November 6th, 2020, 4:00pm

Location: The New Galleria shopping mall. Fran Rosenberg, Sean Anderson, Marissa Preston, and Tim Goldstein are hanging out.

THE NEW GALLERIA SHOPPING MALL

Fran: [Sipping soda, from a Styrofoam cup] So, how’s the band coming together, Tim?

Tim: Pretty good. We need a drummer though.

Fran: Have you asked Marty? He’s an amazing drummer.

Tim: I’ve thought about it. Don’t know If he’ll be into the music, though…he’s a metalhead and we don’t do metal.

Fran: He’s not that pure about it. What are you guys playing, anyway?

Tim: Punk and post-punk. Everything from Black Flag to Siouxsie and the Banshees.

Sean: He might be into that. I know he likes Bad Religion, the Minutemen…

Marissa: I love Bad Religion. 

Tim: They’re the band Green Day wishes they were.

Marissa: Ugh…Green Day…can you say “poseurs”?

Tim: So…I should ask him?

Sean: Yeah, totally. Marty’s a nice guy…even if he says “no,” he’ll be cool about it.  Kevin, on the other hand…

Fran: Yeah, Kevin’s all metal all the time. He doesn’t play drums, though, so it’s a non-issue.

Tim: So, let’s assume Marty does it. That just leaves us short a singer.

Sean: That might be harder.

Tim: I know. Singing takes a lot of confidence…and given the kind of music we do, confidence is more important than ability. Half the shit’s just screamed anyway…it’s all about attitude.

Fran: What about Joanne?

Marissa: That’s a great idea!

Tim: [Surprised]Yeah, it is, actually…but do you think she’d do it?

Fran: No clue. You’d have to ask her.

Tim: [Grimaces] I’m kinda’ scared to. What if she punches me or something?

Sean: [Laughs] Yeah…she’s done that to me more than once. My natural friendliness annoys her.

Fran: Natural friendliness…you pinch her ass, every chance you get. You’re lucky you still have fingers.

Tim: Well, then, I definitely won’t ask her.

Fran: Don’t be ridiculous. Half that shit’s an act. She hangs out with a lot of boys…she’s got two older brothers…it’s just her way of making sure no one bosses her around. Joanne’s actually really smart…and totally unpredictable. I mean, she’s dating Lee Lindberg, for god’s sake.

Sean: What is up with that anyway? I thought she was going to kill that kid when she first met him.

Fran: Joanne’s her own girl…and Lee’s changed a lot since he started hanging out with us.

Sean: I guess…I still think he’s annoying though.

Fran: Which is why you’re not dating him.

Sean makes a face.

Tim: Hmm. She’d be really good on the punk tunes…I don’t see her doing Siouxsie and the Banshees or any of the more stylized stuff, though.

Fran: Would you consider two singers?

Tim: I hadn’t thought of it, but I don’t see why not.

Fran: ‘Cause Stacy’d be perfect for that stuff. She’s half Goth anyway…she hangs out with the metal kids, ‘cause there aren’t too many Goths at New Ridgemont High.  

Sean: A blond Goth? Are you kidding?

Fran: I said “half a Goth” didn’t I? She likes Blondie too…Toyah Wilcox…stuff like that. One thing though…she’s pretty high up on the bitch scale.

Tim: We can handle that. Singers are supposed to be prima donnas. Plus, if Marty says “yes,” he can run interference.

Marissa: Sounds like you have a band, then.

Tim: Yeah, it might work.

Sean: Well, now that that’s settled, can we do something? I’m getting kinda’ bored. This whole mall thing’s a little junior high, you know?

Fran: We came here to shop, remember? You wanted to check out vintage-t’s, and I wanted a new pair of boots.

Sean: Yeah, so what? I’m still bored.

Tim: I’m hungry, actually. Anyone up for Burger King?

Marissa: Yeah! A Whopper sounds good.

Fran: [Shrugs] I’m game.

Sean: [Looking suddenly devious] You guys go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you there.

Fran: What are you gonna’ do, Sean? You have that “trouble” look on your face.

Sean: Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Go ahead.

Fran: [Dubiously] Alright. See you there.

Fran, Tim, and Marissa head for Burger King, while Sean goes off in the opposite direction.

Location: Burger King, in the New Galleria Mall. Tim, Marissa, and Fran are eating. Sean comes in, carrying a large bag, with a “Puppy Palace” logo on it.

