Fast Times at Ridgemont High Page #6

MR. HAND

How long ago?

DESMOND:

Just before class, sir...

Mr. Hand snaps his fingers, Hawaii Five-O style.

MR. HAND

Okay. Bring him in.

Desmond hustles out the door.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)

What is this fascination with

truancy? What is it that gets

inside your heads?

Mr. Hand begins to pace the aisles as he speaks.

Occasionally, for emphasis, he bends down to

lecture directly into the students' faces.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)

There are other teachers in this

school who look the other way at

truants.

(points to attendance clip

on the doorway)

It's a little game that you both

play. They pretend they don't see

you, you pretend you don't ditch.

Who pays the price later? You.

Desmond returns to the room with a red-eyed Jeff

Spicoli.

SPICOLI:

Hey! Wait a minute! There's no

birthday party for me here!

MR. HAND

Thank you, Desmond.

(to Spicoli)

What's the reason for your truancy?

SPICOLI:

I couldn't make it in time.

MR. HAND

(in top form)

You mean, you couldn't? Or you

wouldn't?

SPICOLI:

I don't know, mon. The food lines

took forever.

MR. HAND

Food will be eaten on your time!

(pause)

Why are you continuously late for

this class, Mr. Spicoli? Why do you

shamelessly waste my time like

this?

SPICOLI:

I don't know.

Mr. Hand appears mesmerized. He then turns and

heads for the board. He writes in long, large

letters as he slams the chalk into the green board.

He writes:
"I DON'T KNOW".

MR. HAND

I like that.

He stands back and admires it. He turns randomly to

Stacy.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)

Don't you like that, Miss Hamilton?

STACY:

Yes, sir.

MR. HAND

I really like that too. 'I don't

know'... that's nice. 'Mr. Hand,

will I pass this class?' 'Gee, Mr.

Spicoli, I don't know'. I like

that.

I think I'm going to leave your

words on this board for all my

classes to enjoy. Giving you full

credit, of course, Mr. Spicoli.

We hear the blare of the dismissal bell. Stacy and

the other students get up to leave. Spicoli stays

in place. He has just figured out a truly bitchin'

comeback... and his mouth is forming the first

word, when Mr. Hand cuts him off.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)

You can go now.

Hand turns back to his desk. The rest of the

students have already left. Spicoli's audience is

gone. He shrugs and lopes out the door.

INT. RIDGEMONT MALL - AFTERNOON

It's Christmas time at the Ridgemont Mall. All

three tiers are strung with neon lights, and we

hear the sound of the bell-ringing Santas.

INT. SWENSON'S - AFTERNOON

Stacy and Linda are enjoying a brief lull in the

Christmas season madness. They sit at the sundae

bar. Stacy looks forlorn, almost red-eyed, as she

makes a sundae.

LINDA:

You've got to get used to working

Christmas. People are always

screaming and yelling... then they

get home and they're all

Christmasy.

STACY:

I think Christmas brings out the

worst in people.

LINDA:

I guess Ron hasn't called yet.

STACY:

Not since November.

Linda nods her head, always the coach.

LINDA:

Stacy, it doesn't look good for the

relationship.

Stacy continues making her ice cream, slapping the

scoops onto the stainless steel dish.

STACY:

(sighs)

Don't you think it meant anything

to him. Even if I am fifteen?

LINDA:

Stacy. What does it matter? He's a

stereo salesman. You want to marry

him? You want to have kids with

him? You want this guy to come

home, fifty years old, and he's

still got that little Pacific

Stereo badge on? Come on.

ANGLE ON GREGG AND CINDY

who are seated at a back table, feeding each other.

Stacy looks at her finished sundae.

STACY:

I should quit this job. I'm going

to get so fat working here...

nobody will ever take me out.

LINDA:

Stacy. How many times do I have to

tell you? You are really going to

be beautiful... someday.

STACY:

Thanks a lot.

Linda punches Stacy lightly on the shoulder.

LINDA:

Hey -- Ron Johnson? It's his loss.

We follow Stacy, as she walks into the dining room

to serve the sundae.

INT. WHEREHOUSE RECORDS - MALL - DAY

We see a group of buzz-cut young toughs, walking in

formation, hunched over, sneering and wearing

sleeveless U.S. Army fatigue jackets. None of these

damaged-looking kids is over the age of fourteen.

They pass to reveal this legend on their backs:

LINCOLN SURF NAZIS.

Angle on Mike Damone and Mark Ratner, who are

standing by the upcoming concert list posted on the

door to Wherehouse Records. Damone sees the Surf

Nazis pass, turns to Mark Ratner, who is still

wearing his Cinema Four jacket.

DAMONE:

The business is changing, Rat. I'll

tell you, these kids today... they

don't even listen to Aerosmith.

THE RAT:

I hear they all dress like that at

Lincoln now.

DAMONE:

There used to be three or four of

those guys. Now we see 'em every

time we come to the mall.

Damone is approached by a couple of young ticket

Customers.

CUSTOMER #1

Got any Blue Oyster Cult tickets?

DAMONE:

No Cult. I ate twenty-four pairs of

Blue Oyster Cult tickets last time

around. I was this close to working

at 7-11. No Cult.

Suddenly we see all ticket business stop. Damone

and his customers see someone menacingly coming

directly for them. The small crowd parts as Charles

Jefferson, football duffel bag in hand, walks up.

With him is a thick, tough, miniature version of

himself. This is Little Charles. They both stop in

front of Damone.

JEFFERSON:

(after long look)

When is Earth, Wind and Fire

coming?

DAMONE:

(respectfully)

I'm really not sure. I haven't

heard anything yet, but I'll let

you know the second there is the

slightest news, sir.

JEFFERSON:

I'm taking my little brother.

DAMONE:

Excellent. So that will be two

tickets... All right. Fine, sir.

Jefferson and L.C. push past the customers.

CUSTOMER #2

Wow. He really lives here. I

thought he just flew in for the

football games.

DAMONE:

(gaining composure)

Sh*t, he's my man. He knows where

to come for tickets.

Damone turns to The Rat.

DAMONE (CONT'D)

Well, Rat. Are you ready for the

moment of truth?

The Rat adjusts his jacket, and nods.

THE RAT:

She is immune to my charms.

They walk together towards Swenson's, as The Rat

drapes his aqua-blue Cinema Four jacket around his

shoulders, like a French film director. Damone

walks a few steps, then stops Rat.

DAMONE:

Hey, Rat.

THE RAT:

Yeah?

DAMONE:

Ace the jacket.

The Rat considers the suggestion, gets rid of the

jacket. They continue towards Swenson's.

EXT. SWENSON'S - DAY

The Rat pulls open the door to Swenson's. He walks

toward the counter to Stacy Hamilton.

STACY:

Hi. May I help you?

The Rat feels the beginnings of cold panic, but

barges through nonetheless.

THE RAT:

Yes. I have two questions. I was

curious...

His voice becomes a shade deeper. He begins to pull

The Attitude together.

THE RAT (CONT'D)

What do you do with the jackets

people leave here?

STACY:

(smiling)

We keep them.

THE RAT:

You keep them.

STACY:

We keep them, in case the people

come back.

She reaches under the counter and pulls out a

cardboard box with some rumbled jackets and other

items.

STACY (CONT'D)

Here they are. You can look through

it, if you want.

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