#when you JUST made three decision to cut funding for that program

[female-malice]

We do need to protect women's sports.

But I'm also 100% sure that women's sports will protect us.

Women's sports is an extremely powerful resilient cornerstone of female human life on earth. Give a girl a ball and all of a sudden she becomes a lifelong problem for patriarchy. Teamwork, communication, hand-eye precision, clutch decision making, strategic aggression and intimidation, charismatic leadership, bold competitive drive, indomitable will. Girls naturally excel in these areas if you let them. Women are natural athletes, natural strategists, and natural competitors. And despite everything, women's sports are here to stay. Despite men physically trying to chase female runners and pull them off marathon courses. Despite women handicapped by dress-codes. Despite financial destitution. Despite bullying and ostracism. Despite the female body getting marginalized in sports medicine. Despite every barrier imaginable, women and girls still possess that primordial urge to grow and lead through physical competition.

But when male-dominated society sees a girl with a ball, all they see is a hobby. A harmless girl with a gender incongruent hobby. Baking or cooking would be a better hobby but oh well. It's nothing to worry about.

TRAs and TIMs see women's sports the same way. It's just a womanly hobby. Nothing more. It should be a simple thing to conquer. These are just girls who got lost in the toy store and wound up in the sports section. But they're still just girls doing sports in a girly way. They can't put up a fight.

And with this attitude, males began invading women's sports. This was their attitude when declaring war on a global society of the world's most terrifying powerful women. They sent an army of neckbeards in stripe stockings after a global union of Amazon warriors three generations deep. Underestimating women's sports was the biggest mistake TRAs ever made. And they're only just realizing how devastating that mistake was.

TRAs have had some huge wins--feminism and conferences and women's studies, women's bathrooms, women's jobs. They figured women's sports would be another easy win. Instead, they've been subdued to a standstill. All they can claim in women's sports is intermittent token acceptance.

TRAs are using their usual targeted trans policy method to dismantle women's sports. But it hasn't been very effective. All across pop media, there are trans stories and trans figures being elevated to celebrity status. But not in women's sports. There's no Hunter Schafer of women's sports. There's only one TIM sports star. Bruce Jenner. And Bruce knows enough about female athletes to know he shouldn't mess with them. He knows they're stronger and more determined than TRAs. So he's throwing his vote in with the winning side.

So why isn't the TRA policy attack resulting in trans sports stars? There's a lot about women's sports that transcends policy. There's culture, history, unwritten rules, and codes of loyalty and honor. UConn will never recruit male athletes to its competitive women's basketball program. Even if the state of Connecticut does something extreme like threatening to cut funding, it won't happen. And since UConn will never do it, Tennessee, Notre Dame, South Carolina, and Stanford will never do it. There's 30 or so schools with prominent influential women's basketball programs. And all of those schools will hold the line.

And in the Lia Thomas case, that's still true. Lia Thomas doesn't swim for Stanford or Harvard or UCLA. He swims for Penn, a school that does not have a prominent competitive swim program. At the prominent schools, the ridiculous male-inclusive policies are simply irrelevant. No one at those schools would tarnish their program's honor by entering a male student into a women's competition. But the outsider school tried it. And the outsider school recorded some top times because of that. But if Penn wanted to recruit more talented female swimmers and expand its program, that's now impossible. Talented recruits will avoid Penn and the dishonor associated with the school's name.

Women's sports stardom is all about college, Olympics, and world cups. But the thing is, you won't make an Olympic or world cup team unless you go to the right college. And the right colleges won't recruit male athletes to female programs.

There's a strong code of honor that comes from decades of female leaders and pioneering female sports idols. That code can't be pushed aside by TRAs. Women's sports has a mountain of united female leadership the likes of which TRAs haven't faced before. And they aren't making any progress at moving that mountain.

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter One

Summary: Nesta up and moved the minute she graduated high school. Now, seven years later, her father has died. After years of separation, Nesta is now living in the same city as her sisters, with Elain as her roommate. Feyre introduces Elain and Nesta to the Inner Circle. But they're missing a certain member... Cassian returns to the Marine Corps to find two new members of the Inner Circle. He pushes Nesta's buttons more than anyone ever has. Cue heavy angst, mutual pining, and a very, very slow burn. Note: So I’m reposting this because I made a lot of changes to the fic and just wanted to start fresh. I had deleted the last things I posted for it, but now it’s officially here! I also just uploaded it on AO3 too, and you can read chapter one here! Warnings: heavy angst Bittersweet Masterlist

June

Nesta was accepted into graduate school today, and she didn’t know whether to cry or smile.

To throw a pity party or a celebration.

To be or not to be.

She was trifling through her mail this morning when she saw the large envelope with the words ‘Prythian University’ printed front and center. She wasted no time ripping it open, and a gasp left her mouth when she read the first sentence.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Master’s program of English at Prythian University.

She had grabbed her phone to tell someone about the news, but her smile quickly faded when she realized she had no one to call, no one to celebrate with. No one to tell her, “I’m proud of you.”

Nesta had scrolled through her contact list, which consisted of only fourteen people. Fourteen people and not one of them close enough with her to warrant such a text. Heart sinking in her chest, Nesta slammed her phone on the coffee table and fell on the couch. A lump formed in her throat, but she refused to let a single tear shed.

But she was in no position to complain. Nesta chose to move away. She chose to be alone. She was the only person to blame for her own unhappiness.  

Nesta had lived in the dreary state of Massachusetts since she graduated high school, leaving her family behind in Maine. The place that conjured nightmares, that was teeming with ghosts. Every corner she turned in her hometown, she was met face to face with her past – the one she so desperately tried to forget. Her family had lived there since Nesta was born. They didn’t have the funds to move to a better town or a bigger house. Up to this point, Nesta’s entire life happened in that horrible town.

Her younger sister, Elain, cried when Nesta announced her decision to move to Massachusetts for college. Feyre’s eyes remained dry, but she wished Nesta good luck.

Nesta and her two sisters had been close as little girls. Sure, they were wildly different from each other – Elain was intelligent and soft-spoken, Feyre creative and stubborn, Nesta hot-headed and brash. They argued. They resented each other in ways sisters did. But they looked out for each other. Since Nesta was just five years old, she did everything she could to protect her sisters, whether they knew it or not.

When Nesta was just fourteen years old, their mother left them. She walked out of the door forever, and everything changed. Elain was crushed but she continued to look out for their father, whose depression worsened when his wife left without saying goodbye. Feyre took her absence the hardest. She had the closest relationship with their mother as the baby of the family, relying on her more than her other sisters. Feyre was the last one to see her. Apparently, their mother made her promise to look out for the rest of the family. She said Feyre was the only one who could do it. And because Feyre was stubborn to a fault, she kept that promise every damned day.

And Nesta? Nesta was relieved and confused and angry and heartbroken. She still was.

So, when Nesta left for college, she promised that she would keep in touch with Elain and Feyre. They all promised. However, they inevitably got busy with their own lives and grew apart. When Elain graduated high school just two years after Nesta, she chose to remain in Maine to tend to their sick father. She attended community college, even though she’d dreamed of being a pediatrician since she was just nine years old. She sacrificed her opportunity for a higher education, and Nesta admired her for that. At the same time, however, she also wanted more for her sister. She had a habit of being too selfless. Always giving, never receiving.

Just a year later, Feyre became the last to graduate. She too flew from the nest, heading west to Colorado. Nesta wasn’t the only one who had a distaste for their hometown. Feyre was born an adventurer. She wants to explore, create, travel. More importantly, Feyre was doing something for herself. Feyre had assumed the role of provider when their mother left them in their youth. At only thirteen, she managed to find a job, and continued to do so until she was eighteen. Feyre had grand plans to visit every New England state during her high school career. She wouldn’t shut up about the places she would see, the people she would meet.

Feyre didn’t stepped foot outside of Maine until she graduated.

The only person Nesta completely cut loose was her father. Elain and Feyre had tried to rationalize with her about this many times, but Nesta put an end to every discussion.

Elain was very close with their father. Feyre was neutral. Nesta resented him. She knew they judged her for that, even if it wasn’t explicitly said. She also understood their reasoning.

They just didn’t understand hers.

Last Nesta heard, Feyre had found her niche at college. Back when they called more often, she had gushed about her new friends and latest conquest. His name was Rhysand (to which Nesta sniggered – who named their child that?), and the pair had recently begun dating after a year of pining for one another. Nesta told her that their love story sounded like the kind of fanfiction she (shamefully) loved. From what Feyre told her, it sounded like she was head over heels, despite her sarcastic deflections.

That was two years ago.

Of course, Nesta had spoken to both her sisters since then. It was rare for them to call, but they would share occasional text conversations. Just last month, Nesta texted Feyre to congratulate her on graduating Summa Cum Laude. It didn’t go much beyond that, though.

Nesta and Elain’s text message history was quite sad to look through. Once a month, Elain would send her an update on their father’s wellbeing. Nesta would not respond. The next month, she would receive another update. No response.

It never angered Nesta to see those texts; it only saddened her.

Elain wore her heart on her sleeve, ever the peacemaker in the family. Her intentions were pure, but she didn’t know the story of Nesta and their father’s relationship. She’d asked, but Nesta was always quick to shut her down.

Despite their one-sided texting, Elain called Nesta every couple of months. It was awkward, but it warmed Nesta’s heart to hear her sister’s voice. Their calls never lasted more than ten minutes, Nesta the one to end the conversation. When they hung up, however, guilt crushed her. Nesta was slowly losing everyone she loved, and it was entirely her fault.

After Nesta had gotten her undergraduate degree in Massachusetts, she worked at two minimum wage jobs for three years to save up enough money to pay for grad school (along with several loans). Her first choice, Prythian University, happened to be just outside of Boulder, the town where Feyre was living. It was also one of the best graduate schools for an English degree in the country.

Nesta considered telling Feyre her news. Obviously, she had to share it at some point. But anxiety crept into her chest whenever she picked up her phone to tell her. What if Feyre wasn’t happy about it? What if she didn’t want Nesta living near her? She had created her own life in a new state. Nesta couldn’t just interrupt after years of shutting her out.

After spending the entire day overthinking, Nesta decided to venture downtown in the evening for a small, lonesome celebration. She would treat herself to a drink (or two), go home, and read a romance novel or two while Iroh, her black, grumpy cat, snuggled in her lap.

So, there she was. Sitting at the local bar, legs crossed as she people watched. Nesta had even dressed up for the occasion. She wore a dress that fell to her ankles, the forest green color complimenting her golden-brown hair. Her arm sleeve tattoo was on full display, and her other ink that disappeared beneath her dress. Dark kohl coated her eyes with a smokey finish.

The bar itself was a welcoming environment. String lights latticed the ceiling, the bulbs providing dim lighting for those who had secrets to keep. Wooden tables faced a small stage at the opposite end of the building – presumably where they held open mic nights. Dark oak walls were plastered with photographs, license plates, and other décor.

It being a Tuesday night, there weren’t many people out. Nesta noticed a couple middle-aged men drinking beers together, an older couple sitting close in a booth, and a small group of what looked like college aged women. Smiles were etched on all their faces. Nesta lifted her hand to touch the frown she wore. It only deepened.

Just be happy for once, Nesta thought to herself.

As the bartender refilled her gin and tonic, someone approached the barstool to her left. Nesta glanced sideway to discover a young man with a hard face. He looked about her age with dark hair and a tanned complexion. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way. Removing his leather jacket, he revealed the fitted shirt he wore, which clung a body that screamed “I go to the gym every day.” Before he sat next to her, the man dropped a duffle bag on the floor with a loud thud.

He didn’t seem to notice her as he flagged down the bartender and ordered a drink. His voice was low, tired. She recognized the sound. It was the sound of someone who was exhausted, and not just in the physical sense.

“Running away from home?” Nesta asked. The man turned his head to find her gesturing to his oversized bag.

Why did I just say that? she asked herself. Nesta rarely made conversation, much less with some stranger at a bar. It was abundantly clear that she had certainly drunk enough alcohol to wash away any and all inhibitions.

He chuckled. “Something like that.” The man peered at her closer. His hazel eyes twinkled in the dim lights as he inspected her. “Bad day?”

“Care to elaborate?”

A sober Nesta would have shut him down before he had the chance to even ask. A sober Nesta wouldn’t have even made conversation with this dark, handsome man.

Alas, she was three drinks down and had no intention of stopping anytime soon.

“I got into my dream school,” she started. “It has a really great grad program. When I read the letter, I reached for my phone to tell someone. Only, I realized I had no one to call. I… I realized that I’m all on my own.”

He stared at her for a moment. “That’s quite a feat. You should be proud.”

Nesta shrugged, uncomfortable with the man’s genuine tone. She never figured out how to tolerate a compliment, much less accept it.

They fell silent before he spoke again.

“I’m about to be on my own, too,” he confessed, focusing his attention on his calloused hands that rested on the counter. “And I don’t know how to feel either.”

No wonder he looks so exhausted, Nesta thought. She could see the conflict in his body language, his tone. War was waging in the stranger’s eyes, and it didn’t seem like the first time he’d gone to battle.

She wanted to ask where he was going. What was in his bag. Who he was leaving behind. But Nesta only nodded with understanding.

I see you.

In that moment, they formed some sort of kinship. They weren’t just two strangers at the bar. It was longing, Nesta realized. Longing for a connection, a companionship. To escape from the perpetual loneliness.

They stared at each other until the man broke his gaze when he checked his watch. He cursed.

“I have to leave now if I want to catch the bus,” he explained. Nesta watched him down the rest of his drink and stand up.

“Good luck,” Nesta said feebly as he shrugged on his jacket.

She wanted to say more. He seemed to need it… and so did she. “Whenever you get lonely, just remember that strange girl at the bar. She’ll be thinking about you.”

His face softened. “Good luck,” he whispered.

#nessian #bittersweet #nesta archeron #cassian #acomaf #acotar #acowar #acosf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #my writing #fanfiction #angst #fic

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Can You Dig It?” [ 3.07 ]

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

STAYIN’ ALIVE – After an unfortunate accident, the A class finds themselves working double time to fund their showdown performance. Charlie struggles to balance the past and the present, and Maya makes a desperate move. Farkle receives news that changes his life forever.

70 Minutes (33K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← The Comfort Zone ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Moment of Truth → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Music plays over the sound system, setting a comfortable and fun scene while most of the A class works together on the auditorium stage. The performers are working through showdown choreography or helping put the finishing touches on set pieces for the production, while the techies are split between those set pieces, the beginning of structures for their upcoming winter musical, and tweaking the lights. JEFF MONROE is up on the catwalk out of sight, NATE MARTINEZ perched on top of a scaffolding and passing him requested tools. DAVE WILLIAMS is balancing on a ladder against the scaffolding, helping hand things to Nate from below.

MAYA HART has taken over as dance captain, shouting commands at her classmates still running through steps. ZAY BABINEAUX watches from on top of the major set piece they’re building at center stage for the musical, unimpressed and maybe a bit envious. His injured left leg is now in a boot, wheelchair gone.

The conversation varies, from the impending showdown finals to college application deadlines. Everything is coming down the pipeline at record speed, right towards them, and they have to juggle it all at once. RILEY MATTHEWS glances around and asks where Jade is, which ISADORA DE LA CRUZ answers.

Isadora: She’s been locked up in the costume loft basically since last week. The deadline for her conservatory and apprenticeship programs is closing in, so she’s been working basically non-stop.

Maya: How does she not have enough samples already? Hasn’t she made everything we’ve ever worn in this school for the last three years?

A fair question, but it doesn’t get addressed. They’re all distracted by a new song coming on shuffle, playing loudly over the speakers.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Wonderland” as performed by Earth, Wind & Fire || Instrumental

Although the track is an undeniable bop, the assembled A class seniors don’t seem impressed. They all quickly pipe up to complain, calling for someone to skip it.

Darby: Where’s Jeff? Jeff! Hit skip!

Jeff, from above: A little busy right now!

Maya: Well someone better go change it!

Haley: And risk getting killed by Lucas because we dared enter the booth? No thanks.

Maya: Fair point. Riley, go change it.

Riley, in the midst of rolling paint on a set piece, raises her free arm in a shrug. Also a little busy. Zay shakes his head.

Zay: What is wrong with all of you? None of you have taste. Disco is classic. You should respect the excellence that came before you.

Maya: Sorry I’m not still living in the 20th century. It’s 2020, Zayby. Disco is dead.

Zay: You absolutely disgust me. If my foot wasn’t booted --

NIGEL CHEY finally relents amidst all their complaints, claiming he’ll risk his life to go change it if it will get them all to shut up.

For now, though, the boogie wonderland is ongoing. FARKLE MINKUS uses the opportunity to pick on Isadora, loosely disco grooving around her and trying to poke her into joining him. She laughs but tells him to cut it out, and when he gets too close, she playfully shoves him away.

Only she’s stronger than she looks, and he’s a beanpole, so she overshoots and pushes him a bit too hard. Farkle goes stumbling backwards -- right into the ladder that’s holding up Dave. Isadora yanks Farkle back just as the ladder falls out from under Dave, just missing Nigel, clattering to the stage next to them and creating a dent.

Dance! Boogie wonderland!

A bunch of the seniors cry out, scrambling away, now watching in horror as Dave dangles from the side of the scaffolding a dozen or so feet above the ground. He almost loses his grip, seconds from falling, and Maya screams. She backs away frantically and knocks into a paint can, spilling metallic silver paint all over their perfectly crisp black stage and splattering CLARISSA CRUZ, DARBY WINTERS, and SARAH CARLSON.

Ah! Ah! Dance!

Jeff and a couple of performers start shouting directives at Dave, trying to save him from a nasty fall off the scaffolding. Nate tries to pull him up, but it’s no use -- Dave is the giant after all, and Nate’s guns aren’t that swoll. Riley hides behind her hands, peeking through her fingers and unable to look away.

Riley: Oh my God, he’s gonna die.

Isadora takes over directing from below, instructing Dave to change trajectory and aim for the curtains to orient himself. Jeff objects to that, citing the integrity of the curtain pulley system, but he’s shouted down by the performers jumping on Isadora’s suggestion. Suddenly, everyone is yelling at Dave to go for the curtains, so that’s what he does.

Jeff: No, don’t -- !

All… the… love in the world can’t be gone!

Dave manages to latch onto the main curtain -- but it’s all downhill from there. That curtain is about as useless as Nate, and the pulley system holding it upright can only sustain so much weight (curtains are a lot heavier than they look). So the moment Dave latches on, it buckles underneath him, and seconds later the whole thing comes down in a spectacular show of destruction.

The A class scatters to avoid it, ducking down and covering their heads. Clarissa pulls HALEY FISHER down behind a set piece with her for cover; Farkle yanks Isadora out of the way and shields her behind him. Zay screws his eyes shut and hides behind his knee, thankfully a safe distance away. Then the dust settles, stunned silence giving way to the continuing groovy sounds of Earth, Wind, & Fire.

Riley pokes her head out from behind the set piece she was painting first, eyeing the heap of curtains and rods on the dented stage floor. She swallows.

Riley: … Dave?

For a moment, nothing but tense silence… from above, Nate releases a gasp.

Nate: Holy shit, we’ve killed him.

Then Dave emerges, pushing some dense drapery off of him and pushing himself into a sitting position. He seems dazed, but otherwise uninjured.

Jeff: Oh, thank God.

Isadora: Dave… you good buddy?

Dave blinks, then offers a thumbs up. Everyone releases a sigh of relief… just as SHAWN HUNTER and HARPER BURGESS enter into the scene of chaos, having rushed in after hearing the commotion from down the hall. In the opposite wings, LUCAS JAMES FRIAR returns with DYLAN ORLANDO and ASHER GARCIA, all of whom stop dead in their tracks when they set their eyes on the disaster they’ve stumbled into. Asher’s jaw drops open; Dylan drops the toolbox he was carrying.

