] A pleasure to see you, Mrs. Gold.
Mrs. Gold: [Beaming and taking the flowers] Thank you so much, Principal Friedman!
Friedman: Call me ‘Will’, please.
Chloe: [Kissing Friedman on the cheek] Hi Will!
Friedman: [Holding her at arm’s length] Chloe, you look absolutely beautiful!
Chloe: [Shining] Thank you!
Mr. Gold: Can I get you a drink, Will?
Friedman: [Looking at his watch] I’d love to, but if we don’t leave right away, we’ll be late. I cut things a bit close. [Looks apologetic]
Mrs. Gold: Then, I hope you can come and have dinner with us soon. Chloe has told us so much about you, and her experience at New Ridgemont High has been nothing short of magnificent.
Friedman: I gratefully accept. And you should know that Chloe has played no small part in our school’s success.
Mr. Gold: You might want to tell her that. She’s determined to refuse credit.
Chloe: Dad!
Friedman: That’s part of the reason she’s been such an effective leader. Chloe sees this as a community effort. No individual should get the credit, not even me.
Mr. Gold: I can see why Chloe holds you in such high regard. You two think alike.
Mrs. Gold: Who else will be there, Will?
Friedman: Congresswoman Best. John Hughes and Bret Easton Ellis, representing the Foundation. Some local business leaders. There may be others I’m unaware of.
Mr. Gold: Wow, that’s some guest list.
Friedman: They have plans to open two more schools in California, based on New Ridgemont High.
Mr. Gold: Where?
Friedman: Oakland and Berkeley.
Mrs. Gold: That’s so exciting!
Mr. Gold: Well, don’t let us keep you. I’m sure Chloe will give us a full report tomorrow. Have a good time sweetheart. [Kisses Chloe]
Chloe: Thanks, Dad; Mom. I’ll tell you everything over breakfast.
Mrs. Gold: Sounds good. Bye bye!
Will and Chloe depart. Will’s Mustang is parked in the driveway, and he crosses over to the passenger side to open the door for Chloe, after which he climbs into the driver’s seat, beside her.
Will: How about we put the top down? It’s a lovely night.
Chloe: Sounds wonderful.
Will presses a button and the Mustang’s convertible roof retracts. Starts the car and pulls away from the curb.
Chloe: Play some Simple Minds. I need courage.
Friedman presses “play” on the tape deck, and Simple Minds, “Alive and Kicking” comes on.
Chloe: [Her eyes closed] Mmm.
Will: What do you need courage for?
Chloe: [Eyes opening] Tonight. This is a big deal.
Will: [Laughing] You’re more than up to it.
Chloe: Nonetheless. [Brushes a wisp of hair away from her face] This whole thing is about confidence, now. Ours. Theirs. We need to put on a good show.
Will: We will. Don’t worry.
Chloe: So, how far along are these “plans” you mentioned?
Will: Pretty far. The charter school legislation’s already been passed, the monies allocated, and the sites selected. It’s just a matter of implementation, now.
Chloe: That’s gonna’ be a crazy amount of work.
Will: I know.
Chloe: How deeply involved do you have to be?
Will: [Lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. Exhales, the smoke dissipating into the air behind him] Deeply. We don’t want this done in a half-assed way.
Chloe: Of course not.
Will: Thank God for you and Tom. The school will be in good hands, when I have to leave campus.
Chloe: You should let Mitch help you.
Will: [Takes another hit off of his cigarette] You think so?
Chloe: Definitely. No one is better at implementation than him, and no one understands the science of what you’re doing better than he does. He’s read all of your published papers on Social Immersion Theory, and he’s been poring over your notes on New Ridgemont High.
Will: I have no doubt he’d be a tremendous asset, and I’d love to have him around. It’s just…
Chloe: What?
Will: Remember that night, when we were all hanging out in my office? I hated the thought that any of you might not get the full New Ridgemont High experience, because of your respective positions and offices. Well this is the same thing. Asking Mitch to do all of this stuff that has nothing to do with being a student.
Chloe: We’ve discussed this already.
Will: [Finishes his cigarette and flicks it out of the car] I guess I’m still not convinced.
Chloe: What about me? Aren’t I breaking immersion tonight?
Will: Yes.
Chloe: So, do you wish I wasn’t here?
Will: No…of course, not.
Chloe: [Sighs] We all chose the parts we’re playing…no one forced any of this on us.
Will: You’re right.
Chloe: [Puts her hand on Will’s shoulder and pats it.]
Chloe: Don’t deny us our voice. We want to be a part of what’s going to happen; to stand with you, as you take this thing across the state and the country.
Will: I’m starting to think that your voices are the only ones that really matter.
Chloe: So, you’ll let Mitch help you?
Will: Yes. I’ll talk to him about it on Monday.
Chloe: [Leans back in her seat, with a satisfied air] Good.
Will: [Chuckling] Who am I kidding, anyway? I couldn’t do this without you guys. And I definitely couldn’t face this gig tonight, without you, Chloe.
Chloe: I’m with you all the way, Will. Whatever happens…wherever it goes. [Her voice falters slightly and she looks down] And…
Will: Yes?
Chloe: [Looks up at him] Going to this party with you…it means a lot to me.
Will: Me too.
Chloe: [Laughing] So, why did you give my mom the flowers?
Will: Oh, that’s right! I forgot. [Reaches under the seat and holds up a pale blue rose corsage]
Chloe: You are such a sweetheart.
Will slides the corsage onto Chloe’s wrist, and she beams with pleasure. Reaches under the seat again and produces a matching boutonniere, which he pins to his jacket lapel.
Will: Now we’re ready.
He pulls up to the curb, in front of the Mayor’s mansion. A valet opens the passenger-side door and offers his hand to Chloe, as she rises from the seat, then takes the keys from Will and hands him a ticket.
The two make their way up the walk. Light and the sound of people talking emanate from double doors, which have been left open, their white curtains billowing in the California breeze. Upon entering, they are greeted by Mayor Clark and his wife, Carolyn, who are standing in the foyer.
Mrs. Clark: [Offering her hand to Chloe, who shakes it] Miss Gold, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. [Turns to Friedman] And it’s wonderful to see you again, Will.
Friedman: Carolyn…Mayor…thank you so much for the invitation.
Mayor Clark: [Smiling broadly] Good to see you, Will! [Turns to Chloe] So this is the inimitable Chloe Gold.
Friedman: In the flesh.
Mayor Clark: I’ve heard fantastic things about what you’ve been doing at New Ridgemont High, Chloe.
Chloe: [Bowing slightly] It’s been an honor and a privilege, sir. Our students are the best in the state.
Mayor Clark: I’ve gathered that. It’s what all this [gestures around the room] is about. You’ve captured the attention of the Governor. This thing wouldn’t be happening without his support.
Friedman: Will he be here tonight?
