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AMBITION Season 4 ♫ “New Start (Part 2)” [ 4.01B ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

NICE TO MEET YA, WHAT’S YOUR NAME? — Isadora and Nigel’s expectations for NYU face reality, while Riley battles expectations closer to home. Farkle, Zay, and Jade brave new worlds of their own and test their resolve. Entirely new faces bring brand new narratives, and everyone confronts the question essential to college, career, and the rest of your life: who are you? And perhaps more important, who are you going to be?

64 Minutes (27K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← New Start (Part 1) ] [ S4 Synopsis ] [ Growing Pains → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

NOTE: THIS IS PART 2. Be sure to read Part 1 first, linked above!!

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Eric makes his way back into his office, a couple of the secretaries from the main office informing him he’s got some messages on his phone that they patched through. Oh, and there’s a disciplinary case he needs to touch base on -- apparently this freshman, Timmy, was caught sticking gum on the door handles to the auditorium.

Not to mention all the emails constantly appearing in his inbox no matter how many times a day he cleans it… Eric barely has a second to breathe. He thanks the secretaries and then drops down into his chair, scooting close to get down to business and pressing play on his answering machine to hear his messages.

He gets distracted quickly though, no longer listening as he zeroes in on one of the emails in his inbox. It’s from Jefferson Davis Graham on behalf of the board, regarding one of the student community building initiatives Eric wanted to start. It’s a project he was really excited about, a way to begin his new run as principal with a stamp of his own (and ideally, avoid some of the culture problems he witnessed as counselor by building a strong student community from the ground up).

Only it seems that won’t be happening any time soon. Jefferson’s email informs him his proposal has been denied -- seemingly for no good reason, just written in flowery professional bullshit.

If they couldn’t get their own hack in the principal role, it seems they’re content to just strangle Eric’s decisions and leadership from the sidelines instead. Eric grits his teeth, shaking his head as he closes the email window in frustration.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Riley waits at the counter at her usual stool, scrolling through her phone. She’s going a bit further back, taking stock of all the people whom messages seem to just have fallen off with.

Charlie hasn’t replied to her since over a week ago. Yindra she hasn’t heard from since August; Maya even earlier than that after she confirmed she sent her time capsule items.

None of these conversations ended on a bad note -- quite the opposite in fact -- but how isn’t the problem. Riley doesn’t understand, or want to accept, the why. It’s not for lack of trying, not for lack of affection. If both people still care about each other, if she’s making the effort to keep them in touch, then shouldn’t that be enough?

Apparently not. Riley glances over her shoulder towards the diner doors, where Lucas still hasn’t come through for his evening shift. Her phone buzzing again snaps her back, fleeting hope that it might be one of the threads she was just ruminating on quickly fizzling. It’s from Zay, and while that’s usually a welcome thing, the message he’s sending this time isn’t.

“hey need to raincheck dinner. totally fucked up in class today and need extra rehearsal to stay alive. promise will make it up to u and tell all about it so srry will text later”

Figures. Riley swallows her disappointment and pushes away from the counter.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - NIGHT

The office is dwindling down for the evening, most of the employees gone for the day and only the overworked or highly dedicated seamstresses still hanging behind to work against deadlines.

Well, them and Jade. She’s the only soul left occupying the assistant and apprentice corner of the floor, finishing up her work on the inventories. Doing exactly what Skylar and Jamal told her to do, just enough to get the job done, which she finishes with a flourish just a little bit before 6. Bam. Now she can call it a day and be done with it.

Except… Jade glances at the binders again, reluctant to close them. She knows they’re riddled with errors. She knows she could improve it. It’ll take time, sure, and it won’t be fun work, but it will make the system better. It will make things easier for the next apprentice who gets stuck updating it. She is no stranger to grueling work. It’s right there in front of her…

But no. No, listen to your elders. Work-life balance. It’s past her hours anyway. No one has bothered to go to all that effort before, and clearly they’ve carried on. No one cares. She should leave it alone.

Jade closes the binder and gets to her feet, grabbing her purse and jacket off the back of her desk chair and pulling them on. It’s time to go. She takes a deep breath and nods to herself, heading out of view…

Only to come back seconds later, taking off her jacket and purse and settling back into her chair with a sigh. She presses her palms against her head, trying to shake it off.

Let it go, Jade. Don’t be a perfectionist. She did her work…

But no. No she didn’t. Because her work, Jade work, would be done right. She wouldn’t let a bunch of errors and inconsistencies slide at Adams, so why is she going to now? That’s just not how Jade works. And if she’s willing to put in the extra time, who is it going to hurt?

So it’s decided. Jade takes another deep breath and pulls the binder back towards her, flipping it open and pulling up the database online. Settling in for a long night and probably another to follow if she intends to truly do this task right… but there’s satisfaction in her determined gaze, too. A sense of purpose.

She sets to work.

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Isa comes by Adams well past the end of the school day, unsurprisingly finding Eric still behind his desk buried in work like Jade. When she comments on his quickly crippling work-life balance in this new role, Eric bristles and gives her a look.

Eric: Don’t exaggerate. You know darn well I didn’t have any when I was a counselor either.

Touché. Isa saunters around the office for a bit, looking around at the slow progress Eric has made in decorating it. It looks nice, but she still feels unsettled in the space. It’s not quite right, him being in there.

Isa: This is weird.

Eric: What do you mean? I rather like that paper weight. I think it’s eclectic.

Isa: No, no. Not that. [ glancing at the modern-art-adjacent paper weight ] Though actually yes, it is also weird. I mean you being in here.

Eric: That little faith in my principaling already?

Isa: No. I know you can do the job. I just… like, this isn’t your office. Your office is on the other end of the school. This is Principal Hunter’s office.

Given how she’s still using his formal title, too, it’s clear the change hasn’t sunk in for Isa quite yet. And to be honest, Eric doesn’t seem keen to disagree. Try as he might to change the decor or assert his new authority, it feels kind of like he’s playing substitute. Until Jack returns where he belongs -- until the actual principal comes back.

Having the school board breathing down your neck about every little thing you do doesn’t help much. Eric pushes aside some of the applications he’s meant to be filling out to do… well, basically anything at this point, including submitting approval for the new counselor he wants to hire. The fact that he was able to give Lucas a position is a miracle, but since he’s part-time and basically a contractor, the board can’t exact as much theoretical control. Right now, Eric wants to be done negotiating all of it, closing his manila folder over the applications.

Eric: So what’s up?

Isa: What? Can’t an adopted grown child just come swing by her adoptive dad’s place of work now and again?

Eric: They can, absolutely. But you usually just hang around at the apartment until I get home.

Isa: Not very effective these days. With the, you know, work-life balance thing.

Eric: And…

Eric watches her knowingly… and he’s right on the money. Isa sighs pointedly, slouching down in the chair opposite his desk. Then she sits up, tensing -- this isn’t right. This is Lucas’s chair, not hers. It doesn’t feel right.

Isa: Can’t we go sit in your old office?

Eric: Change is good, Isadora. Practicing change is good.

Isa: Ugh. It’s like I can feel the Lucas skin cells on me.

Eric: The custodians have cleaned this room multiple times since the switch.

Isa: Still. I feel it.

She sure is good at avoiding the topic… Eric quirks an eyebrow, waiting for her to get it together. She sighs again, still sitting awkwardly since the chair doesn’t feel like hers but elaborating. She first informs him of the change that she decided at school to start going by Isa, and she’d like to try that at home too for a while and see how it feels. Eric agrees happily, and thanks her for letting him know her preference.

Then she slowly treads the subject of the information sheet, explaining her hesitation on certain elements of it.

Eric: Is it something to do with your mom? It’s totally fine to withhold that information if you don’t feel comfortable --

Isa: Oh, no. No, that was easy. I included all the dead mom trauma stuff.

Eric: Well that’s… good?

Isa: Yeah. The problem was actually on the gender section. Like, how I… I didn’t know how to answer it. Now.

Oh. Okay… Eric takes a second to process this, then brightly claims that it’s totally okay for Isa to be exploring or experimenting with these aspects of her identity. That’s part of what college is all about! If she doesn’t feel like a girl, or woman, or female anymore, that’s totally okay! And whatever she does feel like, she can just let him know, and that will be totally okay too! It’s all gonna be totally okay!

To be honest, Eric is laying it on a bit thick. That’s because as easy as it is to be supportive of hundreds of students who look to you as an objective guide, any subject is a bit weirder to tackle with someone who you actually think of as family. It’s more momentous, and while Eric genuinely is okay with whatever Isa decides, his desire to make sure he handles this important parenting moment perfectly kind of just makes him way overcompensate.

Between him and Riley, and all their love and supportiveness, Isa might just be smothered to death before she even gets to decide her gender identity. She awkwardly thanks him, and says she’ll keep him posted.

A subject change would be most welcome, so Isa doesn’t brush off Eric’s follow-up about how the rest of her first week is going so far. Good overall, aside from the obnoxious film boys, but once again the point comes up about Isa’s struggle to make friends. It’s always taken a bit of time for her to get comfortable with people, but…

Isa: I don’t know. Like when I became friends with Lucas, it just… happened. We sat next to each other at lunch, we vibe checked, and that was it. It’s not like I actively did anything to make him my pseudo-brother. And then Dylan and Asher basically came with him, and the techies formed our bonds through Dylan social masterminding us -- and it’s not like I haven’t fucked those ties up plenty in the last four years.

Eric: Well, I wouldn’t say that…

Isa: But now it’s like, we’re doing that all over again, but for some reason it’s harder than it was when we were fourteen. I feel like since I got old and got like, self-awareness and maturity, now I can’t fathom the idea of getting someone new to want to befriend me, let alone like me.

Eric: You made friends later than fourteen. There’s Riley --

Isa: Riley could make friends with a brick. And she basically did -- she’s dating him now.

Eric: And what about Farkle? If there’s any proof that you can find friends in unexpected places, I should say you and Farkle are like the dictionary definition.

Oh, too true, Eric… though that comparison might feel better if she didn’t feel so distant from him. Isa nods along as Eric gives some of his best extroverted, empathetic advice -- find commonality and be yourself, blah blah blah -- but the mention of Farkle kind of automatically triggered her to tune out. If that’s her best example of making and maintaining a new friend, she’s not confident about her prospects.

Ultimately, it’s a relief when he catches on to the fact that she’s done and offers that they pick up something good for dinner, like maybe their usual Thai place by his apartment.

Isa: Anything to end this conversation.

Eric laughs, waving her off. He promises they’ll head out soon, he just needs a few more minutes to get his things together.

A few minutes could mean anything with this guy… Isa nods, claiming she’s just going to run to the bathroom before they head out. This was her old turf, so she knows the way.

INT. AAA - COUNSELOR’S OFFICE - NIGHT

She doesn’t head for the restroom, though. The door creaks open to a dark room, Isa flicking on the light and letting light flood the room. It’s sparsely decorated, the skeleton of Eric’s old furniture remaining and waiting for the new counselor to arrive and make it their own.

Isa wishes they wouldn’t. She wishes it looked the same as it always did, that Eric still occupied the opposite chair and Jack reigned in the front office and she could walk the hallowed halls full of familiar faces. Where everything is known, where things feel distinctly less complicated in spite of how hard it was at times.

With a sigh, Isa saunters further into the room… and rather than crashing into one of the chairs, she settles down on the floor in front of the desk. She sits cross-legged and tilts her head back against the wood, surrounded by the blank slate of new starts. Trying to remember what it was like before, to get back the feeling of how safe it felt to be in here.

After a moment, she opens her eyes and shifts her gaze to the side… at the empty space next to her where another friend once sat. Back when more changes were impending, seemed unfathomable, and said friend was a former foe who was folding in on himself into nothing. Who befriending didn’t seem possible but became a best friend -- the best there is.

The best friend she hasn’t talked to in days. Because she can’t; because she doesn’t know how anymore. College is changing a lot, but that was already shaken up before the semester started. That change, she stupidly brought about herself.

Isa groans, pressing her palms to her eyes and knocking her head back against the desk again.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Yindra is crashed on the couch, tired feet propped up on a pillow on the coffee table. She’s stopped focusing on rejuvenating them and has turned focus to her laptop, trying to transfer some lyrics from her notebook to a digital copy.

Well, ideally, she’d be working on said lyrics while porting them over, but she does not have the mental capacity for that right now. Or ever, lately.

DARIUS AMINO comes in to join her, plopping down into the adjacent armchair with a dad-brand sigh. Before he can even greet her properly, Yindra grabs a wad of cash from the coffee table and hands it over to him without comment. Darius accepts it, but cautiously, eyeing her curiously.

Darius: You know you can wait on this. Rent’s not due ‘til next week.

Yindra: I know. Rather get it over with now. [ under her breath ] Better not to fool myself into thinking I have money when I don’t.

Darius frowns. It’s clear he wishes he didn’t have to take money from her -- if life were as simple as being a Minki who could foot the bill without a thought, he’d do that for her -- but that’s not their reality. And if she wants to make it out here, she has to pay her fair share. So he pockets the money without saying more.

But his concern doesn’t just go away. He gently asks Yindra if she’s got anything fun planned for this coming weekend -- has she made any new friends at the diner? Or on an audition run? Yindra shrugs, and her lack of an answer sort of speaks for her. This is the part Darius really doesn’t like, that it seems like she’s so isolated in an environment that’s already so difficult to survive in. Surely, it would be better with friends.

Darius: You’ve got a couple of classmates out here too, right? I thought I remembered reading the Minkus boy was coming out here in the graduation pamphlet.

Yindra: Yeah. So?

Darius: Well, maybe you should reach out to them. You know, just to chill and catch up. Might be fun.

Darius clearly doesn’t know Maya Hart and Farkle Minkus very well. Yindra scrunches her nose, shaking her head.

Yindra: Yeah, no, that’s not happening.

Not just because of who it is -- because the idea of having to face the diva twins with nothing to show for her three months in LA is too embarrassing to bear. She’d rather waste away alone than have to admit to her former friends that she fucked up.

And that’s a mentality Darius doesn’t look pleased to see. He continues to frown but drops the topic, the two of them settling into silence as Darius focuses on the TV and Yindra goes back to laboring over her lyrics.

INT. ERIC’S NEW APARTMENT - ERIC’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Eric settles onto his bed after changing for the night, releasing a dad-brand sigh of his own. Mentoring the A class kiddos doesn’t seem to take a break even beyond graduation (given he’s adopted one of them), and running Adams is no cake walk.

He glances at a photo framed on his nightstand -- him and Jack this summer after graduation, standing outside the principal’s office while moving Eric’s stuff in. They’re theatrically shaking hands as they smile at the camera, laughter in their eyes. Eric laughs to himself now, shaking his head.

Eric: You know, I don’t think I ever really appreciated how hard your job was. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t know. [ after he stretches and one of his joints cracks ] Ow. You planned this, didn’t you?

Obviously, Jack doesn’t respond. But probably. Eric looks at the photo again, more wistful this time. It really would be so much better, if he were able to help… if things weren’t different, changing so rapidly…

Eric: I don’t think you have any idea how much we wish you were here.

Probably not, Eric. Probably not. But he’ll be back soon. Eric sighs again and falls back onto his pillows, reaching over to turn off the light.

INT. NYU - FILM CLASSROOM - DAY

Isa braves stepping into Professor Bennet’s classroom once more, the man himself not present while the students file in. She settles down in the same seat as last class, taking a look around at her classmates to get a better sense of the possibilities. They already have one thing in common -- being film students, presumably -- so there has to be potential here.

