Rushmore Page #3

MR. BLUME

(weary) Hi, Max.

They shake hands through the open car window.

MAX:

How's the concrete business?

MR. BLUME

Oh, I don't know. By the time you hit 45 you're been f***ed

over so many times you don't really care anymore.

MAX:

I'm sorry to hear that.

Mr. Blume sighs deeply. He stares out the windshield.

MR. BLUME

What's the secret, Max?

MAX:

The secret?

MR. BLUME

Yeah. You look like you've got it all figured out.

MAX:

(pause)

I don't know. I think you just gotta find something you love

to do, then do it for the rest of your life.

(shrugs)

For me, it's going to Rushmore.

Max looks very serious. Mr. Blume smiles and nods.

MAX:

Hey, Ronny. Hey, Donny.

Mr. Blume's red-headed twins RONNY and DONNY come over to

the car. They're Max's age but much more thick and solid.

RONNY:

Shotgun.

Donny gets in the front seat anyway. Ronny hollers:

RONNY:

I said shotgun, Donny!

MR. BLUME

Get in the back, Ronny.

RONNY:

I said, "Shotgun." Get in the back, Donny.

Donny punches three different buttons on the dash that crank

up the AC full blast. Mr. Blume's hair dances in the cold

burst of air. He shuts off the AC.

MAX:

See you tomorrow, Mr. Blume.

(looks off)

Mrs. Reynolds!

Max goes over to shake hands with somebody else's parents.

Mr. Blume looks at Max fondly.

MR. BLUME

Did you invite that kid to your party?

DONNY:

(shocked)

Max Fischer?

RONNY:

Come on, Dad. There's gonna be girls there.

DONNY:

I'd rather die. Pull your head out of your ass.

Mr. Blume turns Donny quickly like he is going to attack

him. Donny cowers grinning in the backseat with his fists

up. Ronny pipes in:

RONNY:

Remember what Mom said. Hugs not hits.

INT. AUDITORIUM. DAY

The school auditorium. The stage is bare except for two

folding chairs. A tall senior plays FRANK. He is wearing a

stocking cap and sunglasses. A fat kid plays WILLIE.

FRANK:

Wait a second. What time did the old lady place the 911

call?

WILLIE:

Ten-fifteen.

FRANK:

(snaps his fingers)

That's it.

Frank jumps out of his seat.

FRANK:

Meet me on the corner in ten minutes.

WILLIE:

Where are you going?

FRANK:

I'll tell you in the squad car.

He heads towards the wings, then stops.

FRANK:

Oh, and, Willie. You were wrong about Enrique Sanchez. He

died in his sleep.

He exits.

MAX:

Excellent!

Willie looks into the darkness beyond the stage. Max emerges

and quickly climbs the steps onto the stage. He is followed

by Dirk who is holding a script.

MAX:

Excellent. Irving?

The stage manager is a wavy-haired sophomore named IRVING.

He comes out from the backstage. Max pulls some money out of

his pocket and hands it to him.

MAX:

Get some rootbeers for anybody who wants one. I don't want

one. OK. Next scene. (looks at Dirk's script) Frank, you

enter stage right with a bag of cocaine.

INT. BARBERSHOP. DAY

A small, clean barbershop. MR. FISCHER is a white-haired man

of sixty-five in a white a white barber's shirt. He has

finished giving a buzzcut to a twelve year-old boy named

GORDON.

GORDON:

May I see the back, please?

Mr. Fischer holds up a hand mirror so Gordon can see the

back. Gordon nods. Max comes in rolling a Japanese ten-speed

at his side.

MR. FISCHER

Hey, Max. How was your day?

MAX:

Hm. I'd say

(thinks for a second)

98% good, 2% not so good. I need a signature on this

geometry test, by the way.

Max leaves his test on the counter and rolls his bike into

the back room. Gordon gives Mr. Fischer ten dollars.

GORDON:

Thank you very much.