Whoopsie. Boogie wonderland…

From his perch atop the set piece, Zay breaks the silence, shaking his head.

Zay: Shoulda never dissed disco.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

JACK HUNTER is seated at his desk, working to maintain a neutral composure as HARRISON YANCY paces his office. He’s haughty and on offense, demanding to know what happened with the auditorium and grilling Jack for details. Of all the things he planned to tangle with at Adams, vandalism and destruction of school property was not at the top of the list.

Yancy: But, then, I suppose I should’ve anticipated such a turn of events. Considering you’ve struggled with reining in destruction before, and insisted so vehemently on keeping problematic entities in your student roll -- and now they’re student leadership, in fact!

Jack: He had nothing to do with this. Lucas wasn’t even in the auditorium when it happened --

Yancy: How convenient for him.

Jack: And it was an accident. No ill intent involved. It was an accident, and all of the damage is repairable. The curtains can be fixed and replaced, the dents in the stage can be filled, and the spilled paint can be removed or painted over in turn. I think we should be more concerned with the lucky reality that no one was hurt.

Yancy: [ ignoring that point ] The damage is repairable, yes, but it won’t be free. And I certainly won’t approve its reparation on the school’s dime.

Jack points out that such a decision isn’t his to make -- he’s still the principal of Adams. And that’s true enough, but as Yancy effortlessly counters, he remains under close watch. That’s the reason Yancy is present in the first place. Every decision Jack makes is under scrutiny, and a figurative nod of approval from him matters. Jack must be wise enough to realize that.

Jack, begrudgingly: So what, then?

Yancy: So, it seems to me that the A class will have to proffer the money to pay for the damages on their own.

Jack: That’s ridiculous. They’re students, not entrepreneurs. And they’re already scrambling to raise money for their showdown performance, not to mention ways to bolster their scholarship initiative since you voted to deny them funding at the board level.

Yancy: Then they must be experts at it. What’s one more money-making effort? At least it’s teaching them meaningful life skills -- budgeting, consequences, the value of a dollar. All very sensible lessons to learn… something you used to complain this institution lacked at the same time you were decrying the actions of students you now fruitlessly defend, if I recall correctly.

Well, you got him there, Yancy. Jack deflates, knowing there’s no logical path out of this. Yancy has him cornered, and the more he invites reminders about how he used to be or the ways he’s already fumbled, the graver his prospects grow. Yancy emphasizes this as he makes his exit.

Yancy: We at the board used to hold you in high esteem, Jackson. We saw great things in your future. Now, with all these foolish mistakes... let’s hope that all your promise hasn’t dissolved with the Hunter I used to know.

The threat is buried deep beneath the thinly-veiled condescension, hidden in a simple choice of plural. Mistakes. This battle is just one in a long, growing list Yancy is keeping against him.

Like he could ever forget it. Jack releases a heavy sigh after Yancy leaves his office, slouching in his chair.

Lucas, pre-lap: I shouldn’t be surprised. This might as well happen.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Riley listens attentively as Lucas paces the booth, busying himself with gathering stuff for class for the sake of moving. Although his tone is sarcastic and indifferent, the weight of his words indicates he’s far from it.

Lucas: It’s not like I don’t already have enough to focus on, between the usual bullshit and the fundraising for showdown -- a showdown that we have to win if we want any chance of the scholarship thing actually taking off. That on top of the college applications I wasn’t planning on doing three months ago but now have to make really good, because suddenly I have dreams or whatever, even though I’m basically the most rejectable candidate on the east coast.

Riley: Okay, you know that’s not true.

Lucas: Fine. Most rejectable candidate in the greater Manhattan area.

Riley: You literally won an election.

Lucas: And the world is still wondering how and why.

Riley rolls her eyes, but she is sympathetic. She agrees that the stage accident was definitely an unexpected speed bump on everything they’ve got going on, but they’ll figure out how to handle it. There’s no way it’s going to be entirely on them, anyway, and they don’t even know how much damage was actually done yet.

She takes the opportunity to broach another topic, though, easing into a deeper conversation about college. She asks how his applications are going, which he claims are fine, in spite of the stress surrounding it.

Lucas: The only stuff I’ve got left are recommendations and personal essays. And I know I’m fucked on the recs considering you’re supposed to ask for those months in advance, and I know no one impressive, least of all who would sing my praises.

Riley: You could always ask my dad for a recommendation. I’m sure he’d have glowing things to say. Instant acceptance, I bet.

Lucas, flatly: You are hilarious. It’s no mystery how you managed to reel me in.

Riley: Well, that and my effortless charm and insanely dazzling visage.

Lucas gives her a look, but to be fair, he doesn’t argue her on it. She simply beams in response, sliding closer to him and halting his pacing by taking his hands.

Lucas: Honestly, I’m not really stuck on the recommendations. I think I’m going to ask Joe for one, because he can at least speak to my work ethic or whatever, and the other… I mean, it’s whatever. I’ll figure it out.

Riley: But…?

Lucas: But… I don’t know. With the rest of the app…

It’s clear there’s something else he’s really stuck on. Riley starts to offer him advice, or maybe just encouragement, but they’re interrupted by a knock on the booth door. Jeff appears moments later at the stairs.

Jeff: Class is starting. Judgment day is upon us.

Lucas and Riley share an apprehensive look, then follow the lighting technician out of the booth.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Harper, Shawn, and ERIC MATTHEWS are on the stage, assessing the damage while the A class gathers in the front and center section. The destroyed curtain has been removed, the pock marks in the stage even more visible in its absence.

ANGELA MOORE emerges from the wings, Janitor HARLEY KEINER in tow. She’s just barely starting to show her pregnancy, but the flowy tops she’s wearing now conceal it fairly well.

Harley: Old curtain’s out back. Trash company will be by this afternoon to take it away.

Angela: I have to say, I picked a great day to stop by and visit. Never a dull moment.

Harper: Girl, tell me about it.

Angela laughs knowingly. Been there, queen. Eric and Shawn turn their attention to the seniors, coming towards the front of the stage.

Eric: Who wants to explain what exactly happened?

A whole bunch of them immediately launch into retellings, talking over each other and definitely exaggerating elements of the story. The camera jumps around to each of them, catching snippets of their perspective.

Sarah: If Jeff had just changed the song --

Jeff: I was in the catwalk!

Nate: So Jeff’s up in the catwalk, and Dave is handing me shit -- I mean, uh, stuff -- on the scaffolding --

Darby: Isadora pushed Farkle --

Isadora: I lightly nudged Farkle --

Maya: Farkle is like a house of cards and all it takes is a little wind to knock him over, so he goes flying into the ladder --

Clarissa: Paint splatters --

Yindra: The ladder goes crashing down and nearly takes off Nigel’s head --

Jade: Oh my God, what?

Nigel, pointedly: No, it did not. [ softer, to Jade ] No, it didn’t.

Yindra: It did.

Haley: Not like the curtains almost took out Dave!

Yogi: This class is a circus act.

Eric holds up a hand to halt them all, waving them down. He can’t figure out what any of them are saying when they all talk at once, so he asks for a volunteer to give the rundown. A few hands up go up, but Eric wisely selects Zay.

He pulls himself to his feet, gingerly, for the effect. Then he clears his throat, speaking plainly and matter-of-fact.

Zay: Farkle got knocked into the ladder. Ladder falls, dents stage. Dave almost falls, Nate is no help --

Nate: Whoa, okay then. Hater.

Zay: Maya stumbles back and knocks silver paint can over. Performers tell Dave to grab curtain, Jeff objects --

Jeff: Justice. Thank you.

Zay: Dave does anyway, whole thing comes down. Also, no one in this class has taste and for that they evoked the wrath of God. But apparently God can’t kill Dave Williams.

Dylan: So metal.

Eric: Thank you, Zay.

Zay does a pithy salute, lowering back into his seat. Harper goes on to explain the total damages done by the incident as well as relay the total cost of the repairs -- without saying a definitive sum, suffice to say it’s not cheap.

The A class immediately breaks into chatter again, trying to divert blame off themselves. Shawn notices one student doesn’t seem particularly vexed -- in fact, he appears to be laughing to himself behind his hand.

Shawn: I’m sorry, Friar, do you find this funny?

Lucas: What? Oh, no, no. Very serious business. [ clearing his throat ] It’s just… it’s so nice to not be the one responsible for once.

The performers immediately boo him. He simply smiles. CHAI FRESCO is the one who manages to redirect the conversation.

Chai: What exactly is he doing here?

All eyes turn to Janitor Harley, who stands sheepishly next to the faculty. Harper says she’s glad Chai asked, claiming that if anyone deserves an apology for what they did today, it would be him. He puts a lot of effort and care into maintaining their sacred space, this auditorium, and the damage done today walks all over that.

Darby: It really was an accident.

Harley: No hard feelings, Miss Winters. Mighty nice as it was for Harper and Shawn to invite me here, rest assured I know there was no ill intent or disrespect. And I can assure you that with the time and proper resources, we will return this stage to tip-top shape in no time.

Maya: Lovely. Problem solved then, no?

Eric: Not quite. You do still have an assignment to attend to, especially as it’s your last major one before finals.

Harper: Since it is a weird time in the calendar and we don’t want to barrel another assignment next week right before showdown, Shawn and I agreed that this assignment would be a two-week stretch, and ideally lower stakes.

Shawn: Even better now, considering how you all just doubled pressure on your own.

Harper: And since you’ve also in turn given Harley more pressure and work to attend to in this time, we thought it only fair that he decide your focus for the project.

With that, they pass the floor over to Harley again to make his declaration. The performers don’t seem all that unnerved -- it’s Harley Keiner. What’s the worst he could do? Clean-up anthems? He clears his throat, clasping his biker-gloved hands together.

Harley: When I’m in a particularly rough spot, or working through a grueling task, I have always found that a little music can really liven the task.

Yogi: [ under his breath ] Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere…

Harley: But nothing gets me more fired up, ready to take on a challenge or dance to the beat, than some classic tunes from my early youth. And I’ll tell you kids, no one knew music better than the radio hits of my day.

Slowly, the possibility begins to dawn on the A class what decree awaits them. Dylan is counting backwards on his fingers, trying to calculate just how old Harley actually is, but Asher next to him has beaten him to it.

Asher: Oh no.

Harley: Ladies and gentleboys, we’ll be taking it back to the ‘70s this week for your musical assignments.

Dun dun dun. The A class expresses their obvious disdain. Well, all except Zay, who cracks a smug grin.

Zay: Heh heh… karma.

There’s only more grim news. Considering the stage is going to be undergoing repairs thanks to all this, they’re all essentially ousted from the auditorium for the time being. No sense practicing or rehearsing in a space that’s going to be under construction. JADE BEAMON sits up straighter, shooting her hand in the air.

Jade: We can still access the lofts, right? Like, I can get in the costume loft --

Eric: Yes, all the technical spaces, as well as the dressing rooms, are still fair game. But stay away from the stage.

Harper: And you might not get much work done when they’re doing things like drilling and hammering, so be forewarned.

Haunting… Jade hides in her hands, already stressed. Nigel tentatively pats her on the shoulder.

So yeah, all in all, some unideal circumstances right before some of the most important events of their high school career.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Maya is in surprisingly good spirits in spite of the financial issues confronting the class, preening and showing off Valerie’s faux fur coat. She wears it effortlessly, entertaining Darby, Sarah, and a crop of underclassmen at a table as she shares the tale of her and Valerie’s instant starlit bond. When Darby reaches out to feel the coat, Maya quickly smacks her hand away.

Maya: You’re welcome and encouraged to look, but no touchie. Golden diva rule.

A couple of tables over, Riley and Isadora watch her showboating with amusement. Riley claims it was really generous of Isadora to give her the coat, but she shrugs it off.

Isadora: Seriously, she’s way more at home in it than I would ever be. Can you ever see me pulling that off?

Riley: I think you can deliver any design you endeavor, you know that. [ off her raised eyebrow ] But yeah, a bit out of your element. Ironically, maybe.

Isadora: Even that’s a stretch. But it really wasn’t a hard decision. As much as it inflates her ego, my mom did see something in her. Maya can use it as a bragging tool all she wants, and people probably won’t believe her because of it, but they probably would be in cahoots if Val were still here. [ a beat ] A lot of things were going to happen if she were here.

Oof. Riley senses the gloom impending, searching for a quick change of subject. She asks if Isadora found anything else cool in the boxes from the estate.

Isadora pauses, mouth parted open. The answer is plenty -- including the mystery hidden way deep down underneath everything else. But for whatever reason, she hesitates explaining what she found.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to respond anyway. Dylan swoops into their conversation, dropping down into the seat next to Riley and smacking a piece of paper onto the table. It’s a flyer for scheme one of their fundraising efforts: a community dance, now officially ‘70s themed. Isadora turns it around to get a better look at the very bright poster.

Dylan: Hot off the presses, ladies. Another instant classic from the one and only ambassador of public relational fun and enthusiasm, comma right hand advisor, comma prime minister of the techies and secretary of kissing, mainly to the secretary and official marketing and communications director for the Friar administration.

Isadora: Colorful…

Dylan: Shout-out to Harley for basically choosing our theme for us. We’d been sitting on it for ages because Asher and Maya kept fighting over it.

Isadora: Really? What theme ideas could possibly be worth scrapping over?

Dylan: Nothing. Neither of them actually had an idea. I think they just automatically hate anything that comes out of the others’ mouth.

Isadora: Wow, just like a real body politic.

Riley excitedly swipes the flyer, praising Dylan for his enthusiastic design. She snaps a picture of it on her phone and explains she’s texting it to Charlie.

Riley: I’m so pumped for this. Disco isn’t my favorite thing, but it is fun.

Dylan: Bouncy.

Isadora: Jaunty.

Dylan: Ooh, thesaurus bonus.

Dylan and Isadora exchange a quick high five. Riley beams at them, then continues.

Riley: Besides, with how extremely crazy everything is right now between college apps and showdown and now this fundraising debacle, I think it’ll give all of us some much-needed serotonin. A nice evening of… disco dopamine.

Dylan: Oh, you know you just wanna see Lucas in some sick bellbottoms.

Isadora: [ with a gag ] God… please, I’m sitting right here...

Riley shoves Dylan playfully, then reiterates the point. It will be fun. A nice, well-deserved stress reliever after working their asses off these next couple weeks.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

And boy howdy, that could not be truer for Jade. She is in full frenzy mode, skipping lunch and hunkered down in the costume loft to work. It seems like she’s been there for days, her space under the loft essentially a nest of costuming supplies, her belongings, and discarded snack containers. Her hair is a mess of tangles falling half out of a ponytail, three different tape measures are draped around her neck like graduation cords, and she’s wearing an old button up paint smock about 3 sizes too large that only exacerbates the crazed hermit energy.

Asher and Jeff listen as she multitasks on cataloguing some of her projects and marks another in progress on the table in front of her, the former visibly disconcerted by Jade’s general state of being while the latter seems mainly tickled. She speaks around a pin caught between her lips as she explains the reason for the chaos -- college applications are due right around the corner, as are apprenticeship applications, and she needs to have all her portfolio pieces in perfect condition before she hits that submit button.

Asher: Again, I know this is hypocritical coming from me, but girl you need to relax.

Jade snaps her head up to glare at him, even scarier with that pin in her mouth. She removes it to stick something down while Jeff asks her what she has left to do. Apparently, she’s just about done after days of relentless work, so she’s on her last application assignment now: pick a decade and create a sampling of as many unique -- but historically accurate -- costumes as possible in her designer’s mind.

Jade: Luckily, Janitor Harley did me the favor of having to pick a decade. If we’re doing ‘70s stuff this week anyway, then we’ll probably need costumes, so I can knock out two birds with one stone.

Jeff: I don’t know if I’d say need…

Asher: Yeah, with the auditorium boarded up for the time being I doubt we’ll be doing any major productions.

Jade: With Maya and Farkle, you can never be too careful.

Case in point, she is way too swamped to even think about the fundraising bullshit. She feels bad, but there’s no way she can split her time. Jeff and Asher assure her it’s no big deal.

Jeff: I think the performers will let you off the hook considering you’ve made… every single costume they’ve ever worn since freshman year.

Asher: Least they could do.

Jeff: Yeah. You deserve a week off!

Jeff’s turn to receive the Jade Beamon death glare. He clears his throat, scratching his ear.

Jeff: Well, you know… not for you, but...

Jade stabs the pin cushion pointedly.

Zay, pre-lap: I guess if my clear eternal damnation is good for anything, it gets me out of fundraising to fix another problem caused by Farkle and the Pips.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Zay and Nigel are taking their lunch in the boys dressing room, both on their laptops while they eat. They’re working on finalizing college application stuff, Zay sitting on the counter with his injured foot propped up while Nigel is leaning against the mirrors on the floor.

Nigel: Guess it’s worth it then.

Zay: Ha ha, so funny. If I could afford to move, I would kill you for being such a damn comedian.

Nigel: I’m more of a tragedies man myself. [ a beat ] What are you planning to do, exactly? For the applications.

Zay: [ with a sigh ] Just putting the pieces together and hoping for the best. Thank fuck I recorded a couple runs of my routine when I was going through my obsessive drills at the start of the year.

Nigel: Glad Diva Zay was good for something.

Zay: They’re not as polished as I want, but they’ll do. Not like I have any other options. I’m just going to convince myself via self-hypnosis that they’ll see the rough edges as loose, natural charm. Between that and other samples I have from shows and recitals and West Side Story, all I can do is hope that’s enough. And if I get far enough to book an audition… I’ll be better by then.

He says it like a guarantee -- he can’t consider the alternative. Nigel isn’t sure how to respond, but he’s spared from figuring it out as they’re interrupted by YINDRA AMINO entering with a few showdown costumes to replace on the rack. All of them freeze as they glance at one another, Yindra and Zay holding one another’s gaze for a few moments longer. Then Yindra brushes past the awkwardness, shrugging and focusing on the costume rack.

Yindra: No need to go on defense, boys. I’m only here on business.

She keeps her eyes on her task. Nigel picks up the conversational slack, explaining that they were discussing their college applications. He asks how Yindra is doing in plotting her college plans, as last they talked she didn’t have much set in stone.

Yindra, matter-of-fact: I’ll be applying to a couple of schools as a safety net, but my main trajectory remains Los Angeles. The current plan right now is to skip over the bureaucracy of academics I don’t care about and go out there to start striking while the iron is hot. Talent speaks for itself.

Nigel, ever the pragmatist, still seems uneasy about such a plan, but it’s Zay who beats him to the punch. He breaks the silence between him and Yindra with a snort, tone teasing but friendly.

Zay: Straight to Los Angeles with no foundation? Now that’s just asking for trouble, and that’s coming from a diva like me. Haven’t you seen Fame?

Maybe that kind of friendly fire passes when they’re on good terms, but it falls flat now. Yindra stiffens her shoulders, giving Zay a diva glare of her own.

Yindra: [ without looking at him ] Nigel, will you please inform Zay that despite what his superiority complex might think, I’m not an idiot?

Nigel: Oh, um --

Zay: Come on, Yindra. I didn’t mean it like that.

Yindra: And Zay might find it interesting to know that my dad is considering moving to Los Angeles as well, if I plan to be out there, so I don’t see how I’m swinging with no foundation. And I’ll be using the money that we would’ve wasted on tuition for studio time to record a demo, so there is in fact a method behind the madness. Just because I’m not following the same musty, beaten path as everyone else doesn’t mean I’m not on any path at all. [ haughtily ] And even in spite of his broke attitude, I wish him all the best with his less-than-ideal circumstances. Least of all this week -- I’m sure not being able to show off while he discos is simply killing him. Thanks for letting him know, Nigel.

Nigel: … you’re welcome...

With that, Yindra spins on her heel and exits. Zay rolls his eyes, but it’s clear that the state of their friendship is really bothering him. Nigel awkwardly attempts to move past it, commenting that the two of them are about as dramatic as a Shakespearean comedy of errors before coming back to Yindra’s closing point.