Not that that’s all appealing. A couple of the film boys from her discussion group in Wright’s class laugh loudly about something from the corner they’re sitting in, and she wrinkles her nose. Yeah, no, definitely not interested…

But maybe there’s hope. Another one of her classmates enters the room, one of the girls who was stuck with her in that awful discussion group. The pretty girl who smiled at her last class, quiet with a style that reminds Isa of a cross between Riley and Farkle (a bizarre combination to pull off, but that’s undoubtedly where Isa’s mind goes -- and not just because she can’t stop seeming to see Farkle in everything, thank you very much).

When the girl slides into the seat a couple desks away, Isa spots her opportunity -- a Beetlejuice pin stuck to the pocket of her backpack. Commonality. Isa can work with that. She takes a few seconds to work up the nerve, channeling as much Dyl Pickle extroversion as she can hold in her very un-Dyl-Pickle body…

Isa: Nice pin.

The girl turns to look at her, obviously surprised and unsure if she’s actually being addressed.

Girl: What?

Abort. Abort! Already failed mission! But no, Isa can power through. She clears her throat, trying to find some of the bold directorial confidence she was once known for.

Isa: The Beetlejuice pin on your backpack. I like it.

Once the comment becomes understood, the girl breaks into a friendly albeit shy smile. She thanks Isa, and the two launch into conversation about it, talking over the two desks between them until the girl decides to get up and slide into the chair next to Isa’s. This is MOLLY SINGH (18), another young aspiring director with a particular interest in cinematography. The two exchange introductions in between topics.

Molly: I meant to tell you, I totally agreed with what you said to Jasper and those other guys in Wright’s class. Fight Club and Pulp Fiction feel like the basic white film boy starter pack of films -- and that’s coming from someone who does enjoy them.

Isa: Oh, yeah, they’re fine films. It’s just the overrated male adulation that gives me a sour taste.

Molly: Literally. If a guy says those are his favorite movies, it’s like, instant red flag.

They laugh, then continue to commiserate, shifting from Wright to the class in question. Isa is relieved to learn that Molly was also very caught off-guard by how Professor Bennet started last class, and admits she spent like all of yesterday preparing her online portfolio after it.

Isa: Me too!

This time, though, they’re both ready. Bennet can’t throw a curveball at them this time… and they both feel much more bolstered by their new allyship as he saunters into the room, greeting them offhandedly as he drops his bag onto the desk chair and resumes his usual perch against the corner of the desk.

Only this time, he doesn’t ask for samples. There’s no more discussion of portfolios. Bennet acts like that little surprise never even happened, moving into a breezy lecture about some of the first angles to film-making they’re going to be exploring in this class that shapes how they approach their projects.

So, in short, he caught Isa off-guard yet again. There will be no chance to make up for that mistake; there’s no opportunity to save face. Isa is clearly displeased by this, silently fuming as the lights dim and they focus their attention to the projector screen for lecture.

INT. NYU - CORRIDOR - DAY

As they’re filtering out of class, Isa sticks with Molly as a group of their classmates discuss the lesson that period and their current assignments. Although Isa was feeling slightly better about the class now with a potential new friend, the commentary from another classmate undercuts that somewhat.

Film Peer: Yeah we literally got the most notorious freshman prof. Have you read his RateMyProfessor page? That shit is insane.

Film Peer 2: There were a few positive comments.

Film Peer: Yeah, under a mountain of complaints that he’s blunt and mean and super critical. Doesn’t majority rule?

Molly: I feel like most people go on RateMyProfessor to complain, though. So it’s going to be skewed no matter what.

Film Peer: I’m just saying, based on these last two classes? What do y’all think is the truth?

Great… Isa doesn’t like the sound of that. What she does like the sound of, though, is more potential camaraderie -- the film peers invite Isa to have lunch with the group of them on Friday before their big cross-disciplinary seminar they have Friday afternoons.

That sounds perfect… but Isa did already miss one lunch with Riley. She opens her mouth to politely decline, but then Molly smiles at her, nodding encouragingly.

Well, Riley wanted her to branch out and make new friends, right? She’ll understand. Isa agrees, a bit lighter as she follows the herd out of the corridor.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh is at his desk, dutifully working through emails and paperwork as the other assistants and junior producers are… or so it seems. In fact, he’s not really doing much of anything, mindlessly staring at his screen and refreshing his email. He’s restless and impatient, feet tapping under the table and leg bouncing a mile a minute.

Wordlessly, Phelps reaches out and grabs his knee, startling him out of his fugue. Without looking at him, they explain.

Phelps: The whole desk is shaking.

Fair enough. Josh bounces them off his knee but nods apologetically, trying to be mindful and stop his fidgeting. But how is he supposed to be chill when it feels like it’s taking a thousand years for Iris to respond? When a song this good, a mix as good as what he spend hours putting together, should be an instant reply?

He hits refresh on his inbox again -- lo and behold! Salvation! He’s got an email from Iris, replying to his message with the producer mix attached. He doesn’t hesitate to open it.

“Hey J,

Yeah, let’s meet Friday. Definitely think we have a lot to discuss”

Josh pumps his fist to himself -- then reins it in and glances to Phelps to make sure he didn’t disturb them again. But it’s hard to contain his excitement.

This is it! A heavy bass line thumps in --

EXT. INCENDIO NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT

A line of trendy, dolled up young people is stretching down the street, all waiting to get into the nightclub where the music is coming from. Without a doubt, this seems like the place to be on Thirsty Thursday in Naples.

Lucky us, we don’t have to wait in that long line…

INT. INCENDIO NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT

As Charlie and Bridgette have already been let inside, making their way down the staircase that leads to the actual club. They’re illuminated in the saturated colorful lights every few seconds as the beams swing through the room, cyans and purples and lime green. Otherwise, though, the space is shrouded in shadows, allowing for the ambience of mystery, magic, and mischief one would expect from a hot and happening nightclub.

And amazingly, the two of them blend right in. It’s a bit jarring to see Charlie in his night-out mode -- we’ve seen him go unhinged and edgy before, but that’s always been safely in his imagination. Now, it’s in the real world, and he’s serving punk rock with his dark ensemble and messy hair. In fact, you’d think he could afford to loosen his shirt a couple more buttons, but the presence of his sister keeps him from really committing to the look. Bridgette, on the other hand, seems more relaxed. She’s sporting leather pants and a sparkly oversized suit jacket over a black lace corset top, hair slicked back fashionably for the occasion.

Suffice to say, they look appropriately fire, though if Eleanor saw them she would probably drop dead on sight. The vibe is definitely serving “fallen from grace.”

True to Matilde’s word, people seem to recognize Charlie as soon as they enter the room. He gets waves, nods, a handful of tipsy “ciaos.” More than one of these greetings comes from another good-looking young man, and people aren’t shy about letting their gaze linger down here.

It doesn’t take long to realize why Charlie didn’t want to bring Bridgette here. He’s known, all right -- and he’s definitely picked up more than one Euroboy hookup at this club. Bridgette observes all the interactions with interest and slight amusement, but Charlie is operating far more awkwardly than he typically does.

It’s one thing to let loose and take on your mysterious hot boy persona surrounded by people who don’t know you and never will -- not the same when your sister who has known you since you were in diapers and knows you’re a fraud is there to watch.

Matilde and Max manage to find them in the shadows, cheerfully greeting them. Max tells Bridgette she looks brilliant -- which she tries very hard not to laugh at -- while Matilde conspiratorially tells Charlie about some of the people she’s already seen in attendance tonight. Clearly names they’re all familiar with, recurring characters in the sultry, chic hostel story they’re all living together.

Matilde: Gianluca is here -- and he’s already brought you up. Twice.

Max: Better watch out, though. I think Dino is here somewhere too and he might get all pissy again. [ to Bridgette ] Dino has like serious jealousy issues.

Bridgette: Ooh. Drama.

Max: If you’re not careful, dude, you’re gonna start an all out war.

Matilde: Like gay Helen of Troy. [ with a laugh ] Charlie of the States!

As fun and flirty and thriving as this all should be, and probably would be if Charlie were on his own and a little more drunk, right now he just looks embarrassed. Matilde tells him they should go to the dance floor and see what narrative twists the evening holds, but Charlie backs off slightly and declines as politely as possible.

Charlie: I don’t really feel like dancing right now.

Max and Matilde exchange a look. Clearly, for them, this is an uncommon answer from Charlie. Bridgette swoops in and assures them they’ll join in a bit -- he just wants to finish showing her around. The hostel mates take the cue and leave them alone, Matilde squeezing Charlie’s arm and agreeing they’ll catch up later.

Once they’re gone, Bridgette crosses her arm and raises an eyebrow.

Bridgette: Charlie of Troy, huh? [ playfully ] Don’t remember hearing anything about a Dino. Or Gianluca? You might have to write me a cast list --

Charlie, sharply: I wasn’t planning on bringing it up.

Oop. Charlie’s glare is harsh when the words come out, but the anger very quickly recedes. He apologizes under his breath and shifts his eyes to the floor. In his clear discomfort, he suddenly looks more like a kid playing dress up than a young man who’s been coming into his own in this space for weeks.

There’s obviously something going on, something about Bridgette’s presence making him uncomfortable and throwing everything out of whack. She can tell. But there’s nothing to be done about it right now -- she’s there, and she doesn’t want that to be the reason he mopes around all night or has a panic attack.

So she lets the weird moment pass for now, elbowing him and nodding towards the bar.

Bridgette: Let’s grab a drink?

That, he can manage. Charlie nods and the two of them weave through the crowd, further from the dance floor.

INT. USC - MUSIC CLASSROOM - DAY

Farkle’s music class is wrapping up for the day, students starting to file out. From the front of the room, the professor calls him up.

Weber: Farkle, a word, please?

Farkle freezes, glancing around the room before sheepishly making his way to the front. What could he possibly have done now… a few of his freshman peers watch him curiously as he goes. Weber greets him with a smile when he approaches.

Farkle: Am I in trouble?

Weber: What? Oh, goodness, no. What could you have possibly done in the first two weeks that would make you think that?

You tell him, Prof! He has a knack for messing things up… but Weber doesn’t wait for him to respond, elaborating.

Weber: No, no, I wanted to talk to you about your test scores. You had a near perfect test. And you must understand -- I give this test to the freshman at the start of the semester with the purpose of spooking them a bit, showing them how much there is to learn about music beyond just singing it well. It’s designed to be difficult. But you far exceeded those expectations.

Wow, does praise feel good… Farkle can’t help but smile a bit. At least he’s still good in one area of his useless brain!

Weber: Because of that, I feel you’re far too advanced to be in this course. If you’re interested, and it fits with your schedule, I wanted to chat with you about potentially moving into my advanced composition course. It might be a bit more of a challenge, and you’ll be the only freshman there, but with your scores I’m sure you could handle it.

Oh, now that is intriguing… and Farkle seems as such, eyes sparkling with the potential. But he gets yanked back to reality when he tunes back into the whispering going on behind him -- the next freshman course is filing in, peppered with a few classmates from his other courses. They’re obviously chatting about him, wondering why he’s still hanging around to talk to their old music professor.

He’s already the class freak without even trying. Does he really want to ostracize himself further by jumping a few courses, seeming like a huge nerdy know-it-all, when he’s maybe just starting to make social in-roads with his peers?

Weber can sense his hesitation.

Weber: Of course, if you’re more interested in the performing angle of your major than the music part, that’s understandable. I just thought --

Farkle: No. No, I -- I really love music. I started with piano. It’s kind of what got me into musical theater. The music part.

Weber: Wonderful. I always like to hear that.

Farkle: I just, um… [ glancing over his shoulder again ] Could I have a bit of time to think about it?

Weber assures him that’s fine, but he’d like to know sooner rather than later. The window of rearranging your schedule without penalty only lasts so long. Farkle nods, saying goodbye and keeping his head down as he passes the other freshman and escapes.

INT. AUDITION VENUE - DAY

Yindra is hoofing it to her one audition of the week, this one for an ensemble singer / dancer in some upcoming high school drama show. Might have had something to do with an arts school, or something, but at this point she doesn’t pay much attention to the details. An audition is an audition, and she’ll take what she can get when she can handle it…

She perks up from running through her audition song under her breath when she hears a familiar loud voice cheerfully greet the check-in folks.

Yindra: Oh, no. No way…

Yes, way. Somehow, in the mass jungle of the L.A, audition scene, she ended up at the same one as Maya Penelope Hart. Maya saunters her way into the waiting area, looking confident and glamorous as always and making Yindra feel even more shriveled up inside by comparison.

There goes any chance she had at this audition… she looks the other way and hopes not to be noticed, praying that her name will be called now.

On the contrary, Maya seems pleased to see her when she recognizes her at the opposite end of the hall. A smile blooms on her face and she tilts her shades down off her face, pulling them off when she’s sure it is in fact who she thinks it is.

Maya: Well, doth my starlit baby blues deceive me? Yindra Amino?

Yindra makes a face while she’s turned away, then manages to plaster on a surprised smile when she spins to greet her. They don’t hug -- that was never their vibe -- but Maya happily comes to join her and plops down on the bench next to her, gesturing for her to sit too. She remarks it is somewhat wild they haven’t run into each other already in a town as tiny as Hollywood.

Yindra: Oh, yeah… crazy.

When Maya asks her how things are going, how her audition experience has been, Yindra knows exactly how to dodge the conversation. She gets Maya talking instead about her favorite topic -- herself. She quickly turns the question on her and Maya eagerly launches into a recap of how her first week of serious auditioning has gone, flushed with enthusiasm. This one today is more of a quickie one-off -- did she mention she’s got a callback already?

Of course she does… the contrast between the two girls at this moment could not be more clear. Maya, fresh-faced and hopeful and perhaps a bit arrogant at the start of her journey; Yindra, burnt out and embittered and having lost some of that same swagger she used to rival her with. It’s hard to believe they once stood on the same stage and are at the same point in their careers.

Blissfully, Yindra is spared from having to hear any more of Maya’s obnoxiously good fortune when her number is called. As she gets up, Maya gives her a chipper smile.

Maya: Break a leg!

For once, it seems like her encouragement is genuine… which somehow makes it even worse. Like, Maya Hart being the supportive one… it almost makes Yindra want to puke.

But she offers another tight smile instead, nodding and returning the wish with only a wee bit of irony. That smile drops off real quick though when she turns away and follows the person towards the audition room…

INT. INCENDIO NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT

The bar was definitely the right move. One drink down and starting on their seconds, Charlie has lost some of the tension in his frame, back to being conversational and affable. He still seems a bit hesitant in their current environment, and Bridgette is smart enough to know this isn’t the place to have a deep conversation about it. Still, she wants to be clear about one thing.

Bridgette: You know you don’t have to be ashamed, right?

Charlie: What do you mean?

Bridgette: About like, whatever you’ve been up to. I didn’t mean to corner you earlier -- if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s your right. It’s your life. I appreciate you bringing me into the darkness to give me a peek, but you don’t have to feel like you have to confess everything.

Charlie: Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m not… it’s not…

There’s more to say there, but Charlie can’t find it -- not in public and with the alcohol making his brain all pleasantly fuzzy. Bridgette doesn’t expect him to.

Bridgette: I’m just saying, whatever you do want to tell me, don’t feel weird about it. I’m not gonna judge you. It’s fun, seeing you like do your whole vagabond traveler routine. Way better than watching you become a shell of a man at Yale.

Charlie: Gee, thanks.

Bridgette: It’s cool that you’re like, figuring it all out. Spreading your wings. [ raising her cocktail ] To having fun and new starts, or however the fuck you’d say that in Italian.

Charlie: Cogli l’attimo.

Bridgette: Sure, that. Cheers, bitch.

Charlie smiles, clinking his drink against hers and finishing it.

Bridgette: You are having fun, right? I suppose it was presumptuous of me to say so.

Charlie: No, yeah. I am. It’s been… it’s been really good.

