American Graffiti Page #7

CRUISING MAIN STREET--STEVE'S '58 CHEVY

Terry is looking and feeling like he's got it made. He downshifts

and slows for a red light. A very mean-looking black '55 Chevy--

blown, scooped and slicked--pulls up next to him. The driver, Bob

Falfa, has a gum-chewing girlfriend sitting almost on top of him.

Terry challenges the '55 Chevy by revving his engine.

Bob Falfa doesn't even look over. He revs his engine--which

sounds like a cross between a Boeing 707 and a SuperChief. Terry

can't believe it. He quits revving his engine--feeling deflated.

Terry looks over at the snotty grin on Falfa's girlfriends' face.

GIRLFRIEND:

Ain't he neat?

Terry doesn't say anything and Bob Falfa glares over at him.

FALFA:

Hey, you know a guy around here with a piss yellow deuce coupe--

supposed to be hot stuff?

TERRY:

You mean John Milner?

Falfa nods slowly.

Hey, nobody can beat him, man. He's got the fastest--

FALFA:

I ain't nobody, dork. Right?

TERRY:

Right...

FALFA:

Hey, you see this Milner, you tell him I'm lookin' for him, huh?

Tell him I aim to blow his ass right off the road.

GIRLFRIEND (giving another snotty smile)

Ain't he neat?

Terry doesn't say anything. There's another incredible scream as

Falfa roars off, leaving Terry to stare through his smoke. Terry

accelerates the '58 Chevy--at a prudent speed.

As the radio blares "Almost Grown," Terry glides past the lighted

stores slowly, taking in everything with wide eyes from his

beautiful new car.

Terry passes a steaming rear-end collision at an intersection

where two guys and two girls are all yelling.

Then, suddenly, he spots a girl--walking--alone. His mouth drops

open in amazement as he slows to a crawl. Debbie, nineteen, with

blonde hair, wearing a blue and white spaghetti-strap dress,

strolls along the sidewalk.

Terry rolls the powerful engine, but she ignores him. As he

passes her, he speeds up.

TERRY:

What a babe...what a bitchin' babe...And Wolfman Baby, she's all

mine.

Terry tears around the corner and starts his approach once more.

He quickly whips out his comb, touches up his hair and settles

down into a comfortable slouch.

Okay, honey, here I come--James Dean lives!

He hits the clutch, roars the engine a couple more times and

then--disaster. Debbie passes behind some rough looking dudes on

motorcycles, parked along the curb. One especially vicious biker

turns and looks at Terry as he passes.

Terry roars off around the block.

Stay cool, honey--don't let those creeps bug you. Wolfman, please

don't let those creeps bug her...please.

As Debbie passes the bikers, they hoot, holler, and make barnyard

noises. From the cat calls, and Debbie's manner it seems obcious

that Debbie is a girl a lot of boys have "known."

She has walked clear of the bikers as Terry screeches around the

corner again. He pulls up alongside her and again slows to a

crawl. The pass each other for awhile, but she doesn't look over.

Hi! (lowering his voice) Hello...buenos noches? Need a lift? Nice

night for a walk? Do you know John Milner? Curt Henderson? Sure

you wouldn't like a ride somewhere? Did anyone ever tell you that

you look just like Connie Stevens?

This stops her and she turns--Terry hits the brakes and the car

bounces.

You do! I mean it! Just like Connie Stevens. I met her once.

DEBBIE:

For real?

TERRY:

Yeah. At a Dick Clark road show.

Debbie starts slowly toward the car.

DEBBIE:

You really think I look like her?

TERRY:

No sh*t--excuse me, I mean I'm not just feeding you a line. You

look like Connie Stevens. What's your name?

DEBBIE:

Debbie. I always though I looked like Sandra Dee.

TERRY:

Oh yeah--well, you look a lot like her too.

DEBBIE:

This your car?

TERRY:

Yeah. I'm Terry the--they call me Terry the Tiger.

DEBBIE:

It's really tough looking.

TERRY:

What school do you go to?

DEBBIE:

Dewey--can it lay rubber?

TERRY:

Oh yeah, it's got a 327 Chevy mill with six Strombergs.

DEBBIE:

Wow--bitchin' tuck and roll. I just love the feel of tuck and

roll upholstery.

TERRY:

You do?

DEBBIE:

Yeah.

TERRY:

Wll, come on in--I'll let you feel it. I mean, you can touch it

if you want-- (realizing it's coming out wrong he gets nervous) I

mean the upholstery, you know.

DEBBIE:

Okay. Terry is elated. He climbs out of the car and she slides

in the driver's side. Terry climbs back in next to her and slams

the door. She's sitting right next to him--like a real date

should. Terry gets a little nervous. DEBBIE

Peel out.

TERRY:

What?

DEBBIE:

Peel out. I love it when guys peel out.

Terry nods, checks his clutch, revs the engine to a high-pitched

whine and they're off--

The tires smoke, scream, the car shots off, fish-tailing, nearly

hitting a parked car, straightening out...and disappears down

Main Street.

HIGH SCHOOL GYM--THE HOP

On stage, the band is "taking five." They're looking tough for

the girls while the Student Body Secretary is making

announcements at the mike.

GIRL:

--a great band and they came all the way from Stockton. Let's

hear it.

There's applause as the girl continues.

And we want to thank Darby Langdon, who did all these neat

decorations.

There's more applause. Standing among the crowd, Steve and

Laurie both look angry.

LAURIE:

I don't care if you leave this second.

GIRL (into the mike)

Now the next dance is gonna be a snowball and leading it off is

last year's class president Steven Bolander--and this year's head

cheerleader, Laurie Henderson.

There's applause, whistles and cheers from the crowd. A blue

spotlight floats over the dance floor and then lands on Steve and

Laurie, who are in the midst of their argument.

STEVE:

What's wrong with you! You're acting like a snotty--

Laurie squints into the spotlight and realizes everybody's

watching them.

LAURIE:

Oh God, come on.

STEVE:

Come on what?

LAURIE (pulling him toward the floor)

Oh, Steven--please, everybody's watching. Smile or something.

They dance.

Steve gives a sick smile as she drags him out onto the floor. A

record needle scratches and "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" blares out

as Steve and Laurie dance alone in the middle of the floor. The

crowd quiets, getting a little misty about this soon-to-be

separated teenage couple.

For their part, Steve and Laurie are arguing, whispering in each

other's ears.

LAURIE:

You think I care if you go off. You think I'm going to crack up

or something. Are you conceited!

STEVE:

Quit--quit pinching--I don't know why I ever started taking you

out in the first place.

He takes her hand from the tucked-under-the-chin position and

puts it around him, in a bear-hug.

LAURIE:

You take me out? When we first met you didn't have enough sense

to take the garbage out...I asked you out, remember?

STEVE:

What do you mean, you asked me out!

LAURIE:

Backwards Day--remember? If I had waited for you to ask me--even

after that you didn't call me for two weeks.

STEVE:

I was busy.

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