Nigel: It’s a shame about this assignment though. You’re probably the only one in our class who could truly thrive this week.

Zay smiles half-heartedly, both of them focusing back on their computers. After a moment, his smile dims.

Zay: Didn’t use to be…

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - HALLWAY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER is at his locker, reading the texts from Riley. He pulls up the photo of the flyer for the dance fundraiser, boasting the disco theme for the end of the semester in all its groovy glory.

Yes, it is a tragedy that Charlie isn’t there to participate. Another disco gay, barred from the dance floor. It’s clear from his expression that he’s bummed about it.

He’s only pulled out of his fugue when EVAN SCOTT approaches. He pats him on the shoulder as he passes and asks if he’s ready for rehearsal. With senior showdown finals so close around the corner, Brandon is going to be drilling them more than ever. Now it’s game time for real.

Charlie nods, putting his phone away and shutting his locker to follow him. But that melancholy still lingers in his features.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

But he’s not the only one grappling with an unideal situation. Lucas is the king of that, settled in his usual chair across from Jack, only this time he’s not alone. Maya has been called in with him, the two of them waiting uncertainly as Jack prepares to share why he brought them in.

And the reason for his apprehension is obvious once he says it. He finally breaks the news to them that the school board declined to fund their scholarship initiative -- and that’s not even the worst part.

Maya: Nothing? 

Lucas: They’re not going to contribute anything?

Jack: I know, it’s disappointing. To be honest, I was anticipating at least a partial donation, but for whatever reason it was shot down wholesale. It was close, though.

Maya: Well. That’s just lovely. Could the state of the AAA union get any more despicable?

Jack: To put it simply? Yes.

Uh oh. Jack reluctantly informs them of the other bomb blowing up their administration -- that Yancy has insisted they pay for the damages to the auditorium since their class caused it. Both Lucas and Maya erupt in complaints, the latter literally leaping out of her chair and launching into a frantic pace behind it. She fans herself, taking deep breaths.

Maya: Okay. This is fine. No money, no problems. It’s fine. It’s fine!

Jack: … Miss Hart?

Maya stops behind her vacated seat, gripping the back of it. She takes in a deep breath, holds it, and releases it theatrically. Then she opens her eyes, plastering on her winning star smile.

Maya: It’s okay. Yes, everything is fine. The situation is unideal, in a word --

Lucas: More like bullshit.

Maya: Also a word. But money and I have been tussling my whole career. It won’t be getting the best of me now. We’ll come up with another way to fundraise alongside the dance social and then we will win showdown and absolutely everything will work out exactly how I want it to. It always does.

Jack: That so?

Maya: Thanks to the two powers that be, Principal Hunter -- star and will. And I’ve got both in spades. [ another breath ] Okay, damage control. Need new ideas. Gotta pool resources… brainstorm. I need to brainstorm. I’m thinking… I’m scheming...

Maya hums, entering zen diva mode as she gathers her things. She backs out of the office and assures Lucas she’ll update him as soon as she’s figured out their second moneymaker. Once she’s gone, Lucas and Jack wait a moment to let the Maya pheromones dissipate before continuing the conversation.

Jack: Say what you will about her, can’t pretend she doesn’t have moxie. An interesting choice to partner with you.

Lucas: Believe it or not -- and I’ll deny it if you tell anyone -- I think she’s the best second-in-command I could’ve picked. Somehow her brand of insanity is just right for the Minesweeper that is Triple A student government.

Hard to argue with that. Jack apologizes again for the fact that so much seems to be piling on him at once. He really did think they would get more help from the board… but they’ll keep marching on regardless. The initiative is worth fighting for, and besides, their fundraisers could really outsell their expectations. Especially with a theme like disco, their dance will probably be a smashing success. Lucas can’t help but smirk.

Lucas: Yeah, you’d know all about that, huh? Bet you were just a disco king back in your day.

Jack, flatly: How old do you think I am to have been discoing in the ‘70s?

Cheekiness notwithstanding, the prospects seem good. Not all hope is lost. Jack switches gears, checking in with how Lucas is doing on his applications with deadlines fast approaching. Lucas gives the same general response he gave Riley, tiptoeing around the challenge of the essay component and focusing on the fact that he might get it done at all. Now that it’s so close, it feels more and more daunting… not to mention all the other pressure that seems to be landing on top of him right at the same time.

Jack hears that, and dismisses Lucas so he has time to go deal with all those pressures. Before he walks out, Lucas pauses and turns back for one more thing. He struggles to articulate it since asking for any sort of help feels like specialized torture, but he manages to ask if Jack would be willing to write him a letter of recommendation for the applications. The request surprises Jack, which Lucas reads as discomfort.

Lucas: I know it’s like, pretty last minute and stuff. And there probably isn’t a lot to say about me, so it’ll take some work to throw something compelling together. I should’ve asked sooner, or like, bothered someone else. So I totally get it if you don’t have time or have too much to do or just, you know, don’t want to --

Jack is far from opposed, though. In fact, he’s touched by the request, expression softening to a smile.

Jack: Lucas. [ waiting for him to quiet ] I’d be happy to write one for you. It’s no problem at all.

Lucas: … okay. Cool. Um, thanks.

Jack: You’re quite welcome.

Lucas: I’ll send over the links and stuff later. Today. Later today. So it’s not any later.

Jack: Whatever works for you.

Lucas: Okay… okay. Cool.

Any more bashful vulnerability and Lucas just might implode. He mutters one more quick thanks and scampers away, Jack holding back his amusement long enough to spare Lucas further embarrassment. He chuckles to himself as he shifts back to his work, shaking his head.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Surrounded by various textbooks and scripts and with her laptop propped in front of her, Isadora sits on her bed. A half-finished essay about how the horror genre has developed over the years is open on her screen, but has been entirely abandoned in favor of the mysterious letter Valerie had in her belongings. Isadora holds several handwritten pages, eyebrows furrowed as she reads her mother’s words. She moves the first page to the side, and we catch a glimpse of Val’s loopy handwriting:

Dearest Zachary,

How lovely it is to hear from an old friend! I’m so glad that you’re doing well. Send my well wishes to that darling wife of yours.

To answer your question, I wasn’t entirely sure of who Isadora’s father was when I discovered I was pregnant -- as you well know, I often got rather drunk back then, so couldn’t be entirely sure of all my actions. However, upon reflection, I have come to the same conclusion as you.

Well, damn. Heavy stuff, even if somewhat rose-tinted through Valerie’s flowery language. Isadora bites her lip as she continues reading, clearly conflicted about this sudden revelation. 

Eric, off-screen: Dinner’s ready!

Isadora doesn’t seem to hear Eric’s yell, so after a moment, Eric comes to her room to tell her directly. She still doesn’t look up from the letter, peaking Eric’s interest. 

Eric: What are you reading?

Isadora: Hm? Oh, nothing.

She folds up the papers and shoves them under one of her notebooks nearby, giving Eric a small forced smile. He narrows his eyes at her, jokingly suspicious, which Isadora laughs off. She hops off her bed and asks what’s for dinner, successfully distracting him.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY

Farkle is meeting with DR. MICHELLE HAN, assembled in their usual positions with her in her arm chair and him sprawled across the couch. He’s relaying the drama of the week and his unfortunate instrumental role in all the destruction, though at least this time it was far from intentional. But it’s clear he feels guilty about it, and he admits that his uncanny knack for making things worse is definitely not helping him combat those low moods that seem to creep up on him out of nowhere.

Dr. Han perks up at this, taking the opportunity to gear the conversation. She gently asks if they could discuss that further for a bit, his experience with the high and low moods. Everybody has off days, of course, but based on their previous discussions, she’s interested to hear more about how Farkle describes these different emotional states and the other factors that come with it.

It’s not hard to get Farkle to talk. He obliges without hesitation, launching into details about how it feels when he’s feeling especially frenzied -- sort of the opposite of what he’s dancing around now, but such a vivid experience when he’s in it that he remembers the sensation and always can vibe when it’s coming on. Dr. Han listens carefully, flipping to a clean page in her notepad to jot down his thoughts.

Farkle doesn’t think anything of it, but it seems like Dr. Han might be onto something more than just the typical one-on-one chat. A pronounced clapping counts us in...

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - DAY

BRANDON RIVAS is clapping along to the downbeat while the Havies run through their showdown routine, the instrumental from How to Succeed playing on the speakers. He’s keeping a watchful eye on his classmates while they run through the choreography, shouting out when someone is off a beat or not sharp enough on the steps.

Charlie is definitely one of those people. He’s a couple of steps behind today, mind elsewhere, and when he accidentally bumps into BILLY ROSS he receives a glare in response. What’s the matter with you, man?

Brandon: Come on, Gardner! This is your choreography!

Fair point, Brandon. Charlie tries to get back on track, but lucky for him he’s far from the only one struggling this week. DWEEZIL HOWARD is out of step too, and his mistakes reverberate way more as he accidentally sends half the boys into a wave of near stumbles. Brandon yells for everyone to stop, shaking his head as Evan jogs to pause the music.

Brandon: This is not the time to get soft, guys. Showdown is right around the corner.

Havie: So what? It’s not like Adams is any competition. Six years of success speak for themselves.

Brandon: And complacency is the first step in breaking that streak. You want to be credited when that takes us down? [ off his head shake ] So, what’s going on? Is there some contagious case of vertigo going around that makes you all unable to balance on your own two feet?

Charlie chews his lip, shying away from the disappointment. He’s not the only recipient, but he knows he doesn’t have a good excuse -- and certainly not one Brandon would want to hear. But Dweezil answers first anyway, much more visibly frazzled than him.

Dweezil: I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m just really stressing about the MIT app.

Others murmur agreement, mentioning their own upcoming dream school deadlines and the pressure of finishing their applications. Charlie nods along as if that’s his problem too.

Brandon considers this for a long moment, scanning over his peers. He may have high expectations, but he’s not without compassion for his boys. He relents and expresses sympathy for everybody’s stress, claiming they can call it quits early today and cut down on afternoon rehearsals for the next few days while everyone is wrapping up applications.

The boys breathe a collective sigh of relief, thanking Brandon and starting to disperse. Brandon shouts after them to send those apps in fast and get ready to come back to work harder than ever -- they’re not going to slip and fall to AAA on his watch. Billy exchanges a handshake with him and suggests he take some time off to focus on himself, too, but Brandon shrugs this off.

Brandon: No, it’s fine. Think I’ll be able to make use of the time… might have to make some adjustments to the numbers anyway. [ quirking an eyebrow ] Make sure we’re the best we can possibly be.

For what it’s worth, the statement seems less than innocuous. It kind of feels like Brandon knows something we don’t, and based on Billy’s smug reaction, he’s in on it too. They exchange another fist bump before Billy heads out.

Charlie is one of the last to leave, pausing in packing up to check his phone. He’s got a surprising amount of texts on his lock screen, all from Daisy. He opens the thread, finding just under a dozen texts of her sharing live updates with him of an argument that apparently broke out between Rosie and Eleanor. Although her observations are characteristically dry and analytical -- a technical play-by-play rather than biased record -- the fact that she’s telling Charlie about it at all is a sign that she’s concerned about it. The final message she sent kind of sums up the looming stakes without saying so:

“Didn’t this happen with Bridgette?”

Either way, not good news. Charlie frowns. Before he figures out how to respond, Brandon startles him.

Brandon: All good, Charles?

Charlie: Uh, yeah. Yeah, just, you know. Lots on my mind. It was cool of you to give everyone a break right now.

Brandon: Well. [ with a shrug ] Nothing too serious going on with you, I hope. We need your talent to up our dance credentials -- I assume you realize by now how valuable you are to the team.

Charlie: Oh, well…

Brandon: Can’t afford to let anything distract us right now if we’re to come out victorious against Adams. [ a beat ] Least of all Adams itself… you know, it’s okay if you’re feeling conflicted…

Conflicted might be a bit strong -- although Charlie lives basically every day of his life conflicted -- but the notion that Brandon is even close to sensing what’s actually going on in his head sets him on edge. He clears his throat, frantically attempting to throw him off the trail.

Charlie: Oh, no. No. It’s um -- just family stuff. Stuff with my sisters.

Brandon: Ah… sibling nonsense. I get that. I’ve got two older brothers, and even though they’re not at home anymore it’s like I’m still carrying their baggage around.

Charlie: Big shoes to fill?

Brandon: Well, one was valedictorian and is starting his first year at Harvard Law, and the other is starting his third year in prison. So kind of high bars in either direction.

Well. No idea how to respond to that little fun fact. Brandon spares Charlie the awkwardness and lets him go, wishing him a good afternoon.

But pleasant as he is, it’s evident he doesn’t fully buy Charlie’s excuse.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Isadora is at the counter at Chubbies, discussing all of the impending stressors with Lucas during his shift. They’re especially mindful of how Lucas’s scholarship plan is now basically hinging solely on a victory at showdown, which is feeling more and more like a long shot. With Zay no longer able to bolster their performance, they’re short star power.

Isadora: And since Haverford has Charlie, who is basically his counterweight, suddenly the scales are tipped heavily in their favor. We’ll be lucky if we can create some Frankenstein performance around the gaping hole Zay leaves behind.

Lucas: Have you thought about stepping up in his place? Not that you’re anywhere near the level of dancer that he is, but you do purportedly have star power.

Isadora: Gee, thanks. I’m honestly shocked you’re suggesting this.

Lucas: Believe me, it hurts. But I’ve got stakes riding on this too, and I know you��re talented. Maybe you could help prop things back up so we’ve got at least a shot of winning.

Isadora: I don’t know… I mean, I know I performed the other week, but it was all about that assignment, you know? It was specifically because it was out of my comfort zone. [ a beat ] Though, why, I don’t even really know anymore…

She feels more confused about performing these days than averse, with all the grieving she’s done over Valerie, but confusion still feels dangerous. Probably safer to just stay on the sidelines… probably...

Speaking of dangerous tasks, Isadora shifts to college applications. She submitted her NYU film school application ages ago, and she’s got a couple of other things in the pipeline, but she’s much more interested in how Lucas is dealing with his. When he feeds her the same lines he’s been telling everyone else, she raises her eyebrows. Not buying it.

Leave it to Isadora to see right through him. Lucas sighs, relenting and explaining that the essays are killing him. It’s like, everything else he can scrape together, fake, pull off like he’s scraped through everything else in his life. But the personal statements…

Lucas: I hate writing about myself. Why should all of my potential rest on how well I can sell myself in some 500-word anecdote? As if that paints the complete picture. Not that I want that either -- the full picture isn’t pretty. How am I supposed to convince some strangers to take a chance on me when I don’t even believe it? If I had the choice whether or not to know myself, I wouldn’t.

Isadora: Wonder what that says about those of us who do choose to know you.

Lucas: And what am I going to say? Howdy, I’m a son of a bitch, please let me into your school and give me your money to do so? Great fucking deal.

Isadora rolls her eyes. She points out that although he doesn’t want to hear it, when it comes to  finances he knows she can help. Once the money from her inheritance fully comes through, she’ll have plenty that she doesn’t know what to do with. If she’s going to use it to help others -- especially those she cares about -- then helping him pursue his dreams is a non-issue. But, predictably, Lucas recoils at the suggestion.

Isadora: I swear, you are impossible. And you have such a weird hang-up about money.

Lucas: Yeah, views that you shared until about a month ago.

Isadora: Well, I’ve grown. I can see the nuances in money now and how it goes around. And I’m just saying that if you’ve got all these complexes around who has it and who can give it to you when you’re stuck on the bottom rung, then --

No doubt it’s a complicated series of complexes. As Isadora is settling into her rant, MISSY BRADFORD enters the diner. Lucas glances over Isadora’s shoulder and spots her, immediately clamming up.

Isadora: ...it’s what Reagan sold as trickle-down economics, but the thing is if you don’t give any money to the lowest income households from the get-go, then they never --

Lucas: Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ve got to go to the back.

Lucas retreats from the counter without waiting for permission, causing Isadora to scoff. She wasn’t finished! But he’s already gone, leaving her high and dry. But he also successfully avoided Missy, who steps up the counter for a pick-up order and is helped by another employee instead. She doesn’t acknowledge Isadora, who eyes her judgmentally from her stool.

As Missy collects her order and leaves -- glancing over her shoulder one last time for her usual Chubbies worker -- Dylan and Asher enter with Farkle. They join Isadora at the counter, asking where Lucas is. She shrugs, claiming he disappeared to deal with something.

Farkle: You ready to go? Is Maya here yet?

Isadora: Not yet. Figure she’ll be a bit late after the “atomic bomb” Jack dropped on her and Lucas -- her words, not mine.

Asher: What are you all up to?

Isadora: Since Farkle and I were technically responsible for the destruction in the auditorium --

Farkle: One could make the argument that I should have died last year.

Dylan: That would be a sick personal essay.

Isadora: We thought it was only fair that we put in the time to help Maya craft whatever last-minute fundraising effort we’re going to pull together to cover it.

As for Dylan and Asher, they were just stopping by to catch up with Lucas before going to practice their assignment for the week. Isadora commends Asher for performing again, considering it was so out of his comfort zone.

Farkle: Yeah, that’s not -- you’re not thinking of making that a habit, are you? Not asking for any reason, just curious. Not because you’re also a tenor. I’m just wondering.

Isadora: Smooth.

Asher: No, not planning to change career paths. Rest easy, Farkle. Just getting this out of the way sooner rather than later. [ nodding to Dylan ] It’s not as bad since we’re doing it together. And besides, can’t ignore the pull of the funk.

Dylan, wisely: Disco is for the gays.

Asher: Gotta pay our dues and get down with the boogie.

Far out, fellas! Isadora and Farkle wish them luck and head out together. Isadora asks Farkle how his therapy appointment went, and while his answer is unbothered, he definitely seems to be a little spacy this week. Isadora notices and considers asking him about it, but opts not to press further. They’ve got enough going on right now.

INT. GARDNER HOME - ROSIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

ROSIE GARDNER is huddled up in her bedroom, begrudgingly working on homework. She’s got Niall Horan playing, and the volume is turned up loud. It takes multiple knocks on her door before Rosie hears, shouting over the noise.

Rosie: Go away! I’m busy.

Charlie, from the hall: It’s me. Can we talk for a minute?

Rosie sighs, but gets up. She opens the door and spins back around to drop back into her seat at her desk, not bothering to greet him. But she let him in, which is more than anyone else has managed this evening.

Charlie blinks as the pop music assaults his ears. He gently closes the door behind him, raising his voice over Niall.

Charlie: Think you could turn Niall down for a second?

Rosie: Huh?

Charlie: Turn your boyfriend down so we can actually hear each other!

Rosie: Ugh. You’re so not funny.

And yet, she relents and lowers the volume. Charlie makes a show of shaking off the ringing in his ears, knocking his ear slightly.

Charlie: Just checking for significant damage. Need industrial strength noise-cancelling headphones to come in here. Like they wear when they guide airplanes onto the runway.

Rosie: You are so annoying. Did you want something, or?

Charlie explains that Daisy texted him that afternoon about a fight she apparently had with mom. She seemed pretty concerned, so he just wanted to check in. Is everything okay? Rosie rolls her eyes.

Rosie: It’s so whatever. Daisy is exaggerating.

Charlie: I don’t think Daisy is capable of exaggeration. We took all the drama genes, there wasn’t any left for her.

Rosie: Well, she is. Yeah, mom and I argued, but it’s like… it’s dumb, whatever. I don’t even care.

Charlie: You’re listening to your sad 1D playlist.

Rosie: I said I don’t care, Charlie. And I can listen to whatever I want whenever I want.

Charlie: Okay, well, can you at least tell me what it was about? Or what’s --

Rosie: Ugh. It was nothing! Can you mind your own business and leave me alone? I’m trying to work.