Bridgette: Have to admit, I am damningly curious to know what makes you so popular here -- aside from the part I don’t think you want to tell me.

Charlie: Eh…

Bridgette: I mean, I know you’re good at like, dance. But didn’t think that translated over to this kind of scene. [ shrugging and taking a sip of her drink ] Guess I’ll have to take the mythic word for it…

Well, never underestimate the versatility of a dancer, Bridgette. Although Charlie might be more susceptible to a challenge than he acts like he is… and with the freeing influence of the alcohol, he’s definitely feeling more carefree than when they first arrived.

When the song changes, though, that’s the true dealbreaker. A familiar song starts playing loud through the speakers, earning an appreciative cheer from fans in the club.

Charlie grins, putting his drink down on the bartop.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lights Up” as performed by Harry Styles || Performed by Charlie Gardner

In traditional AMBITION fashion, the song doesn’t stay diegetic for long. Charlie pushes away from the bar and it becomes his performance, carried with an easy confidence and playful flirtatiousness that comes both from the setting and the natural whimsy of Harry Styles.

And the number gives us a much better picture of what Charlie is actually like when he gets into the groove down here in the underworld. He allows himself to get lost in the music, the lights, the community yet invisibility of being on the dance floor.

When he’s in his element, allowing the best parts of his charm to shine through, Charlie has a magnetism that draws people to him. So it’s like others naturally fall into the same groove as he makes his way through the crowd, dancing around him and with him. This includes Matilde and Max, who are thrilled to see his arrival. They join in on the “shine,” clapping and singing along. He definitely attracts eyes (both boys and girls) as he goes, but he doesn’t shy away from them.

In these moments, he’s not anybody -- he’s just Charlie. Which means he can be whatever the hell he wants.

I’m not ever going back!

Bridgette tags along, making her own route through onto the dance floor and attracting some dance partners of her own. Charlie spares a few bars to dance with Gianluca, before he elusively slips out of his grasp yet again to dive back into the middle of the chaos. Everything here is free, fleeting, impermanent, and that’s all part of the fun.

By the time both Gardners have made it to the center, the whole throng is alive with more energy and rhythm than before. We get lost in the magic of the moment while the music builds to the finale -- the beautiful people, the hazy heat and chromatic lighting, the heart-pounding thrill of just being.

All the lights couldn’t put out the dark running through my heart Lights up and they know who you are

At the very center of it all, Charlie tilts his head back and soaks it all in as he sings the final lines. Just another body in a hoard of dozens, seen yet delightfully unknown, awash in bright, vibrant blue as the light passes over him and making his green eyes sparkle.

On the last notes, he looks directly at the camera, watching it all from above.

Do you know who you are?

INT. SVORSKI’S COFFEE - DAY

Back in New York, the sun is only just starting to set. Riley is waiting at a table by the window, but her focus is solely on her phone. She’s open on her message thread with Charlie, obviously contemplating bothering him to send another text. But she already feels unbearably annoying, hounding people for their time capsule items and bothering people to have lunch with her like it’s such a great burden. If they had something to talk about, surely they would be.

But that doesn’t sit right with her. She frowns, starting to type another text but constantly deleting it and starting over. She’s never had trouble finding the right words before -- why is it getting so hard to do now?

She types out what she wants to say as a joke, at least getting it off her chest.

“HI EURO JERK WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME IT’S BEEN LIKE TWO WEEKS”

And she has absolutely no intention of sending it -- but when Zay shows up for their coffee and surprises her, she hits the send button on accident.

Riley: OH, SHOOT --

Zay raises his eyebrows as he drops his dance duffle at their feet and slides into the chair opposite her, asking what the hell is up. Riley starts to explain as she’s frantically hovering over the message to delete it, but then she remembers who she’s talking to. She glances up at him and decides this isn’t the time to talk about Charlie being MIA. Zay knows that better than anybody.

So she promptly pockets her phone instead, even if it means not deleting the text. She’s worked hard enough to get this time with Zay this week, she’s not going to blow it by talking about this.

Riley: Nothing. Just -- lost on Words With Friends.

Zay: You’re still playing that? I didn’t realize that app still functioned.

Riley: Sure does. Wanna play?

Zay: You’re asking me if I want to play a word game? Clearly it has been too long since we talked.

And that’s exactly what they’re here to remedy. Riley eagerly asks him about how his first week is going, totally ready to hear all the highs and lows. He opens his mouth to answer, just starting to get into it, when Riley’s phone rings and cuts him off.

Zay: Damn. Words with Friends calls you now?

Riley seems equally confused, pulling her phone back out -- but it’s not an app. It’s not even Charlie. Her expression grows more uncertain, and pointedly more concerned.

Riley: It’s Grace.

She doesn’t have to elaborate which Grace. Zay’s eyebrows shoot up. Riley and Grace are connected, of course, but if she’s calling her… something must seriously be up.

Riley doesn’t want to interrupt their catch-up, especially since it’s been rescheduled more than once. But from the look on her face Zay can tell she’s worried, and he doesn’t want to be the asshole who didn’t let her answer if something is wrong. He sighs.

Zay: Go ahead.

Riley silently thanks him and apologizes as she gets up from her chair, answering the phone as she steps outside. Zay slouches in his seat, somehow alone again.

EXT. SVORSKI’S COFFEE - DAY

Riley walks just a bit down the street and then hovers by the coffee shop window, greeting Grace and asking what’s going on. We can’t hear exactly what she says on the other end, particularly since her voice is so characteristically quiet, but there’s a clear tone of nerves.

Based on Riley’s reaction, it’s not unwarranted. She does her best to stay calm, taking a deep breath and nodding along.

Riley: Okay. Okay, um… that’s good to know. I mean, it’s not totally out of the realm of believability for him to skip a Chubbies shift, but… [ a beat ] Right. Yeah. Um, you asked Randall? Usually if he’s not with me, he goes… oh… yeah, okay then. Yeah, then I don’t know.

Riley runs a hand through her hair, closing her eyes and inhaling another breath. Grace is already worried enough -- she doesn’t always see Lucas, sure, but she usually hears intel from someone as to where he is. It’s been a while since she got an update now. And Riley herself hasn’t seen him since dinner on Tuesday… she does her best to come off collected.

Riley: I’m supposed to see him tomorrow night, so I’ll let you know when I do. And if I see him before that -- right. Yes, of course. [ a beat ] No, no worries. Literally no apologies necessary. I completely understand. Okay, yes. Any time. Bye.

Riley hangs up, pressing the edge of her phone against her chin nervously. Just another person she can’t seem to keep track of -- and the one she cares about the most.

EXT. L.A. COMEDY CLUB - NIGHT

Farkle is on his outing with his classmates, and so far it seems to be going pretty well. He’s included in the conversation, laughing along as they talk about their professors and the pretentious directing students and USC in general.

When they make it to the club doors, the bouncers ask for their IDs. Likely just a precaution to ensure they’re actually USC students (as that’s the only under 21s they’re supposed to be letting in tonight). The group of them get out their student IDs and licenses, handing them over without a problem and stepping inside.

That is, until they get to Farkle. After they take a look at his IDs, they shake their heads.

Bouncer: Sorry. No entry.

Farkle: What? Why not?

Peer 1: It’s cool, we’re all together. We’re here to see --

Bouncer: He’s not allowed in. He’s too young.

Peer 2: They’re letting under 21s in for the comedian tonight --

Bouncer: Yeah, those under 21 but over 18. He’s 17.

Oh, shit… Farkle always has been the baby of the class. Now it’s really biting him in the ass.

He’s so stunned by the sudden rejection he can’t even get mad about it. His classmates start to argue on his behalf, but the bouncers shut it down pretty quickly. They’re not letting a 17-year-old in. No way around it.

So that’s that. Who knew? His peers look at him sympathetically, assuring him they’ll tell him about it tomorrow. Farkle nods, waving them on, doing his best to keep his emotions in check.

Soon enough, he’s standing alone on the sidewalk. The bouncer glances at his ID again.

Bouncer 2: You know you’ve got a pretty weird name, right?

INT. ITALIAN HOSTEL - CHARLIE’S ROOM - NIGHT

It’s the early hours of the morning in Italy now, so the hostel is mostly quiet, just peppered with the sounds of people returning from their own late-night adventures.

Charlie is already back, but Bridgette’s bunk above his is vacant for the night. That just leaves him alone, still too wired to sleep but no longer buzzed enough to dull the knot in his shoulder blades that resurfaces fast when he checks his phone.

“HI EURO JERK WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME IT’S BEEN LIKE TWO WEEKS”

Based on how he can’t stop rereading Riley’s text, and the shameful expression on his face, he’s wondering the same thing. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, just like how he likes having Bridgette here, but for whatever reason it’s like his brain can’t process things right anymore. Like when he remembers the world he’s going to be coming back to, getting closer every day, everything just shuts down. Even when he’s growing as a person, he can’t do it right.

But the shame about that just makes it worse, so ultimately, he does nothing. He locks his phone and lays it on his stomach, screwing his eyes shut.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - NIGHT

Jade is in the middle of another late night working on fixing the inventory, only now it’s starting to get to her. She looks tired, and burnt out, and damn sick of looking at all these mistakes no one else could be bothered to fix over the years.

She leans back in her chair and exhales a heavy sigh, running her hands through her hair.

Jade: Why am I doing this? [ a beat ] Why am I doing any of this?

She looks at the photos on her desk, the ones Melanie set face down. She puts them back upright, looking longingly at Nigel and Asher and the techies. Right now, this deep in grunt work and missing her friends, she can’t remember why she thought doing this apprenticeship was a good idea.

That’s a scary thought to contemplate, so she avoids it, opting to take a break. If she takes a walk, clears her head, she’ll feel better. Or if not, at least it’ll get blood flowing to her brain again.

She walks the main floor for a bit, passing through the empty desks and glowing abandoned computer monitors. She glances at some of the works in progress on the seamstresses’ tables, growing intrigued at the form they’re using and designs they’re working off of.

Suddenly, that seems to give her an idea.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - UPPER FLOOR - NIGHT

Jade has been trained well by her time with the techies, so she approaches Melanie’s desk outside Anya’s office with little to no hesitation. She’s not stealing anything, she’s just borrowing… which is what she mutters to herself as she opens her desk drawer and retrieves a pass key from its depths.

Bingo. Jade scampers away…

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

We’re in total darkness… until a heavy door slowly rolls open, letting in light from the main floor. Jade’s silhouette reaches in and flicks on one of the lights…

And dimly illuminates the design warehouse, where all of the studio’s old costumes and designs are kept. It’s rows upon rows of high-quality designs, from Broadway to the red carpet to Paris Fashion Week. A little bit of everything, and an aspiring costumer’s haven.

Jade wanders dream-like through the rows, taking it all in. Admiring the detail, letting it remind her what makes her so enthusiastic about the craft.

That’s why she’s doing this. And in her climb to the top where she can be the one calling the shots and crafting masterpieces, she needs to put in some elbow grease on the little things.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Riley wakes up alone, to yet another text canceling on her. Jade explains how hard she’s been working on this project and just doesn’t think she’ll have the energy to socialize this weekend, but she hopes Riley had a great week and can’t wait to hear about all the NYU adventures soon.

That’s fine. Everything is fine. Riley tosses her phone on the bed next to her and falls back onto her pillows, pulling one over her face.

EXT. TERRACE RESTAURANT - DAY

Charlie and Bridgette are having brunch at a cute little spot with a great view of the coast. They’re in the midst of recapping the night before, as Bridgette didn’t come back to the hostel… how was the guy she met?

Bridgette: Honestly? Only okay. He was like… you know when you’re with a guy and you can tell he’s like a little too into himself? It was like that.

Charlie: I don’t know if I can say I know that…

Bridgette: Maybe, you’re too nice to. But you should. I expect you to have standards as my brother.

Again, not necessarily what Charlie wants to talk about… but that’s okay. Bridgette has another topic she wants to bring up that he probably doesn’t want to discuss.

Bridgette: Though maybe you’re not too nice anymore… someone was a bit snippy last night.

Charlie frowns slightly, claiming he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Bridgette snorts.

Bridgette: I’m talking about how you practically bit my head off when I dared to ask who Dino is. I mean, I wasn’t gonna make a scene about it or anything, since we were supposed to be having fun --

Charlie: It doesn’t matter. He’s… like, it’s nothing. And like I said, maybe I just don’t wanna talk about guys.

Bridgette: But it’s not just guys, Charlie. You’ve been like, weird about stuff the entire time I’ve been here.

Charlie: No I haven’t?

Bridgette: You were super weird last night until we got you drunk. When I met your hostel mates the first time you like totally clammed up. I’m sorry if I blew your secret identity by existing -- I didn’t realize we were being kept on the DL.

Charlie: No, it’s -- you’re not.

Bridgette: And it’s like any time I bring up home you get super… like, tense, especially if I dare bring it up in the vicinity of your cool trendy Euro friends. Like, am I overstepping? I’m sorry if I’m not playing my part right, you didn’t give me a script when you invited me to come visit.

Charlie: No, that’s not -- I’m not… you’re not doing anything. You’re not the problem.

Bridgette: Well it kind of feels like I am. Which again, you invited me, so I’m not apologizing for that, but I’d kind of like to get the picture. So if you want me to get the hell out of your perfect Italian fantasy, you should just tell me.

Charlie: I don’t. I’m glad you’re here. It’s just --

Bridgette: Just what?

Charlie: I don’t know how to handle it.

Bridgette: Handle what? Me? No offense, but I can handle myself, thanks.

Charlie, frustrated: No, like, you being here. Like… it all getting mixed up.

Bridgette: That much I got. You’re like two different people. And I didn’t realize me like, not existing was such a big part of that.

Charlie: It’s not. It’s not about you.

Bridgette: And like, what, are you just gonna keep that up? Like, when you come home and Rosie wants to know all about what you did, are you just gonna say nothing because telling her is gonna “get it all mixed up?”

Charlie: No -- it’s just -- they’re separate. It’s -- here I don’t have to think about all that. Here I’m just Charlie.

Bridgette: Okay, just Charlie, but I thought the whole point of coming out here was to grow past that. And it seems like you are, in some ways, but if you’re only doing that in this fake or fragile version of reality where you don’t have to acknowledge any of the… I mean, like, Gardner of it all, then are you really accomplishing anything?

Charlie: I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t really want to be attacked while I’m eating lunch.

Bridgette: I’m not attacking you. Jesus. But there’s not really a good time to be confronted with the truth, is there?

Charlie, defensive: I don’t -- like, I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I’m not doing -- I’m fine. I thought this was the kind of stuff you wanted me to be doing. I’m not… it’s not fake.

Okay, so he wants to be difficult about it… Bridgette settles back in her chair, leveling her icy gaze at him.

Bridgette: When was the last time you talked to your friends?

This feels totally out of left field to Charlie, who scoffs.

Charlie: What are you talking about? I literally just introduced you to Matilde, and Max, and Gianluca --

Bridgette: I mean your American friends. [ a beat ] You know, the ones who actually know you?

Oop. Got ‘em. Charlie opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out -- because he has no argument. Bridgette hit him exactly where it hurts, the chink in his armor that sends his fragile defense tumbling down.

Bridgette: [ matter-of-fact ] … that’s what I thought.

She goes back to eating her food, point made. And Charlie just has to sit with that, guilt clouding his features as her words sink in and he’s forced to step out of the fantasy.

EXT. TURNER ACADEMY - DAY

Zay is sitting on one of the walls outside his building between classes, catching up with Yindra on video chat. He’s finished giving her the pseudo-tour, so now there’s nothing to do but actually talk about how things are going.

