Poison Ivy

She was definitely a turnoff,|too overt.

Look at her...

Obviously, big problems.

Most girls|don't fly through the air...

with their skirt|around their waist.

Supergirl at least had|the decency to wear tights...

not that I read comics.

I'm more the politically,|environmentally correct...

feminist, poetry-reading type.

You know...

boring.

I wonder if she posed|for that painting.

Great perm.

Blond hair...

obvious bleach job.

Too bad it's six months old.

I don't know how she does it.

I get airsick on a seesaw.

I guess she's sort of beautiful.

I don't know. Those lips.

Lips are supposed|to be a perfect reflection...

of another part|of a woman's anatomy.

Not that I'm a lesbian.

Well, maybe I am.

No, definitely not.

I told my mother I was,|just for shock value.

She said, "Fine, just as long|as you don't smoke. "

Which, of course,|is my main joy in life.

Probably oral compensation.

I don't think I was breast-fed.

I can't imagine|where she came from.

None of the other kids|at my school are that scangie.

I really wish|we could be friends.

A dog got hit! Come on!

Someone should just kill it.

It's still breathing.

Oh, God.

You kids pipe down!

Principal's office. Please hold.

Take a seat, ma'am.

It's a stick-on.

See?

I like the ivy.

The cross makes me think|of death, but the ivy is life.

Sort of the tragic|and the hopeful, you know?

What did you do to your hair?

It's Egyptian.

Cool.

What are you busted for?

I got to keep|a certain grade-point average.

I'm slipping in biology.

You're one of those|scholarship kids.

You make it sound|like Jerry's Kids.

It's not a disease.

Sorry.

Did it hurt?

No. They used a gun.|It was really Quick.

But you've got this wire|running through your nose.

It feels like a booger.

Who's the old dude who picks|you up in the pimpmobile?

It's my dad.

He's having a midlife crisis.

My name's Sylvie Cooper.

What did they nail you for?

I phoned in a bomb threat|to KTVM.

You know that lame guy|who does the editorials?

He said that teenagers|are too hormonally imbalanced...

to have driver's licenses.

He said the age should be raised|to twenty-one.

How did they know it was you?

Wait a sec.

I've seen your dad.|He is that guy...

that jerk on TV who does|those tweaked editorials.

You phoned in a bomb threat|to your own father?

That's great.

No, I mean it.

I'm gonna break this|to you real slow.

Your dad's an a**hole.

I ought to slap you good.

You can't put two hundred people|out on a sidewalk...

just because you|don't like an editorial!

They're trying to get rid of me.|Whose side are you on?

Sylvie, you hurt me.

I didn't mean to.

I'm sorry, Dad.

No more than me.

I.

No more than I.

You're grounded.

You rich fuckhead!

I worked for it!

It's nice and cool in here.

I missed my ride.

Could you take me|to Olympic and Fairfax?

Just a sec.

She's my best friend.

Why didn't you think|of that before?

Come on.|Just this once, please?

Then I'll be grounded forever.

What's her name?

Ivy.

Great.

Good Lord.

Get in.

I get carsick.|Do you mind if I sit in front?

Sure.

Thanks.

Your name is Ivy.

Something wrong with your mouth?

TMJ. It's stress-related.

It gives you terrible headaches,|makes your jaw stiff.

Almost killed Burt Reynolds.

Do you have to buy condoms, too?

No, I've got to get a spermicide|with Nonoxynol-Nine in it.

What?

It's a school project.|This HIV-positive guy...

talked about not shooting up|and using condoms.

It's not like we're supposed|to screw around or anything.

We're supposed to learn|to not be embarrassed.

Don't worry. We turn|everything in at the end.

Save the receipts.

Sh*t.

Where have you been?

Grounded.

You lost your boot.

It's my only pair.

Your turn.

No way.

Way.

Forget it.

Are you afraid?

Come on. I won't laugh.

I got to go.

Who cares about|a stupid rope swing anyway?

What's your real name?

I like Ivy.

It sort of gives me the chance|to start over.

It's so beautiful.

Where did you get it?

From my dad.

He must really love you.

He also feels guilty.

I was adopted.

My biological father was black.|You can tell by my hair.

My mom is my real mom...

but when Darryl married her...

he adopted me.

I'm pretty sure|it was to make her happy.

I think|he really cares about you.

My dad didn't want me|anywhere around.

He'd get pissed if you|tried to talk to him.

He'd throw stuff at me,|like food or spitballs.

Your dad read "Hustler"?

I don't think so.

One day I went through his room,|and I found all this stuff.

He had, like,|five hundred magazines...

of the kind with the chicks|and the high heels...

like they look like|they're ready for a... exam.

Sordid. Come on.

I bet that's why|you look so sexy...

so that your dad|would notice you.

Thank you, Doctor.

Did it work?

He left anyway.

I tried to commit suicide once.|See?

- Where?|- There.

Used to be a lot worse.

Is my hair thing covered up?

Yeah. Why?

My parents.

I tried to convince them|it was female pattern balding...

that my hair fell out|in the shape of an eye...

but I don't think|they really bought it.

It's too big.|You can never find anyone.

How you getting home?

Hitch.

Not everybody gets to go home|in a Mercedes.

Maybe I'll see you around.

I don't really have|many friends.

Me, neither.

Well, yeah, any friends.

Yeah. Everybody hates me.

Everybody hates me, too.

Do you want to come over?

We kind of have to be Quiet.

My mom sleeps a lot.|She's got emphysema.

I think it's to get attention.

She spends her life dying.

Do you got any booze?

No. My dad... glug, glug, glug.

- Fred, Quiet!|- Hiya, puppy.

He really only likes me.|It's this weird loyalty thing.

You home?

Yeah. They canceled.

Head Start.

I teach reading a couple nights|a week to inner city kids.

That's mighty white of you.

Watch it.

This is great.

Sorry.

I like pianos.

If I was to kill myself,|I'd like to fall...

just close my eyes|and pretend I was flying.

With a big splat at the end.

You wouldn't feel it.

But everybody'd stand around|looking at your insides.

It's a lot faster|than slashing your wrists.

Who slashed their wrists?

This is my mom Georgie.

Hi there, Georg...

Did she tell you|she slashed her wrists?

Oh, Sylvia.

I'll be right back.

Hand me the Percodan.

You never stop testing, do you?

What kind of girl|is impressed by suicide?

I like her.

She has a hole in her nose.

A lot of girls do.

Leave it open.

It's supposed to rain tonight.

Then open it wider.

I'd think you'd be embarrassed.

What?

Getting caught lying|all the time.

Did you tell her|you're black, too?

You don't want me|to have any friends, do you?

People you have to lie to|aren't worth your friendship.

When I'm gone...

you can play your music|as loud as you want.

Your dad can turn this room|into a study...

with dead animals on the wall...

but in the meantime...

you are not|hanging out with a girl...

who has a naked woman|with a sword on her back.

What do you think|that says to the boys?

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