Mayor Clark: I’m afraid not. Scheduling conflict. He sends all his best, though, and wishes you Godspeed. We’ve got quite a situation on our hands.
Friedman: Have things gotten that bad?
Mayor Clark: Worse. Six more California school districts closed their campuses this week, and the governor has received twice that many requests for emergency funding for school police. There won’t be a single open campus in the state by the end of the year, and I don’t need to tell you about the situation nationally. Juvenile arrests are skyrocketing across the country.
Friedman: So, it’s really happening…the final crackdown.
Mayor Clark: [Grimly] Looks like it. And don’t think for a second that the kids are taking it lying down. A number of local student organizations have formed to fight the new regime, staging protests, sit-ins; the works. They’re loosely organized under a statewide teen network that calls itself the “Student Action Committee.”
Chloe: Good for them.
Mayor Clark: A significant number of teachers have joined them. We may be facing mass walkouts if this continues. Honestly, I’m scared of what might happen. A lot of these small town Mayors and Sheriffs are real law-and-order types, and their constituents are worried and confused. The situation is ripe for disaster.
Friedman: Would they actually use the police to break up the protests? Force them back into the classroom?
Mayor Clark: [Looking very concerned] Yes I do, Will. In fact, I can’t get Kent State out of my mind.
Chloe: [Puts her hands over her mouth] Oh, my God.
Friedman: [Touching her shoulder] It hasn’t come to that yet, Chloe.
Mayor Clark: Hence the urgency, Will. I know you’re not ready to take this thing statewide. My science education was good enough to know that you need more than a semester to figure out whether a complex operation like this can be replicated in different environments. But time is running out, and you’re the best hope we have.
Friedman: We won’t let the state down, Harris. Chloe and I are working on the planning, and on her recommendation, I’m asking Mitch Bennett to be my personal assistant; to help me with what is going to be a very complicated implementation.
Mayor Clark: Bennett. He’s the student who’s been doing your TV and radio, isn’t he?
Friedman: Yes, Mitch is exceptionally gifted, not just in technology, but in strategic planning. He conceived, designed, and is now managing all the school’s media operations and public relations.
Mayor Clark: Sounds like the man for the job.
Chloe: He’s the best, sir, and a lovely person to work with.
Mayor Clark: [Laughing] From you, that’s high praise indeed. I might have a job for him when he graduates.
Chloe: You couldn’t do better.
Mayor Clark: Why don’t you two head into the smoking room and chat with some of the other guests? Dinner will be served in about an hour.
Friedman and Gold cross the foyer.
Friedman: [Aloud, to himself] It’s happening now. Four years early. What does it mean?
Chloe: What’s four years early?
Friedman: [Distractedly] Nothing…don’t worry about it.
Chloe looks at Friedman, her eyes narrowing slightly, but remains silent.
Friedman: [Points to the far side of the room] Look… there are Bret and John. Let me introduce you.
Chloe: [Looking a bit thrown] Uh…
Friedman: Are you nervous about meeting them?
Chloe: A little. They’re two of my biggest heroes.
Friedman: They’re also two of my dearest friends. They’ve been with me on this since the very beginning. I want you to be a part of our group.
The two cross the room and join John Hughes and Bret Easton Ellis. Hughes is wearing a black silk tuxedo and patent leather shoes and has a turquoise handkerchief in his jacket pocket. Ellis is in a blazer, Levi’s, and red Chuck Taylors and sports a white t-shirt, with “Save Ferris” silkscreened on it. Both men are laughing uproariously.
Friedman: [Puts his arm around Ellis’s shoulder] So, what have we missed?
Hughes: We were just discussing whether this party is too square for Bret.
Ellis: No one’s drunk, John. It’s wrong.
Hughes: He’s very upset.
Ellis: And the women…ugh…hags on fucking parade. [Notices Chloe, standing slightly behind Friedman] Until now, that is. Hello foxy.
Friedman: Bret, John, let me introduce New Ridgemont High’s student body president, Chloe Gold.
Ellis: [Admiringly] That is definitely a student body.
Hughes: Ignore him. He’s going through his fifth mid-life crisis.
Chloe: [laughing] It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ellis.
Ellis: Being called ‘mister’ is…disquieting.
Hughes: [Laughs and shakes Chloe’s hand] I’ve heard a lot about you, Chloe. And before you call me “mister,” it’s “John.”
Chloe: Right. Ixne on the “misters.”
Ellis: What are you drinking, Chloe?
Chloe: White wine. Something dry.
Ellis: [Bows] Your wish is my command. [Makes his way through the crowd to the bar]
Hughes: So, I gather that congratulations are in order.
Friedman: I guess…I have very mixed feelings about this whole thing. Seems like a Hail Mary.
Hughes: [Seriously] I know.
Friedman: I just don’t like rushing something like this. It’s too important.
Hughes: There’s no waiting in this political environment, Will. We all knew that the politicians would jump if New Ridgemont High was a success.
Friedman: [Looking miserable] Yeah.
Hughes: And the Foundation is ready for it. Steve’s already working with the Oakland and Berkeley school districts to get the computer tech set up, and Madonna and Rick have started a community information tour. The groundwork is being laid, as we speak.
Friedman: [Patting Chloe’s hand] I certainly am fortunate in my friends and colleagues.
Ellis returns from the bar, balancing a small tray, loaded with drinks.
Ellis: One Sauvignon Blanc for Miss Gold.
Chloe: I thought we were ixneing the “misters” and “misses.”
Ellis: Payback. Bombay martini with a twist, for Mr. Hughes and scotch for Dr. Friedman. [Looks apologetic] I hope Glenlivet is OK. The bar is notably light on single malts.
Friedman: [Laughing and taking the drink from Ellis] Glenlivet is fine.
Chloe: What are you drinking, Bret?
Ellis: Tequila. Patron. Blanco.
Chloe: I’ve had bad experiences with Tequila.
Ellis: There are no bad experiences.
Chloe: [Smiles] I like that.
Ellis: Well, if you like that, I’ve got…[Feels in his pocket and looks panicked] Out of cigarettes! Help!
Friedman: [Hands Ellis a brand new pack of Lucky Strikes] I brought an extra. [To Chloe] The man is always bumming.
Ellis: [Removes a cigarette and lights it] You dear man…God bless you. [Points at Friedman with the cigarette] And I resent that remark.
Hughes: You resemble that remark.
Everyone laughs.
Ellis: So, how’s the management of this thing gonna’ go, Will? You can’t be Principal of three schools.
Friedman: The current Principals will be trained in the NRH model.
Ellis: You don’t seem very happy about it. Do you think they’re not up to the job?
Friedman: No, not at all. I know both of them quite well. They’ll do just fine.
Ellis: So, what is it?
Friedman: I’m worried that I’m going to turn into some godforsaken Superintendent.