Yikes. Rosie has always had a little bit of early teen venom in her, but this feels like more than that. Charlie doesn’t want to just let it drop, but it’s more than obvious she will not be having any productive conversations right now.

Charlie: Okay. I’m only -- if you want to talk about anything, you know you can tell me. I’m here to listen. [ a beat ] Okay?

Rosie: [ not bothering to look at him ] Okay. Whatever. Thanks.

She turns Niall back up, effectively ending the talk. Charlie hangs around for a moment longer, words he wants to say on the tip of his tongue, but for now there’s nothing to be done. He reluctantly retreats, the ghost of the past looming over him.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Farkle, Maya and Isadora are spread out around Farkle’s bedroom as they brainstorm ideas for fundraising. Maya paces around, occasionally picking up little trinkets and inspecting them before putting them back down in the wrong place. Isadora, meanwhile, is laying down on Farkle’s bed on her back, her head hanging upside down off the side. Farkle has gathered a blanket around him as he sits at the other end of the bed. 

Maya: You need to add some meat to that stick of a body, Farkle. You can’t keep living like an orphan who’s freezing to death on the streets of Victorian London. 

Farkle: It’s not my fault I have a fast metabolism. You’re just jealous. 

Maya: Yes, I’m very jealous of the boy who looks like he’s dying of scurvy.

Isadora snorts in amusement, for which Farkle shoots a glare at her.

Maya: Go get us some snacks, orphan boy. We’ll fatten you up Hansel and Gretel style.

Farkle: This is offensive to orphans everywhere, I hope you know. 

Isadora: As the only orphan here, I’m not offended. Maya, you may continue your bullying.

Maya grins, but Isadora frowns as she realizes what she said. Technically, she isn’t an orphan, if her father is out there alive... despite rolling his eyes, Farkle does get up to get snacks, blanket still tightly wrapped around him.

Once she and Maya are alone, Isadora sits up straight and turns towards her, lips pursed in thought as she considers what she wants to say. 

Isadora: Do you know who your dad is?

Maya stops wandering around and looks at Isadora in surprise.

Maya: Where’d that come from?

Isadora: I don’t know. Just wondering about the orphan thing, I guess.

Maya: Izzy, that was just a joke. And directed towards Farkle. All jeers are reserved for our darling beanpole -- I’m not stupid enough to drag you.

Isadora: Appreciated. [ a beat ] I know nothing about my dad.

Maya: [ with a shrug ] I know my dad’s name and some basic facts about him, like his job, but nothing else. 

Isadora: Have you ever considered getting in touch with him? What if he’s out there somewhere? Mine or yours.

Maya: When I was younger I thought about it… but he abandoned me, so what’s the point? If he wanted me in his life, I would be. He knows who I am and how to contact me, but he hasn’t. Why waste my precious time and energy dealing with him when I already have my mom? She’s all I need.

Isadora nods, considering this. Her father situation is quite different to Maya’s, so not all that helpful. Regardless, it’s something to think about. Maya is pensive, too, mind now occupied by thoughts of Katy. Isadora notices her shift in mood.

Isadora: You miss her?

Maya: [ with a theatrical sigh ] Always. [ then, a bittersweet smile ] It’s okay, every artist has to have their tragic backstory. It’s good. Gives me personal agony to work through.

Isadora: … well, actually --

Before she can say anything further, Farkle returns with an armful of snacks. He tosses them at Maya and Isadora.

Farkle: Here you go, little piggies. Oink oink.

Maya: You can’t say that to us, we’re women.

Isadora: We could have you cancelled for that.

Maya: Besides, as the only poor one present, I reserve all rights to the word pig. [ eyeing them ] Capitalist swine…

Farkle: Yeah, speaking of lack of funding...

The conversation moves on, back to fundraising, but Maya gets out her phone to send Katy a quick message letting her know that she misses her.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Shoes” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Asher Garcia & Dylan Orlando

Kicking off the first official performance for the ‘70s theme, Asher launches us into number with an impressive opening note. He starts at the top of the stairs in the atrium, starting down the steps while singing towards Dylan, who’s waiting down below. When he sings “boy, to be with you is my favorite thing,” Dylan playfully points to himself and beams. They’re both dressed in modern-day approximations of disco garb -- colorful dress shirts, glossy vests with matching flare pants, funky patterned ascots.

And they’re setting the standard for what performances will be like without the usual stage of the auditorium. Their chosen location is the atrium, mostly empty as it’s during class hours, the rest of the A class scattered around the space to watch and provide back-up vocals (as well as their usual reactions and applause). Zay is particularly torn, clearly flipping between jealousy that he can’t be dancing and basically vibrating with the infectious groove.

In the case of Dylan and Asher, there is plenty to cheer for. They’re simply undeniably a joy to watch, especially with each other, and Dylan was right when he said disco is for the gays. They’ve got the night fever, full of energy and charm as they dance together. On the “woo!” during the bridge, Dylan lifts Asher in a funky little hop moment. And Asher’s vocal runs throughout are nothing to scoff at either.

It’s a smashing way to start the assignments off right!

INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

As strong a showing as that little number was, the upbeat mood doesn’t last long. Stress dominates in the meeting between Maya, Yindra, Farkle, Jeff, and Isadora, who are deliberating on the current status of their showdown setlist. They’re attempting to analyze it and rework with the knowledge that Zay will not be able to participate, but it’s easier said than done.

Lack of focus doesn’t help matters. Farkle is noticeably zoned out, lost in his own head, and Maya has to snap at him to get him back at attention. This is not amateur hour! No time for spacing out, Farkle! He apologizes, but Isadora notices he still seems far away somehow.

The fervent discussion is immediately halted when Zay enters the studio, realizing they’ve all convened to work without him. He asks what gives.

Maya: It’s not personal, Zayby. But considering your current situation...

Zay: I’m still choreographer. Even if I’m not performing, I should be included in meetings. Especially if you’re talking about altering the routine.

Jeff: We’re not.

Farkle: At least, not right now.

Isadora, diplomatically: We just know that not being able to participate is difficult for you, so Riley suggested… we figured it would be better not to like… force you to deal with it. Or rub it in your face.

Maya: Exactly. See? We’re doing this for you.

How sweet. But Zay isn’t moved. He grows defensive, nodding along but dripping with sarcasm.

Zay: Great. Thanks. Well I guess if you need to drag me out of the recycling bin to comment on choreography, you all know how to reach me.

He storms out -- a bit unevenly on his boot -- leaving them awkwardly in his absence. Farkle clears his throat. The only who doesn’t seem uncomfortable is Maya, who shifts gears back to the matter at hand effortlessly. It’s just business, after all.

Maya: So star power --

INT. THRIFT SHOP - DAY

Riley is searching the racks for an outfit for the ‘70s dance, Charlie in tow. Every now and then, she’ll find a vintage shirt that’s his size and hold it up against his chest just on instinct, always on the lookout for her friends even if they’re not looking themselves.

Riley: It’s amazing how every color looks good on you. You should really consider branching out beyond neutrals and inoffensive shades of blue.

Tell us something we don’t know, Riles. Charlie brushes off her compliments, keeping his focus on the topic at hand while they shop. He’s seeking advice on how to handle arguing family members, since unfortunately, Riley has plenty of relevant experience with that. He’s had it in his family before with Bridgette, but he can’t remember much of it and honestly, one of the keys to their family dynamic is how most unpleasant things occur behind closed doors. Most of the time, they don’t even know when something is wrong with each other.

Riley: Do you have any more details? I feel like context would help.

Charlie: Nope. I only heard about it through Daisy, and when I tried to talk to Rosie, she wouldn’t budge.

Riley contemplates and admits she’s hesitant to try and give advice when the context is so vague and wide open, but ultimately the most important thing she thinks he could do is to continue being there for Rosie. He told her he was, and that’s the best he can do under the circumstances. If he actually witnesses another argument for himself, then that’s a different story.

Riley: But no matter what happens, try not to let yourself get caught in the middle of it. I mean, you should help where you can, but there’s nothing worse than trying to fix problems that aren’t yours and you can’t control. It’s between them, not you, and trying to mend it from the outside is only going to result in failure and frustration. You have to look out for your own well-being first. I wish someone had told me that before my parents fell apart.

Very important advice. Charlie thanks her and expresses sympathy for her messy parental situation again, but she shrugs it off and moves past it. Instead she finds another cute ‘70s material button down in classic sky blue, enthusiastically lifting it up to measure against Charlie.

Riley: Pair a blazer with this, and you’d be all set to boogie. Makes your eyes pop too… ugh, you’re so pretty it’s disgusting.

Charlie: I thought we were shopping for you, not me. I’m not the one who gets to disco.

Riley: Well, that’s not necessarily true. The fundraiser is open to everyone -- that’s the only way we’re going to make any profit, after all. And you know you’d be more than welcome.

Charlie: Yeah, maybe… with showdown so close and everything…

Riley: Charlie. [ holding his gaze ] You’re family. Forget showdown, forget east and west side. As long as I’m around, you fit. And I know for sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. Got it? Can you dig it?

Charlie, grateful: I can dig it.

Riley: Righteous. I’m serious though, what you should dig is this shirt.

As Riley shifts back to searching for her own look, they jump to chatting about college applications. Charlie asks how hers are going after she explains Lucas’s poorly concealed stress about them, and she claims they’re going fine.

Riley: I’m a pretty textbook candidate, all things considered, and my poor tragic backstory of being bullied out of school and divorced parents sure makes for great personal essay fodder.

Charlie: Kind of weird how they teach us to exploit our own trauma…

Riley: I’m definitely applying to Barnard, and I’ve decided I’m going to throw my hat in the ring for Tisch even though it’s basically the longest shot there is. Add in a handful of second choice picks and you get the idea. But honestly, I’m not all that pressed about it right now. I feel like it’s going to be way harder when acceptances and rejections come through and it’s all… real. I can throw any application out there I want and I don’t have to do anything about it. When I actually know what my options are… then it’ll be real. You know? When I actually have to decide what path I want to take. Because right now, I feel like I have no idea what I want that to be.

Charlie nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. He definitely knows the feeling of not having any idea what he wants the future to be… as the low hum of an unfamiliar instrument floats in…

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Amazing Grace” as performed by The Military Band of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards || Performed by Dave Williams

In what is probably the weirdest performance AMBITION has seen to date, Dave stands alone in front of the classroom and goes to town on the bagpipes. Yes, apparently, Dave Williams can play the bagpipes (though whether he plays them well is a whole other story). And he gives it his all on this immensely famous tune, bewildering his peers and rendering them speechless.

That being said, while they can’t find any words, that doesn’t stop the A class from reacting. The expressions range from confused to stunned to struggling to keep it together. Maya stares in disbelief and then scrunches her face, looking around to see if anyone else is seeing this. Zay and Nigel are on the verge of tears from stifling their laughter; Yogi is misty-eyed from sheer emotion at his best friend’s… powerful performance. Nate mouths trying to sing along to the screechy tones with an absolutely delighted grin, while Dylan emulates the patriotic vibe by standing and giving a salute. Asher shakes his head from next to him, also hiding laughter behind his hand.

When Dave finally concludes, releasing a big exhale, the room is filled with silence for a long moment. Yogi starts the applause that the others uncertainly mimic, until Isadora finally, bluntly breaks the silence.

Isadora: Okay, I’m just going to say it -- what the hell, Dave?

Dave: What? Is something wrong?

Sarah: Where the hell did this come from? Are you seriously damaged?

Yindra: Forget that. I’m dying to know when you learned to play the bagpipes. And why have you deprived us of it for so long?

Farkle: The assignment is ‘70s music. How did you end up on “Amazing Grace?”

Dave, baffled: I don’t get what the big deal is. I found the song on a ‘70s playlist on Spotify, I can show you. And I looked it up -- the fig Newton dude wrote the song in 1779.

Clarissa: Fig newton --

Zay: [ at his wits end trying not to laugh ] I can’t. I can’t --

Dave: 1779! So it’s from the ‘70s.

All, in unison: 1970s, Dave!

Dave: … WHAT?!

The class descends into hysterics. Harper attempts to thank Dave for an… interesting performance, if nothing else.

Harley: I found it quite spirited. Very much enjoyed.

Dave huffs, marching back to his desk. He drops his bagpipes on the desktop --

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

Which becomes a soapy sponge landing with a splat on the hood of a car, Haley working to scrub it clean. A few more quick shots help establish the setting -- Jeff and Darby untangling hoses; Riley and Chai filling up buckets of water; Asher ringing out a washcloth as far away from his body as he can stretch it, mildly disgusted.

Yes, Maya’s new fundraising scheme is in full swing -- a car wash! Cars are lining up for the A class to give a shining clean-up. Considering they threw the concept together in just a couple of days, it’s really not a shabby showing. Maya is praising her own quick thinking by the pay table, where they’re also selling baked goods. Zay is manning the cash box, since he can’t do much else.

Maya: I swear, sometimes my own mind amazes me. Never lets me down. And you can’t go wrong with a good old-fashioned classic.

Zay: Yeah, except car washes are usually in the summer. Not the dregs of autumn when we’re all going to get hypothermia.

Maya: It’s actually unseasonably warm today. And that’s the brilliance of it. Who else is doing a car wash in this weather economy? No competition, big bucks.

At least the weather is nice. With them out in their cotton shorts and tees to do all this work, Zay’s right to have reservations. But the sun is out, and the income has been steady thus far. Nate finishes off drying a car with Dylan, who has his hair pushed back with a tie-dye bandana.

Nate: You know, we should all just wet our shirts. That will get the girls and gays to come running.

Maya: [ into her bullhorn ] Don’t accelerate the hypothermia, Martinez. Keep it classy.

Nate: You’re turning down a million-dollar idea!

Maya waves him off, gesturing that he get back to work. And they all put it together real fast when another customer pulls up at the end of the line, EVELYN RAND emerging from her nice SUV and coming over to greet them. She commends them for their efficient set up.

Maya: That’s all thanks to me, Maya Penelope Hart. Vice President and overall go-getter. I’m the one that makes things happen.

Evelyn: And modest as they come, too.

Evelyn happily accepts Maya’s handshake, but she tosses a wink to Zay and Clarissa working the bake sale table. She claims she’s eager to help the cause, and she’s sure they’ll do an excellent job with her car. While she waits, she’s hoping to have a brief chat with Jack, so can she just leave her keys with them? She trusts them to move her vehicle twenty feet when it’s her turn.

Maya: Of course. We here in the A class pride ourselves on our care and attention. Your vehicle is safe with us.

Zay snorts, turning it into a cough. Evelyn hands over her keys pleasantly, waving to the rest of the kids working as she heads into the building. Maya spins the key ring on her finger for a moment, contemplating.

Maya: Can’t afford to screw this up. Gonna need someone extremely anal and annoyingly cautious to handle this one. [ into the bullhorn ] Garcia! Get your persnickety nonexistent ass over here!

Nigel arrives at that moment with a takeout bag in his hands. He tries to weave through the cars and avoid drill sergeant Maya as he heads towards the back entrance to the school, but unfortunately he’s not slick enough.

Maya: Chey! What do you think you’re doing? Cars are over here.

Nigel: Oh. Yes. Well, Jade’s holed up in the costume loft with all the projects she’s finishing…

Maya, unmoved: Uh huh.

Nigel: And I know she isn’t great about eating when she’s under this much stress, so I brought her some food to eat while she works. And I thought I’d go… give it to her… [ quickly ] okay, check you later.

He turns and speeds towards the entrance, making his swift escape. Riley saunters over to join them at the cash table, tilting her head fondly.

Riley: That’s so sweet.

Maya: Meh. A convenient excuse.

Zay: And how are you one to talk, Maya? You realize standing around shouting orders at everyone isn’t work.

Riley: Come on, Madam Vice President. Time to put in a little elbow grease.

Zay raises his eyebrows, accenting Riley’s challenge. Pride in jeopardy, Maya sniffs and relinquishes her bullhorn, placing it on the table. She spins and flips her ponytail over her shoulder, marching over to contribute to the cause. Riley and Zay exchange amused looks, while the boombox blasting the iconic opening hand claps takes over the soundscape...

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Car Wash” as performed by Rose Royce || Performed by Maya Hart (feat. AAA Seniors)

You all knew it was coming. The moment we started scrubbing those fenders, you should’ve seen it coming. Maya leads the A class in a funky rendition of the disco classic, swaying her hips and swinging her ponytail as they put in the hard work (though, somehow, Maya still manages to avoid most of the heavy lifting). She handles most of the verses, though Yindra also takes some of the spotlight with vocal runs. Nate perfects his slutdrop as he cleans tires.

In the midst of the grooving, the business is bumping. Interspersed amongst the performing we see Clarissa and Dylan charming patrons at the bake sale table, money changing hands, and Zay dutifully keeping track of everything as he mans the pay station.

On the last chorus, Maya has made her way onto a roof of one of the cars, Yindra, Haley, and Darby emulating her on the other cars they’re working on. The A class does some rad synced choreography to take the number home, Maya sliding down the front windshield and kicking up her leg before Farkle makes the finishing swipe of a washcloth across the hood.

Car wash! Zay deposits another payment into the cashbox, snapping it closed with a flourish.

Evelyn’s car is now closer to the front of the pack, and more business is still coming. Charlie makes his way over from the parking lot, waving to Riley as he makes his way over to the tables. Clarissa and Dylan greet him cheerfully, Riley and Maya jogging over from the line of cars. Zay doesn’t say anything, but offers a hesitant smile, which is better than nothing. Charlie mirrors it.

Clarissa comes out from behind the table to give him a hug, but warns him not to let Haley see him -- she’s soaked and will probably get him all damp. Charlie claims he didn’t plan to stay long, he just wanted to come by and see how things were going, as well drop off some baked goods they could sell that he and his sisters made. Dylan takes them happily. Maya asks where his car is and what kind of wash he wants, which Charlie awkwardly laughs off.

Charlie: I wouldn’t make you guys do that. But I can make a contribution --

Maya: Please, what do you think this is, a pity party? We don’t accept charity.

Zay: Yes we do.

Clarissa: We’ll take all the charity you’ve got.

Maya: This is a business, and we provide a service. So put your boring little sedan in line and turn your patronization into profit.

Riley: Maya, if he doesn’t want --

Charlie: You know what? Okay. [ raising his hands in surrender ] I’ll take whatever the easiest job is. Meet in the middle.

Fair enough. Maya relents, going back to shouting orders at others. Zay shows Charlie what their pricing options are, and though Charlie is going for the cheapest one, he overpays anyway.

Charlie: What Maya doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Zay: Yeah, and it’ll probably save us.

They exchange something close to a conspiratorial wink. Riley senses that they’re actually communicating without imminent disaster, so she comes over to join them. Charlie asks how business is going -- it seems to be moving pretty swiftly. Riley is optimistic, claiming that between this and the dance -- which is garnering a lot of buzz on social media -- they may just cover their expenses yet. At mention of the dance, Riley makes a quip about how Charlie should’ve bought that shirt at the thrift shop to wear, which catches Zay’s attention.

Zay: You’re coming?

Charlie: Oh, no. No, I wasn’t, um… I hadn’t really thought about it.

Zay: Oh.

Charlie, shyly: … would it be okay if I did?

Zay meets his eyes, uncharacteristically timid. He doesn’t know what to say, because he honestly doesn’t know how he feels about the possibility. Things aren’t as tense as they were before, and they’ve managed to break some of the ice that’s frozen them in place, but it’s far from thawed. He doesn’t know if he wants it to be or not. It’s all confusing, and being put on the spot proves just how much.

He’s spared from answering when Isadora pipes up from the curb.

Isadora: Oh, fuck no.

Charlie jumps, turning to search for the problem. Zay leans around him to look too. The issue is not hard to identify.

The Haverford boys. A whole bunch of them, rolling up in their classy cars, totally filling up the back end of the car wash line. Billy honks obnoxiously in his, waving to the washers working further down the row.

