Fast Times at Ridgemont High Page #3

Stacy grips her desk with the tension of her first

day.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)

Also. There will be no eating in

this class. You get used to doing

your own business on your own time.

That's one demand I make. I don't

like staying after class with you

on detention. That's my time. I

don't like wasting it. Just like

you wouldn't want me to come to

your house some evening and discuss

U.S. History on your time. Pakalo?

Hand finally turns, as if he has just noticed the

sound at the door and opens the door an inch.

Jeffrey Spicoli stands in the doorway, red eyes

glistening. His long, blond hair is still wet and

streaming down the back of his white peasant shirt.

He grins, oblivious to such trivial matters as

attendance bells. A Student sitting near Stacy

turns to his friends.

STUDENT:

That guy has been stoned since the

third grade.

MR. HAND

Yes?

SPICOLI:

Yeah. I'm registered for this

class.

MR. HAND

What class?

SPICOLI:

This is U.S. History, right? I saw

the globe in the window.

MR. HAND

(appears enthralled)

Really?

Spicoli holds his red ad card up to the crack in

the door.

SPICOLI:

Can I come in?

MR. HAND

(swinging door open)

Oh, please. I get so lonely when

that third attendance bell rings

and I don't see all my kids here.

Spicoli laughs. He is the only one.

SPICOLI:

Sorry I'm late. This new schedule

is totally confusing.

Mr. Hand takes the red ad card and reads from it

with utter fascination.

MR. HAND

Mr. Spicoli?

SPICOLI:

That's the name they gave me.

Mr. Hand slowly tears the card into little pieces

and sprinkles the pieces over his wastebasket.

Spicoli watches in disbelief. His hands are frozen

in the process of removing his backpack.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)

You just ripped my card in two!

MR. HAND

Yes.

SPICOLI:

Hey, bud. What's your problem?

Mr. Hand moves to within inches of Spicoli's face.

MR. HAND

No problem at all. I think you know

where the front office is.

It takes a moment for the words to work their way

out of Jeff Spicoli's mouth.

SPICOLI:

You... dick.

In the tense moment that follows, no one in the

class is sure what might happen.

Mr. Hand simply turns away from Jeff Spicoli as if

he ceased to exist and coolly continues his

lecture.

MR. HAND

I've taken the time to print up a

complete schedule of class quizzes,

and the chapters they cover. Please

pass them back to the desks behind

you...

Hand begins passing out stacks of purple

mimeographed sheets.

ANGLE ON STUDENTS

all smelling the purple mimeographed sheets.

Still standing in the doorway, hyperventilating

with fifteen-year-old adrenalin, is Jeff Spicoli.

After a time, he fishes a few bits of his ad card

out of the wastebasket and huffs out of the room.

EXT. RIDGEMONT LUNCH COURT - AFTERNOON

It's packed. The school's outdoor dining area is

actually just a small courtyard lined with fast

food machines and dominated by a large oak tree in

the center. Standing at the center of lunch court,

under the large oak tree, is Brad Hamilton and his

golf-cap Buddies.

BRAD:

You hear about the surfer in Mr.

Hand's class?

His Buddies shake their heads.

BRAD (CONT'D)

Told Hand to f*** off.

BRAD'S BUDDIES

Whoa!_

Brad sees another friend pass through lunch court.

BRAD:

Thompson!

Brad waits for him to pass.

BRAD (CONT'D)

I hear Thompson got canned at Bob's

this summer.

BUDDY #1

Yeah. They hacked his hours, so he

quit.

BRAD:

Where is he now?

BUDDY #1

Making two eighty at Seven-Eleven.

BRAD:

Man.

(pause)

They make you wear a f***in' candy

stripe suit over there.

BUDDY #2

Poor guy.

BRAD:

Poor guy.

EXT. LUNCH COURT - ANGLE ON THE 200 BUILDING

BATHROOM:

near the outer rim of lunch court. Jeff Spicoli

comes stumbling out into the daylight, surrounded

by a small group of Ridgemont Stoners. Marijuana

smoke billows out behind them.

STONER BUDDY #1

It was so bitchin', mon. Everybody

is talking about it.

STONER BUDDY #2

Totally.

SPICOLI:

The motherf***er pissed me off.

STONER BUDDY #2

Totally. You don't have to take

that sh*t.

SPICOLI:

I didn't take that sh*t.

They all laugh, flip hair out of their eyes.

STONER BUDDY #1

Tell us again. What happened after

he ripped up your ad card?

SPICOLI:

I called him a dick. And then I

reached for his class notes, and I

ripped 'em up. I said, 'Hey bud.

Two can play this game.'

The Stoners go wild.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)

I'll tell you this. If he hassles

me again, I can't be responsible

for what happens... you know why?

STONER BUDDY #1

Because he's a f***in' dick!

SPICOLI:

You got it.

(pause)

Gimme a dollar.

One surfer digs out a dollar for Spicoli. They look

out at lunch court, see it teeming with straight

kids. They turn and walk towards the parking lot.

EXT. LUNCH COURT - ANGLE ON STACY AND LINDA

as they walk onto lunch court. They take a seat on

the outskirts of the area and watch all the

students crowding onto the eating area.

LINDA:

I hear some surfer pulled a knife

on Mr. Hand this morning.

STACY:

No way! He just called him a dick.

LINDA:

God. People exaggerate so much at

this school.

The school couple, Cindy and Gregg walk by.

CINDY:

Hi, Linda. God, you look so great.

LINDA:

Hi, you guys. This is Stacy. Stacy,

this is Gregg Adams and Cindy Carr.

GREGG AND CINDY:

Hi, Stacy.

Stacy smiles. Gregg and Cindy move on, repeating

the same scene a few feet away.

LINDA:

If there's one thing that never

changes... it's a cheerleader.

Stacy turns to see a girl with short, black hair

passing by, wearing tight black spandex pants, and

dark lipstick.

STACY:

Linda. That girl looks just like

Pat Benatar.

LINDA:

I know.

They watch her pass.

LINDA (CONT'D)

Actually, there are three girls at

Ridgemont who have cultivated the

Pat Benatar look.

Linda gestures out on lunch court.

ANGLE ON ANOTHER PAT BENATAR LOOK-ALIKE

wearing pink spandex pants and short-cropped black

hair with dark lipstick.

ANGLE ON STILL ANOTHER PAT BENATAR LOOK-ALIKE

wearing blue spandex pants and short black hair.

She stands a good distance away from the other two.

LINDA (CONT'D)

None of them talk to each other.

Linda looks at them with bemusement but Stacy is

wondering.

STACY:

Do you think guys find that

attractive?

LINDA:

Oh, give me a break, Stacy. You're

much prettier than them.

They sit and eat their lunches. Linda has her

perennial diet lunch of yogurt and raw vegetables.

STACY:

Yeah but they look more

sophisticated. You'd probably think

they'd be better in bed.

LINDA:

What do you mean 'better in bed.'

You either do it or you don't.

STACY:

No there are variables that, like,

I might not be good at.

LINDA:

What variables?

STACY:

(shyly)

Like, you know, giving blow jobs.

LINDA:

What's the big deal?

STACY:

Well I never did it.

LINDA:

There's nothing to it.

She takes out a carrot stick and eases it down her

throat. Stacv tries one but chokes.

LINDA (CONT'D)

You just have to practice a little

first.

(feels her throat)

Relax these muscles. Think of your

throat as an open tunnel.

The girls try sliding the carrot sticks down their

throats without gagging.

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