Hughes: Is that sort of oversight really necessary? I mean, we’re only talking about two more high schools, at this point.
Friedman: The implementation is going to be really difficult, John. Remember, we had years to plan, before New Ridgemont High opened. Now, we’re asking existing high schools to completely transform their operations in less than a year’s time.
Chloe: You’ve already got the answer, Will. You just aren’t seeing it.
Friedman: Go ahead.
Chloe: This executive council, you’ve put together, with the student leadership.
Friedman: Yes?
Chloe: Let them serve in an advisory capacity to the new schools. Have Mitch and his team do a few site visits; help them get set up. Let Tom show them how to organize student government. That sort of thing. There’s no need for you to run out every five minutes.
Ellis: That’s a damned good idea.
Hughes: Yes, it is, and it’ll really bring the schools together; forge connections between the respective student bodies.
Friedman: Like sister schools.
Hughes: Exactly.
Friedman: I like it. Especially the social aspect. To have three immersed populations interacting like that.
Chloe: And I bet you could get some of our local businessmen and women to consult with their counterparts in Oakland and Berkeley. I’m sure that Mr. Bruno would be interested.
Friedman: [Squeezes Chloe and kisses the top of her head] It’s brilliant, Chloe; absolutely brilliant!
Chloe: [Looking very satisfied with herself] That’s what I’m here for.
Ellis: Crisis averted. Can we get drunk now?
Congresswoman Best emerges from the crowd and joins the group. Hugs Friedman. Shakes hands with Hughes, Ellis, and Chloe.
Ellis: [Sighs] So much for that idea.
Congresswoman Best: What idea?
Friedman: Congresswoman Best. It’s an honor to see you again.
Congresswoman Best: The honor is all ours, Will. You are about to save our asses, after all.
Ellis: [Laughing] Not too much pressure, there!
Friedman: [Looking both pleased and terrified] We certainly will do everything we can.
Congresswoman Best: If New Ridgemont High is any indication, we have every reason to be confident.
Friedman: New Ridgemont High is, in many ways, an ideal situation Susan. Other schools may pose more of a challenge.
Congresswoman Best: [Turning to Chloe] And this must be Miss Gold. [Offers her hand] It’s a pleasure to meet you.
Chloe: Thank you! Your work with the Progressive Caucus has been an inspiration.
Congresswoman Best: From what I hear, you’re pretty politically accomplished yourself. I followed your campaign for Student Body President. Impressive.
Chloe: Well, I have you and the Caucus to thank in part. My governing philosophy is based on the Caucus’s.
Congresswoman Best: I may have to call on your expertise sometime. We can’t seem to win elections to save our lives. We’re not exactly the largest caucus in the House.
Chloe: You’re selling yourself short. Caucus sponsored candidates have been winning local elections all over the state. That’s where the real power is, anyway: school and zoning boards; auditors and country clerks; sheriffs; the people who have a daily, practical effect.
Congresswoman Best: You should be the State Party Chair. How do we sign this girl up, Will?
Friedman: You’ll have to wait until she graduates, I’m afraid.
Congresswoman Best: [To Chloe] Call me the day after. I’m serious.
Chloe: [Glowing] Thank you! I will!
Congresswoman Best: Well, I should go shake hands and do the Congresswoman thing. It was great seeing all of you. [Turns to Will] Let’s set up a meeting next week. You can walk me through what’s going to happen between now and next August. Bye all! [Waves at the group and departs]
All: See you!
Ellis: [To Chloe] That was the most expert schmoozing I’ve ever seen.
Chloe: I was not schmoozing.
Ellis: Let’s see. You’re seventeen years old, and the congresswoman said you should be State Party Chairman and then offered you a job. If that isn’t schmoozing, I’m a teetotaler.
Chloe: Okay, I was schmoozing a little.
Hughes: It’s pretty incredible, you have to admit. When I was seventeen, I was chucking newspapers from my bicycle.
Chloe: [Suppressing a smile] Could we get off the subject of my awesomeness, please?
Ellis: There’s so much of it, though.
They all burst out laughing. A moment later, the butler enters the room and announces that dinner is ready.
Location: Charlie Smith’s house, in Compton. Myron, Ben, and Randy are hanging out in the living room, watching “Five Deadly Venoms” on Betamax. Charlie, Myron, and Ben are drinking beers, while Randy sips Chinese tea.
Ben: How about lighting that spliff?
Myron: Don’t you want to wait for Mitch? He should be here soon.
Charlie’s sister Tisha, enters the room. Stands with one hand on her hip.
Tisha: Don’t stink up the place with that shit, Charlie.
Charlie: [Waving her off] We’ll go outside.
Tisha: And don’t leave beer bottles lying around, either.
Charlie: Did mom deputize you or something?
Randy: Your mother works hard. She doesn’t deserve to come home to a trashed house.
Tisha: Thank you. At least one person here has some class.
Ben: [Reaching out towards her] Come over here, baby…let’s have a cuddle.
Tisha: [Swatting away his hand] With you, stinking of beer? No thanks.
Ben: That’s harsh.
Tisha: You know I don’t like all this drinking and shit.
Charlie: “All this drinking and shit”? We’re just hanging out, enjoying a spliff and some beers, and you act like we’ve turned the place into a crack house.
Tisha: I just don’t like it, OK? Look at what this shit’s doing to our neighborhood…to our community.
Randy: She’s got a point. You know what the Minister has to say about booze and drugs.
Ben: Here we go.
Randy: I ain’t goin’ nowhere…just sayin’. What do you think, Myron?
Myron: [Seriously] I think you’re both right and wrong on this, D.
Randy: Go on.
Myron: In the abstract? Sure, “drugs and alcohol” have done a lot of damage to our community.
Randy: But?
Myron: It doesn’t follow that everyone who has a drink or smokes a joint is hurting himself or destroying his community.
Charlie: Word.
Myron: I enjoy our Hong-Kong weekends. And I enjoy a beer or two and a joint. I don’t think we’re hurting anyone.
Randy: What about the example we set? We’re supposed to be the cream of the community.
Myron: That’s not fair. We got into New Ridgemont High. We do well in school. None of us has ever been arrested or even gotten so much as a parking ticket. We have to be the embodiments of Black virtue too? Don’t put that on my shoulders.
Randy: Peace, brother. I meant no disrespect.
Tisha: You’re right, Myron. I’m sorry.
There is a knock at the door.
Myron: That’s Mitch.
Charlie rises from the couch and crosses the room to the door. Opens it. Mitch Bennett enters.
Charlie: Mitchie! What is up?
Mitch: Sorry I’m late. My mom got lost. She’s never driven around this area before.
Myron: Is it cool?
Mitch: She was a little worried, but I reassured her.
Randy: Is she racist?
Mitch: Not at all! She and my dad are San Francisco hippies.