Brandon hops out of his car, the rest of the boys following suit. He leads the saunter over to the tables, where Maya, Farkle, and Isadora rush to head them off. Charlie stares as they approach, obviously mortified that they’re here; Zay frowns, glancing at him suspiciously.

Maya: What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re blocking the line.

Dweezil: Blocking? Is that any way to speak to a customer?

Isadora: One we’re about to kick the hell out, yeah.

The congregation bristles, but Brandon holds up his hands -- both out of innocence and to signal his crew to halt. He remains smooth and unbothered as ever, calmly stating that they’re simply here to support the cause.

Brandon: It’s the least we could do, showing up for the less fortunate. We want showdown to be a fair fight, don’t we?

Maya: Oh, if that’s what you’re looking for, we can give you a fight.

[ Brandon raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by Maya’s sharp spunk. ]

Farkle: How did you all even hear about this?

Brandon: Why, I would think that’s obvious. Charles told us.

[ Many eyes throw to Charlie at once. He swallows, dipping his head. ]

Brandon: Well, technically, he told Evan, but I don’t see why he didn’t just share it with the boys. Evan was more than happy to pass the message along, though, and we all thought it was just a swell idea. Quaint, really.

Billy: Yeah, where’s the lemonade stand? You should jump on that hot market next.

But belittlement aside, they really are here to get their cars washed. That’s all. The A class can take it or leave it, but if they choose to turn away willing customers then that’s their prerogative.

Well… business is business. Maya forces a smile, keeping her diva daggers locked on Brandon as she instructs Isadora and Farkle to go start filling the buckets. Brandon holds her glare, evenly matched with his cool, subtle smirk.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is enjoying a catch-up with Angela over coffee, in generally good spirits all things considered. As he says, it’s nice to take a moment to forget all of the stress and just chat with a good friend. Angela is touched, placing her hand on her chest. She claims if her visit will be good for anything then, that’s a great reason.

The two of them get on the topic of her pregnancy, and how she’s feeling about impending motherhood. She confides that Shawn is way more nervous about it than she is, but ultimately she feels okay about it. Pregnancy isn’t the most fun experience in the world, but she has always thought that a family would be part of her future. Considering she’s not getting any younger, it feels like the right time.

She asks if Jack ever thought about having kids, and he grows a bit more somber. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it… and to be honest, he figured if he did he’d beat Shawn to it, but clearly that wasn’t in his cards. And now here he is, coming off a failed serious relationship, already in his 40s…

Angela: It’s never too late, Jack. If it’s something you really want. I mean, hell, look at Eric! He skipped all the hard stuff, too.

Jack: I guess that is one way to look at Isadora’s tragic loss…

Angela: I’m just saying, never say never. You’re a great mentor, responsible and fair, and you care. You care a lot. If you chose to try, whether by yourself or with a partner, I think you’d be a great dad.

Maybe… it all just feels so out of the realm of possibility. Besides, he argues, he basically has 200 kids at any given time to take care of. It’s not the same, no, but he watches out for the Adams students as seriously as he would his own. And you know, sometimes…

Jack: Every once in a while, it kind of feels like they are.

It’s not hard to guess who he’s thinking about. Angela starts to question him further, thinking this is probably a meaningful discussion to have, but they’re interrupted by Evelyn knocking briskly on the door. She greets both of them cheerfully.

Evelyn: So nice to see you again, Angela! I do hope I’m not intruding on anything important -- I meant to come sooner, but I got caught up in a riveting chat with Mister Keiner. 

Jack: No, of course not.

Angela: In fact, I was just getting ready to head out, so I will get out of your hair.

Jack: I just wasn’t expecting you.

Evelyn: No need to rush, Angela. [ to Jack ] I’m just here to participate in that splendid car wash you’ve got out back. They’ve got a great little operation going, I have to say. And that Maya Hart -- talk about a firecracker.

Jack: Trust us, we’re quite familiar with her spark.

Angela bids both of them goodbye, promising Jack she’ll see him later. Once they’re alone, Evelyn commends Jack on inspiring his students to find creative ways to fund their financial endeavors. Especially given how their original proposal for the scholarships was voted down at the school board. In her opinion, she was hoping they’d at least contribute a portion -- she thought it was a nifty idea.

Jack: Yes, they weren’t thrilled to hear the decision either.

Evelyn: It’s disappointing, although hardly surprising considering the way Jefferson campaigned behind closed doors. He’s got a fairly influential stake in the voting bloc, unfortunately.

Jack: What? What do you mean?

Evelyn: Oh, Jack, I thought you already knew. It was an extremely close vote on the board to provide funding, but Jefferson tipped the scales against it. He and Yancy basically talked it down for days with colleagues before the actual tally.

Um, no, Jack did not know about that, and it obviously pisses him off. He’s speechless, trying to process the blatant partisan maneuvers being played against them within the inner workings of the board. Especially from someone who is now working within the walls of AAA. He knew Yancy didn’t like him, but this…

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

The Haverford boys are loitering while they wait for the A class to finish cleaning their cars, showing how completely unbothered they are to hang around and watch their competitors sweat. Charlie is also hovering to nervously keep an eye on things, staying with Clarissa at the baked goods table and nibbling on a sugar cookie.

From where he’s scrubbing Dweezil’s windshield dry, Nate glares at them derisively.

Nate: Rich pricks. I should smash this damn window…

Yogi: Easy, bulldog.

Dave: Just smile and wash, boys. Smile and wash.

Thankfully, they’re efficient, and it doesn’t take them long to grit their teeth through the work. Maya slaps her washcloth against Brandon’s hood, declaring it finished, then marches her way back over to where he’s slouched against a lamp pole near the pay table.

Maya: Alright, knock-off Warblers, your cars are done.

Evan: Warblers?

Dweezil: From Glee.

Billy: Ha! She thinks we watched Glee.

Bottom line is, their business here is done, so they can roll their asses out. Maya essentially shoos them, but Zay pipes up from the pay table.

Zay: Um, they can’t go yet. They’ve still got a tab to settle.

Maya: They didn’t pay upfront?

Billy: Well, couldn’t very well do that. Why would we pay you before we get any proof that you’re going to do a good job? It’s simply smart shopping.

Clarissa: Well, the job is done now. So you can pay up.

Brandon: Ooh… see, I think there might’ve been a misunderstanding here.

Charlie tenses, sensing impending doom. He steps out from behind the table in case he needs to mediate, just as Isadora and Farkle march back over with their buckets and rags to see what the hold up is. They’ve got other potential customers waiting.

Brandon: Another smart business practice is to agree on the terms and conditions before you make a deal. Now, we always knew our payment was going to be contingent on the quality of the work. Sure, Babineaux here laid out the pricing for us, but we didn’t get anything in writing. You didn’t get our John Hancocks signing off on it.

Zay: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Charlie, nervously: Come on, guys --

Maya: So you mean to tell me that we just spent the better part of an hour scrubbing your ungrateful little shits until they shined, and blocking other well-intentioned customers from coming in the meantime, only for you to stiff us at checkout?

Dweezil: At least we made you look busy.

Billy: Yeah, consider it practice. We know you could use all of that you can get.

Brandon: [ with a shrug ] Should’ve gotten it in writing.

Isadora: Yeah? Well how about you fucking get this --

She and Farkle snap first, lifting their buckets and sloshing them directly at Brandon. It catches him off-guard, totally dousing him in sudsy water.

Charlie: Oh no.

Riley, from the curb: Oh no.

Billy: Oh, hell no!

Hit the queen bee, feel the sting of the workers! The Havies immediately fire back, grabbing whatever they can get their hands on -- hoses, abandoned buckets -- and lobbing it back at Isadora and Farkle.

And with that, it’s a full-on brawl. Water and soap flying in every direction, the other Havies and Adams seniors launching into the battle without hesitation. Maya shrieks as she’s soaked, shouting for her classmates to take the Havies out. Zay salvages the cash box and dives under the table, taking cover.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is still searching for what to say in response to the bombshell information Evelyn dropped, but Harley leaps in the doorway and gets both their attention.

Harley: Major problem at the car wash. It’s completely devolved.

Jack exchanges a quick look with Evelyn, then jumps up from his chair.

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

Jack and Harley emerge as the water fight is in full swing, and basically everyone is dripping in soap water. Jack takes control and marches into the fray, stepping into authoritarian mode and demanding that all of the nonsense cease. The Adams students drop their weapons immediately, not daring to get even a drop on their principal.

Though he doesn’t command the same respect with the Haverford boys, they don’t push it any further. They got what they came for, managing to derail the car wash and pull a fast one on the A class. They cackle with laughter as they sprint back to their cars, piling inside in record time and peeling out of the parking lot.

Brandon’s car is one of the last to leave, catching the eye of Maya, Zay, and Charlie through the passenger window. He smirks and tosses a wink in their direction, but it’s impossible to say who it was meant for. Maybe all of them.

None of them look especially pleased either way. Maya shoots a death glare at Charlie, even though he arguably got the worst of it, completely drenched from head to toe. If he was in on the whole thing, he looks pretty miserable about it.

Break 1.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Now in fresh, comfy clothes and bare faces, Riley, Isadora and Maya lounge around in Isa’s bedroom. Maya’s hair is up in a towel wrap, while Riley’s is down and in the process of drying, and Isadora’s is pulled back into a messy bun. Isadora is also wearing her glasses rather than usual contacts. With a stretch, Maya hops from the bed.

Maya: I never want to work like that ever again. I’m exhausted, in pain, and starving. Is this Hell?

Riley: You truly weren’t built for working class, were you?

Tell her about it! Maya disappears to raid Eric’s fridge, leaving Riley and Isadora free from her complaints. Isadora uses the opportunity to pick Riley’s brain. 

Isadora: What do you think our chances are in the showdown? Full disclosure. 

Riley: Full disclosure? Not great. [ with a sigh ] But we could still pull through. If we work hard enough, and come together to --

Isadora: I don’t need the full spiel, but thanks. I know how stressed Lucas and Maya are about it, and I’m considering -- considering is the key word here -- offering to perform. You know, if it would help.

Riley’s face lights up, but upon seeing Isadora’s level glare, tries to suppress her smile. She fails. 

Isadora: Don’t look at me. Forget I said anything. 

Riley: Aw, come on. I’m happy you’re thinking about it yourself instead of, like, being peer pressured by Maya or something. 

Isadora: She’s very nearly at her breaking point, I can tell. Every day her will to just let me be is deteriorating bit by bit. 

Riley: I think… not to get too Uncle Eric here, but I feel like because you keep thinking of performing as doing it in front of an audience, like being judged, it’s holding you back. You should just do it for the joy of it. Why were you drawn to performing in the first place? 

Isadora, reluctantly: … because it was fun...

Riley: Exactly! Because it’s fun. You have to have fun with it.

In fact… Riley brightens with an idea, reaching for her phone and searching for a song.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lady Marmalade” as performed by LaBelle || Performed by Riley Matthews, Maya Hart & Isadora De La Cruz

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

As the bass and keys begin, Riley stands up on Isadora’s bed, pulling her up with her. Riley sings the initial “hey sister, go sister” to Isadora, who stands awkwardly in the middle of the bed, not looking all that impressed.

In the first verse, Maya walks into the room with her haul from the kitchen. Her mouth opens when she sees Riley singing. 

Maya: Are we doing this? Okay, we’re doing this.

She drops the snacks without a care, jumping onto the bed to join Riley -- just in time for the chorus. They move around Isadora as they belt out iconic vocals, trying to get her in the groove.

Maya takes on the second verse with Riley on the backing vocals. Although Isadora tries to remain stoic, she can’t help but begin to vibe with them. By the end of the next chorus, she’s singing along, too. In French, no less! But maybe let’s not look up the lyric translation…

In the instrumental break, the three girls get down from the bed and strut forwards towards the door. They pass through it one at a time, puffs of makeup and glitter blowing around them in slow-mo as they do.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

This time, the temporary performance space is the lecture hall, which is an inspired choice since it actually has a pseudo-stage and lighting capabilities.

When they emerge onto the small stage, they’re in full glam. Hair glossy, makeup glowing, and outfits iconique. They each wear a skintight jumpsuit along with oversized faux fur coats. Riley’s getup is a white jumpsuit and yellow coat, Isadora’s is a blue jumpsuit and pink coat, and Maya’s is a pink jumpsuit and white coat. They strut to the front of the stage, spotlights on them.

Isadora takes charge of the next verse, confidently singing and dancing with her friends by her side. Riley and Maya come in towards the end, before all three complete the rest of the song together. It’s glamorous, it’s sultry, it’s powerful. Foxy, ladies!

We fade out of the performance to see the rest of the class and Harper as they applaud. Although the girls don’t look quite as glam out of the performance-dreamscape, they look just as badass. Lucas and Farkle in particular seem stunned by the performance.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Zay hands over the cash box from the car wash to Lucas.

Zay: Despite the carnage, the most important thing survived.

And, in spite of the disastrous end, it seems like they made good for their work. They raked in a pretty penny for all the scrubbing and washing -- it’s far from all that they need, but it should make a sizable dent in the auditorium accident debt. And that’s not nothing.

Lucas thanks Zay for his help and for watching the money, getting up to put it in a safe place in the booth. He claims he can’t do it until Zay leaves, though, since there are certain things only he should know about the booth. Zay rolls his eyes but obliges, throwing in an offhand comment about how weird he is before slowly making his way out.

As he’s heading down the steps, he passes by Missy, who is casually making her way up into the booth. Like she goes up there all the time, like it’s no big deal. She even greets Zay as they pass, which he uncertainly returns. He frowns at her over his shoulder as she heads on up, obviously confused by her presence.

As confidently as she enters, Lucas evidently wasn’t expecting her either. He jumps when she addresses him, moving away from wherever he stashed the car wash cash. When he realizes it’s her, his posture grows even more defensive.

Lucas: What are you doing in here?

Missy: Only what anyone would deem visiting this musty space worthy for. I’m looking for you.

Lucas: I don’t know if you missed the memo, but people don’t waltz in here whenever they want. No matter how privileged they are.

Missy laughs, allowing him the dig. Following their increasingly common rapport, back-and-forth that straddles the line between friendly fire and hostility depending on your lens. She maintains innocence as she waits for him to settle back in his usual chair, claiming she only wanted to discuss the current A class financial crisis.

Missy: I heard your little car wash wasn’t half-bad. Congratulations are in order. Though I don’t believe I heard much about you out there breaking a sweat to wash those vehicles...

Lucas: You can congratulate the rest of the class when you see them.

Missy: Shame. I’d think if we put you out there front and center, you might’ve garnered a greater profit.

Lucas: Please.

Missy: You shouldn’t undersell yourself, Lucas. It worked for Chubbies, did it not?

If her increased patronage is any indication, then technically, yes. But Lucas doesn’t seem keen to acknowledge that. She moves closer and hops onto the lighting booth table, crossing her glossy legs where they are in perfectly accessible view. In a place where Riley often sits. It just feels wrong. Lucas averts his gaze, looking down at the soundboard instead.

Missy: Anyway, as cute as the fundraising effort is, I don’t exactly see the point.

Lucas: Well, for those of us not in the 1%, there’s this annoying everyday thing we have to do called “acquiring money.” I’m sure that’s probably confusing for you --

Missy: I meant for Adams. Or for the A class, more specifically. I don’t see why you all should be out there sweating through manual labor… when you could just ask me for the money.

Oh. Well that’s… an interesting proposition. Lucas is surprised she’s even offering it, enough to lift his head again to meet her eyes.

Lucas: … it’s hundreds of dollars…

Missy, coolly: Drop in the bucket. [ looking him over ] Surely you would know that by now.

Lucas hesitates, contemplating. Missy observes him, watching for the chinks in his armor. Those rare moments when he’s not as aloof and disdainful as their banter leads her to believe.

Lucas: I don’t see why you would help when it does nothing to benefit you.

Missy: Isn’t helping the class helping me in the end? [ off his skeptical eyebrow raise ] And oh, they’ll find a way to pay us back somehow. Every debt gets paid eventually. Name on an auditorium seat, plaque outside the lecture hall. That’s the charity solution to everything, slapping your name on something. I’m sure daddy would love to have the Bradford name in gold somewhere in this heap considering the chilly reception Hunter gave us when all this started.

Missy found about a dozen unintentional trigger words to throw in that sentence to change Lucas’s tune. Whether the most credit can be given to the word “charity,” or invoking Jack in a negative light is debatable, but Lucas is suddenly even stonier than before. He clenches his jaw.

Missy, softer: It’s not like you haven’t already accepted donations from the Bradford fortune… and that’s lightened the load, hasn’t it? Nothing wrong with that. [ a beat ] And you and me… I wouldn’t call us friends, but we certainly have… our own thing here. Don’t we? We… mean something. To one another.

Lucas drops his gaze again, cornered. The very insinuation that they have a relationship in any capacity makes him uncomfortable… but then, it’s not wrong, is it? If he’s willingly taking her money, knowingly, then that does symbolize some sort of association. He can’t in good conscience deny it, not when her money is a big chunk of the reason his future is even possible. And she could take all the pressure off them, off him, in an instant… no more fundraising… no more sweating over showdown… scholarships guaranteed…

But his instincts are stronger than that. It’s too good to be true. Everything comes with a cost, and while he might be willing to risk that here and there for his own feeble endeavors, he’s not going to tie his legacy and the rest of the class to it. He returns her eye contact, resolute.

Lucas: If your family wants to donate to the cause, then by all means do. But I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t beg.

Well said and well meant! For what it’s worth, Missy doesn’t seem put off by the rejection. If anything, she seems impressed by his stubborn resistance, even if she knows damn well it’s full of contradictions. Impressed, and definitely stirred by that same fire that captivated her the first time they met during the school board trial. The tension in the air makes that loud and clear.

Missy: No, no you don’t, do you. All part of your… provocative charm.

Message received, it appears… some message, at least… Missy slips off the table and begins to make her exit, assuring Lucas that she understands his perspective. Some things are better kept quiet, and she gets his need to maintain appearances -- and his pride.

Missy: It’s our little secret. And I get where we stand. [ with a smirk ] I think we understand each other better than one might assume.

The mere notion makes Lucas a bit queasy, but he keeps his mouth shut. Missy bids him adieu and disappears down the steps, wishing the Slumdog President the best of luck with his continuing financial campaigning.

Even once she’s gone, Lucas can’t shake off the discomfort of her presence. He has to get up, walk it off, gathering his things and fleeing from the space -- one of the few he’s never felt the need to escape from before.

EXT. HAVERFORD PREP - COURTYARD - DAY

Charlie is having lunch with BRIDGETTE GARDNER, occupying their typical table in the grassy outdoor space. She listens attentively as he catches her up on all of the stuff with their sisters, Charlie clearly seeking counsel from the one person who has been on the other side of this potential falling out. Does she think he should be worried, based on her own experience?

Bridgette: And you haven’t seen any of this for yourself?

Charlie: No, at least not yet. But I don’t think that means much -- I had no idea most of this stuff was going on with you until it was already way too late. When I first saw you having arguments with mom, it was volcano level.

Bridgette: To be fair, you were what, 14? Even younger than that when it all started. But true. Our family is really good at concealing the ugly, and then pretending it doesn’t exist when the moment has passed.

Charlie: And this is coming from Daisy. You know she wouldn’t make things up just for the hell of it.

Bridgette: Also true. She sure is an unaffected little freak. [ a beat ] I say that with love. Every Gardner has to be fucked up one way or another.

Still, with so little firsthand information, it’s hard to say. She doesn’t think Charlie should tie himself in knots trying to problem-solve something he can’t see, but…

Bridgette: Look out for Rosie if you can. You know, keep an eye out. If history is going to repeat itself, and she’s following in my forsaken footsteps… I don’t want her to go through that. She shouldn’t have to go through what I went through. Not that I’m not fine now --

Charlie: Right.