And pointedly, neither of them are really giving. The conversation keeps drying up because both of them are keeping things terminally vague, not wanting to give the impression that they’re not content with the choices they made. Like sure, Turner is intense so far, but Zay’s all good. Sure, auditions are far and few between right now and Yindra feels perpetually exhausted, but it’s chill. Neither of them are gonna say otherwise.

But that leaves it feeling awkward, which Zay can’t help but comment on. Yindra is the first person he’s really actually gotten to talk to this week, and it kind of feels like she doesn’t want to talk to him at all.

Yindra: That’s not true. Of course I want to talk to you.

Zay: Okay, so then like, talk. How is the diner gig? How was your last audition?

Yindra: I said, it’s fine. The diner job is lowkey embarrassing, but it pays the bills. Every artist has their embarrassing phase, I’m just paying my dues.

Zay: Right, but that’s not -- you’re not really like telling me anything. Which is whack for you, since usually you don’t shut up.

Yindra: Wow, okay. Thanks, bestie.

Zay: You know… [ gentle ] like, if it’s not ideal, you can tell me that. I’m not gonna be a bitch about it. I think everyone --

Zay is trying to be supportive, but it just makes Yindra feel defensive. Especially with him -- Zay was one of the most vocal skeptics of her big jump last year. If she gives him even a hint that he may have been right, then it’s just going to reinforce his opinion.

Yindra: What makes you assume it’s going shitty?

Zay: I’m not. I’m just saying, I know that I --

Yindra: It’s going fine, Zay. I’ve told you it’s good. I don’t know why you don’t believe me, like if you think I’m making it up and must be suffering --

Zay: No. I’m not saying that.

Yindra: But I’m not. I’m good. [ a beat ] In fact, I actually have to get ready for an audition now, so. I gotta go.

Zay: For sure. Fine. Well, I’ll text and we can find another time to talk. Maybe get Nigel on too.

Yindra: Great. Sounds great. Bye.

She hangs up before he can even return the goodbye. Zay swallows his hurt, hopping off the wall and heading to class.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - DAY

Yindra stares at her phone screen, not in any rush to get up. She doesn’t have an audition to rush off to. She’s not Maya Hart of the immediate success, and she’s a big fat liar on top of that. But what else was she supposed to say? Even if she thought she could stomach the humiliation, she doesn’t know how to possibly articulate what she’s feeling.

She may not have an audition, but she does have work. So she pulls herself out of bed as the gentle guitar picks up.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I Feel Pretty / Unpretty” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino & Farkle Minkus (feat. Maya Hart)

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Yindra starts off the melancholy mash-up (one of Glee’s absolute best, it must be said), dragging herself to her vanity and pulling herself together for another grueling shift. She covers up the drain and exhaustion with makeup and moisturizer, masking up against the world.

Same old me again today…

EXT. USC - RONALD TUTOR CAMPUS CENTER - DAY

Farkle takes over the next set of lines, sitting on his own in the popular lunch spot on USC campus. He’s surrounded by people, other students and faculty all gathering for the lunch hour, but he feels pointedly alone.

While he sings, he scrolls through different apps on his phone -- Instagram, where his classmates posted photos from last night without him. His email, where there’s still no word from Jonathan Turner. His messages, bone dry and where Isa’s silence feels louder than ever.

Somehow, he always ends up here. Isolated, on his own, unable to figure out how to mesh with the world.

INT. AUDITION HALL - DAY

The two of them harmonize while we watch Maya show up for her coveted callback, full diva charm on display and looking sharp at full polish. She paces in her heeled boots and practices under her breath.

I feel pretty… oh so pretty…

She beams brightly when a helper steps out and invites her in for her callback.

INT. USC - THEATER CLASS - DAY

Farkle’s acting class is working out of the theatre today, instead doing mirror and improv exercises in pairs while the directing students watch and give notes. Judging each of them, constantly scrutinizing their every move.

Never insecure until I met you Now I’m being stupid

Farkle kicks off the second verse in this environment, going through the motions but feeling watched from every angle. Judged for his acting choices, his weird name, his stupid age and inability to socialize and apparent lack of interest worth responding to.

INT. PERFORMING DINER - DAY

Yindra is working through her shift at the diner, taking on the next pre-chorus.

INT. AUDITION HALL - THEATER - DAY

Then the two of them harmonize from their separate locations, underscoring Maya entering and introducing herself. She hands out her resume, all smiles, and handing her music to the pianist to follow along with her.

At the bridge, she’s cued in, and she takes on the “I Feel Pretty” vocals while Farkle and Yindra continue to harmonize underneath. In this moment, as she belts in typical fashion, Maya is the pinnacle of what to be -- confident, full of opportunity, looking gorgeous and glamorous and living the dream.

We cut between the three of them right through to the end, weaving a tapestry of what it feels like to be a young adult blossoming (or wilting) in the Los Angeles sun. Farkle finishes cramped by a chair in the acting school building looking out the window, a mirror to Yindra doing the same while crashed in the corner booth of the diner.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Even Maya doesn’t finish on top of the world. She comes back to the apartment in high spirits, absolutely brimming with energy and ready to spill all about the awesome audition to Farkle…

Only he’s not there. Because he’s in class. She’s on her own, something she’s clearly going to have to start getting used to. Without someone to share the excitement with, the callback feels a little less buzz-worthy.

Maya internalizes her disappointment and heads to her room, keeping her chin up and forcing herself to hum a little “I Feel Pretty” to herself.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

In Nigel’s current favorite class, Introduction to Playwriting, they’re just starting to break into the actual concrete writing concepts they’ll be exploring now that they’re at the end of the week and syllabus era has passed. As their professor explains, right now, much like their semester, they’re going to start at the beginning by discussing how to start a stage play. There’s a lot to establish -- character, world, conflict, stakes, and you want to do it in an engaging and succinct way that snaps up the audience as swiftly as possible.

Well, not all of us are so great at succinctly… anyway, the professor breaks them into discussion groups to unpack the play they were assigned to read over break. Nigel ends up in a group with another guy and a trio of girls, a couple of whom share other classes with him. One of them, IMOGEN LEE (19), remarks that she recognizes him from their musical theater class.

Nigel: Oh, yeah. When I totally got called out.

Imogen: I didn’t think of it like that, no worries. To be honest, I thought you were way relatable. Like, some of our classmates… I know we’re all actors, or whatever, but some people are just like way too on all the time. You know? Like who is ready to just jump up on the first day? Like God, it’s Monday.

Nigel laughs, appreciating that she seems so chill. And honestly, he agrees -- as cool as it was to see Riley jump right up and introduce herself since he knows how far she’s come, it’s been a lot to be surrounded by people who just seem ready to do that at the drop of a hat. So the more laid-back commentary is very much appreciated.

Nigel: You should have seen some of the kids I went to school with in high school. They used to literally fight one another to get up on stage.

Imogen cracks up at that, agreeing she definitely wants to hear more about that.

Imogen: I’m Imogen, by the way. [ re: their peer in the group ] This is Abby. I’m a musical theater major, but she’s straight acting like you.

Abby: Well, not straight, but yes.

Ba dum tss. Imogen invites Nigel to join them for lunch after class -- they really would love to hear all about this arts school drama.

This is the most seen Nigel has felt all week, so he happily agrees.

EXT. NYU - LUNCH SPOT - DAY

Which just leaves Riley, waiting in the lunch courtyard on her own. She gets Nigel’s text letting her know he’s going to lunch with some of his playwriting classmates, but they’ll catch up on Monday. Isa’s gone with the film kids as planned, so there’s no one left to wait for.

Riley chews the inside of her cheek, feeling about two inches tall. She crosses her arms and glances around her one more time, like maybe it’ll all be a joke and her friends will miraculously appear.

But of course, they do not. So she starts the walk home by herself, keeping her head down.

EXT. TURNER ACADEMY - DAY

She’s not the only one feeling that way, though. Zay emerges from the dance building after another tough day, duffle bag over his shoulder. Across the courtyard, the actual Turner majors are just heading out from their own class to lunch. Henrik is amongst them, easily vibing and chatting with the group as they move in a defined pack.

Everyone else has it all figured out. Yindra, the NYU folks…

Even Charlie. That’s how it feels when Zay pulls up their thread by habit on his phone and it still remains dead, that last text from him being apparently the final word on the matter. He must be doing the same as Henrik, enjoying the company of new friends thousands of miles away. Like he should be, just like everyone else. The idea of disrupting that with something inane, no matter how badly he wants his advice or hear a silly Charlie-ism or maybe just to hear his voice, almost feels worse than being left hanging.

Zay doesn’t know how he always manages to do this. How for someone so popular, so cool and well-liked, he always ends up isolated and alone. And of course when he finds someone who knows that feeling, who he thought saw him, he ends up losing that too. He can’t even be mad, since he was the one who told him to go.

Guess he believed, perhaps stupidly, he wouldn’t feel so lost without him.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “LOST IN THE CITADEL” as performed by Lil Nas X || Performed by Zay Babineaux

While elements of this performance are without a doubt about Charlie, much of it also has nothing to do with him. It’s about everything -- the dismissive friction with Yindra that he doesn’t know where it came from (“tell me are you feeling down / are you happy?”). The way he’s so close to the NYU crew, yet still feels like they’re on another planet (“I only see you maybe never”). It’s a frustrated lament over that isolation that has come back with a vengeance, something that should be long past and totally irrelevant now that he’s supposedly on the path to the rest of his life.

He weaves his way through the Turner / NYCA campus as he sings, allowing us the chance to get a better feel for it. At the same time, Zay translates some of the emotion he can’t seem to process in words into choreography instead -- the whole stretch of campus is his dance studio, the choreography somewhat messy and glitchy but authentic to how he feels. Experimental, improvisational, but more fluid and true to Zay than the intense, rigorous steps we’ve seen him do during class so far. It’s a tortured freestyle, riddled with irony considering how caged he actually feels.

And the thing about it is, if you pay close attention, you’d realize that the choreography he’s stumbling through isn’t new -- it’s bits of choreography from past performances, slightly reinterpreted or sewn together. A bit of “Moses” here, a combination of “Run And Tell That” or “Kiss Of Venus” there. He’s unsteady on steps from “Music And The Mirror,” and downright tripping over “Rewrite the Stars.”

My love is falling down, playing the victim When all my envisionings come slowly tumbling down Putting me back on the ground

On that line, the dated choreography gets him, and he finds a way of gracefully collapsing to the ground… only to painstakingly pull himself back to his feet. Just like he’s been doing for nineteen years, after each disappointment and mistake and abandonment. He always pulls himself back up, powers through -- and he knows he will now too, but that doesn’t make it any less strained.

By the time he nears the end, he’s made it back where he started, back in front of the Turner doors. He looks back down at his phone, at the metaphorical crickets from Charlie.

Tell me, are we finished now? 'Cause every time you leave, you find your way to come back around…

Everything feels uncertain enough, with a killer professor and temporary major that apparently drops students like flies. It would be nice if he could feel certain about one thing, confident in what he wants more than anything to be the thing he can count on.

But right now, it’s just another question mark. Zay stuffs his phone in his duffle bag and marches on, pulling himself back up yet again.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

On the flip side, Jade is having a much better end to her week. She’s wiped but beaming with pride as she hands over her finished inventory assignment to one of the other assistants, having cleaned up the errors and updated everything to the best of her ability. She gave it her best effort, and with that knowledge, she can at least rest easy.

Her coworkers seem impressed too, Jamal and Skylar giving her genuine albeit slightly amused congratulations. They may not share Jade’s overachieving attitude, but they can appreciate it. She definitely saved the next apprentice a headache, that’s for sure.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Now that Friday is finally here, Josh is more than ready to sit down with his favorite client. Said client, known only as IRIS (20s), is already waiting in the studio when he breezes in and cheerfully greets her. She oozes cool from her style to her energy, though there’s a genuine sincerity about her that’s hard to fake in Hollywood. Even at a glance, we get the sense she would be good to work with.

That being said, she doesn’t look nearly as keen as Josh to be having this meeting. She tries to find a way to break into his hurried start to the conversation, which he rattles off while moving around and setting up studio equipment.

Josh: So sorry I’m a little late. I got stuck taking notes in this meeting that ran long --

Iris: Oh, that’s fine --

Josh: But thankfully, I prepped well in advance for this. I already sent you my mix on the single -- it sounds brilliant, by the way, like so, so good -- I basically stayed up all night working on it before I sent it to you. Did you get the chance to listen to it?

Iris: Um, yeah. The mix was awesome. But --

Josh: I’m thinking maybe it could use a levels adjustment in a couple of places, and I do have an experimental idea for the bridge that we could try a demo of -- might be a risky move, but risky moves pay off, and I’m already so sure this one is a hit.

Iris: Thanks. But Josh --

Josh: Seriously, Iris, it’s so good. I’m really excited about it. This is gonna be it. This is gonna be what does it for both of us. It’s a hit.

Iris, finally: I know! That’s why RCA wants it.

That’s enough to stop Josh dead in his tracks. He freezes, turning to stare at her for a long moment… and then he slowly lowers into the producer’s chair.

Josh: What?

Iris reluctantly elaborates, explaining that one of her friends has a contact at RCA. When Josh sent her the final mix, they listened to it together, and agreed it was so great that her friend wanted to pass it along the chain to her connection. Well, as it turns out, they loved it -- and they want to sign her to RCA. One of their top-level producers wants her.

That’s really amazing, and if Josh were simply her friend, he’d be over the moon for her. But he’s not. He’s also her producer -- the one that, apparently, she’s breaking up with.

Iris: They want to do an EP. This one will be the lead single, but they want to do a whole project around it.

Josh: You’re already doing an EP. We’re doing an EP.

Iris: We want to do an EP, but we haven’t gotten the green light from Global yet. That’s what you said yourself. After this single --

Josh: Yeah. Yeah, this single was going to give us the EP!

Iris: But there wasn’t a guarantee, Josh. This deal, there’s already a dotted line for me to sign on. A six-track EP with RCA, Josh, you have to know how big that is.

He does. He does, and part of the reason this is such a sideswipe is because that’s what he wants too. He wants to be working on that, and he knows how rare it is, so he can’t even really be mad at her for choosing the best path to get her there.

Well, maybe a little bit. Josh scoffs, pulling his beanie off his head to nervously ruffle his hair.

Iris: I’m sorry. You know it’s not personal. I’ve really loved working together – you plucked me out of the gig scene, showed me that someone could find potential in me. And now someone else has --

Josh: Yeah, with the tracks I produced.

Iris: And I totally acknowledge that. I’ll get you a cut of whatever profits come from --

Josh: It’s not about the money --

Iris: And I swear, I’m going to negotiate a production credit for you. On this track. Promise.

Nice consolation prize, but that’s all it is – a consolation. Because his name is just going to get buried in the underwriting, and by the time this song blows up, he’ll barely have fingerprints on it anymore. He won’t be in any of the press.

But that’s the business, baby. Iris frowns, obviously not pleased with having to let him down like this. But if it’s his friendship or her career…

Iris: I have to do this, Josh. I have to give it a chance. I know you’d do the same, if it happened to you. I hope you understand.

There’s a long, strained pause… then Josh sighs, nodding and extending his hand. Iris shakes it gratefully, thanking him again and promising him she’ll never forget what he did for her. She’ll keep his name in mind, and she only wishes the best for his career too.

A career that now feels basically nonexistent. Josh keeps it together until Iris leaves, then releases an anguished groan, sliding further and further down the chair until he basically hits the floor.

Josh: Fuuuuuuck!

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

The room is dark, Lucas carefully opening the door and stepping into the room. Trying to make as inconspicuous an entrance as he has every other time he’s come and gone…

But Riley isn’t having it this time. From wherever she is in the darkness, she speaks up.

Riley: You don’t have to bother being quiet. I’m awake.

Lucas cringes.

Lucas: Sorry. Did I wake you up?