Tisha: Be fair, this is a dangerous neighborhood, Randy.
Randy: Like we don’t know that? Unfortunately, we don’t have the option of living in the Valley or Beverly Hills.
Myron: Same point as before. You can’t put that on her shoulders.
Mitch: They’re just a little overprotective.
Randy: Sorry.
Mitch: No, I get it. Sixty years after civil rights, and L.A. is still segregated. It’s bullshit.
Ben: You want a beer, Mitchie?
Mitch: Sure.
Ben cracks open a beer and hands it to Mitch.
Charlie: Let’s go out back.
The boys make their way outside to a small, grassy yard, surrounded by a privacy fence. In the middle is a Wing-Chun dummy. Charlie brings out a boombox and sets it on the ground near the house where there is an electrical outlet. Plugs it in and presses “play” on the cassette deck. Newcleus’ “Jam on It” is the first song.
Myron: Newcleus? That is some old school shit, C!
Charlie: It’s got groove, man. None of this falling-down-the-stairs, mumbling shit everyone’s doing’ now.
Randy: It’s alright. A little foolish though, all that “wiki wiki wiki” stuff.
Myron: [laughing] No NWA, no Randy.
Randy: That’s when it got real, man…when it started speaking from the streets…none of this “hip hop hibbie hibbie” nonsense.
Myron: Grandmaster Flash grew up in the Bronx. Built the first crossfader with a bunch of scrap from a junkyard. I’d say that’s “street” enough.
Charlie: NWA weren’t the first to do that whole gangsta’ thing anyway. It was Schoolly D, in Philly.
Ben: Schoolly’s the man.
Charlie: I’ve got Saturday Night queued up.
Myron: You’ll like that one, Mitch. The lyrics are hilarious.
Mitch: I’m liking this one.
Ben: Spark that spliff!
Charlie pulls a thick joint from behind his ear and lights it. Takes a long drag and offers it to Mitch.
Mitch: I don’t know…I mean, I never…
Ben: Go on, son. It’s good for you.
Myron: You don’t have to smoke if you don’t want to, Mitch.
Mitch: I’ll try it…thanks. [Takes the joint and draws carefully off it. Holds his breath for several seconds and then exhales gently.]
Charlie: Boy’s messin’ with us…smokes like a pro.
Mitch: I do? [Takes another hit and passes the joint to Charlie]
Charlie: Shit, yeah! You’re like some funky, nerd aristocrat or something. [Imitates Mitch smoking]
All: Ha ha!
Myron: So, what do you think?
Mitch: It’s nice. Mellow. The music sounds really good.
Charlie: [Taking a drag off the joint and handing it to Ben] Nothin’s better for listening to choice beats than the Chronic.
Mitch: Aren’t you smoking, Randy?
Randy: I walk the path set down by Minister Farrakhan. I don’t smoke or drink.
Ben: [Gesturing with the joint] Truth. Boy doesn’t even swear.
Randy: Sound in mind and body and civil in tongue. [Walks over to the Wing-Chun dummy] You been practicing that stuff I taught you, Mitch?
Mitch: Every day. I use the post on my bunk bed.
Randy: [Tilts his head at the dummy] Show me.
Mitch: [Horrified] Oh, no, I couldn’t do that…not now. [Holds up the beer, in a helpless gesture]
Ben: Pshaw! You ain’t barely drank shit.
Mitch: I smoked pot too.
Ben: Chronic focuses you. You’ll be even better.
Charlie: Do it!
Myron: Yeah, why not? Give it a shot.
Mitch: [Dubiously] Well…OK. [Puts down his beer and approaches the dummy]
Randy: Show me what you got; anything you want.
Mitch executes an inner block against the uppermost arm of the dummy and quickly throws down his other hand to block the lower arm that spins around, but a third arm, at ground level, sweeps his feet and knocks him down.
Randy: [Helping Mitch up] Gotta’ watch the feet, man.
Mitch: The bedpost doesn’t do that.
Randy: [Steps up to the dummy] You block the lowest arm, with an inside shin-kick. Like this. [Demonstrates with strong, fluid blocks and kicks]
Mitch: I gotta’ practice a lot more.
Randy: You need a dummy like this. Would your parents buy you one?
Mitch: Dunno’. They’re usually pretty supportive. They think I need exercise.
Randy: I’ll hook you up at the place I shop.
Mitch: Thanks! [Picks up his beer and takes a long drink]
At that moment, three neighborhood girls, Felicia, Sondra, and Kim stick their heads over the privacy fence.
All: Surprise visit boys!
Sondra: We’re here to help you with your math homework.
Charlie scrambles over to the fence and unlocks the gate. The three girls saunter past him, into the yard.
Mitch: [Sitting next to Ben, sharing the joint, and watching the girls] Oh, wow.
The girls are dressed in complimentary pastel stretch mini-skirts and tube tops and walk with a confident swagger, their large, gold, hoop earrings jingling beneath elaborate, oiled black and brown hair. They are laughing and snapping gum.
Ben: [whispering] What did I tell you about Hong Kong weekends, Mitchie? [Rubs a tear from his eye] Fine females!
Mitch: [Dazedly] Word.
Felicia: So, what are you boys doing this afternoon?
Charlie: Hong Kong weekend, Lish. If it’s Saturday, it’s Hong Kong weekend.
Felicia: [Putting her hand on her hip] Which means you boys are sittin’ around, watching kung fu movies, drinkin’, and getting high.
Charlie: If you put it that way…
Felicia: I do. There better be some left for us.
Charlie: [Takes the joint from Ben. Bows and hands it to Felicia] My lady…
Felicia laughs and tosses her hair. Takes a long drag and hands it to Kim.
Kim: [Pulls gently on the joint and narrows her eyes. Gestures towards Mitch] Who’s Richie Cunningham?
Myron: This is Mitch — Mitch Bennett — a friend from school.
Mitch: Hey, Kim!
Kim: [Inspecting him] He looks like a nerd.
Myron: Mitch’s cool, Kim. He’s part of the posse.
Ben: [Slapping Mitch on the back] Truth!
Kim: [Purring] He’s cute. [Walks up to Mitch and holds his chin, tilting his head up] So, you like Compton girls, Mitch Bennett?
Mitch: As of today, they’re definitely my favorite.
Kim: [Laughs] Smart too. I like smart. [Reaches into a tiny purse hanging at her waist and removes a slip of paper and a pen.] Here’s my number. Call me. [Turns and walks back to Sondra and Felicia. The three girls exchange whispers, laughing, and then depart through the gate, taking the joint with them.]
Mitch: [To Ben] Did that just happen?
Ben: It did.
Charlie: [Leans over and clasps Mitch’s hand, doing his best Flavor Flav impersonation] Say, yeeah, boyyy!