Sean: Heyo![Plunks the bag down on the table.]

Fran: What the hell did you buy?

Marissa: I vote puppy!

Tim: If it’s a puppy, I’ll give you twenty bucks.

Sean: Definitely not a puppy.

Tim: [Puts his hand out, in front of Marissa] Twenty bucks…hand it over.

Marissa: Uh, I don’t recall anything about me paying you anything.

Fran: It’s something bad, isn’t it?

Sean: ‘Bad’ is such an inadequate term.

Fran: You’re scaring me with these long words, Sean.

Sean: I’ll have you know that these weren’t cheap. [Removes a box from the bag. There is a slight rustling.]

Fran: Ack! Something’s moving in there.

Tim: “These”…so it’s not just one animal.

Sean: One? No, no, no…not one. Tips the lid up towards Tim.

Tim: Oh, my.

Fran: What? What?! It’s something horrible isn’t it?

Sean: I’ve never seen you like this, Francie. What happened to Miss Tough Chick?

Fran: I can’t deal with skittering things.

Tim: Rats to be precise. Four fat rats.

Fran: [Covering her mouth] Oh my god…

Marissa: What could you possibly want with a box full of rats?

Sean: [Returns the box to the bag] I’m glad you asked that, Marissa. You know, I was looking at these cute little guys in the pet store, and I had a sudden pang of conscience. I thought, “They should be free.”

Fran: I agree. The Sierras would be a great place for them.

Sean: A little nearer than that.

Marissa: You’re gonna’ let them loose in here, aren’t you?

Sean: It’s perfect…plenty of food…climate-controlled.

Fran: [Eyes narrowed.] This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you used to work here and got fired, would it?

Sean: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Tim: This won’t please the management.

Sean: It may cause some trouble with the local Board of Health, I admit.

Fran: It’ll cause trouble with our health, moron. You wanna’ get us all arrested?

Sean: [Raises a finger] Ah, but there’s the best part. As a part of the City of Ridgemont’s notable effort to assist Principal Friedman, in his quest for Total 80’s Recall, the owners of the New Galleria have elected to forgo the typical police substation and hired private security instead.

Tim: You mean there’s no one but mall cops watching the place.

Sean: There you go!

Fran: Sean, if you get us in trouble…

Sean: You worry too much, Francie. Back in a flash.  [Picks up the bag and heads towards the men’s room]

Marissa: Is he always like this?

Fran: Yeah… I think he didn’t get enough attention as a child or something.

Marissa: Maybe he won’t go through with it.

Screams and panicked shouts emerge from the back.

Tim: He went through with it.

Sean returns, crumpling the empty bag in his hands and looking very pleased with himself.

Sean: Now, we sit back and enjoy the show.

Fran: You’re unbelievable.

Sean: [Proudly] Thanks!

Someone yells “Rats!!” and several Burger King employees run out into the dining area, with brooms.

Sean: Well, those won’t help. How are you gonna’ catch a bunch of rats with a broom?

A large woman, in a pastel-pink track suit and a big, frizzy perm, runs screaming past the teen’s table, carrying a tray piled with food, only to fall face first, with a gigantic crash.

Tim: Oh, dear.

Marissa: [Admiringly] Well, this really is the shit, isn’t it?

Another older woman comes from the back and points at Sean, with a wrinkly finger.

Old Woman: It was him! I saw him do it! Back by the bathroom! He had those rats in a box!

The day manager, a rail-thin, pimply kid with braces, comes from around the counter and moves towards the teens’ table.

Day Manager: [Shouting back over his shoulder] Call mall security!

Sean: [Rubbing his hands together and standing up] Time to go! [Turns and sprints for the exit, with Tim, Marissa, and Fran close behind.]

Manager: [Sputtering] Wait! Come back here! You…you…!!!

The four teens make it to a side-corridor, off of the cavernous atrium, and pause in front of a jewelry store.

Sean: Ah! I feel young again!

Fran: You are young, you idiot.

Marissa: Do you think we got away with it?

Tim: I don’t know…that manager told them to call mall security.

Fran: Great.

Sean: Let them come! I am the King!

Fran: Right…King of the rats.

Sean: I’ll take that as a compliment. Hey, this is a really nice jewelry store. 

Fran: Don’t even think about it. Burger King is one thing.  Start fucking with diamond rings and shit, and they’ll sic a SWAT team on us.