Bridgette: But she’s not tough like I am. And I mean that in the best way possible. Rosie… she’s sensitive. Sweet. Her heart is right there on her sleeve, even if she tries to act like she’s all grit. [ softly ] Reminds me of another sibling I’ve got.

Charlie smiles, but underneath the kind words she’s confirming his concerns. If the stormy energy around Rosie does whip up into a hurricane, then it’s looking more and more likely to be an unavoidable disaster. History may just repeat itself -- and more brutally than before.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Rosie isn’t the only one in a tempestuous mood. Jade is in full-on crunch mode as her deadlines loom ever closer, and even though she’s been basically holed up in the costume loft at all hours she still feels miles from the finish line. She’s skipping lunch to wrap up a couple of last-minute additions to another piece of her portfolio, using Asher as her mannequin. Currently, he’s sporting a rather fancy, outlandishly patterned and bold blouse over his maroon polo. It looks like it could be a ‘70s dance shirt, or the wardrobe of a funky, flamboyant villain, or perhaps an especially stylish swashbuckling pirate… but it’s a Jade Beamon original, so it looks fantastic.

If only the job of mannequin was as fun as the clothes he’s modeling. Asher is gritting his teeth so hard they might crack, cringing every time Jade threads her needle through a piece of it or sticks a pin somewhere. She’s an expert, a professional, but given her stress level she’s missed the mark more than once the last couple of days.

Jade, snapping: If you didn’t wince every two seconds like a little baby, then maybe I would stick you less.

Asher: [ through his teeth ] The two dozen pin prick battle scars I have beg to differ!

Nigel picks that moment to enter, catching the tail-end of their sharp exchange and clocking the vibes immediately. He hesitates by the door, not sure whether he should come in and interrupt anymore or not, but Jade spots him before he can duck out. She immediately loses some of her unpleasantness, straightening up and clearing her throat.

Jade: Nigel.

Nigel: Um… hello. [ holding up lunch ] I know you’re working through lunch again, so I just thought I’d bring something by.

Jade: Oh, that’s… that’s nice. You don’t have to keep doing that.

Nigel: It’s all good. I like being able to help. It’s the least I could do, make sure you eat.

Asher: Someone should.

Jade: I’m still holding pins, Asher…

As if that wasn’t signal enough, Nigel bravely ventures the question of how costuming is going this afternoon. Jade claims it’s all fine, and Asher repeats her comment in a tone that makes it very clear he doesn’t agree. Sensing that the best friends might benefit from a break from one another, Nigel offers to hang around and be her stand-in for a while.

Jade: Really?

Asher, hopeful: Really?

Nigel: Sure. All I have to do is stand there and look pretty, right? Think I can manage that. You know, if I clear the costumer’s standards, of course.

Jade: No, no you -- of course. Of course you do. You’re more than -- obviously, you’re up to standard. I mean, above. I, um…

Asher can’t help but laugh, but he hides it behind a fake sneeze. Jade shoots him a glare, then states it would be preferable actually for him to take Asher’s place for now. It seems like Bird Bones agrees, hopping down from the step stool and carefully removing the fanciful top.

Asher: It’s for the best anyway. I’m supposed to be helping Dylan proofread his college essays. I want to check mine one more time too -- Jade says reading them over seven times is more than enough, but pot meet kettle.

Nigel: A Dylan Orlando personal essay, huh? I’d pay to see that.

Asher: I’m sure he’d let you read it for no charge. One of the applications he’s filling out had the prompt to “describe a work of art from the last century that surprised, inspired, or challenged you and in what way,” so he wrote a whole thesis statement on why Taylor Swift’s album Lover is the most important contribution to art, culture, and society since the invention of music.

Nigel: Wow.

Jade: Of course he did.

Asher: I’ll be genuinely surprised if it’s not a video essay on his vlog in like four months. But you know what, no admissions officer can say he doesn’t have enthusiasm.

True that! Asher makes his grateful exit, handing the piece over to Nigel and wishing him luck. Jade giggles nervously once they’re alone, Nigel smiling and asking if he should just put the shirt on and stand where Asher was. She confirms, avoiding her gaze by digging through her sewing kit until he’s all set and ready to be pinned and needled.

Nigel: I hope I’m doing your work justice.

Jade: You, um… it’s good. You’re good. Ha ha.

She nervously pushes some hair behind her ear, then steps closer to get back to work. If anything can overpower shyness, it’s the stress of an impending deadline upon which your entire future rests. Jade softly explains to Nigel what she’s doing as she does it, since he’s never been her model before, and reassures her that he’s not worried and she can do whatever.

Nigel: I trust you, Jade. You are the expert, after all.

Jade glances up at him, processing the compliment. The declaration of trust. The fact that they’re standing so close, that if he just stepped down off the stool they’d be close enough to… it’s a lot. Sophomore year Jade would probably have ran and hid by now, if not passed out.

But this is the present, and Jade has work to do. So she swallows her butterflies and focuses on her needlework.

Quiet settles over them for a minute, then Nigel speaks again, barely above a whisper.

Nigel: You’re incredible, you know that?

Jade: Huh?

Caught by surprise, Jade’s hand slips… and accidentally sticks Nigel with the needle. He winces and she immediately launches into apologies, retracting her hands to drop the needle and asking if he’s okay. He promises he’s fine, keeping her from spiraling over it by taking her hand so she can’t drift any further away in retreat.

Nigel: Really, I’m good.

Jade: … so you were saying?

Nigel: Yeah. I just wanted you to know… I hope you know how amazing you are. I know you’re super stressed about all this and what these schools and programs are going to think of you, but they’d be insane to reject you.

Jade: I don’t know if I’d go that far.

Nigel: I would. I mean, you’ve made basically every costume we’ve worn for the last three years -- which I know everyone keeps throwing back at you -- and they’re fantastic. Not just because they look good, which they always do, but they’re durable. No matter how gorgeous they look, they can withstand a lot. When we finish a production, they’re worn in, but it’s still as if they’re freshly stitched. That’s impressive. Trust me, I’ve been in enough local Shakespeare productions to say so. One time a piece of my tunic fell off in the middle of the first act.

Jade laughs, charmed by the story and calmed enough by his gentle tone to actually breathe. Nigel smiles at her, fond.

Nigel: You’re reliable. That’s the best thing a person can be, in my opinion. And you’re talented to the extreme, hard-working, humble… I mean, is there anything you can’t do?

Jade: [ with a snort ] Socialize.

The word slips out, and Jade is instantly embarrassed by it. She hides her blush in digging to grab her needles again, going back to work as an excuse not to elaborate.

Nigel: Seriously? You’ve never struck me as without company. With the techies --

Jade: Oh, yeah, that’s the height of engagement. Just me and a bunch of emotionally inept teenage boys plus Dora, getting up to the same old shenanigans. Every girl’s dream. [ with a sigh ] Don’t get me wrong, I love them. Especially Asher, he’s my best friend. And I’m not saying I’m like, a recluse or anything, I have friends, I just… I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m talking about this. Sorry.

Nigel: No worries. I don’t mind. But for what it’s worth, I don’t see you that way. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. I know I am. [ a beat ] Or like, any kind of relationship…

Jade coughs, not prepared for that. She giggles compulsively again, frantically brushing off the thought as she focuses intently on pinning a piece of the fabric into place.

Jade: I haven’t… ha, I’m so busy, I… a relationship… I don’t have the time to even…

Though she can’t form a coherent sentence, Nigel gets the message. Not available right now. And he admittedly looks a bit disappointed, but he puts his acting credit to use and swiftly covers with another smile.

Nigel: Well, again. Anyone would be lucky. And in the meantime, I’m just happy to support you however I can. Even at risk of puncture wound.

Jade absorbs this, unable to hold back her shy smile. She murmurs a thank you, then hides by throwing all her attention to the task at hand.

But for Nigel, the only thing he can focus on is her. So incredible… and so close… as the easy bass line floats in…

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “How Deep Is Your Love” as performed by Bee Gees || Performed by Nigel Chey (feat. Dylan Orlando)

The lights are low and the set-up is simple, just Nigel on the stage with a microphone stand and sporting the finished product of one of Jade’s ‘70s costumes -- a glossy gold suit, styled like Saturday Night Fever, over a black silk shirt. He’s shimmering like a disco ball under the stage lights, reflecting the whimsical, dreamy quality of the number.

The only other person on the stage with him is Dylan, accompanying him on bass and providing back-up vocals. He’s dressed much simpler, dressed in black and wearing his custom-made Jade Beamon original suit jacket from junior prom. His hair is the ‘70s-ified element, swept up and combed back like John Travolta. While he happily lets Nigel hog the spotlight, he does take a moment in the performance to wink to Asher in the audience.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Intercut with the performance, we check back in with Nigel and Jade in the loft, doing a metaphorical dance of their own around each other as Jade costumes. There’s something surprisingly amorous about the set-up when it’s paired with the ballad. Jade remains oblivious, studiously sewing away, but the romantic tension is more than apparent, in Nigel’s expression and the smooth delivery of his vocals as he looks at her.

And you may not think I care for you When you know down inside that I really do…

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

While she’s good at avoiding him while at work, Jade can’t keep her eyes off Nigel during the performance. Clarissa, Haley, and Asher cast knowing glances at her, but she doesn’t pay them any attention. In the back seats, Nate, Dave, and Jeff sway along to the beat playfully.

Cause we're living in a world of fools Breaking us down when they all should let us be

Ultimately, though, even if certain truths remain unsaid, what can’t be denied is an excellent performance. Nigel brings it home with grace, understated as always but, in this case, pretty swoonworthy.

We belong to you and me…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is on the phone with Riley, the latter walking him through all of the bulletins from that day’s showdown discussion. He listens eagerly, living vicariously, but it’s obvious he’s also frustrated that he’s being excluded. He reminds Riley that they can call on him at any time to brainstorm on choreography or reevaluate concepts, but she gently waves him off by insisting she doesn’t want to put any additional pressure on him.

Zay: Well, to be honest, not being consulted kind of makes me feel more --

Riley: Oh, shoot, Maya’s here. She’s supposed to be meeting with Farkle after his therapist appointment this evening, so I’m sure she just has a bunch of notes she wants to Maya-splain to me first.

Zay: If she wants to get on speaker, then she could --

Riley: I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And I’ll let you know if anything major happens. Love you!

Zay: But Riley --

She hangs up before he can get a word in, even a goodbye. He sighs and drops his phone on his bed, pulling his laptop back towards him. He has his applications webpage open, where he’s painstakingly attempting to piece together the final elements of his portfolio. It’s not in bad shape, but with the glooming reality of his booted foot and inability to make anything more, it doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like being trapped.

He grabs his phone again, obviously wanting to talk to someone about it. But he can’t talk to Riley -- he knows she’s busy. He can’t talk to Yindra. He can’t talk to Maya -- and nor would he want to, thank you very much.

Charlie…

He could talk to Charlie. God, he wants to talk to Charlie. And they’ve opened up the lines of communication again, haven’t they? Couldn’t it be easy, like it was before? All he has to do is say something… but he doesn’t know what that would be. It’s still confusing and twisted up inside him. And whatever happened with Haverford at the car wash is admittedly suspicious, though it just doesn’t feel right to think Charlie would do something like that.

Confusing. Complicated. Stuck. He’s stuck, stuck, stuck.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Farkle plops down onto Dr. Han’s couch, releasing a dramatic sigh and telling her there’s much to discuss (as there usually is). He starts to rattle off about the showdown drama because of Zay’s injury and how he and Isadora dumped water on their greatest rival at the moment, but Dr. Han carefully interrupts. She explains that there’s actually something she wants to open this appointment with, something that she thinks it’s important to start exploring as soon as possible. Farkle is confused but intrigued, sitting upright and gesturing for her to go on.

She turns to her notes, pulling out a couple of prepared informational sheets and taking on a gentler, more professional tone. She explains that after their last few meetings, she thought a lot about some of the patterns Farkle had been mentioning in his recovery. She decided to follow her hunch and do a little more research, and she thinks she’s landed on what might be the root after conferring with his primary care physician.

Dr. Han: It’s my belief that you show all the clear symptoms of bipolar disorder.

It’s like all the air gets sucked out of the room. Farkle freezes, staring at her, but words stop making sense. She continues to explain how common it is for it to be misdiagnosed as depression, how now they can focus on proper treatment for his actual affliction, how it’s just as manageable with the right approach, but it’s like she’s talking underwater. Everything feels hazy, static, like Farkle is suddenly a thousand miles away.

Farkle: No. No, I -- I can’t be.

Dr. Han: I understand that an unexpected diagnosis can be intimidating. And bipolar disorder, like most mental conditions, is shrouded in a lot of misrepresentation and stigma. But with the right perspective --

Farkle: I’m not. I can’t… I have to go.

Farkle blankly gets to his feet, suddenly certain he has to get out of there. It’s like he’s underwater now too, like he can’t breathe. Dr. Han warns that he’s likely just having a strong reaction to the news, anxiety, but she assures him that the diagnosis does not change anything about him or his prospects. If anything, it will improve things, because now they can confront his reality with the right tools. And it will be safest for him to just relax here and process it during their session.

But no, Farkle can’t stay. He numbly repeats that he has to go, ignoring Dr. Han’s disagreement and stepping out of the office.

INT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Farkle doesn’t stop until he’s fully out of her space, back in the endless office sprawl of a building like this. He waits a moment, dreading Dr. Han chasing after him and dragging him back in there, but she doesn’t come. He collapses back against the door, releasing a shaky exhale and screwing his eyes shut.

Bipolar. He’s bipolar.

A gentle piano begins to play, an iconic familiar riff while we stay close on Farkle’s face.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “All By Myself” as performed by Eric Carmen || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Zay Babineaux

Farkle takes the first lines of this legendary ode to isolation, singing them softly as the camera slowly eases away from him. The further away we pull, the more his sense of smallness grows, dwarfed by the hallway that seems to stretch on forever.

When I was young, I never needed anyone… those days are gone…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay pushes off his mattress and rises to his feet, going a bit too fast at first out of habit and nearly stumbling on his bad ankle. He cringes, falling back on the edge of the bed to right himself. He huffs and hides his head in his hands, easing into the next lines.

Living alone, I think of all the friends I’ve known But when I dial the telephone, nobody’s home…

EXT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - NIGHT

Farkle emerges onto the steps of the building in the financial district just in time to launch into the chorus. He carries on singing as he begins to make his way home, weaving through the streets and other passersby as if he’s invisible. Although he’s clearly emotional, it’s evident the information hit him hard, because he’s not at all at his usual level of verve.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay keeps it tamped down whenever it passes back to him as well, though his limitations are outside of his control. He spends his portion of the vocals at his window, leaning out to breath in the life and excitement of the city he loves that he feels so locked out of.

Whether within or without the city, for vastly different reasons, both Zay and Farkle are feeling the same ache.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Farkle makes it home in time for the piano solo, showing off his proficiency on the instrument lest we dared to forget. Then he and Zay harmonize on the final, showstopping chorus, delivering a whammy even when they’re not quite in top form.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay rounds out the number, stepping away from his window and shutting it forlornly.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Maya is back to brainstorming in the Minkus home as promised, pacing in front of the moodboard they’ve been working off of for weeks. She’s avidly running through potential pitfalls to their showdown prospects, which seem to be piling up by the minute, while Farkle is seated on the edge of his bed. He’s stone-faced, truly lost in his own head now, and Maya doesn’t fail to notice. As she’s ticking off more items on their doomsday list, she halts and gives him an unimpressed glare.

Maya: … and an inattentive diva. [ snapping in his face ] Farkle! Earth to Farkle!

Farkle: What? Oh, sorry.

Maya: I swear, you have been exceptionally offbeat this week. Of all the times, too, naturally it would be our greatest time of crisis that your zany passion eludes us. Honestly, Farkle, where for art thou? Why have you abandoned me in our time of need?

Farkle: I’m bipolar.

Maya: Okay? And I’m a narcissist. Just because we use pretty words doesn’t change the state of the union, darling.

Farkle, shaky: No, like, I’m literally bipolar.

Maya pauses, actually looking at him. His tone convinces her that he’s not being cheeky, and his sallow expression drives it home. Her demeanor shifts instantly, dropping much of her diva arrogance.

Maya: What?

Farkle: I’m bipolar. I don’t know how many more times I can say it.

Maya: I heard you, I just -- when? How?

Farkle: My whole life, presumably. How, ask God for me.

Maya: Well… well, like, what does that mean? Like, so you’re bipolar, well, what does that mean for --

Farkle: I don’t know. I don’t know, my psychiatrist just told me. I didn’t… I didn’t do a great job of listening to what came after that.

Wow. Silence reigns as Maya attempts to process this new information. Farkle speaks again, even more uncharacteristically timid than before.

Farkle: I know this is bad timing. Just… with this, and everything at school, I don’t know how on top of it I can --

Maya: No, no, of course not. Shh. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about all that. You need to focus on yourself. On this. Don’t worry about Triple A. I’ll handle it.

Farkle: But Maya --

Maya: I’ve got it. It’s okay.

She pats his shoulders reassuringly, then turns it into a hug. Farkle hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, desperately leaning into the comfort. Maya remains stalwart for the both of them, features intense as her mind runs to problem-solve a million miles an hour. Based on the furrow of her brow, it seems she might already be onto something.

Maya: I’m going to handle it.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT  - NIGHT

Riley, Isadora and Eric sit around the dining table, chatting casually after finishing their meals. Eric looks between the two girls with a warm smile before offering to clear up. 

Riley: I’ll help.

Riley gets up to help Eric clean away the plates, but Isadora places a hand on Riley’s arm to stop her. Riley gives her a questioning look. 

Isadora: I actually… I have something I want to show you. In my room. [ to Eric ] If that’s okay? 

Eric: Of course, go ahead. I’m perfectly capable of filling up the dishwasher on my own.

Intrigued, Riley follows Isadora into her bedroom.

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

Isadora goes straight to her desk and opens up a notebook to reveal Valerie’s letter. She passes it to a confused Riley, who takes a moment to look over it. When she realizes what it is, she looks up at Isadora with wide eyes. 

Riley: Is this…? 

Isadora: [ with a nod ] A letter to my father. I found it in one of Val’s boxes. You’re the first person I’m telling so don’t… don’t tell Eric or anything. 

Riley: Oh, totally. Sure. [ a beat as she scans through the pages ] Why aren’t you telling him, though? 

Isadora: I don’t really know how I feel about it yet.

Riley guides Isadora to her bed, where they both sit. She collects her thoughts. 

Riley: Did you know anything about your dad before now? 

Isadora: No. I asked about him a few times, like ages ago, but Valerie always claimed she didn’t know who he was. I can’t tell if she was lying or not; I don’t even know when she wrote this. 

Riley: It seems like she didn’t really think about it until he wrote to her. And it definitely seems like he wants to be part of your life. [ a beat ] Do you want him in your life?

Isadora: I don’t know. I don’t even know what that would look like. My gut is screaming at me that it’ll end in disaster, like it always did with my mom, but at the same time… like, I’ve gotten by fine without a dad until now, but it does feel there’s a part of me missing. What if it’s him?

It’s clear that she’s been thinking it over a lot. Riley admits that she isn’t sure what she could say to help considering her complete lack of experience in this department, but suggests again that she should talk to Eric. 

Isadora: I’m scared to. 

Riley: What? Why?

Isadora: I don’t want him to think that he’s not enough for me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to ruin it.

Riley places a hand on Isadora’s shoulder and offers a sympathetic smile. Isadora responds by resting her head on Riley’s shoulder, so Riley moves her arm to wrap around her. 

Riley: You know how much Eric cares for you. There’s nothing you could do to ruin it. You’re part of the Matthews family forever now, no matter who your father is and whether you meet him or not. 

Isadora: You’re my favorite cousin. 

Riley: I won’t tell Auggie you said that. And you’re my favorite cousin, too.