Location: The NRH auto shop. Jon Baron, Marty Savini, and Kevin Reilly are working on Friedman’s 1967 Mustang convertible. Music blares loudly from a boombox.
Jon is under the hood, tightening several nuts with a wrench.
Kevin: So, how’s everything looking under there?
Jon: Fan-fucking-tastic. This engine you found is a beauty. The car is one hundred percent vintage parts, now.
Marty: Sweet.
Kevin: Why don’t you and Marty do the waxing and buffing? I’ll work on the leather.
Jon: [Picks up two jars of auto wax and hands one to Marty] Sounds good.
Kevin grabs several clean rags and a tube of leather conditioner and climbs into the car.
Kevin: Doc F is going to flip when he sees his ride all pimped out.
Jon: Have you guys caught the YES laser-light show at the Planetarium, yet?
Marty: Has that started, already? It was still Floyd the last time I checked.
Jon: Yeah, they changed the bill last week. We went the first night. It was fucking packed.
Kevin: Who’d you go with? Doesn’t seem like your kinda’ scene.
Jon: There’re a few stoners among us…Denise, Sandy, Jaime…
Kevin: Mmm…Jaime…that girl is fine.
Marty: Kind of a bitch though.
Jon: She brought Tom Rosen to the show.
Kevin: What the fuck is going on around here? I tried to hit on that cute nerdy girl, Laurie Pence at the school party last month, and she tells me she’s dating David Weber.
Marty: Why don’t you go out with Stacy? She digs you.
Kevin: Too familiar. I like dating outside the box.
Marty: Outside the box is where you’re gonna’ stay, if you keep chasing nerds and Star Crew chicks.
Kevin: It worked for Joanne. She’s dating a nerd.
Marty: Joanne gets what she wants.
Jon: [Rubbing wax into the hood] I wasn’t sure about Tom. Didn’t like him too much during the election campaign. I voted for Gold.
Marty: Me too.
Kevin: Me three. Now that girl is hotness on fucking steroids.
Marty: Good luck with that. The only person who’s got a shot with that chick is Doc F.
Kevin: No freaking way.
Marty: I’m just sayin’… So, what about Tom, Jon?
Jon: He was totally cool. The boy can roll perfect joints with one hand. We got blitzed out in the parking lot before the show.
Kevin: So him and Jaime…they’re really a thing?
Jon: As far as I can tell. They spent half the night making out.
Kevin: [Shaking his head] That’s just weird.
Jon: He’s perfect for her. Quiet, but tough, you know? Smart. She’ll trash talk him, and he’ll shut her down with, like, two words.
Kevin: Lucky bastard.
Marty [Straightens up] Okay, the wax is on. Time to buff.
Kevin: Cig break, first.
Jon: I hear that.
Kevin pulls a pack of Marlboros out of his jeans pocket and hands Jon and Marty cigarettes. Passes around a lighter. Just as they’re lighting up, the shop door opens, and Will Friedman enters, carrying a large thermos in one hand and a stack of Styrofoam cups in the other.
Marty: Yo, yo, yo!
Kevin: [Grinning widely] Doc F!
Friedman: I thought you guys might like some coffee.
Jon: We were just taking a cig break.
Friedman: [Fills cups with steaming, black coffee and hands them around] Perfect timing. I’ll join you. [Takes a cigarette from behind his ear and lights it] So, what’s up? Fill me in.
Kevin: [Proudly] It’s done, man. Finished. We’re just putting the shine on it.
Will: You guys rock.
Marty: Your car fucking rocks…thanks to us! [Raises a fist, which Kevin promptly punches]
Will: I don’t know what to say. [Bows] Thank you.
Kevin: [Waves his cigarette] It was our pleasure. A fine ride, for a kick ass Principal.
Will: [Pondering] I’m working through what possible compensation I could give you for this awesome accomplishment.
Kevin: [Laughing] You’ve been paying us, man! I’ve made almost a thousand bucks working on this car.
Friedman: In this condition, in this market, it’s worth a hundred thousand. I’d say I got a bargain.
Kevin: [Looks Friedman in the eye and nods] Righteous.
Will: [With a businesslike air] Well, first of all, the obvious…[pulls out a checkbook and rapidly writes three checks, which he hands around]…three hundred apiece, as an extra thanks and in acknowledgement of the ridiculously professional job you’ve done.
Jon: Right on, man. Thanks!
Will: Next: You guys rebuilt this baby, so you ought to be the first to benefit from it. I say we all drive down to Malibu this weekend and spend a day on the beach. Eat lunch, have afternoon drinks. On me.
Kevin and Marty: Fuck, yeah!
Jon: I hear that. Count me in, too.
Kevin: It’s been so warm, the girls’ll be out in bikinis even though it’s November.
Will: One of the great joys of life in Southern California. It’s thirty degrees right now, in New York. No girls walking around in bikinis.
Kevin: You grew up on Long Island, right? I bet you’ve made a lot of trips down to the beach.
Will: Every chance I could get. I used to skip school and go down to Jones Beach with my friends in that car. [Points at the Mustang]
Kevin: Girls, too?
Will: [Pulls on his cigarette. Exhales.] Sometimes. There were always a lot of girls at the beach, though. We weren’t the only ones skipping, and there were tons of college students, too.
Marty: Does it ever feel weird?
Will: What?
Marty: [Gesturing around] This…the whole 80s retro thing. Doesn’t it feel weird? I mean, that’s when you were in high school.
Friedman: Yeah, I graduated in 1986.
Jon: It must feel like a time warp…seeing everyone walking around in 80s gear, talking 80s talk, 80s programming on TV, radio…
Jon: [Puts his hands up] You don’t need to convince me. I think New Ridgemont High rules.
Will: What do you like about it the most?
Jon: [Points around the room] This. You’ve put a lot of money into the shop, and there’s a full roster of tech classes: auto repair, carpentry, plumbing… There’s more going on here than at the community college.
Marty: It is pretty fucking cool, Doc. No school in an area like this would ever offer this much shop.
Will: I believe in it. These are some of our noblest professions. The world is only as beautiful as its craftsmanship.
Kevin: Okay, that is totally righteous.
Will: [Laughs and finishes his coffee. Takes a final hit off of his cigarette and flicks it to the floor.] I’ve gotta’ take off. This weekend? Saturday? 10AM? I’ll pick you guys up?
Kevin: [Grips Friedman’s hand] You know it, man.
Marty and Jon: 10AM!
Will: [Opens the door and then turns, giving them the OK sign] Be seeing you!
All: Later!
November 20, 2010, 5:30pm PST.
Location: New Ridgemont High’s back parking lot after football and cheerleading practice. Jaime Cohen, Valerie Saunders, Elizabeth Goodman, and Sandy Kendel are sitting on the hoods of their cars, which have been parked in a tight circle, their headlights creating a pool of white light between them. It is dusk, and the sky has taken on a deep purple and blue hue, punctuated by the occasional sparkling of a newly visible star.