Sean: [Spreading his hands innocently] What? I was just thinking about enhancing this lovely window display.

Fran: I suspect they have professional consultants for that sort of thing.

Sean: Yes, but I’m talking about something bold!  Colorful! [Brings a fistful of mustard and ketchup-packages from his pocket and begins smearing yellow and red blobs all over the jewelry store window]

Marissa: What is it with you and vandalism, anyway?

Sean: ‘Vandalism’ is such a…pejorative word.

A mall cop comes running around the corner. He is heavy-set, with several fleshy chins, and is wearing an ill-fitting tan getup that looks like a cross between a police uniform and a ‘70’s tuxedo.

Mall Cop: [Breathing heavily.] You there! Stop that!  [Grabs at Sean’s arm.]

Sean: [Who is half a head taller than the mall cop and waving the packets above his head] Check it out! El Capitan wants me to stop!

Mall Cop: [Jumping up and down, trying to reach the packets] You hand those over right now!

Sean: Make me!

Tim: This is like watching my brothers fight over who gets the GI Joe with the Kung-Fu grip.

Fran: Well, I’m fucking sick of it. I wanna’ get out of here, already. [Roughly shoves the mall cop]

The security guard, who is already off balance, falls into Sean, pushing him against the jewelry store window, which promptly shatters. There is a moment of stunned silence.

Tim: Oh, my.

Sean: [Wagging his finger at the mall cop, who is sprawled on the floor, covered in mustard, ketchup, and broken glass] Now look what you’ve done! 

Mall Cop: [Flailing and sputtering] That’s it! I’m calling the cops on you delinquents! [Fumbles for his walkie-talkie]

Sean: You know, trying to blame others for your mistakes really isn’t…

Fran: Time to go, Sean!

Sean: Well, you heard the lady. I’m afraid we have to take off. Best of luck with…[surveys the wreckage and the mall cop, who is still struggling to get up]…this.  

The four flee for the exit.

November 12, 2020, 9:30pm, PST

Location: Erica Carlson’s bedroom. Jaime Cohen, Denise Diamond, and Elizabeth Goodman are having a study-night/slumber party. MTV is running in the background.

Liz: [Jabbing her finger at the page of an open textbook] It says it right here: “At the center of the counterculture were student activists, who rallied around causes ranging from civil rights to opposition to the Vietnam War.”

Jaime: So? What’s your point?

Liz: My point is that kids used to really be involved in stuff, you know? They changed everything. What do any of us do, besides complain and accuse people of things on social media?

Jaime: They were college students, Liz, not “kids.”

Liz: Semantics. We’re only talking about a few years…what, from sixteen to eighteen you suddenly turn into a different person?

Erica: I agree. We’ve all been to parties at UCLA…USC…those people aren’t any more mature than we are.

Jaime: We’re as mature as a bunch of drunk, horny frat boys? That’s your comparison?

Erica: They’re still considered “adults” aren’t they?  I mean, they can vote and stuff.

Jaime: Well, yeah, but…

Liz: It was you who made the point that we shouldn’t take the counterculture as an inspiration, because they weren’t “kids” but college students.

Jaime: I wasn’t making any point, Liz. I just don’t have any use for that counterculture shit.

Denise: It does all seem a little…overwrought.

Liz: Well, we need to know it anyway…Hoffman’s test is next week.

Jaime: [Growling] What kind of American history class is this anyway? Shouldn’t we be learning about Pilgrims and shit? I like Pilgrims. They aren’t annoying.

Erica: It’s Principal Friedman’s whole thing about “relevant education.” Remember the spiel he gave that time, when he came and spoke to our class?  [Deepens her voice] “The society you live in was forged over the last forty-five years and it’s crucial that you understand it.”

Denise: [laughing] You sound like him, ‘Ric!

Jaime: Ugh.

Liz: [Flipping a few pages, forward.] Okay, Jaime, here’s an easy one. What was a “prominent nickname for the summer of 1964”?

Jaime: I need a clue.

Liz: Civil rights movement? Student led efforts to register Southern blacks to vote?

Jaime: I don’t know…“We Love black People Summer”?

Liz: Try again. Think Mississippi Burning.

Jaime: “We Love black People in Mississippi Summer”?

Erica: Can you say “racist”?

Liz: Yeah, Jaime…I mean, really….