Riley: I didn’t go to sleep.

Lucas: Why not?

Riley: I told you, it’s harder when you’re not here.

Riley reaches to turn on the light on her nightstand, illuminating them in a warm, dim glow. She sits up and squints at him as her eyes adjust, looking as worn out as she sounds.

Riley: Especially when no one knows where you are.

Lucas grows sheepish, crossing his arms and keeping to his side of the room. He apologizes for worrying her, but admittedly this time sounds pretty pathetic.

Lucas: I don’t see why you’re letting me keep you up now. It’s not like I’m here every single night.

Riley: I know, but at least I know you’re somewhere. You’re with Randall, or at Jack’s, and if you’re not then you tell me so I know. Otherwise, what am I supposed to do but lie here and think about it?

Lucas: Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll text next time.

Riley, frustrated: Why is there a next time?

Oop. Riley’s nerves seem a bit frayed tonight, and Lucas can tell. Something about this conversation feels dangerous, but he’s cornered now.

Lucas: What?

Riley: Why does there have to be a next time? Why should I have to prepare for another eventual period of you blipping out for who knows how long?

Lucas, defensive: … I don’t know. Sometimes I just -- you know how I am. Sometimes I just have to… get out, or --

Riley: I know, I do know that. But what are you accomplishing? What do you get out of disappearing and leaving everyone here to worry?

Lucas: [ with a snort ] Okay, “everyone” is a pretty exaggerated way of saying you --

Riley: I’m not just talking about me. You know Grace called me yesterday.

No, based on his expression, Lucas most definitely didn’t know that.

Lucas: What? Why?

Riley: Because she’s worried about you! I didn’t know where you were. Randall didn’t know where you were. She hadn’t seen you in weeks, and you never tell her what’s going on. And how do you think it made me feel, hearing that and realizing I had no idea where you were either? Thinking that something could’ve happened?

Lucas: What, do you all like, talk about me or something --

Riley: Of course we do, Lucas! What did you expect, that when you fuck off and disappear no one gives a shit? That I’m not sitting here trying not to convince myself it’s going to be the one time you don’t come back?

Lucas: I -- I’m not trying to --

Riley: Of course we talk about you. Of course we’re worried. Because we care --

Lucas: Well, you know, that was never the case before. So sorry if I wasn’t all up to date on everyone’s new expectations.

Riley, sharply: You know that’s not true.

Well, maybe in Riley’s case… but even so, Lucas knows he’s wrong. He knows it’s selfish, dipping the way he does, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how to explain himself.

Lucas: [ under his breath ] You just don’t get it.

Riley: You’re right. You’re right, I don’t, so help me understand!

She crawls to the end of the bed and tries to get him to talk through it. Wanting just one thing to feel settled, to be able to fix one problem. But Lucas shakes his head, looking away from her.

Riley: Tell me what you get out of disappearing. Seriously, I want to know. Because I can’t make any sense of it. It doesn’t give you stability. It doesn’t give you support. It takes you further away from the people who care about you -- and it takes you away from me, which to be quite honest, I fucking hate.

Lucas: Well you never said anything.

Riley: Because what am I supposed to say, Lucas? “Stop running away from me, let me love you?” As if that doesn’t sound utterly pathetic and would make even a shred of a difference? I know you already know that’s how I feel -- I don’t need to beg for you to hear it.

She’s right. He does know, and that makes this all even worse. He runs a hand through his hair.

Riley: And I know things are hard. I know what you’re dealing with is hard, and awful, and so unfair it makes me sick. I wish I could help, if I could fix it I would. If I could carry that burden for you, I would in a second.

Lucas, guilty: I know.

Riley: But that’s what I don’t get. I know you know that. I know you know that you have support, that there are people in your corner. So what is the point of forsaking all of that to disappear?

Lucas: I don’t know.

Riley: And I know you don’t want to put that burden on anyone else, which is why I don’t get why you do it. Especially Grace -- I know you hate what’s happening, how it’s affecting her too. I know you don’t want her to deal with it on her own. You’ve told me that. But yet that’s the opposite of what you’re doing. So why?

Lucas, strained: I don’t know.

Riley: What do you gain from this? And how long is it going to go on? Is this your new plan? Like, how long are you just going to roam like this, when does it fucking end? I’m trying to understand, to have patience, but you have to help me understand --

Lucas, snapping: You can’t! Okay, Riley, you just can’t!

The instant after he raises his voice, both of them go quiet. Lucas out of shame, already hating himself for losing his temper; Riley out of exasperation, not sure what else there is to say.

It’s the worst kind of discontent, being at a dead end with someone you love. And maybe normally it wouldn’t ache so badly, she could work through it with her usual level of empathy, but after a week of being rescheduled and ignored and shaken off by the people she is so desperately trying to hold together by a thin thread, losing track of him too is something she cannot take.

All of that compounding is the true reason for the way her eyes are glossing over, but all Lucas can see is his impact. His raised voice, his instability, his inability to meet her in the middle when things get like this. But more than the tears, it’s the way she’s looking at him that gets to him -- still with understanding, with faith, compassionately waiting for him to give her what she needs. No less devoted than in the moments when it’s easier to love him, written all over her face with such clarity in a way he knows he can never be.

She’s so hard to look at, when she looks at him like that. Like she’s giving him everything, it’s all right there on her sleeve, and he can’t handle it properly. He’s not suited to take it. She’s rising up, killing it at NYU, and he’s stuck in the past. She’s brilliant, full of potential, and he’s the deadbeat with no prospects.

She’s Riley, and he’s Lucas. And sometimes, in the low moments like these, those two things feel impossible to have together.

Lucas, thickly: I can’t do this right now.

Lucas starts to go, needing to get away again. This time, though, the reason is clear as day -- he already raised his voice once, and he won’t risk doing that again. Not around her; not when he knows damn well from years of observation what direction that can go.

But to Riley, that’s the last thing she wants him to do. Her mind is nowhere near where his is -- the potential of him doing what he thinks he could is not even in the realm of possibility for her. She knows him better than that.

And she can’t have another person walk away from her. Not again. She shakes her head, asking him not to go as she gets up from the bed and goes after him.

Riley: Lucas, don’t. I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t mean to push.

Lucas: Don’t apologize. It’s not -- you’re not -- I just can’t.

Riley: Don’t go. Please, don’t go. [ choking up ] I’m sorry, just, please --

The dual exhaustion on both their parts probably isn’t helping. Riley reaches to take his arm, trying to pull him back in her orbit, but he quickly recoils and pulls away.

Lucas: Riley! I can’t -- I need space. I’m sorry, I lo -- it’s not you. I need to go.

It’s hard with Riley’s imminent tears, but Lucas powers through his escape, stepping out of the room and hurriedly shutting the door behind him. Riley steps up to the door and puts her hands on it but doesn’t go after him, respecting his boundary even though everything in her wants to hold on tighter and keep him close.

Everyone is floating away. Everyone is gone.

Riley descends into tears, turning to lean back against the door and sliding down onto the floor. She hides her head in her knees and lets it all go, all the conflicted emotion and hurt and abandonment she’s felt since graduation catching up with her.

Great ending to the first week of the rest of her life.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

As the weekend descends upon us, it doesn’t feel very exciting. After such an overwhelming week, it feels comparatively stale, like the world is frozen in an unyielding state of “wait.”

Farkle is waiting for something, anything, from Turner, but his inbox remains mockingly empty. His phone is equally dead, no messages from any of his east coast friends – least of all Isa, who’s message thread he seems to compulsively open and close as if that’ll change anything.

Across the apartment, as we pan through the walls…

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Maya is also in wait, far less passively than Farkle. She’s restlessly pacing, refreshing her inbox and making sure her phone has signal. Knowing that a call from those producers and casting agents will arrive any minute – those auditions will deliver. She has no doubt they will.

So she waits. And waits. And waits.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Riley works in the living area on some of her first homework assignments, but she can’t focus. She keeps glancing towards the door, then checking her phone. Waiting for an update that’s not going to come; for a man she knows isn’t going to come home after she scared him away.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Zay has moved beyond the freeze, mostly because he knows he won’t be able to cope otherwise. He’s turned off his phone and left it facedown on his bed while he gets ready for another run-through in his garage, leaving it behind when he leaves the room.

Better not to know than to sit there waiting for a response that isn’t coming. A crutch he has to get used to not having anymore.

EXT. ITALIAN HOSTEL - ROOFTOP TERRACE - NIGHT

A crutch that likely doesn’t even realize how much of an effect he has – how much he’s actually missed. Charlie is leaning against the rail of the rooftop terrace, lost in thought as he breathes in the fresh air and looks out towards the coast. It’s the closest he can get to the feeling of stepping out onto the sanctuary of his balcony – a sanctuary he hasn’t had in months. He subconsciously twists the ring on the end of his necklace in his fingers.

The door to the rooftop opens behind him, and moments later, Bridgette silently joins him. For a few seconds, they simply take in the view.

Bridgette: Translation question for you. [ off his side-eye ] How do you say… “I’m sorry” in Italian?

See what you’re doing there, Bridgette… Charlie fully glances at her, also well aware what she’s getting at, but he humors her anyway.

Charlie, plainly: “Mi dispiace.”

Bridgette nods, theatrically taking that in. Then she meets his gaze.

Bridgette: Mi dispiace, Charlie. I didn’t mean to burst your European bubble with my harsh words.

Charlie: Non ti preoccupare. [ a beat ] And you weren’t wrong. I know you’re right.

Bridgette: I don’t want you to think I’m discrediting what you’ve done here. I’m not. Coming out here on your own, that was brave. You’ve grown a lot, and it’s clear you’ve figured some stuff out. You’re discovering… you, and that’s good. I’m proud of you for that. And you know I’d never begrudge you a hot gay summer.

Charlie gives her a look. Not how he’d like to describe it… and regardless, he can hear the “but” coming a mile away…

Bridgette, gently: But summer’s over. Unless you’re planning to stay a little Italian vagabond forever – which I don’t think you want to do, escapist as it might be – you’re going to come home eventually. And when that time comes… I just think you might want to start thinking about what’s going to stay here, “just Charlie,” and who Charlie Gardner is going to be. Because if I know him like I think I do, I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who willfully forgets his sisters or leaves his friends on read. [ a beat ] At least, not anymore.

She said that exactly right… and Charlie knows it. He doesn’t want to be that person, even accidentally. And he doesn’t want to stay a nameless, vague wanderer forever, even if sometimes it’s easier to be a nobody.

What he’s going to do about it, that’s up for him to decide.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

A pile of plays and scene books is splayed abandoned on the couch and coffee table, Farkle up and pacing the living room and scrolling frantically on his phone instead. He’s anxiously running a hand through his hair, the same nervous habit he developed during Season 2 when he started doing it so compulsively he was pulling hair out (ultimately resulting in the ever-famous buzzcut).

Maya can tell something is up the moment she emerges from her room, quirking an eyebrow at his slight mania.

Maya: What are you doing?

Farkle: Booking flights. Well, I would be if the stupid internet would work in this stupid apartment.

Maya: Ooh, flights? Where are we going? Tell me we’re going somewhere tropical.

Farkle: Home. I’m going home.

It takes Maya a bit too long to figure out what that even means. Like, aren’t they already there… then she catches up, shaking her head slightly in bewilderment.

Maya: Why? Is everything okay?

Farkle: No. No, it’s not.

Maya: Is something wrong with your parents? Your siblings? [ with dread ] Oh God, Farkle, don’t tell me it’s Petra, I won’t be able to live without her roast duck –

Farkle: I can’t pick a monologue.

Um… okay? Well… no, yeah, that doesn’t track. Maya is totally confused now, closing her eyes for a second as if that’ll make him make sense.

Maya: Huh?

Farkle: I can’t pick a monologue. I have a monologue due Monday and I can’t find the right one.

Maya: What does it matter? It’s your first one, you’ve got like twenty-seven memorized in your back pocket. Just pick your favorite and –

Farkle: Nothing is good enough.

Maya: And that’s worth flying home for? I don’t think you’re going find a better monologue on your bookshelf that you couldn’t get here –

Farkle: You don’t get it! I’m not good enough!

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now he’s just talking crazy. Maya stares at him as he spills into a frenzied rant, lamenting how absolutely shit he’s been at… well, everything. He can’t find a monologue. He can’t figure out how to interface with his peers, and he can’t keep many of the old ones either. He can’t even get into a stupid college bar because he can’t even age right!

Maya: Look, if this is about Izzy, that’s not you –

Farkle: Turner hasn’t responded, Maya!

Maya: God, you sound like Zay…

Farkle: He’s the whole reason I thought I was good enough to do this, to come out and see… whatever, and now he’s gone radio silent. I moved my life all the way across the country and apparently fucked up everything I left to do it and for what? If he’s really ghosting me, then for what?!

Maya: Um, your career? A change of scenery? The greatest adventure of a lifetime for the greatest cinematic duo in modern history –

Farkle: What if it was a fluke? What if Turner actually wasn’t that interested and I’m following a dead lead and uprooted my whole pathetic life to do it? What if I was only able to function in New York, where the freaks of all freaks flock, and I’m going to wilt and die out here because I’m an insane person?

Maya: Farkle!

Farkle: What if I was Adams good, but that’s going to do me shit out here where I’m just a speck? What if all of this was a huge fucking mistake?

Maya can’t take any more of this. Both because it hurts to hear her best friend talk about himself like this, so defeatist and totally unrepresentative of all he has to offer, and because hearing someone else verbalize the doubts she’s been pushing out of her own head all week is too sickening to acknowledge.

So she intervenes the only way she knows how – dramatically. She marches over to where he’s pacing by the couch and jumps into the coffee table so they’re the same height, then takes his face in her hands and forces him to stop and look at her.

Maya: Hey! Snap the fuck out of it! Look at me and read my lips – we are going to get everything we want. You and me, Farkle, we’re gonna have it all.

Farkle: But Maya –

Maya: No! [ snapping in front of his face ] No buts! I can’t believe the absolute atrocities coming out of your mouth right now. You, not good enough? You, Farkle Minkus, a fluke? Libel! Libel and slander of the highest degree! Turner doesn’t know to jump at the chance to work with you when he has you – his fucking loss! One opportunity turns out dry and doesn’t go the way you planned? Find another one!

Borderline crazed as it might be, the pep talk seems to be working. Farkle is hanging on her every word.

Maya: And if those USC bitches don’t yet realize that they’re sitting amongst a great, that they should be lining up down the block to be your friend, that’s only because they don’t know you yet. They don’t understand, and that’s why you’re going to pick whatever monologue and it won’t even matter which one because you’re going to blow everyone else out of the water because it’s you performing it. You’re insane, and talented, and dedicated, and irreplaceable, and you’re going to show them that. Because you’re Farkle Minkus!

Farkle: I’m Farkle Minkus.

Maya: You’re Farkle fucking Minkus, and anyone who doesn’t see all your worth now will live to regret it. So pull it together, go learn a damn monologue, and forge the next path!

Farkle nods, Maya mirroring it back and then lightly smacking his cheek in a gesture somewhere between fond and derisive. Then she hops off the table, marching back towards her room but pointedly walking backwards to keep on him.

Maya: Everything we want, Farkle. That’s what we’re getting.

Farkle: Everything we want.

Maya: And don’t you fucking forget it. Now memorize!

Maya points at him and then to the scattered plays, before stepping into her room and shutting the door. Farkle pauses, absorbing whatever the hell that experience just was… before turning back to the scene books. He puts his phone and greater escape plans down and picks up a collection of Tennessee Williams, exhaling a deep breath.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

For as successful as she was at talking Farkle off the ledge, Maya seems a bit more shaken herself than she let on. She leans back against her door and takes a deep breath of her own, letting it out slowly through her nose.