Liz: [To Valerie] It must be hard, though. I mean, with cheerleading and football, you must see him all the time.
Valerie: Actually, it hasn’t been hard at all. He was so offended at being dumped that he totally ignores me now.
Sandy: You have to admit, it was a bit drastic, chucking him like that. And on the phone, no less.
Valerie: He’s turned into a real asshole. “I’m top dog, ‘cause I play football” and all that shit. His crap about “blacklisting” Jaime for breaking up with Carl was just one example. He does that sort of stuff constantly. I actually saw him give some poor nerd a goddamned wedgie in the hall last week. I wanted to punch him.
Sandy: Ah, giving nerds wedgies. The finest of the 80s traditions.
Valerie: It’s pathetic, whatever decade it is.
Jaime: But you and Mike have been together forever.
Valerie: Since Junior High. I’d say that’s long enough.
Jaime: [Sighs] I guess. It’s just that everything’s changing so much. It feels like the old crew is falling apart.
Liz: It is, but so what? Everyone grows. Evolves. You can’t expect to have the same friends forever or at least, not all the same friends.
Valerie: I can barely stand talking to Denise anymore. She’s such an airhead.
Liz: [Laughs] She’s always been like that, Val.
Valerie: Yeah, I know. I used to think it was cute. Now it just annoys me. I mean, how long are we gonna’ act like this? We’re graduating next year. You can’t give people wedgies and giggle like an idiot in college. You’ll be a fucking outcast.
Sandy: She’s gonna’ go to UCLA. She’ll pledge SDT. Everyone will be cute and bubbly. They’ll all date football players. Denise will fit right in.
Valerie: Ugh. Sounds awful.
Jaime: Yeah, I am so done with that scene. Football players are just morons. [Looks apologetically at Sandy] Present company excluded, of course.
Sandy: [Laughing] You’re right. Football is just a high school thing for me, anyway. They don’t have football — or any varsity sports — where I plan on going, after graduation.
Jaime: So, you’re sticking with Vassar?
Sandy: Yeah. I wanna’ do French and comp. lit.
Jaime: [Shakes her head] And I said you wanted to learn French just to get into that foreign exchange student’s pants. I’m sorry.
Sandy: I won’t lie and pretend that wasn’t a consideration, at least at the time. But I’m really digging it now. Mr. Longo rules.
Liz: You see, Jaime? Everyone evolves.
Jaime: Carl isn’t evolving and apparently, neither is Mike.
Liz: Almost everyone.
Jaime: Well, Tom is definitely evolved. Highly.
Valerie: Why didn’t you bring him to my party last week?
Jaime: I’m still thinking about how I want to…integrate him into the crew.
Liz: I’d drop that. Tom Rosen isn’t integrating into anything.
Jaime: You know what I mean. It’s gotta’ be the right time, with the right people. He’d fucking hate Denise, and I don’t want him running into Carl.
Sandy: Why? Are you afraid Carl’s gonna’ kick his ass or something?
Jaime: The opposite. I’m afraid Carl will say something stupid and Tom will kill him and bury him in a hole out in the desert.
Liz: I could totally see that. He’s so J.D. You know, from Heathers.
Valerie: Holy shit, you’re right.
Sandy: That’s freaky.
Liz: So, it’s been really good with him, huh?
Jaime: Yeah, it has. I still can’t believe it.
Liz: What’s so great? The sex? At our last sleepover, you said he fucked like a champion.
Sandy: Do I really have to hear this part?
Jaime: No, it’s not that. Don’t get me wrong, the sex is amazing and there’s a lot of it, but that’s not the best thing about dating Tom.
Liz: It’s official? You two are dating now?
Jaime: Yes.
Valerie: So, what’s so great about him?
Jaime: I can be myself when we’re together; say whatever I’m thinking; act however I’m feeling. I can be bitchy, I can be sad, I can be happy…it doesn’t matter. He’s cool with it.
Liz: That’s awesome.
Jaime: And he’s private, you know? Not a showoff. After being paraded around the school by Carl like a goddamned trophy, it’s a relief to be with someone who doesn’t think of me as a boost to his cred.
Valerie: I understand why you didn’t want to bring him to my party, but let’s hang out together sometime, OK?
Jaime: I promise.
Liz [Lies back on the hood of her car and stretches] I love this time of the day. It’s so beautiful.
Jaime: [Quietly, as if she is reciting] I wish I could stop time, just before the night falls…hold still the twilight…live forever under the purple sky.
Sandy: Jaime, that’s beautiful.
Jaime: [Looks down] I’ve been…writing…a little.
Valerie: What have you been writing?
Jaime: I don’t know…thoughts…feelings…impressions. Nothing formal.
Liz: Is it Tom’s influence?
Jaime: A little bit. I mean, I’ve been doing it for years, on and off, but he’s really encouraging…wants me to take it more seriously. He says I have a “unique perspective.”
Liz: He’s very perceptive. You never really fit the Star Crew stereotype. I’m glad that someone else noticed and that you’re embracing it.
Jaime: I love writing. It’s liberating. I’m gonna’ take Mr. Jameson’s Writing Workshop in the Spring.
Valerie: I think that’s a great idea.
Liz: And you pooh-poohed me, when I said that people evolve. You certainly have. Sandy has.
Sandy: At Central, I wasn’t interested in anything other than sports and getting laid. If you’d told me that a year later I’d be studying French literature and applying to Vassar, I would have laughed in your face.
Liz: It’s the school…and Principal Friedman.
Sandy: Totally. This place is magic.
Liz: [Looking at Jaime] You didn’t like it though, at least, not at the beginning.
Jaime: Yeah, it freaked me out a little, but I was still in the Central mindset. Cheerleading and the crew…that was it. Now that I’ve been here almost an entire semester, it’s rubbed off on me. I get it now. There’s energy here…good energy. All you have to do is tap into it.
Valerie: So, what’s everyone doing tonight?
Sandy: I’ve gotta’ get back home. If I don’t finish Madame Bovary, I won’t be able to participate in the discussion tomorrow.
Liz: I don’t have anything going on.
Valerie: Neither do I.
Jaime: You guys wanna come over?
Liz: Can we read some of the stuff you’ve written?
Jaime: [Looking slightly panicked] Oh, I don’t know.
Liz: What? Are you embarrassed?
Jaime: A little, yeah.
Valerie: Jaime Cohen embarrassed. This has to be a first.
Jaime: [With a dignified air] It’s important to me.
Liz: All the more reason to share it with your friends.
Valerie: If it’s important to you, it’s important to us!
Jaime: Okay.
Liz: Cool! [Slides down the hood and gets into her car. Starts it and rolls down the window] See you two, in a few. Bye Sandy! [Waves as she backs out of the lot]
Sandy: [Calling after her] Later! [Hugs Jaime] Catch you tomorrow, baby. [Waves at Valerie and gets into his car] Au revoir!