Gordon goes out the door. Mr. Fischer looks at the geometry

test. Max comes out of the back room drinking a glass of

chocolate milk with a straw.

MR. FISCHER

Hm.

MAX:

I know.

MR. FISCHER

A 37.

MAX:

Pathetic. Just pathetic.

MR. FISCHER

Well. It could have been worse. You were right more than a

third of the time.

MAX:

(exploding)

Come on, Dad! That stinks! I can do better than that!

MR. FISCHER

Of course, you can.

MAX:

For once, will you please try not to look on the bright

side?

MR. FISCHER

Sit down and let me give you a trim.

Max sighs deeply. He sits down. Mr. Fischer signs the

geometry test. He puts a pale blue smoke over Max and gives

him a haircut.

MAX:

Do you think I'm stupid?

MR. FISCHER

No! You're just not very good at math.

MAX:

But I'm failing English and History, too.

MR. FISCHER

(pause)

Well. Maybe you'd be better off at a school where there's

not so much emphasis on academics.

MAX:

What, like barber college?

Mr. Fischer is stricken. Max says quietly:

MAX:

No, I love Rushmore. I don't want to go someplace second

rate. Besides, it would ruin my chances of getting into

Oxford.

Silence. Mr. Fischer looks very sad.

MR. FISCHER

I wish I knew how to help you. But I just don't. I'm sorry,

Max.

Max looks at his dad. Mr. Fischer looks down at the floor.

Mr. FISCHER

You want to see the back?

MAX:

No, thanks. You know how I like it.

INT. THE FISCHER'S HOUSE. NIGHT

An Archie Bunker-type house. Max and Mr. Fischer sit on the

sofa in front of the TV having TV dinners.

MAX:

You think I'm spending too much of my time starting up clubs

and putting on plays?

MR. FISCHER

I don't know. It's possible.

MAX:

I should probably be trying harder to score chicks. That's

the only thing anybody really cares about. (sighs deeply)

But it's not my forte, unfortunately.

MR. FISCHER

It'll happen, Max. It's just. You're like one of those

clipper ship captains. You're married to the sea.

MAX:

Yes, that's true.

(pause)

But I've been out to sea for a long time.

EXT. SOCCER FIELD. DAY

Miss Cross is sitting on the bleachers watching her class

play Capture-the-Flag. She opens a book. It is 20,000

Leagues under the Sea. She puts a cigarette in her mouth and

searches in her pocket for a lighter.

A lit match appears in front of her. Max is holding it. He

is wearing a maroon beret, Miss Cross looks at him

curiously.

MAX:

Hello.

MISS CROSS:

Hi.

Miss Cross lights her cigarette on Max's match.

MISS CROSS:

I like your hat.

MAX:

Thank you. You're a teacher here, aren't you?

MISS CROSS:

Uh-huh.

MAX:

What subject do you teach?

MISS CROSS:

Well, I teach first grade, so I do all the subjects. Except

music.

MAX:

And this is your first year at Rushmore, I take it.

Miss Cross nods.

MAX:

I see. How long have you been a smoker, if you don't mind me

asking?

MISS CROSS:

(surprised)

Hm. Let's see. How old are you?

MAX:

Fifteen.

MISS CROSS:

Since I was your age.

MAX:

(shocked)

You're kidding.

Miss Cross shakes her head. Max can't believe this.

MAX:

You should quit.

MISS CROSS:

You're right.

MAX:

(going back to his book) And I should mind my own business.

Miss Cross laughs. Max looks back up.

MAX:

Where'd you go to school, by the way?

MISS CROSS:

Harvard.

MAX:

Really? That's a coincidence. My top schools where I want to

apply to are Oxford and The Sorbonne. But my safety is

Harvard.

MISS CROSS:

(smiles)

That's very ambitious.

MAX:

Thank you.

MISS CROSS:

What are you going to major in?

MAX:

Well. I haven't decided for sure. But probably a double

major in Mathematics and Pre-Med. What was your major?

MISS CROSS:

Latin-American studies.

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