Everything she said to Farkle, she can apply to herself too. She may not have an agent on speed dial, but she put herself out there. She’s got things going for her.

Maybe she just needs to swallow her doubt and be bold too.

INT. ERIC’S NEW APARTMENT - NIGHT

Since any weekend plans have been totally discarded, Riley spends a night having dinner with Eric instead. Given how we last saw her, crying on her bedroom floor, one would expect her to be reserved and low. But she’s just the opposite, compensating with cheer and keeping up a lively conversation with Eric while they finish eating. She asks him all about Adams, any challenges he might be facing, is the board giving him any trouble? When’s Jack supposed to be back; are they planning to continue their relationship same as before?

She keeps the conversation so focused on him, yet in spite of that, it’s like he can’t get a word in edgewise -- which is exactly how Eric knows something is wrong. He knows his niece well enough to know when she’s overcompensating, deflecting from herself to avoid any concern. And most people might not notice, or think that’s just how Riley is, but he knows better. So when he finally finds an in, he turns it back on her, asking how the first week has gone.

Riley: Oh. Oh, great. Really lovely. Very excited about the year.

Eric: Yeah?

Riley: Mhm.

Eric: That’s good. How are your friends faring?

There’s a reason Eric was a good counselor. He knows exactly the right buttons to push. And although Riley’s delivery was so chipper, so unquestionable, and she figured she must’ve cried all her tears out the night prior, it really takes nothing at all for her to crumble. She opens her mouth to answer and instead of words, tears show up instead, slipping out of her before she can push them down or explain them away.

Yeah, no, things are not great.

Eric gently encourages her to talk through it, listening attentively while Riley finally lets it all drop. She expresses her flailing sense of control, how with everyone in different directions it’s like she can’t keep track of them or help with their problems. At Adams, they were all dealing with the same issues, the same cast of characters, the same goals and challenges and collective. Now they’re all scattered and set apart, and she can hardly keep track of it all, let alone offer helpful fixes. And some things -- like the stuff going on with Lucas -- it just feels like there’s no fix at all.

Riley: I know things have been worse. I know I’ve been in worse times, we’ve seen worse straits. And it’s not like everything is bad -- this is the beginning of a lot of things, and it should be exciting. It should be good. But at least back when everything was shitty, we were together. We were a cohort. Now it’s like -- [ catching her breath ] it’s like gravity’s broken, and everyone is just drifting away. It feels like this slow bleed, this deterioration of all the threads tying us together falling away. And there’s no obvious solution, no way for me to turn it back on. I just have to watch. [ tearfully ] I can’t watch everyone I love go away.

Eric nods along, empathetic. As exciting and grand as this transition into young adulthood is, there’s no doubt that it’s damn hard. Everyone experiences it in a different way, but it’s bound to have challenges, and the one Riley is facing seems perfectly suited to knock her down. She’s so people-oriented, so devoted to her crew, and now she has to accept that those dynamics will change.

Eric: That doesn’t mean go away, or end. They’ll just be different now. And you’re right, some of the things you’re dealing with… there is no easy fix. There’s not a band-aid for what Lucas is going through. There’s no instant-fix solution I can give you.

Riley wipes her nose with a napkin, nodding in defeat. But Eric doesn’t want her to lose hope.

Eric: But you’re already doing the best thing you can. You’re putting in your effort, helping where you can, letting your friends know you’re there -- and that’s all you have to do. That’s enough. You can’t fix things for them, but it’s not your job to do that. To keep the group together, to get Lucas out of his funk. You give what you can, and then you’ve got to let loose the reins a bit and let them take it from there.

Riley: [ with a huff ] Easier said than done.

Eric: I know. With you, especially, I know. But I know you can do it. And you know, I don’t know if you realize this, but it’s your new start too. [ off her head tilt ] You’re so consumed with what everyone else is doing, what everyone else needs, I feel like you’re forgetting that it’s your first week of college too. Your adventure into the future. It’s wonderful to be invested in people you care about and want the best for them, but you can be invested in yourself too. Maybe it’s time to stop putting those expectations on yourself, stop playing the support role and step into your own spotlight.

Riley considers this, really taking it in. When she stops and thinks about it, she honestly can’t remember much time she spent this week actually thinking about her own NYU experience so far… and something isn’t right about that.

Eric: I’m not saying give up on everyone else. Keep being you, and being the incredible friend that you are. But you’re starting the next phase of your life just like they are, and I think you deserve to live fully in that moment and enjoy every twist and turn of it.

Again, easier said than done… but important. Necessary, one could say. Riley has spent so much of her life placating other people, playing support system, being the glue holding everything together. If everything else is changing anyway, maybe this is the time to try something new.

Maybe this is the time to put Riley Matthews first.

EXT. OUTDOOR HIDEOUT - NIGHT

The quiet ambience of the woods is a deep contrast to the heightened emotions going on in the cities, Lucas seeking refuge in the hideout. There’s no car there with him so it's a wonder how he got there, but if he's been wandering on his own for much of the weekend, perhaps that isn’t such a mystery. So rather than the hood of a car he’s reclined back against a slab of rocks, eyes closed as he listens to the crickets and the running water of the stream nearby and tries to block out everything else.

It’s not working. The everything else has become too much, too loud to ignore no matter how far into the nothing he wanders. Lucas frowns and presses his palms to his eyes.

Lucas: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Who knew being stuck could feel like such a state of chaos. Lucas sighs and pushes himself upright, letting his eyes readjust to the dark. He pulls his phone from his pocket, the screen illuminating his face in a cool glow.

He goes to his contacts, hovering over Riley for a moment. He does want to talk to her – he hates how things ended on Friday, and he doesn’t want it to stay that way… but not yet. He’s not ready for that part yet. That requires brain power, and care, and he doesn’t want to misstep and make everything worse. He’s gotten too good at that.

Yet he knows he wants to talk. He pulled out his phone for a reason. Maybe it just wasn’t Riley he really wanted to hear from…

After a moment, he goes to a different contact and dials. He pulls his legs up and wraps an arm around his knees, fidgeting while he waits for the call to go through.

Jack: [ through voicemail ] Hi, you’ve reached Jack Hunter, principal of Adams Academy of the Arts. If this is a school-related matter, please reach me at my office phone, which you can find on the Adams website. Otherwise, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m able. Thanks.

Lucas weirdly finds himself smiling in spite of himself – Jack is just so lame and nerdy. He’s so distracted by how it feels to hear his voice again, how disarmingly familiar it is, that he’s actually surprised when the tone sounds indicating he can start his message. So there’s a few seconds of silence while Lucas remembers how to speak, and even when he does, it comes out a bit shaky.

Lucas: Uh, hi. It’s Lucas. But um, you probably knew that. Caller ID, or whatever. And I know you’re like, sleeping now because it’s like the middle of the night wherever you are and stuff… [ a beat ] You know, you really have to change your voicemail. ‘Cause it’s out of date. Eric is gonna be pissed you’re still telling everyone you have his job.

What is he even talking about? Why is he talking at all? Lucas knows he’s just wasting Jack’s time, so he tries to wrap it up. He screws his eyes shut, trying to find words.

Lucas: I don’t know why I’m calling. I shouldn’t have. I’m gonna take up all your inbox space and then people who actually have shit to say are gonna be fucked – sorry, screwed. Or whatever. And I don’t wanna bother you, ‘cause you’re on vacation and stuff. You’re supposed to be like, not dealing with all my usual… you know, whatever. I just, uh… [ choked up ] I really don’t know what I’m doing. Everything is all… it’s a lot. It’s usually a lot, but now it’s… a lot of a lot. Especially because everyone else is… they’re over there, past all this, and I’m just stuck. Doing the same shit. And I don’t know how to tell people that, you know, that I’m trying but sometimes it just gets… too…

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to say, and the fact that his throat hurts so much now doesn’t help. He takes a moment to catch his breath, swiping at his eyes.

Lucas: Anyway, I guess I just… wanted to say something. Because you’d probably have some annoying sage advice or perspective or whatever that would make me roll my eyes but ultimately is probably right. This isn’t your problem, so it’s not… but yeah. I know I just have to… talk through it and keep trying or whatever, so… uh, hope everything is going fine and you’re like, relaxing and… yeah. You don’t have to call me back. But, um… thanks. Okay, bye.

Lucas hangs up and then releases a heavy sigh, laying back against the rocks again. Painful as that was, and somewhat incomprehensible, he does feel slightly better. Just to have said it, to have said something.

Farkle, pre-lap: “I’m sorry I’m not speaking, I’m sorry. I know it’s weird but I’m trying to work out how to handle this. Who to… be.”

INT. BING THEATER - DAY

Farkle is in the midst of performing his monologue – a rather popular contemporary selection from the play Cock by Mike Bartlett. Depending on your maturity level, if you’ve finished chuckling at the title, the moment in question is rather serious as the main character, John, is forced by circumstance to reconcile two very different perceptions of himself.

Farkle: “Because I’m two different people, with the two of you, when you’re separate and now I’m in the middle and no one.”

And Farkle, naturally, delivers an electric performance. It’s raw, stirring, emotional without being overwrought. Farkle doesn’t overdo the melodrama, because he doesn’t have to – he’s no stranger to feelings of doubt, to complicated emotional cocktails, to feeling of two minds.

Farkle: “I have absolutely no idea who I am. Everyone else seems to have a personality, a character but I’ve never, I’ve never – I used to do voices, I remember this, and I don’t think anyone can really understand it when I say it but I remember one moment when I couldn’t think what was my own voice. I’d been doing high voices and northern voices and men’s voices and impressions of the teachers and my dad, and people on the telly and everyone was laughing and I tried to go back to my own voice… but I couldn’t remember what it is.”

Even if they’re not sure what to make of him quite yet as a peer, his classmates can’t deny he has passion. He’s impossible to look away from, with such a captivating stage presence. Maya was more than right – they’re not even close to scratching the surface of Farkle Minkus.

And some of them certainly seem intrigued. The directing sophomore, Jordan, is notably drawn in, expression thoughtful and jotting down a couple of notes to himself.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Zay is wandering after class on Monday, walking for the sake of walking rather than with any sense of clear direction. He’s weaving through the outskirts of Central Park, trying to clear his head. Finding it easier to walk away from Turner than towards it at the moment.

Farkle, voiceover: “And I always stand in front of the mirror for ages, every day I never know what to wear, when I go shopping for clothes I bring him and he says it’s up to you, what do you like? And I think – I don’t know! I don’t have a fucking clue.”

But maybe his trajectory wasn’t so random after all.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Zay glances up from watching his sneakers and finds himself in front of Adams. Like some kind of subconscious pilgrimage.

So weird. So embarrassing. No sense for him to be hanging around this old place anymore… Zay starts to double back, to head back towards the park… but he hesitates.

INT. BING THEATER - DAY

Farkle wraps up the monologue with another classic charm of his – putting a wry twist of humor on the whole thing after a rather heavy moment.

Farkle: “Just choose something that isn’t too strange, that means I don’t look like a fucking idiot.”

He delivers the last line with a dry wit that earns some laughter from his classmates… and with that, maybe, a tiny sliver of acceptance. Farkle breaks into a small smile before he pulls it back together and offers a professional bow, his peers breaking into applause.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Classes have ended for the afternoon, but there’s still students hanging around, for rehearsals and after school practice sessions and all the usual fare of Adams we used to be so familiar with. So it’s not all that questionable for Zay to be wandering the halls – none of the newbies would recognize him. The line between high school senior and college freshman is barely a hair thick.

Again, Lord knows why he thinks it’s a good idea, but this is where Zay’s feet are leading him. So he follows their siren pull, remaining inconspicuous and soaking in the well-known scenery…

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Until he makes it to the usual studio, where he should have known he’d end up all along. When he’s seeking familiarity, comfort, the reminder of how things used to be, of course this is where he’d flee.

Only he doesn’t get that far. He only makes it to the hall outside, because the studio door itself is closed, currently occupied.

A quick glance through the window shows us all there is to know – a couple of underclassmen dance students, having reserved the studio after school to get some rehearsal time in together. Right now, they’re more so goofing off rather than actively rehearsing, both students giddy with laughter in the midst of a playful dance-off. Or maybe a choreography experimentation of some kind, but easy collaboration all the same. Like Zay had done probably a thousand times in the last four years, making a sanctuary out of the studio too.

This is their turf now. It’s no longer Zay’s world. It’s their turn to make a home here… and he has to start building his somewhere new.

After one last look, Zay backs off and heads back from where he came, leaving the studio and its new inhabitants behind.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

But that doesn’t mean there’s no aid to be found in going back to your roots. As he’s heading back out, he runs into Harper, on her way back to the black box from the teacher’s lounge. She greets him cheerfully, surprised but not opposed to seeing him roaming the halls.

Harper: Didn’t think I’d be seeing you around for some time – had me worried I was having déjà vu there for a second. Or serious hallucinations. What brings you around, how is Turner going?

What a question, Harps… Zay opens his mouth to answer, to offer the usual platitudes and agreeable assurances that all is well. He’s killing it, everything going according to plan.

But that doesn’t come out. In fact, nothing does. And that hesitation coming from Zay Babineaux speaks plenty.

Harper tilts her head sympathetically, then stretches her arm towards the black box door. A wordless invitation that after a moment, Zay accepts, stepping into the classroom and Harper following shortly after.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Isa makes her way into the diner in a huff, wearing the frustrations of the week all over her face. She scans the room, clearly looking for something specific.

Miraculously, she finds it in no time at all. Despite his penchant for disappearing and his most recent heavy absenteeism, Lucas is back behind the counter for his shift that afternoon. Like nothing even happened, as if he’s always perfectly easy to find there in the usual spot.

Isa is clearly relieved to see him. She marches over to the counter and hops onto the stool opposite him, releasing a monumental sigh and dropping her lanyard on the countertop.

Isa: Thank God you’re here. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a thousand years.

Lucas: You aren’t the only one.

Isa: I swear, it’s like college has totally sucked up my brain, spun it around like a vacuum cleaner filter, and then spat it back out with no conception of time, reality, or the purpose of existence. I know that might be too dark a take for the bubbly walls of Chubbies.

Lucas: Please, by all means, keep talking. You’re making me feel way better about the not being able to go to college thing.

Isa heaves out another sigh, remarking there is so much shit she wants to work through she doesn’t even know where to start. Good thing he’s there to listen! Lucas grimaces.

Lucas: You gonna buy something first?

Isa: [ ignoring that ] Sorry, I know you hate like, giving advice. Or listening to people talk. Or conversations that last longer than two minutes. [ off his nod of acknowledgement ] I just feel like everyone else is either in the same shit with me or is giving me way too much supportive bullshit right now when what I need is someone to just give it to me straight. I need your removed, totally unhelpful blunt takes.

As great as he is at delivering those, Lucas still seems reluctant. Given he’s trying to be more upfront about things now in an effort to combat his own struggles, he admits that he doesn’t really want to talk or hear much more about college at the moment. Isa waves him off, assuring him it’s not that.

Isa: It’s not about college. Well, like, technically it is, but not really.

Lucas: … okay…

Isa: It’s just like… okay, so for my genre class, our professor handed out this sheet that we’re supposed to fill out about ourselves. You know, birthday, favorite movies, religious affiliation if applicable, state secrets. Stuff like that.

Lucas: Sounds like Hell.

Isa: And I was fine with most of it. Like, you know me, I’m an opinionated bitch. I got through all that stuff easy-peasy. But I got stuck on this one thing.

Lucas: And I’m guessing you’re going to tell me that one thing.

Isa: Gender. Of all things. Gender. Like, the thing I’ve been checking off without a second thought for what feels like my entire life. They told me I was a girl, so I’m a girl. Sure. Check the box, done.

Lucas: Sure. So why are you thinking about it now?