Valerie: A bientot! [Turns to Jaime] That’s half the French I know. ‘Bonjour’ is the other half.
Jaime: See you at my place?
Valerie: You know it. [Kisses Jaime and jumps over the door of her convertible, into the driver’s seat. Pulls out in a cloud of dust]
Jaime looks up at the sky for a long moment and then turns to her car. She is smiling.
Location: The Principal’s Office. William Friedman is reclining in a leather upholstered arm chair smoking a cigarette. Sal Levy is perched on the edge of Friedman’s desk, leafing through some papers Friedman has handed him. Music emanates from a pair of speakers, mounted on the far wall.
Sal: [Looking up from the papers] So, this is becoming a big deal.
Will: [Takes a long drag off of his cigarette] Apparently.
Sal: Do we want it to become a big deal?
Will: That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To prove that this thing works and then replicate it.
Sal: Yeah, I know. It just seems awfully fast. We haven’t even finished the first semester.
Will: Well, mid-semester grades have come out, and we’re number one in the state. Ditto on PSAT scores.
Sal: I just think that we need to have a full year under our belts before we can say “It works. Go spend millions of dollars.”
Will: You know I don’t disagree with you. It would seem, however, that politics is more impatient than science. They need something to take to the constituency, Sal. Things are really going to shit out there.
Sal: It’s precisely that desperate mood that worries me. It means that you can’t rely on the support you get. They might turn on you at any moment.
Will: [Draws on his cigarette again and then puts it out in the ashtray. Rises] Let’s have a drink.
Sal: But, the gang will be here any minute.
Will: One drink, Sal. I’m not lining up shots.
Sal: Scotch?
Will: Scotch.
Sal: The Bruichladdich?
Will: The Bruichladdich.
Sal: Alright, then. One.
Will: A double?
Sal: You’re a bad man.
Will laughs and pours the whisky into a tumbler. Hands it to Sal and pours himself one.
Will: [Holding up his glass] To New Ridgemont High, long may she reign.
Sal: [Clinking Will’s glass] To you, man. For putting this thing together and getting it right.
Will and Sal: Cheers.
There is a knock and the door opens. Chloe Gold and Tom Rosen enter.
Will: [Crosses the room to greet them] Chloe! Tom! Welcome!
Chloe: [Hugs Will and Sal in turn] Good to see you!
Tom: [Shaking Friedman’s hand] Principal Friedman.
Will: Please, Tom. ‘Will’.
Tom: Are we the first ones here?
Sal: Yeah, we’re still waiting on Mitch and the other wizards from the NRH media empire.
Will: Can I get you guys anything while we’re waiting? Tea? Coffee? I have some soda in the fridge.
Tom: I’ll have a Bruichladdich.
Sal: Why did I know that was going to happen?
Will: Alright. We’ll be here an hour at least.
Chloe: Me too!
Will: [Hesitating] Uh…
Chloe: I didn’t drive…Tom brought me.
Will: [Smiles] Well, then, by all means. [Pours the Scotch into two tumblers and passes them to Chloe and Tom]. Cheers!
Sal: I look forward to your next academic paper, Will, when you discuss this particular…er…aspect of social immersion.
Will: This is in the finest tradition of higher education. If we were at Oxford, we’d be doing this three times a week, in my rooms.
Sal: Oxford’s a university, Will, not a high school.
Will: Kids used to go to Oxford at thirteen years of age.
Sal: In 1260.
Will: What are years? You know we’re playing with time, here.
Sal looks at Will, his right eyebrow raised.
Will: Drink your Scotch, Sal.
Sal: Sic ut dicis, Domine.
Chloe: Mmm, this is absolutely delicious.
Will: That’s the best of the Islay malts.
Tom: [Settling into Will’s chair and sipping his drink] So, what’s all this about?
Will: There’s news I need to share with you guys, but let’s wait until Mitch and the others arrive.
Sal: You gonna’ give them all Scotch too?
Will: If they want it, yes. Don’t worry, I have another bottle.
Sal: That wasn’t really what I was getting at.
Tom: Good news or bad news?
Will: Interesting news. I’ll let you decide whether it’s good or bad.
The door opens and Mitch enters, followed by David and Laurie, with Lee, Lance, and Brian bringing up the rear.
Lee: [His arms raised, pointing into the room] Yo! Yo! Yo!
Mitch: For God’s sake, Lee.
Lee: Chill, man, it’s cool.
Will: [Shaking Mitch’s hand] Mitch, Laurie, guys…it’s great to see you!
Laurie: [Kissing him on the cheek] Hi Principal Friedman!
David [Leaning in and offering his hand] Principal Friedman!
Will: [Shaking it] Please, everyone, call me ‘Will’.
Lee: Heya, Will!
Will: You are most welcome, Lee. [To everyone] Drinks?
Lance: What is it?
Will: Scotch. I also have tea, coffee, and soda…Coca Cola and Sprite.
Lance: I’ll have Scotch.
Lee: Every day’s a surprise with you, lately. When did you become so exciting?
Lance: I happen to like Scotch.
Brian: Coca Cola.
David: Scotch.
Laurie: Sprite. [Looks apologetic] I only like foo-foo drinks
like Sea Breezes.
Lee: Scotch.
Mitch: Coffee.
Will: Cream and sugar?
Mitch: Black.
Friedman goes to the other room to get the coffee and sodas.
Lee: [To Sal] So, what’s up?
Sal: Will has news. I’ll let him tell it.
Will returns, with a tray bearing two highball glasses, filled with soda, which he hands to Brian and Laurie, and a small percolator, with a cup and saucer, which he gives to Mitch. Returns to the bar, where he pours three more measures of Scotch into tumblers and passes them to Lance, David, and Lee. Refills his own glass and raises it.
Will: To New Ridgemont High!
All: [Raising their glasses] To New Ridgemont High!
Will: I hope that this will be the first of many informal meetings that we’ll have, over the course of the year. Their purpose, in part, is to allow us to talk business, without the hustle and bustle of the school going on all around us, but beyond that, I want to treat these meetings as an opportunity to speculate, theorize, and brainstorm. Each of you brings special abilities and talents that New Ridgemont High can benefit from.
Chloe: [Squeezes Will’s arm] Plus, it’s nice to see each other socially, isn’t it?
Will: [Beaming] It certainly is.
Tom: So what’s our business?
Will: New Ridgemont High is leading the state in mid-semester grade point averages and PSAT scores, and it’s causing a major buzz in the state Capitol and the Governor’s mansion. There’s talk about replicating the experiment; creating two new charter schools, based on the New Ridgemont High model, as early as next Fall.
Tom: I see.
Lee: Are you – are we – ready for that? I mean our school’s amazing and everything, but we haven’t even been in session a full term.