Riley plants a kiss on Isadora’s cheek with a ‘muah.’ Isadora pulls a face of disgust and escapes from her grasp as Riley giggles.

Isadora: Minus five cousin points. Auggie’s in the lead now. 

Riley: Nooo!

She chases after Isadora, trying to engulf her in a hug as both girls laugh.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Charlie is back from a late rehearsal for showdown, changing out of his Haverford uniform. He strips off his shirt and places it in the laundry hamper, checking how his clothes from the car wash are faring.

Still damp. At this rate, it feels like they’re never going to go back to normal.

Suddenly, the house below him erupts with sound, voices being raised in the kitchen downstairs. It goes without saying, but raised voices are almost non-existent in the Gardner household. Charlie freezes, listening intently until he recognizes exactly what he’s dreading -- a higher-pitched, defensive voice. Rosie’s voice.

He drops the wet clothes and reaches for the first top he can find -- which just happens to be an AAA sweatshirt -- and yanks it on as he rushes into the hall.

INT. GARDNER HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

This time, there’s no question as to whether there is a fight. Rosie and ELEANOR GARDNER are more heated than we’ve ever seen either of them onscreen, yelling at one another and cheeks flushed. Rosie is particularly loud, in near hysterics since she’s young, emotional, and also on defense; Eleanor maintains a cool, superior tone even as she raises her volume.

Charlie slides into the room right in the thick of it, jumping in the middle without hesitation and questioning what the heck is going on. When he can get them to acknowledge him, Eleanor actually seems pleased by his presence, openly welcoming him into the argument.

Eleanor: Oh, perfect, just what we needed. A second opinion. Rosamund, why don’t you tell your brother why you’re in trouble? Go on.

Rosie, on the other hand, is not receptive to Charlie joining the conversation. She loses a lot of her fire, shrinking back and face flushing in embarrassment. Eleanor scoffs, though it seems like this is exactly how she expected her to react.

Eleanor: What’s the matter? Are you suddenly shy? You sure were loud enough arguing back to me about it, and now you won’t tell Charlie?

Charlie: Can someone just tell me what’s going on?!

Eleanor: Gladly!

Eleanor pointedly places Rosie’s phone on the countertop, which she’s been holding the whole time. It’s open to an Instagram photo on an unfamiliar page, one of Rosie’s new friends at her gifted high school. It’s a series of photos from some hangout the freshmen were having, but the photo in question surprisingly features another familiar player -- a bunch of the freshmen are sitting around and laughing, and Rosie is grinning while sitting on the lap of URI MINKUS.

It’s pretty innocent, but the implications are enough. Eleanor relays the whole tale, how one of Rosie’s friends from Catholic school told their mom about the photo in her tagged images and the mother was kind enough to inform Eleanor about it. This is already after a discussion she had with Rosie over this boy when she saw them interacting in a less-than-acceptable manner after school when she picked her up. She thought they had cleared it all up, but apparently not, between this photo and the fact that the text messages between her and this Jewish boy are nothing if not flirtatious.

Rosie: You shouldn’t have even been going through my texts anyway!

Eleanor: Oh, shouldn’t I? I didn’t realize you were the authority now! Privacy is a privilege, Rosamund, and you’re continuing to prove that you haven’t earned it!

They continue to escalate again, Charlie bewildered as he slides the phone towards him to get a better look. The photo really is so… nothing, and the whole argument feels so blown out of proportion. But Charlie knows the patterns, he knows what Bridgette warned him about, and all of the shouting and conflict is making him lightheaded.

Charlie, weary: Stop arguing.

Eleanor: I knew we shouldn’t have let you go to the gifted school. I knew you’d be better off staying in the Catholic system.

Rosie: Then why did you let me go?!

Eleanor: Maybe I shouldn’t have! Maybe that’s the thing I shouldn’t have done! In fact, maybe I’ll have to put a call into the deans and see if they can’t transfer you back --

Rosie, mortified: Mom, no!

Charlie: Stop…

The room is starting to spin a little bit. Charlie braces himself against the countertop, screwing his eyes shut and trying to block out the yelling. But he can’t run from it. He can’t hide.

Rosie: Charlie got to go to a different school! He got to go somewhere new without you breathing down his neck!

Eleanor: Because Charlie is responsible enough to handle it! You don’t see him posting suggestive content, flirting shamelessly, making questionable decisions. I don’t need to monitor your brother because he doesn’t give me any reason to be concerned!

Oh, Eleanor, if only you knew… it’s being invoked and talked about in such a discordant way that acts as the final straw. Charlie tries to catch his breath, but it’s not coming back, and it’s like the whole world is slipping away from him…

If anything will stop an argument, passing out probably does the trick. Charlie stumbles and then collapses onto the tile floor, shocking both Eleanor and Rosie out of their anger. Rosie shrieks and rushes to his side.

Eleanor: Charlie?! Ambrose! [ rushing to the entryway ] Ambrose, Charlie’s -- come quickly! Hurry!

Charlie’s down, all right. Rosie rolls him onto his back, checking for obvious injury -- lucky he didn’t crack his head open or something -- and trying to rouse him. But he’s out like a light… all of the tension slowly fading away…

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Meanwhile, Brandon is staying late at Haverford once again, only this time he’s not alone. He’s meeting with a mysterious figure, a HIPSTER 20-something man who is probably into photography or a wannabe filmmaker. But he’s clearly there on business, Brandon and the man speaking in hushed tones as they converse even though they’re the only ones around.

Brandon: And you’re sure you’ve got the whole thing? I’m not paying for poor quality or fractions.

Hipster: I’ve been doing this for six years. Think I know what I’m doing at this point. But yes, it’s all there. Professional quality. You’ll be able to see whatever you need to see.

Brandon deems this response satisfactory enough, nodding. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wad of cash, trading it off with whatever object the hipster is offering. When they retract their hands, Brandon comes away with the secret item -- a flash drive.

He scrutinizes it idly while the hipster quickly counts the bills, then they exchange a nod, Brandon thanking him for his service. The hipster makes his exit, Brandon pacing for a bit on the stage and turning over the flash drive in his fingers. Whatever it is, he seems pretty satisfied to have it in his grasp.

He loses some of his easygoing confidence when he hears the auditorium doors open. He slips the flash drive into his blazer pocket and straightens up, narrowing his eyes to assess his new company. When he recognizes who it is, though, an intrigued smirk blooms across his face.

Brandon: Well, well, well. I have to say, this is an unexpected surprise.

Maya Hart. Dressed in one of her sharpest ensembles, Valerie’s fur coat giving her that extra oomph, matching Brandon’s cool sophistication effortlessly. She leisurely saunters her way down the aisle towards the stage, taking her sweet time.

Maya: So this is the fabled Haverford Prep. [ pursing her lips ] I have to say, I was anticipating greater grandeur.

Brandon: It’s hard when the indigent experience excellence for the first time. Never quite meets the expectations of their hapless daydreams… [ off her sneer ] Is there something I can do for you, Hart? Let alone at this late hour?

Maya: Don’t flatter yourself. It’s 8PM.

She’s made her way to the stage now, coming to stand opposite Brandon front and center. There’s a healthy distance between them, keeping them staunchly on opposing sides, but they regard each other with respect. Maya claims she just wanted to come have a little chat, clan leader to clan leader.

Brandon: That so? I thought Friar was your figurehead.

Maya: We both have our respective areas of expertise. I like to think of myself as the Cheney to his Bush. Conservative politics notwithstanding.

Brandon: Was going to say. I don’t see Cheney being much of a swinger for socialist handouts like you all are gunning for. [ sizing her up ] But I’ll admit, I pegged you for a captain rather than a lackey. You sure took front and center at the car wash.

Maya: Ah, yes… the function you so ceremoniously soiled.

Brandon: Hope you’ll forgive the incursion. It’s only business. A little competitive spirit is all.

Maya: Oh, no arguments from me. I’m more incensed I didn’t see it coming. Wish I had thought of it myself.

Brandon chuckles, perhaps a bit won over by her… unique Maya charms. He claims he got the sense they were more alike than different… in fact, if circumstances were different, and they weren’t sworn rivals… Maya catches onto his drift right quick, mirroring his smug charisma as she feigns sympathy.

Maya: So you like what you see. Don’t despair, you’re far from the only one. But I’m afraid that’s a forgone impossibility.

Brandon: [ processing what might be a rejection ] Ah. I see. [ like they’re confidants ] You play for the other team?

Well. That’s a pretty bold assumption to jump to just because she doesn’t want to get with you, Brandon. But Maya maintains her coolness, unperturbed by such arrogant conclusions. She makes a face, as if she’s contemplating.

Maya: … no team. Let’s put it that way.

Brandon: And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?

Maya: The only team I play for is Triple A. And that’s what I’m here for.

Brandon backs off his advances and allows her the floor, back to all business. She tactfully begins to discuss negotiations around senior showdown, dancing around the details of everything going wrong inside the ranks of the A class but letting just enough of her cards show to indicate that she’s only here due to dire circumstances. Then she subtly tries to charm her way to an ideal outcome, brokering a deal where maybe, just perhaps, Haverford might find themselves on the losing side of the showdown confrontation.

You know she’s desperate if Maya is trying to arrange a thrown victory. And Brandon can sense that too, even as aloof as she’s acting, which just makes the whole situation more amusing to him. Though he feigned listening to her pitch, he is all too eager to shoot it down. Why would Haverford want to throw the competition, he muses, when their winning streak is so hot and their competition is apparently so weak?

Brandon: I knew you all were hardly a threat, but this is even more pathetic than I thought. I mean, you and Friar coming to me trying to cut a deal for an easy victory -- what a leadership duo. You all must be in harsher condition than I imagined.

Maya: Wait, what?

Brandon: … you didn’t know? That your president already paid me a little visit earlier in the semester?

Maya doesn’t respond, but the way she’s lost her easy confidence as she stares at him answers for her. Brandon laughs, shaking his head.

Brandon: What presidential teamwork. Clearly, the future of Adams is in outstanding hands. But with such low confidence, and even lower moves you’ll stoop to… no, I believe Haverford is just fine where we are now. We’ll beat you handily, as we have for the last six years, and rest assured Hart, it’ll be with immense pleasure. [ a beat ] You should probably be going, then. The security doesn’t take kindly to riff-raff hanging around our hallowed halls.

He swivels and swaggers offstage, leaving Maya alone and humiliated in enemy territory. She’s fuming, gritting her teeth and fists clenched at her sides.

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Riley is seated at the counter with her laptop, keeping Lucas company while he works the late shift. She’s running through analytics of the RSVPs they’ve already gotten for the dance fundraiser, which she claims is looking pretty good.

Lucas isn’t in a very optimistic mood, commenting that even if they get half of Manhattan to show up, it probably won’t be enough to cover all their expenses including the scholarships. With their chances at showdown dwindling by the minute… who knows. Maybe he’s not doing absolutely everything he can to make it happen…

Riley closes her laptop, giving him her undivided attention.

Riley: Don’t count Triple A out of showdown just yet, please and thank you. But I think I know what this is really about.

Lucas hesitates, freezing up.

Lucas: You do?

Riley: Yeah. You act like you’re so hard to read, like I don’t know you well enough to figure out when you’re not telling me something.

How could she know… did Zay tell her about seeing Missy in the booth? He swallows. She reaches across the counter and takes his hands, giving him a sympathetic look.

Riley: You’re freaking out over the college essays.

Lucas: Oh. [ a beat ] Yeah, well, I guess I am.

Riley reminds him that he doesn’t have to keep that kind of stuff from her and act like he’s unshakeable all the time. And honestly, she gets why he’s nervous about them. It sucks writing about yourself no matter what -- unless you’re Maya -- but it’ll be even harder for him given the things he’s been through. He hasn’t exactly been encouraged to view himself favorably, at least not until recently. Old habits are hard to break.

Riley: But that’s not necessarily what they’re looking for anyway. You don’t need to prove to them that you’re the most perfect shining candidate to ever apply, you just need to give them a really good story. Make them invested, get them to care about you. Show them a bit of your individuality, your personality -- which you are not short of in either department. And I know for a fact you can draw people in…

She is, after all, a prime example. Lucas still seems doubtful, but her perspective does help. And her belief in him continues to astound him, forged in steel even when everything else feels so unpredictable. Riley leans forward to give him a soft kiss, which lingers between them.

It’s impressive, too, how being with her grounds him. How their closeness doesn’t feel like an intrusion… and somehow, feeling cornered by other forces or put on edge just makes him want to be with her more. Lucas initiates another kiss, forgetting everything else for a moment, taking shelter in that inexplicable safety with her. Riley has no complaints, leaning deeper into it and tightening her touch on his hand.

Then the front door bangs open, the bell jangling ominously. Both of them jump and pull apart. Maya marches into the diner, indignant and blue eyes burning.

Maya: What the hell, Friar?

Lucas: What’s the matter with you now?

Riley: Is everything okay?

Maya: When were you going to tell me you shook down Brandon?

Riley: [ whipping to look at him ] What?

Lucas clams up, straightening upright and taking on a defensive stance. But the sheepish expression on his face gives him away. Busted.

Maya: You know, I think that kind of mercenary maneuver is exactly the sort of decision your VP should know about. Were you just never going to let me in on it?

Riley: Why the hell did you do that?

Maya: I don’t care about that. Friar’s a shady bastard, we all knew his methods were going to be far from clean. Who gives a shit. I’m pissed he decided not to keep me in the loop! Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to roll up there only for Brandon Rivas to hand my ass to me on a silver platter? Cocky prick, like he knows absolutely everything --

Riley: Wait, wait. [ eyeing her ] Why were you confronting Brandon?

Oh. Well. Cough. Maya flips her hair off her shoulder, but she can’t give a good excuse that doesn’t make her just as culpable as Lucas. He raises his eyebrows at her, emphasizing that if he’s going down she’s going with him. Riley closes her eyes, trying to catch up to this turn of events.

Riley: Let me get this straight. Both of you went to our competition, at separate times, to try and threaten them into… what? Giving up? Throwing the showdown?

Lucas: I just thought that --

Maya: Our prospects are in shambles even without the money. I was just --

Lucas: And I didn’t want you to be disappointed --

Maya: Everyone is counting on me, we’ve all got a lot riding on --

Riley: Okay, okay, stop. Enough!

Riley holds her hands up, getting them both to shut up. She takes a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath, then she jumps into fixer mode.

Riley: This must be the week for damage control, because now you’ve really done it. You realize now we’re going to have to bring it even harder, since you’ve made it perfectly clear to Brandon and the Havies that we’re spooked. You wouldn’t go and grovel for mercy if we weren’t.

Lucas: That wasn’t --

Maya, scoffing: I do not grovel --

Riley: I cannot believe you would do something so stupid. [ to Lucas ] And that you would do something like this and not tell me…

Oof… hit him where it hurts, Riles. Lucas lowers his head, avoiding her eyes. Case in point, it doesn’t make anybody look very good. And now, Riley proclaims, she has to fix it once again.

Riley: We’re going to have to brainstorm fast for showdown and make sure everything is in pristine shape, which we already know is a shot in the dark. Call Yindra, tell her to come by our place in twenty. I’ll see if we can get Jeff and Isadora too.

Riley puts her belongings back in her bag and hops off the stool, Maya already heading out. Riley goes to follow her, but she pauses in the doorway and glances back over her shoulder at Lucas. She shakes her head, obviously disappointed.

Riley: I can’t believe you.

She leaves it there, pushing through the doors without another word. Lucas looks after her, ashamed, then curses to himself and lightly hits the counter with his palm.

Break 2.

EXT. DANCE LOT - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT

Charlie is sprawled on the asphalt, just like when he collapsed, the city uncharacteristically quiet around him. When he comes around he jolts upright, spooked at being outside and on his own. He looks around in confusion, no clue where he is or how he got there. He slowly gets to his feet, recognizing the dance lot as a place he’s been before, but unsure where exactly it is or where to go next.

Only one clue exists to help guide him. Music.

It’s quiet, muffled, but he can hear it. A thumping bass, hypnotic beat… he spins until he zeroes in on the source. A heavy metal door installed into the wall opposite him, propped open just slightly, with a neon sign above indicating it’s likely some kind of club. Colorful light leaks out from the crack, mesmerizing and more than intriguing.

But it’s really the music that wins him over. He’s a dancer, and he cannot resist a compelling groove. He cautiously approaches the door, pulling it open and then stepping inside… as the faraway rhythms slowly become a familiar tune...

INT. DANCE CLUB - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Voulez-Vous” as performed by Mamma Mia! Original Movie Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors & Haverford Seniors

The rambunctious ABBA classic kicks off with a bang, music loud and boldly setting the scene. The lighting is mysterious, electric, the fully romanticized version of what a sultry, exciting disco scene might be like. Charlie is no longer dressed in his everyday clothes but is suddenly styled to match the vibes, sporting a sleek disco suit with Riley’s aforementioned blue dress shirt completing the look.

And as he ventures deeper into the club, he discovers he’s not alone. The place is packed with his classmates both current and former, Haverford populating one side and Adams the other, but all dressed in similar, near identical, disco suits. All eyes lock on him the moment he’s within view, judging him, waiting for him to make a move -- or pick a side.

The vocals start, and Charlie does neither, jumping down from the steps and sliding into the center of the glowing dance floor -- right down the middle of party lines. He starts the number dancing alone, challenging the established status quo in the club, tension mounting around his transgression of crossing lines…

Until Zay pushes through the crowd on the A class side. On both feet, looking fly as ever, no injury in sight and nothing holding him back from showing his stuff.

And here we go again, we know the start, we know the end Masters of the scene

Charlie pauses, locking eyes with Zay. For a moment, finishing up the pre-chorus, they just hold eye contact… letting that tension bubble over…

Then Zay jumps into the center of the floor with him, joining in the dance.

Voulez-vous!

For the first chorus it’s just Zay and Charlie, dancing sometimes together and sometimes in contrast, epitomizing the back-and-forth pull between them. But it’s them, so the dancing is remarkably good, and especially satisfying considering how long it’s been since we saw them share a routine. Their timing and chemistry is just as sharp as ever, and it’s also a relief just to see Zay be able to move again.

Throughout the second verse, they weave back into their respective schools, Charlie’s peers still eyeing each other suspiciously and reluctant to break rank. But Zay manages to get Riley out on the dance floor (with Lucas in tow), and then Charlie nudges Evan. Bit by bit the classes mix and mingle, caught somewhere between dancing in tandem and facing off like foes. This becomes especially pronounced during the bridge about 3 and half minutes in, when the chorus becomes stripped and just relies on “ahas,” Charlie leading the Haverford delegation and Zay fronting the A class as they mirror movements and poses.

Then they officially bleed together, classmates crossing into opposite territory for the final chorus. For those who don’t already have a pair in their respective class (unlike say, Dylan and Asher), they pair with someone from the opposite school, like Brandon and Maya.

And, naturally, Zay and Charlie. They’re back together at the center of it all, intensity rising with the music, choreography much more intertwined this time and very close together. If not breaking charged eye contact were an Olympic sport, they would win gold easily.

The flash. The glamor. The drama. ABBA would be proud! When they round out the final seconds and strike their final pose, Zay and Charlie’s faces are so close, all it would take is a centimeter in either direction…

Zay: Charlie...

Charlie’s eyes flit down to his lips, as if he’s contemplating that very thing…

Rosie, faraway: Charlie!

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Alas, not meant to be -- even in dream sequence. Charlie rouses awake when he’s shaken by Rosie, sitting on the bed next to him.

Oh, well. Wouldn’t be the same as doing it for real anyway.

Charlie blinks to adjust back to reality, Rosie releasing a momentous sigh when she sees he’s conscious again. She snaps at him for scaring her, informing him that his fainting spell totally freaked her and Eleanor out. Ambrose is on the phone with their doctor friend right now. He manages to sit up and apologizes for worrying them. It’s probably just… stress.