Isa: I don’t know! I guess it’s like -- I changed my name, you know, how I go with people at school, and it felt cool. Kinda right, to shake it up a bit. And I don’t think gender is really like that, it’s not really something most people just shake up, but it’s like… I thought about it for longer than three seconds, and it was like, huh. I don’t know. Farkle and I used to talk about it, too, this disconnection from gender. It just kind of felt like the norm, to not really associate with it, but now that I’m being asked about it more upfront it’s like I actually don’t have any clue.

It’s obvious that this sort of topic is way out of Lucas’s realm of expertise, or familiarity, or pay grade for that matter. Who has time to think about gender when the toll of existing is heavy enough… but he does his best to humor her.

Lucas: Well, can you just do that? Like… disconnect?

Isa: No. I mean, I did think about that -- agender is a thing, you know -- but that didn’t feel right either. And I know it’s not like it’s some hard and fast rule, like if I check a box on this stupid college freshman form I’ll be tying myself down for life, but for some reason I just can’t stop… overthinking it.

And there’s a lot of valid reasons for that. Impostor syndrome, worry over what others might think in response, the possibility that it could change… gender, like every other part of understanding yourself, can be a complex process.

Isa: But I need to fill out this form for this stupid homework assignment that I’m already late on, so at this point I’m just like -- say I do it. Say I pick something other than girl, to see how it feels, to see if that fits right. At least, for today. If I do that, I mean… am I different? Does that change me? You know you’re always saying I let people make me over too much, that I’m bad about holding onto my sense of self.

Lucas: I wouldn’t call those situations at all similar, but…

Isa: Tell me honestly. If I pick something else, if I decide I feel more like a boy, or somewhere in the middle, or nothing at all, does that change how you see me? Do I become someone different? And is that bad?

Lucas can tell she’s seriously stressed about it, and her asking him for his perspective is genuine. So he does his best to honor that, contemplating the question for a long moment before he lands on his answer.

Lucas: Can I still call you Dora?

Isa: [ a beat ] Yeah. I mean, I guess. I don’t care.

Lucas: Cool. Then what do I care about the rest of it?

Lucas shrugs plainly, accenting the point. And as blasé and perhaps unhelpful as that response might be, generally speaking, in that moment, it’s actually exactly what Isa needed to hear. It reaffirms what Isa was most concerned about -- to Lucas, she’s just Dora. Whether she’s a he or a they or a xe; whether she goes by Isadora or Isa or any other name she may or may not adopt.

With permission, to him, she will always be Dora. Nothing could change that. After a quiet beat, Isa smiles, nodding a thanks.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Following the same advice she gave Farkle, Maya is making some moves of her own. She’s no longer going to sit and wait around for answers – if they won’t offer them up, then she’ll track them down for herself.

She goes to her laptop and pulls up the information for the audition she went on that went so well, the callback she was sure she nailed. She does some digging and finds the casting office phone number, dialing it while she still has the nerve.

Maya: Hi! I’m calling in regards to the callback auditions for… yes, yes that’s the one. Yes, well, I had the pleasure of auditioning again last week and was told I’d hear back promptly, so I just wanted to see if… [ a long beat ] Oh. Oh, okay, yes. Thank you. Thank you, I very much appreciate it. Yes, will do. Pass on my thanks. Yes, buh-bye.

Don’t even have to hear the “no” to know it’s a no. The callback she was so sure about, that felt so right, went to someone else – and they didn’t even bother to tell her. No rejection, just silence. They would’ve happily kept her waiting on read forever.

We see this register in Maya’s features, the hurt and the sting and the frustration compounding on top of that isolation she’s not admitting that she feels… and then she takes a deep breath, pushing it away. Honing, cleansing her diva aura, moving on.

There are other ways to make it in this business. She knows she has what it takes. If this route’s a dead end, then it’s time to forge a new path.

Maya shuts her laptop definitively, getting to her feet.

Zay, pre-lap: I don’t know what I was expecting. How I thought all this would go.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Zay is situated in one of the coveted comfy chairs usually tucked in the corners of the black box, which they’ve pulled over by Harper’s desk while they chat. Harper is in her chair, and she sips a mug of tea thoughtfully while she lets Zay unload all of his frustrations. How time feels like it’s against him, how disconnected he feels, how every day of Turner so far just feels like a war.

Zay: It’s not like I thought it would be easy. I knew it wouldn’t. And I have experience in tough terrain, okay, I survived four years of this place. I know competition and cutthroat classmates and having to be on that grind. I’ve pushed that limit just about as far as it can go. But I don’t know, it’s just like… way harder. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.

Harper starts by asserting that whatever Zay feels, it’s okay for him to feel that way. Believe it or not, most people have an uneven start to their college experience, even if it seems like everyone around you has it all figured out. He’s probably far from the only one feeling this way, not just amongst his Turner classmates but his other peers, too. How put together someone seems on the outside doesn’t equate how they feel on the inside -- he should know that all too well.

Harper: And that aside, I think you already know the problem. I think you just said it.

Zay: What? The unrelenting march of time and the devil’s toolkit of time zones and scheduling?

Harper: No -- although I’m with you, scheduling is a nightmare. And it doesn’t go away.

Zay: Boo.

Harper: One of the unfortunate companions of adulthood. Get used to it. But no. You said you don’t know if you can do this on your own -- key being “on your own.”

As far as Harper can tell, it seems like what’s bothering Zay more than the intense classwork or high expectations is the fact that he feels alone facing it. When he was at Adams, he had a cohort -- friends and rivals and familiar faces he knew he could count on. And yes, some of them are still around, most of them are still in his life, but it’s not the same. It couldn’t be.

Harper: That’s one of the strangest things about leaving high school. For so long, you spent all your time with these people, doing the same things and sharing the same space. Then one day, they drop you out in the real world, and suddenly all that structure is gone. The shared schedule and connective tissue of a school identity have vanished. It becomes up to y’all to make the time for one another, and that’s easier said than done.

Zay: Yeah.

Harper: And unfortunately, the truth is, you have to adjust for that. Some of that is just growing up -- people’s schedules change, priorities shift. It’s hard, but if you really care, you find the time. That’s how you learn who your true friends are, who shows up. And even if they’re not in the studio with you, right there in front of you, that doesn’t mean they’re not in your corner. Surely, you know how many people you have rooting for you in your corner.

When he thinks about it for more than a few seconds, yeah, Zay can cop to that. He nods.

Harper: Give others a little more patience right now. And yourself, too. Everyone is going through the same things you’re feeling, and that makes connection harder than usual. But it will settle. You guys will find the new normal. And you know, you had a great team here at Adams, but you didn’t have them right away. That took time too.

Doesn’t feel like it, since it was so long ago… but yeah, she’s right. Zay acknowledges that, though a bit soberly, still thinking about how his conversation with Yindra went.

Harper: So give your new peers a little patience too. You don’t know what’s to come, they might surprise you. And other than that… you know you should do whatever you need to do. If this isn’t what you thought it would be, if it isn’t fun or inspiring or your passion anymore --

Zay: No way. That could never happen.

Harper smiles lightly at his vehemence.

Harper: Well, if you ever did find that was the case, I would support you. It’s okay to realize your original plan isn’t working, to change gears and forge a new path. They always tell you all that not everyone in this industry makes it -- well, that’s because many of those people just discover that this life isn’t for them, and that’s okay too. But since that isn’t the case, all I’ll say is I believe in you. So many people do. And I know you don’t shy away from a challenge, so take the breather you need and then jump back into it five times stronger.

Admittedly, this heart-to-heart with her has been breather enough already. Zay takes a deep breath, nodding along to her advice.

Harper: And just so it’s clear, when you do need that breather, you know you’re always welcome back here. My door is always open. It’s important to leave the nest, for you all to go off on your own and do what you’re meant to do, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ever come back.

True support systems don’t disappear the moment you move forward. It’s nice to remember that. Zay smiles, thanking Harper sincerely. She nods.

INT. USC - MUSIC CLASSROOM - DAY

Professor Weber is just tidying up his room from his first class when Farkle swings by, asking if he has a second. Weber greets him cheerfully and gestures for him to come in, asking what he can do for him.

Farkle: I’ve been thinking about it, and I want to change my schedule. I want to do the advanced level course.

Weber is enthused by this news, applauding Farkle for embracing the challenge. He starts to eagerly discuss all of the steps they’ll need to take and the sort of things Farkle will be studying.

Farkle smiles, feeling good about the choice. Even if it makes him stand out, or emphasizes his weirdness, he wants to try it. He’s committing to his academic and musical adventures, friends or no friends, Jonathan Turner or no Jonathan Turner. The only one he can count on to invest in him is himself, and he’s not going to hold himself back.

He’s got the potential, and like Maya said, he’s going to get everything he wants.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - KITCHEN - DAY

Jade is feeling in equally good spirits, energized for the new work week after putting in the effort on the inventory. It’s palpable, really, her good mood, which Skylar and Jamal can’t help but tease affectionately as they all prep their lunch. Like, it’s great that Jade is starting to settle in and feel so useful, but it’s kind of adorably nerdy that it’s all because she busted her ass fucking with the database and cleaning up after everyone else.

It’s just as they’re picking on her about it that Melanie enters to grab her lunch from the fridge, naturally eavesdropping as she goes. When she hears them talk about the changes Jade made, it’s like you can see her ears prick up. She tunes into the conversation, innocently asking what exactly they’re all talking about.

Jade isn’t keen to get into details, but Skylar and Jamal do, somewhat bragging on her behalf about the kickass work she did on that project Melanie always loves to hand off to them. While the things they’re saying Jade did are objectively good, and Melanie is smiling along, the sugary tone in her voice when she responds is anything but positive.

Melanie: That’s interesting. I don’t recall instructing you to do that, Jade.

Jade: Oh, I mean, I just thought…

Skylar: She’s improving the systems all on her own. Got some worker bee initiative and all that over here.

Jamal: Yeah, better be careful, Mel. She might give you a run for your money.

Melanie twitters along with them as they chuckle at her expense -- but only because she’s going to get the last laugh.

Melanie: Sure, sure. Excellent work, Jade. I just… it’s funny.

Skylar: What?

Melanie: Well, it’s just that Anya hates it when people mess with her things. She gave me the instructions, which I then passed down to you, so for you to have deviated from that so egregiously… or that you thought you were equipped to make that call --

Ruh-roh. Jade stops breathing. Skylar and Jamal jump to her defense, reminding Melanie she literally fixed a bunch of shit that was wrong and that it would be insane for that to be a problem. Melanie simply shrugs.

Melanie: Oh, totally. I completely agree. I’m just saying, Anya is very particular. So if she sees you’ve meddled about where you weren’t told… [ with a sigh and a shrug ] Well, all of us make mistakes. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Everyone has to sink or swim on their own, after all. [ with a smile ] Have a great lunch!

With that, Melanie saunters out, heels clicking on the tile floor. Jamal and Skylar immediately rush to reassure Jade it’s chill, no big deal, she’s just playing mind games like she always does… but they’re not reaching her. Jade has entered panic mode, all systems down, and it’s a miracle she’s even still breathing properly with how badly she might have fucked up. She put in all that work, all that extra time, and for what?

Somehow, in the twisted rules of the industry, she may have screwed up her career before it even got off the ground.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Riley is on the couch, researching potential songs to perform for her first musical assignment. She looks up when the front door unlocks, though, knowing it's too early for Isa to be back from Eric’s.

And she’s right. It’s not Isa stepping through the door, but Lucas. The two of them exchange eye contact for a long moment, only breaking when Lucas silently shuts the door behind him. Riley doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to speak first.

Lucas: I was going to come back this afternoon.

Riley: Hm?

Lucas: Yeah. I was, but then I thought it felt weird to come back with nothing. Usually, when you fuck up really bad, I feel like you’re supposed to bring something back as an apology. Like, not instead of one, but as compensation.

The fact that he’s talking so much -- well, so much in Lucas terms -- is a good sign. Riley listens patiently, not interrupting but not giving away her emotions either.

Lucas: So then I wasted like a stupid amount of time trying to figure out what to even get, because I’m shitty about stuff like that and also I don’t really think there’s a gift good enough to make up for most of the bullshit I do. And then I started getting in my head about it, you know, like… usually when guys do stuff like that, they’ve just done something… you know, awful, and it’s like they’re just expecting some chump change to make up for it. Like hey, sorry I’m a piece of shit, here’s some flowers. It just felt weird.

Riley, softly: You are not a piece of shit.

Lucas: So I wasted all this time going back and forth on this, feeling like Asher fucking Garcia because I’m thinking way more than my brain is built to think, and… I just started thinking about what happened, about why we -- why things blew up in the first place. What you were saying, what you were trying to tell me. And somewhere along the line I just… I heard what you were saying. [ a beat ] So I came home.

Riley absorbs that, unable to hold back a fond smile much longer. He’s not wrong -- the best gift he could possibly give her is being there, being with her. Riley puts her computer on the coffee table and holds her hands out, gesturing for him to come join her on the couch. After a moment, he does, though he still treads cautiously like he’s not sure he deserves the privilege.

As he settles onto the couch next to her, he pulls a small bag out of his jacket pocket.

Lucas: I did get this though. Like I said, felt weird to show up empty-handed.

Based on the familiar packaging, it’s a pastry from her favorite bakery. This fully melts Riley, who takes it happily. She inhales the sweet scent for a moment before putting it on the table next to her computer, giving him back her full attention.

Lucas: I’m sorry I’ve been MIA. Like, literally, but emotionally too. You’ve been way too patient with me, and I pushed that limit every possible way.

Riley: I don’t see it like that. I know you’re going through a lot right now.

Lucas: I know, but I just want you to know I see it. That I… you know, I know how lucky I am. To have you. Right now, you know, you’re… you mean a lot to me. I’m sorry I keep fucking that up.

Riley: You’re not. But thank you for saying that.

Lucas manages a small smile. He gently reaches to take her hand, which she accepts by linking their fingers together.

Lucas: And I’m sorry that I don’t know how to… that I can’t handle it right. That I can’t share it with you, like in a way where you’re able to understand. I don’t even really understand it, and you know I’m shit with… you know, the words and stuff. But I’m not trying to take myself away from you, or what you said. I don’t want to do that. I’m going to try more not to do that.

Riley: I know you’re trying. And I’m sorry too.

Lucas: You really do not need to be the one apologizing.

Riley: Well, I am. Because the way I was the other night… I mean, I meant what I said. The things I was feeling weren’t untrue.

Lucas: And you were right. About me.

Riley: I want to be able to help, and it kills me that I can’t understand it enough to. I do hate it when you’re not here.

Lucas: Again, sorry. I’m going to… I’m gonna try.

Riley: I believe you. But what I’m saying is that that wasn’t entirely on you. I know you, and I know you have boundaries and struggle with this stuff. I know sometimes you need space, and that’s completely okay. Admittedly, not for days at a time, but a moment like that it was totally understandable. I was piling on, and… projecting stuff I was dealing with onto you. I latched on too hard.

Lucas: Are you okay now? Do you want to talk about it?

Riley contemplates, exhaling a deep, grounding breath.

Riley: Working on it. I’m gonna be trying, too. [ off his shy smile ] I just want you to know that you never have to run from me. I know I can’t fully understand, but I’ll do anything I can. And I know everything is changing, but that doesn’t. No matter where you are, no matter where I am.

Lucas: I know. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to spend so much time focused on me when you should be like… doing your thing. That’s what I want you to be doing.

Riley: Working on that, too. But there can be a balance. [ sincerely ] It’s hard right now, but you’re going to get through it. I don’t want you to give up on everything you’ve already accomplished, especially because I know a year from now you’re going to Davis. There’s not a doubt in my mind.