Chloe: It does seem a bit quick.
Friedman: Sal and I agree with you. In my gut, I’m sure that New Ridgemont High is working beyond my wildest dreams. But, scientifically? We don’t have nearly enough data to draw any inferences at all, let alone claim publicly that it works.
Brian: Yeah, I mean, your sample is skewed isn’t it? Practically the entire student body is a massive exercise in high performing self-selection.
Will: That was always going to be a limitation, Brian. This is a practical exercise, using human subjects. I had to start with a population that was already high achieving. You can’t experiment with people like you do with animals.
Sal: One thing to remember about the social sciences: you can never apply the methodology too rigidly. It has to be elastic; to shape itself to the contours of things, as they occur on the ground.
Lance: I like that. Flexible science for flexible circumstances.
Tom: So, how do you intend to respond to this?
Will: I haven’t decided yet. That’s part of the reason I wanted you guys to come tonight; to take soundings. And to talk about the PR side of it. I know Mitch has a lot of ideas on that front.
Mitch: I do, indeed.
Tom: Well, it would seem logical to start with what our response is going to be and then move on to how we’re going to communicate it.
Will: Agreed. So, what do you think we should do?
Tom: Given the politics? We should get in front of it. Otherwise we’re going to be led around by people who don’t know what they’re doing. This way, at least, we’ll be in control of the process.
Sal: I wouldn’t assume we’ll be in control of much of anything outside these walls, but I agree that we can’t just sit and wait for it to go away.
Will: It won’t go away. The situation in the high schools — and with youth more generally — is reaching a crisis point. They want to do something.
Lee: You mean, they want to be seen doing something.
Tom: Politically speaking that amounts to the same thing.
Sal: But are we prepared to do this [waves his hand around the room] publicly? It’d be one thing if we had a year’s success under our belts and a whole bunch of graduates going to Ivy League schools; hard proof that the NRH model works. But to let it all hang out now? I’m not sure the public is ready for it. In fact, I’m sure they aren’t.
Lee: [Bitterly] Yeah, people like lying to themselves too much.
Will: Granted and granted. Still, we have to respond.
Mitch: I think it’s time for an information tour.
Chloe: What do you mean?
Mitch: We’ve got the media center set up. Let’s use it to teach the public about Social Immersion theory and to show them New Ridgemont High.
Will: What do you have in mind?
Mitch: Well, the student features, for one. We should run those every week. Let people see what the students are doing here; how the place works.
Sal: You’ll have to be very careful in your editing Mitch. You can’t broadcast footage of kids smoking behind the building.
Mitch: Of course not.
Tom: I can help with that. You and your team produce the features, and I’ll take the knife to ‘em, before passing them up for final approval.
Will: That should work. What else?
Mitch: I know you hate being on television, but we really should do some in-depth interviews with you. Provide the scientific context for the stuff the public’s gonna’ see.
Will: I’ll wear my best suit.
Lance: How about some walkthroughs with Chloe? Y’know, “Welcome to our school, I’m your tour guide,” that sort of thing.
Chloe: [Turning pink] Why me?
Tom: Isn’t it obvious? You’re articulate and good looking. People will buy anything you’re selling.
Chloe: Ugh.
Mitch: He’s right. You’re the best advertisement the school has.
Chloe: That seems awfully cynical.
Will: Dress down. Make it about the substance. You are the Student Body President. Who better than you to give the public a tour of the school?
Chloe: Hmm.
Mitch: You’ll be fantastic, Chloe, really. Your love for the school will come through. And there’s no one else who can speak for everyone. It has to be you.
Tom: Principal Friedman talking about the experimental side of New Ridgemont High and you showing it to them from the inside, at the personal level? It’s perfect.
Chloe: [Laughs and tosses her hair, the light causing her eyes and lips to sparkle] Okay! You’ve convinced me. I’ll do it! [Takes a long sip of her drink]
Tom: [Leaning over to Mitch and whispering] That, Mitch, was one of those heart bursting moments I was talking about the other day.
Mitch: I’m trying to ignore it. “Throw myself into the work,” remember?
Tom laughs and downs the remains of his drink. Gets up and crosses over to the bar, where he pours himself a glass of water.
Will: There’s one thing about this that I don’t like.
Sal: Just one? I could fill a yellow pad.
Will: It’s going to mean a break in immersion for you guys.
Tom: And that bothers you?
Will: Yes. Very much.
Tom: Why?
Will: [Looks down at his drink] Because this only works if the greatest possible level of immersion is maintained. It means that you aren’t getting the full experience.
Tom: I understand.
Will: New Ridgemont High is my love letter to young people, Tom. The thought that you can only have part of it; that you have to go out there and promote the damned thing… I should be doing that for you.
Chloe: Oh, Will…
Mitch: Principal Friedman – Will – your “thing” has changed my life. I’d say that I’ve gotten all of it, not just a part, and I’ve been here only three months.
Lee: No one feels ripped off, Will.
Sal: They want to help, Will, and we need them. This thing is too big for one person. And it shouldn’t just be the adults talking about it. The students should get to have their say.
Will: I know. I always want things to be perfect.
Chloe: They are. We’re all here together, aren’t we? What else is there?
Lance: Yeah, I mean it’s not like we were exactly rocking and rolling before.
Will: [Laughs] Lance, you have a magnificent attitude. I’ll cancel the pity tour.
Tom: So, we’ll use the Media Center to educate the public and promote the school. What else?
Will: I’m thinking that we ought to have some sort of Executive Council; one that includes student leadership across the population.
Tom: And by student leadership you mean…?
Will: You, Chloe, and Mitch, for starters. Depending on how the various student organizations develop, I would consider adding a few others.
Sal: That’s very university-like, isn’t it?
Will: Yes, and it’s on purpose. Remember that op-ed I photocopied for you? By Leon Botstein?
Sal: Where he argues for eliminating high school altogether and sending kids to college, right after junior high?
Will: That’s the one. While I disagree with the main thesis, a lot of the points he makes in getting to it are sound. A good part of the problem we’re having today comes from infantilizing teenagers. They’re not children for god’s sake.
Sal: Argentina lowered the voting age to sixteen.
Will: I wish the U.S. would do the same. It would transform our politics for the better.
Chloe: Well, I think it’s a fabulous idea. [Looks at Mitch and Tom, who are nodding] Count us in.
Will: That’s about all I have for tonight, unless you guys have something you want to discuss?
Tom: It’s a lot to digest. No need to pile on more.
Mitch: I don’t have anything either.
Will: Let’s hang out a little, then. Let that Scotch work its way out of you before heading out. Music requests?
Chloe: You know what I want to hear.
Will: [Laughing] Yeah, I know. [Grabs the Simple Minds tape that is sitting on his desk and heads over to the stereo.]