Jaime: Fuck both of you. I’m the one who dated Carl, not you self-righteous bitches.

Denise: Um…you dumped Carl, remember?

Jaime: Because he was a lame jerk, not because he was black.

Liz: Freedom Summer, Jaime. It’s called “Freedom Summer.”

Jaime: Argh! I knew that.

Erica: Speaking of which, Jaime…dish…what’s it like dating Tom Rosen?

Jaime: We’re not dating.

Erica: Okay…what’s it like seeing Tom Rosen?

Jaime: Fucking awesome.

Erica: A bit more detail, please.

Jaime: [Snorts] So you guys can run it through the rumor factory? No thanks.

Denise: Don’t you regret leaving Carl at all?

Jaime: No.

Denise: Don’t you miss him?

Jaime: No.

Denise: But…Carl’s so…hunky…and Tom’s so skinny and…alternative.

Jaime: If you think Tom’s “alternative,” you need to get out more. As for Carl, he’s not as “hunky” as you think.

Denise: But, he’s big…and muscley.

Jaime: He’s muscley all right…including his fucking head…but as for “big”…

Erica: Ooh, I’m sensing something good here.

Liz: Yes, do tell, Jaime.

Jaime: Well, he always used to parade around in a towel, after showering…just so I’d “admire” his bod…like I should be grateful or something… [Shakes her head] God, what an asshole he was.

Erica: And…?

Jaime: I got a peak underneath, here and there and…well…he wasn’t big at all. Actually, he was kinda’ small.

Denise: [Flapping her hands excitedly] What about Tom?

Jaime: What about him?

Denise: You know…is he…big?

Jaime: Fucking huge.

Liz: And you know this, how?

Jaime: Please. After the Carl Smitts sex starvation clinic? I climbed up on that boy the first chance I got.

Denise: [Moaning] Omigod!

Erica: It was good, I take it?

Jaime: Uh…ya. And he drinks…and he gets high… [sighs] Fucking paradise.

Liz: It sounds so romantic, when you put it that way.

Denise: [complainingly] I wanna’ get laid too!

Erica: Jeez, Dee…

Liz: So, who’s stopping you? What about Sandy?

Denise: He’s too nice.

Erica: Can someone be too nice?

Denise: You know what I mean…

Erica: Actually…I don’t.

Liz: Can we get back to the Counterculture?

Jaime: To the Happy black Summer?

Liz: Freedom Summer. And no, I think we’ve had enough of that one.

Denise: Give me one!

Erica: Shit, Dee…what’s up with you? You’re, like, in fucking heat or something.

Denise: [gives her a withering look] A question, dumbass.

Liz: OK. What was the book that served as the spark for “Second Wave” feminism?

Denise: There are waves?

Liz: [Drily] Apparently.

Denise: I have no idea.

Erica: That’s easy. The Feminine Mystique…Betty Friedan. 1963.

Denise: Oh! Is that the one with all the complaining about how women can’t have careers?

Liz: That’s the one.

Denise: Yeah, I couldn’t get into that. I mean, who wants to work?

Liz: It’s not just that, though. The sexual revolution came out of Second Wave feminism, too.

Denise: It did?

Liz: Yeah…all that “I wanna’ get laid” stuff. Girls didn’t do that back in the day…or at least, nice girls like you didn’t.

Denise: [Excitedly] So…I’m a Second Wave feminist?

Liz: Sort of … I wouldn’t get a pin or anything.

Jaime: I can dig feminism. I mean, with dickheads like Carl around, we gotta’ watch out for the sistahs. Fuck the rest of it though.

Liz: You’re so full of shit, Jaime…you’re totally countercultural.

Erica: Jaime? Countercultural? I don’t know about that.

Liz: [counting off on  her fingers] Well, the fucking…that’s one. Getting drunk and high? That’s two. Lessee…dating outside the clique? That’s three, four, and five.

Jaime: We’re not dating.

Liz: Seeing outside the clique. Four, five, and six.

Jaime: Why three points?

Liz: ‘Cause it’s a rejection of class…and tradition…and conventional standards of beauty.

Jaime: I don’t think I’m the only one getting high.

Erica: Shit, Liz, that’s fucking awesome.

Liz: I gotta’ admit…I’m totally getting into this shit.  Everything we care about…every freedom we have…is from the counterculture.
Jaime: [Puts her hands up, laughing] Alright…you convinced me…I’ll study it some more!

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