Lucas doesn’t seem totally convinced, given his luck… but if Riley seems so sure, then maybe he can see it that way too. Riley brings a hand up to touch his face, caressing his cheek.

Riley: I still have faith in you. And I’m with you. No matter what.

Lucas nods, forcing himself to accept her words. Trying to believe them himself… he delicately pushes some hair behind Riley’s ear, then cradles her face as he pulls her into a soft kiss.

Forget a gift -- Lucas initiating a kiss is just about the best thing he could possibly give Riley. She smiles against his lips, nudging her forehead against his.

Lucas: [ barely above a whisper ] With you.

Hopefully, more literally from here on out. Riley’s smile widens. She leans into another kiss, bumping their noses together.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - PRACTICE STUDIO - DAY

Zay shows up early Tuesday morning to one of the free practice studios, hoping to get some extra warm-ups in before classes. His talk with Harper really did help, and he’s feeling centered again and ready to kick some ass.

And what good timing, because he’s not the only one in the studio this morning. Vanessa is already there, seemingly having rolled up even earlier than him for the same reason. Say what they want about each other, but they clearly share the same workaholic instinct…

They exchange eye contact for a cold moment, not thrilled to see one another, before opting to pretend the other person isn’t there. Vanessa goes back to tying the ribbons of her pointe shoes while Zay approaches the mirror, dropping his duffle and going through it to get his jazz shoes.

Then he pauses, thinking to himself. Honestly, what the hell is he doing? He’s a lot of things, competitive definitely one of them, but he doesn’t do passive aggression.

Zay: You know what?

Vanessa raises her head as Zay turns to face her, surprised he’s addressing her. But she recovers quickly, defenses raised.

Zay: I don’t play these kind of games.

Vanessa: [ with a snort ] That so? You too holier-than-thou for a little bitchiness?

Zay: Oh, no, no. No, I can be a bitch, don’t get it twisted. I promise, you’ll know that real quick.

Vanessa rolls her eyes. Zay steps closer.

Zay: I’m talking about this shady business. The passive aggressive bullshit. If we’re gonna do this, the bad blood, let’s do it right. If you’ve got something to say, say it outright.

Vanessa: … are you for real?

Zay: Real’s the only way I move. So, go on. [ holding out his arms ] Let’s get this out of the way and set it straight.

So he’s being serious… okay. Vanessa can accept a challenge. She cocks her head, getting to her feet so they’re at the same height. If they’re having this face-off, she’s not going to give him any incidental advantages.

Vanessa: You wanna hear it real? [ off his pithy nod ] All right. I’m game.

She steps to him, only stopping a foot or so in front of him but getting close enough to prove she’s not playing around. She’s not intimidated by him. She matches his glare.

Vanessa: I think you’re a privileged hack.

Zay, mocking: Fucking hilarious.

Vanessa, undeterred: You think you’re hot shit, because you’re the Triple A-hole king with all the accolades to decorate your gilded crown. You think you’ve got the most unique, from-the-ashes rags-to-riches star narrative going on when you’re from a cushy neighborhood in Queens and your mom is a doctor.

Zay: See you do your research.

Vanessa: I just hope you realize you’re not the only bitch on Earth who’s ever cared about dance. You’re not the only one with any talent around here -- and it remains to be seen whether yours is anything but hot air and a lot of talk. [ off his head shake ] And I just want you to keep this moment in mind, when we get to the end of the year and I’m taking your transfer spot, because maybe that will actually be a humbling moment worthy of a woe-is-me backstory.

Zay laughs to himself, but it’s clearly just barely concealing his anger. Okay, dunked… she served when he asked her to serve… but now it’s her turn to listen.

Zay: That’s your take, and you’re entitled to it. Takes a wannabe woe-is-me backstory to know one -- or at least point fingers at any other one you deem beneath you.

Vanessa: Please…

Zay: You think you’ve got it all figured out when in reality, you don’t know two shits -- about this, or about me. You don’t know fuck all about me, and I just wanted to make that clear before you pat yourself on the back for your cold dish. I think you’re on my ass for no reason, because you’re insecure, and because you think if you pull some petty tactics like a shoulder-check and some smack, that’ll get me shaking in my pointe shoes and you might just be able to squeak out an underdog coup.

Vanessa: You are so full of it.

Zay: But no, see, it’s good. I’m glad we got that out the way, and you got all that off your chest -- because now we can forget it.

Vanessa: ... what?

Zay: You said your piece. I said mine. We both know where we stand. So now let’s cut the bullshit and focus on what we’re actually here to do. If you dance the hell outta me, if you can spin me in circles, then fair enough. Guess we’ll find out. But let dance do the talking. I’m not afraid of a little competition. So if that’s what you really are, then bring it -- and when the best bitch comes out on top, then we’ll know.

Hm… not an unappealing proposal… Vanessa raises an eyebrow, examining him. Really letting her gaze linger, sizing him up -- and he’s doing the same, not backing down or shying away. If they’re going to do this, then they need to know what they’re up against… that’s obviously the only reason this silence is dragging on so long…

Then Vanessa nods. Quick, sharp, but affirmative.

She spins on her heel and walks away from him, taking care to make sure her ponytail just barely smacks his face. Zay doesn’t flinch, smiling to himself in lieu of snarking out another jab.

Game on.

Riley, pre-lap: I don’t know how this is going to turn out. Any of it.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Riley and Nigel’s musical performance class is meeting again, this time in one of the small acoustic theaters NYU has tucked away in its campus. It’s the ideal place for student and class performances, which is what’s going on now -- Riley is up on the stage, taking the microphone while a few of the music students are getting set up with instruments.

She’s stepping up to the plate again, one of the first to go in their first round of performances in class. The assignment is simple, easing into the rigor of their semester -- just sharing a song of their choice with their classmates to give a baseline of their ability. No other criteria or restrictions, open for interpretation.

Riley: As some of you know or will come to know, I’m a bit of a control freak. So getting used to that, that feeling of… beginning, starting over and embracing all this new… it’s not the easiest thing for me. I just want to be able to know how it ends, that it’s all going to work out, that the people I love and things I care about will never be out of reach.

The class listens politely, an overall comfortable environment. While Imogen in the back of the seats with Abby doesn’t seem all that impressed with Riley’s speechifying, Evan can’t take his eyes off her. And next to him, Nigel gives her a smile. One of those people she’s grateful is there with her in her reach.

Riley returns his smile, then takes a breath.

Riley: But I can’t know that. And someone really wise told me that there’s merit in investing in yourself, too, loosening the reins of control and just experiencing the ride for what it is. So for now, I’m focusing on right now, bringing the best that I’ve got and enjoying what I’ve got while I have it. At any moment it could change, but… maybe for the better. And no matter what… I think it’s going to make for an adventure I don’t want to miss.

And to kick that off, she wants to share one of her current favorite songs with them -- to embrace that new start, and hopefully guide them on the path to some pretty beautiful albeit unknown futures. She shyly nods to the musicians, who take up their cue --

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Pretty Places” as performed by Aly & AJ || Performed by Riley Matthews

Riley’s beginning at NYU is how we end, her soulful, upbeat performance underscoring the montage that takes us through the remainder of the episode. We start with her, occasionally coming back to her throughout, giving an easy and gently emotional rendition in classic Riley fashion. Her voice suits the Aly & AJ tune well, and her charm is infectious as she gets more comfortable with the performance. After a certain point, she’s dancing along and jumping on the chorus and just feeling it, many of her peers clapping and singing along.

Meanwhile…

EXT. NAPLES METRO STATION - DAY

Charlie says goodbye to Bridgette at the station, sending her back to the airport for her flight home. They embrace for a long moment, Charlie holding on tight.

When they pull apart, Bridgette gives him a smile and pats his cheek, in a playfully condescending older sister way. Then she salutes and departs, heading towards the station doors.

Charlie watches her go, waiting until she’s through the doors. Then he glances around him, at the scenery he’s become so familiar with the last few weeks. Familiar, but suddenly, not as alluring as before. Like a cheap imitation of what he actually wants -- a pretty place, without a doubt…

But not home. Charlie stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts the walk back to the hostel, lost in thought.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - DAY

At the sink, GRACE FRIAR is doing dishes. She also looks tired, distracted. It makes sense if her mind is a bit scattered, given the circumstances. But that won’t make a good excuse if she breaks the dishes, which it seems she’s just about to do when a slippery mug accidentally slips from her grasp as she’s moving it to the drying rack --

But it doesn’t shatter. Lucas catches it just before it hits the ground, returning home just in time it seems. He rises back to his full height and exchanges a look with his mother, sheepish as he hands the mug back to her.

She doesn’t ask anything more of him. No demands about where he’s been, no questions, no complaints. She simply takes the mug and places it in the drying rack like nothing happened, going back to washing.

After a moment, Lucas steps up to join her, taking the next dish from her soapy hands and handling drying. They work without comment, quiet for a few moments… then Grace gently elbows him. When he meets her eyes, she offers him a gentle smile, which he returns timidly.

It’s a start. He’s there, and for now, that’s enough.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Isa is back to the personal form, contemplating the questions again. Hovering over that preferred gender question, pen at the ready…

And after a moment, they mark the box next to “Nonbinary.” Based on the small smile that graces their lips, it’s the right choice. A good change, at least as far as they know right now.

If it changes again later, well, that’s okay too.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh is less content, obviously in a bit of a slump after losing his best client. For all of that potential to feel so close, everything he knows he wants… he glances up from his desk when a couple of clients come in and Justin and Melissa greet them, chipper and full of charm as they invite the duo into their office to discuss.

That’s what Josh wants to be. He wants the office, the full client roster full of music he believes in, the trust of his partners to know he’s capable of making great music. He is capable. He is.

But he needs a good client to get him there. Iris wasn’t the one, so as the saying goes in Hollywood, start on the next one. He goes to his phone and pulls up his messages, getting caught on the message he ignored so easily earlier in the week.

“Hi Josh! I’m Maya Hart -- Riley is a dear friend of mine and suggested we connect…”

Josh really doesn’t want to be digging through Riley’s box of misfit toys… but what choice does he have? If he wants his dream, he’s going to have to look anywhere and sacrifice a little pride.

After a reluctant moment of hesitation, he sighs, starting to type a reply.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

It’s Maya’s turn to ignore the message that comes through on her phone, as she’s far too immersed in other business. She’s currently in the midst of totally reorganizing her room, setting up one corner to be a makeshift writing and recording studio and another to be a makeshift vlogging set. This isn’t a bedroom, it’s a constant production.

But she’s determined, energized as she plots and plans and takes things into her own hands. If no one is going to bite at the chance to work with her, then she’s going to show them what they’re missing on her own.

EXT. PERFORMING DINER - DAY

Yindra is in a similar boat, just with the volume turned way low, seated on the steps outside the diner again as she scribbles more lyrics on her break. Her pen is moving fast now, face twitching with emotions she’s trying not to cave to, staying focused on the grind rather than the everything else she might be feeling.

She’s going to prove them wrong. No matter what it takes.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

Jade isn’t nearly as focused. Now that she feels like she’s on the chopping block, she can’t do anything but worry -- her personal photos have been set face-down again, this time by her as to not accidentally incur anymore potential wrath.

She nervously gazes up above them, at those frosted glass doors that keep Anya separated from the rest of them. Wondering when she’ll find out, when the thunderbolt is going to come down from on high and smite her…

INT. USC - MUSIC CLASSROOM - DAY

Farkle walks into his new advanced music composition class, not feeling nearly as self-conscious as he settles into one of the desks. Seeming more like himself than he has all episode, back in his element even though he didn’t go anywhere new.

Weber gives him a smile from the piano while other students continue to file in, and Farkle returns it.

EXT. OUTDOOR HIDEOUT - DAY

Lucas is back at the hideaway, leaning back against the hood of a car and looking out towards the view. Inhaling another calming breath, seemingly incognito yet again…

Only this time, he’s not alone. A few moments later, Riley comes to join him, hopping onto the hood of her car next to him. She peels a clementine and hands him a piece, which he accepts. They don’t talk, but Riley is happy to be there, with him even if she can’t necessarily carry his troubles for him.

And remarkably, it seems like he’s glad she’s there, too.

Doesn’t matter how far I’ll go anywhere, all I need is you

INT. ITALIAN HOSTEL - CHARLIE’S ROOM - DAY

Charlie returns to his room, slowly coming to sit on his bunk. He lets his gaze drift to the mementos on his windowsill, expression contemplative while he takes them in. His pieces of home, something that isn’t so far away…

So yeah. Maybe it is time to start thinking about what that means, who he wants to be. The things he discovered, what he found on all this searching -- what he wants to say, when all is said and done. He reaches for his journal on his side table, flipping it open and skipping over a chunk of the remaining blank pages.

He lands on a fresh page just a few away from the end, adjusting to sit cross-legged and propping the journal on his leg. He pauses for one more moment, thinking about where he wants to start… and then he knows, uncapping his pen with his teeth and starting at the top of the page.

Dear Zay,

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

A phone screen brightens, tucked in the crevices of a duffle bag. From “catholic demon”:

“Hi, sorry I’ve been so MIA. I don’t have a good excuse (probably unsurprisingly), just had a lot to figure out. But thanks.”

“I’ve been thinking about you too.”

“Really looking forward to catching up and telling you all about it when I’m back. And I want to hear all about Turner when you’ve got the time.”

As happy as Zay would probably be to see those texts come in, it’ll be a while until he gets to read them. Right now, he’s deep in the midst of another Professor Gao period, sweaty and focused and not about to slip. True to Rosario’s word, their class has slimmed considerably -- there’s only about fifteen of them left, willing to stick it out for their chance to transfer. That includes Gia…

And of course, Vanessa. She and Zay shoot each other a look as Rosario claps them in, but much of the venom from last week is gone. It’s competitive, no doubt about that, and there’s still definite tension, but the edge is no longer there. It’s not personal anymore.

Now, it’s just about dance. And they’re both going to bring it, high energy as they launch into the first steps of the routine they’re working through.

EXT. NYU - LUNCH SPOT - DAY

He’s not the only one to get a Charlie text, though. By embracing the change and letting things be, Riley is being rewarded, her smile bright as she reads an incoming text from Charlie also apologizing for the unexplained absence but also immediately filling her in on some things she’s missed and sharing details (which he knows she loves).

And she has every intention of replying to him, but it’ll have to wait a bit, because right now she’s got plans. Very important lunch plans, with some of her favorite people, as Nigel and Isa both arrive and join her happily at the table and start to launch into chatter about how the week is going. Coming together through effort, but also naturally, when it happened to work out for everyone. It’s not three days a week, but it’s something.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Farkle returns to his room after class as the song winds down, flopping onto his bed with a sigh. Still not totally content with how things are, stuck in the awkward period of “adjusting,” but today wasn’t terrible. He can work with this. He could get used to this.

He kicks off his shoes and reclines more comfortably on his bed, opening his phone to mindlessly scroll for a bit. But he stops dead when he sees his latest notification, sitting upright and clicking into his email app.

Jonathan Turner responded.

“Hi Farkle,

Sorry about the delayed response -- been absolutely slammed with projects last couple weeks. Things are easing up now, though, so if you’re still available, I’d be happy to get together and discuss how things are going.

Welcome back to Los Angeles, by the way.”

Farkle reads the message with wide eyes, all post-school exhaustion zapped out of him. Turner isn’t a lost cause. He’s still interested. There may still be a path here after all. Just goes to show, whether in Hollywood or otherwise, you truly never know what’s going to happen next.

And boy, on AMBITION, is there plenty of future left to discover.

END OF EPISODE.

#401 #S4 #episodes #PULLING A TAYLOR SWIFT Y'ALL THOUGHT WE'D WAIT A WHOLE WEEK? SURPRISE!

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