Rosie: Either way, bad party trick. Mom was so bugged out. You shouldn’t tell her you think it’s stress, or else she’ll probably yank you out of school too and back into Catholic prep.

Charlie: Yeah, speaking of… you really think she’s going to do that to you?

Rosie: … after you passed out, the conversation was basically dropped. If I keep quiet and don’t do anything else to incriminate myself, I think she’ll let it go. [ embittered ] Though sucks that I can’t even text who I want without her knowing every message I send. I doubt she’ll even let me speak to Uri now.

Charlie: Pro-tip? Change his contact name. Mom only goes looking for what she thinks is a problem. If you give him something inconspicuous, she’s never going to know otherwise.

Rosie stares at him, shocked her saltine brother would even think of something like that. I mean, he might be an alcoholic, but still… but it’s good advice all the same. Charlie goes on to explain that he was worried about her, too, and he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s trapped or she has to lash out. You can negotiate with Eleanor, you just have to be clever about it. He doesn’t want her to make the same mistakes that Bridgette did.

Rosie: Yeah, I know… thanks for looking out for me.

Charlie: So… Uri Minkus, huh?

Rosie: Ugh.

Charlie: He’s really that worth sneaking around to text?

Rosie: … I guess you could say… perhaps… maybe… that I have like, the tiniest crush on him. Just a little bit.

Charlie can’t help his smile. He jokes that she should be careful, not because of Eleanor’s concerns, but because if they get married then Farkle is going to become their in-law, and she has no idea what she’s in for if that happens. She groans and nudges Charlie, telling him to shut up, but it’s clear she’s already in better spirits than most of this week. She asks if he’s okay given that all his “stress” is literally making him pass out. Is everything okay with Adams? Charlie admits that he wishes things were easier to navigate than they are.

Charlie: Honestly, I think I’m just naturally gifted at making everything worse. [ with a weak laugh ] Probably should’ve listened to dad when he asked if transferring during senior year was a good idea.

Rosie points out that maybe some of that stress weighing on him is just stuff he creates in his own head. Not to demean it or anything, but like… does everything have to be an anxiety-inducing dilemma? If he wants to go hang out with his friends, from either school, then he should just go do that. He’s allowed to enjoy himself every once and a while and take a break from being the perfect saltine protective older brother. You know, have fun.

Rosie: [ holding up a finger ] Sober fun.

Charlie’s turn to laugh and nudge her. But maybe she has a point. And there might be just the perfect upcoming event where he can relax and have some fun…

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

We join Eric and Isadora in the midst of their conversation. Eric reads Valerie’s letter while Isadora watches with her lips pressed together. Once he finishes the letter, he takes a moment to process it. 

Eric: Wow. That’s… a lot. 

Isadora: What do you think? 

Eric: I think that what I think isn’t important at all right now. What do you think? Do you want to get in contact with him?

Isadora thinks about it as she wrings her hands. 

Isadora: I’m not sure. But… you aren’t upset? 

Eric: Why would I be upset? 

Isadora: If I do want to meet him, I’m worried you’ll think that you’re not enough for me or something. I don’t want to hurt you. 

Eric: Isadora, that could never happen. I’m not hurt at all, I just want what’s best for you, and a relationship with your father could be something really good. 

Isadora: What if it isn’t, though? I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. Again. 

Eric: That’s understandable. You don’t have to make a decision now, though. You have all the time you want to think it over. [ a beat ] If you want, you could write a letter to him yourself. You don’t have to send it, but it can be cathartic to write out everything you’re thinking and feeling about the situation.

Unsure, Isadora pulls a face. Eric reminds her again to just think about it -- no major decisions necessary right now.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas is meeting with Jack one last time before the dance fundraiser to grab another cash box and go over any last minute details. Jack questions if he’s going to be dressing for the occasion, to which Lucas rolls his eyes but begrudgingly admits that he thinks Riley would be even more upset with him if he didn’t. Though he doesn’t have all the details, Jack assures Lucas that he’s sure Riley isn’t going to be angry for long.

One can only hope. Jack wishes Lucas luck and then he heads out, leaving him to his work. He settles back into it until he lifts his gaze and catches Yancy heading out of the building, checking out for the weekend.

All of Jack’s frustration from his conversation with Evelyn bubbles back up again. He pushes out of his chair, jogging out of his office.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Jack catches Yancy on his way down the steps, telling him that they need to talk. Yancy claims whatever it is can surely wait until Monday, but Jack isn’t having it.

Jack: No, I don’t think your active sabotage of my school can wait another damn second.

Yancy is stunned by his coarse language, effectively halting him long enough to have the confrontation. Well, what then? Jack questions when exactly he planned to let him know about his ongoing anti-campaign against the student government’s scholarship endeavors, or what would drive him and Graham to work to pit the board against them. He knows that they aren’t fond of him, especially after his stunt at the trial, but taking it out on the students? Who does that benefit? What do they gain from that?

Yancy, sharply: Actually, Jackson, you’ve hit the nail on the head. After your little unprofessional display, why wouldn’t we be invested in halting any other schemes you deem a good idea? Particularly when your chosen favorite himself just miraculously managed to become student body president in a school that hates his very existence?

Jack: You have no idea what you’re talking about, and Lucas won that election on his own merit. It had nothing to do with me.

Yancy: It has everything to do with you! Everything does! So long as you are at the helm of this ship, making all the calls, everything ties back to you. And we used to trust you with that power. But all this behavior as of late -- declining lucrative offers, favoring delinquents --

Jack: He is not a delinquent!

Yancy: Or how about cavorting with a fellow employee? [ off his shocked expression ] Oh, come on, Jackson, I’m not naive. Did you and Eric really believe you could flaunt your little flirtation right in front my face and I wouldn’t notice a thing? As if my whole purpose at that school isn’t to keep it from collapsing under your unprofessional whimsy and desires!

This whole time, he’s been observing, watching the operation of AAA from the inside out, trying to determine if Jack remains fit to head the institution. Yancy admits, when Graham first put him up for the job, he was skeptical -- he’d always had great belief in Jack as an educator. He was doubtful that he had really slipped so far… but now he’s seen for himself. There is a certain way things are done, and it seems Jack has forgotten all of his proper perspective in service to that law and order.

Yancy: When I finish my report to the board at the end of the semester, they’ll be the judge of whether or not you deserve to stay where you are. But believe me, if I had it my way, you’d be out of that position and filing for unemployment faster than lightning.

Jack: You can’t do this. You can’t eject me from the role simply because your perspective is too old-fashioned to be flexible. Or empathetic. And unwilling to examine context --

Yancy: Well, we’ll just let the board decide that, won’t we.

Guess we will. Yancy fussily buttons his coat.

Yancy: I would watch yourself if I were you, Jackson. In my opinion, it’s far too late, but we both know how easy it is to tip the scales slightly in your favor. Maybe you’ll salvage this yet. Otherwise, I’d start contemplating alternative paths. Have a good evening.

Yancy stomps down the steps, not waiting for a goodbye. Jack swallows his panic, trying to remain resolute in the face of so much pressure. Scrambling to figure out what to do next...

A groovy disco track bleeds into the soundscape, totally dissonant to Jack’s dread --

INT. DANCE VENUE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Streetdance” as performed by Disco Street Machine || Instrumental

The ‘70s dance fundraiser is in full swing, and it seems to be doing well! The venue is packed not just with Adams students but other community members, promising at least some greater revenue from the whole ordeal. The scene is set with funky lighting and a dance floor, along with some flower-power type decorations and a fun mirrorball hanging above it all.

It’s mainly cool to see everyone leaning into the theme and dressed in their best approximations of ‘70s garb. We’ve got funky vests, blazers for days, chunky platform boots, a few bohemian chic vibes, you name it. A few establishing shots show us all these looks and more while the assembled crowd grooves to the disco track. Yogi is wandering with his camera, capturing footage for posterity and social media.

Lucas is manning the check-in table, this time keeping control over the money in his own hands. He maintains a cordial enough demeanor as he interacts with potential patrons, and he is giving some semblance of ‘70s as promised in his collared-shirt-under-sweater look. He’s serving like… gothic Fred Jones, which is about as much as you’re gonna get from him.

Asher and Dylan, on the other hand, are representing much better. Asher is repping the funky vest and puffy sleeve shirt vibe, matched well with some maroon bell-bottoms and swooped back hair, while Dylan is truly going disco with a silky vibrant shirt tucked into silver pants, a huge, chunky pair of Elton John tinted glasses the cherry on top of the ensemble. They ask how cash flow is going, and Lucas claims fine, but they’re not out of the woods by a long shot.

Lucas: If things don’t pick up, I’m going to start pickpocketing.

Asher: Yes, that’s exactly what we need. A literal crook for president.

Dylan: Isn’t that like every president?

Anyway, Lucas needs to chill. Or as Dylan puts it, surrender to the boogie. Which is what he and Asher are going to go do right now -- the dance floor beckons them. Asher leads the way, Dylan walking backwards so he can maintain eye contact with Lucas and literally disco groove away from him as encouragement to give in to the funk. Lucas just shakes his head, unimpressed.

When Lucas gets back to work, who should be waiting to purchase a ticket in but Charlie Gardner. He’s dressed for the occasion too, dressed in dark pants and a white blazer… with Riley’s chosen blue shirt underneath. It seems he followed her guidance and went for it after all. Lucas greets him and commends him for turning out, considering all the bad blood between Haverford and AAA right now. Brave of him to show up.

Doesn’t he know it… but he wants to be here. Lucas takes his money and nods for him to go on in, sending him into the fray.

Meanwhile, Zay is parked at one of the tables, not in the best mood considering he’s surrounded by the boogie and can’t participate. Nigel is doing his best to cheer him up, but it’s sort of a fruitless effort. When Zay catches him eyeing Jade, who the techies managed to extract from the loft to at least enjoy the dance, he sighs and tells him to go have fun. He doesn’t have to waste away with him. Nigel argues against that take, but Zay nods him onward, insisting.

So Nigel bounces to his feet, thanking Zay before cutting through the crowd in the direction of Jade. Zay watches him go, bittersweet at being left alone again.

Charlie skirts the edges for a bit before finding companionship in Farkle, who greets him plainly. He’s dressed like Eric Forman, wearing a simple button down and bellbottoms combo with a loose brown corduroy jacket. He and Charlie briefly catch up, commenting on how the turn out is and how great the aesthetic is. But Farkle is still a bit lost in his own head, and Charlie notices. He elbows him lightly.

Charlie: You okay?

Farkle: [ with some of his usual humor ] Chuck, that’s like asking the sky if it’s red. I think you already know the answer.

But he’ll live. Once he figures some things out… it’ll be fine. It has to be. Vagueness aside, Charlie can tell there’s more to it, but he opts to focus on distraction rather than problem-solving. He’s had enough problem-solving for a lifetime this week. He invites Farkle to go dance instead, playfully challenging him to show what disco moves he’s got up his sleeve.

Farkle: Oh, you’re going to regret this -- and not because I’m good.

Charlie laughs, gesturing for him to lead the way onto the dance floor.

Maya jumps up onto the small stage set up with the DJ booth, taking the microphone and briefly thanking everyone for coming out. No applause necessary for putting it together, really… and she waits until the audience feels compelled to applaud. Then she waves them off “humbly” before reminding them of all the ways they can support the Adams senior class while at this benefit -- mainly financially! And by getting down and boogie-oogie-oogying. Peace!

Lucas shakes his head at Maya’s speech, lightly amused, but all of his calm is wiped away when Missy walks through the door. She’s dressed in simple ‘70s, a gorgeous and slightly revealing silk disco mini dress and with her hair blown out like Farah Fawcett. She cheekily compliments him on his get up.

Missy, sarcastic: An ensemble that elaborate must’ve taken ages to throw together. I see you really put an effort in.

Lucas: Maybe. And what’s your excuse?

Missy: Not everything needs to be silly and over the top. In fact, I think the richest things in life are those that go understated. Left unsaid… makes everything a bit more exciting, anticipating whatever more there might be to explore. [ a beat ] Same goes for fashion.

Lucas: … so are you paying, or what?

Missy: As I understand it, Adams seniors get in free. But since I can afford it…

She reaches into her small satin purse, pulling out a wad of cash. She siphons off about half of it -- way more than a ticket would cost -- and drops it into the cash box for him. He eyes it suspiciously, then flits his glare towards her.

Missy: I thought about our little chat. And you’re right, maybe there needs to be something in it for me -- which in this case is a victory at showdown. We’re embarrassing enough right now as it is. At least with the funding, we’ll look good when we crash and burn. And as for the rest…

She folds up the remaining bills in her hand and holds them out for him, gesture subtle but unmistakable. Lucas stares at the money, then glances around them nervously to make sure no one else is looking.

Lucas: What the hell are you doing?

Missy: Come on, Lucas. Don’t be noble. We know how things are between us. I’m just trying to help. And it stays discreet. Think of it as… a bonus, for all the hard work you’re doing for the A class. [ quieter ] I heard you in the booth. You don’t ask for help. Well, sometimes, you don’t have to beg. You can just take… whatever you want.

She raises her eyebrows, subtly challenging him to take it. Lucas hesitates, holding his breath… it feels like a test, he knows it is… but he’s already taken plenty from her without asking. What’s a little more…

Missy: Davis isn’t going to pay for itself, is it?

No. No it isn’t. She’s right, and he knows his chances of reeling a scholarship are slim to none. Does he really want all of this stress for applications to be for nothing?

Reluctantly, Lucas takes the money from her and slips it into his back pocket. Missy smiles, genuinely pleased, though why it’s hard to say. But it’s clear, now more than ever, that whatever little arrangement they’ve got going on here is a pattern now. It’s not just going to flutter away on its own, and the consequences that might come of it remain a mystery.

Missy: Groovy. Enjoy the dance, Lucas.

Lucas doesn’t respond, using the cash box as an excuse not to look at her. But based on flipping through the amount of money she handed over for the fundraiser, they’re way closer to their goal than before. And that has to make it all worth it, right?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “September” as performed by Earth, Wind, & Fire || Instrumental

One of the best songs of the decade comes on next, earning an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. Riley weaves her way through the throng and rushes up to the entrance to find Lucas, Nate in tow. She’s dressed in a shimmery lavender-mauve jumpsuit, a complimentary hair scarf tying together the groovy look. She pushes Nate in front of her.

Riley: Nate here is taking over table duty.

Nate: You know how I love dem bills, my brother.

Riley: So that you can come dance with me.

Lucas cringes, weakly putting up a fight. Oh, no, no, no… but Riley’s already got her hands on him, and her smile is so damn cute, it would be impossible to refuse her. So he lets her drag him out into the crowd.

Once they’re actually on the dance floor, Riley beams at him and pulls him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Lucas does his best to be a good sport and play along, especially since he’s already in trouble, placing his hands on her hips and casually swaying to the beat.

Lucas: So… does this mean I’m off the hook for the Brandon thing, or…

Riley: Hm… so as long you’re dancing with me and you look so cute in that sweater, I suppose you can be forgiven.

Better than nothing, though Lucas still clearly feels guilty about disappointing her. Just one of many ways he feels like he’s letting her down… but for now she’s happy, so he’ll just focus on touching her waist and how hot she looks in her jumpsuit.

Across the dance floor, Dylan and Asher are in conversation with Jeff and Yindra, Dylan with his arm draped casually around Asher’s shoulders and bouncing to the beat. They’re discussing the everchanging stakes of their showdown routine -- at this point Yindra claims they should just scrap it all and start over, they’ve got equally as bad a shot with the shoddy routine they have now. But Asher claims that would be a disaster, and they should only cross that bridge if they absolutely must.

Dylan spots something that seems to capture his attention, his eyes widening in excitement. He pinches Asher’s ribs and leans closer, Asher tilting his head to listen to his murmur.

Dylan: Shakespeare in Love, straight ahead.

Asher squints through the dancing crowd and finds what he’s talking about -- Nigel and Jade. He’s actually managed to pull her onto the dance floor, engaging in loose and easy grooving together. She’s laughing, waving off how bad a dancer she is, but he holds one of her hands and assures her she’s good.

Totally radical. Asher and Dylan exchange knowing looks, unable to hold back a grin.

Zay is less enthused, mainly because of his current view -- Charlie, dancing with Farkle of all people to one of the greatest songs there is. Not that there’s anything to be concerned about, really, since they’re clearly just goofing around with each other and Farkle is as promised quite an embarrassing disco dancer. But he’s up and moving, free, having fun, making Charlie laugh -- with Charlie looking disgustingly attractive in his expertly chosen shirt -- and it kind of feels like a perfect vignette of what’s locked away from him.

Everything Zay wants, desperately misses, but can’t have.

His brooding is interrupted when Isadora plops down into the chair across from him, giving him a nod in greeting. He asks why she’s not out there grooving on the dance floor, and she sagely says she’s not interested in getting up to boogie so… publicly. She’s amazed Riley got Lucas out there, but that’s only because of her unique Riley charms. It’s torture in her eyes.

Zay: Speak for yourself, but you’re entitled to your whack opinion.

Isadora: I know, I know. This is killing you. And I respect that. Just not for me. [ a beat ] Maybe it’ll give you some peace to know that you being benched is an undeniable tragedy for all of us.

Zay: The considerate part of me says no, but the egotistical side does love it, thank you.

Isadora: You’re welcome. [ with a sigh ] Now there’s talk of changing the routine if we can’t figure out how to fill your vacancy. Not that I don’t think we could pull it off, but it would take all hands on deck and everyone on board, and I don’t see that happening unless there’s no other alternative. Right now, if we could just find someone to fill your spot -- never as strongly, of course --

Zay: Again, my ego thanks you. You’re not going to take the spot?

Isadora: Uh… I mean, I don’t know. A couple of people suggested it, but look, we know I’m no you. I don’t learn as quickly, and I’ve got enough of a track record with performance mishaps on my own. I mean, what if I do it but I completely freeze the moment we have to go out there? My mom’s parting gift to me was giving me the one thing she never had -- stage fright. Doesn’t that seem too risky to throw in there when the stakes are higher than ever?

Zay: Man, I don’t know. I get what you’re saying, but all I know is that I would kill to be able to perform right now. And if you’re debating it at all, then to me, that means you want to -- and if I had the ability to do it, I wouldn’t waste it for a second on what ifs.

Very insightful, Zay. Isadora contemplates this… then she points out to Zay that just because he’s off his feet doesn’t mean he has to fade into oblivion. He’s got to take the time to heal, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be involved in the class or productions. He just has to find new ways to involve himself rather than what he’s used to.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Y.M.C.A.” as performed by Village People || Instrumental

Another classic! In an instant, Riley appears at their table, teeming with enthusiasm and reaching for Zay’s hands. She insists that he get up dance with her -- to which he reminds her that he’s booted -- but she points out that anyone can do the Y.M.C.A. It’s just shouting and arms! So he relents, allowing her to help him to his feet, but his grin betrays his aloof demeanor.

Farkle slides over moments later, telling Isadora that she better get up and join them too. If Zay can do it, she has no excuse. She rolls her eyes, but she really can’t argue with him on that.

So the dance wraps up with a flourish, the full class laughing, sing-shouting and goofing off together to the party favorite that literally anyone can do. Nigel and Riley each support Zay on either side, and he looks about as joyful as he has in weeks. Asher and Dylan prevent Lucas from escaping, keeping him on the dance floor and trapping him in the Y.M.C.A groove too. Charlie dances with Haley and Clarissa, who take turns twirling under his arms.

Yogi and Dave make their way through it all, capturing all the joy of a successful fundraiser on camera so they’ll never forget it.

INT. DANCE VENUE - LATER - NIGHT

The party has wrapped up, only the A class hanging around to clean up. Well, the A class and Charlie, who insisted it was no problem to stay back and assist in tidying. He’s working with Nigel and Yindra at stacking chairs, the latter of which comments playfully that he really is too helpful for his own good.

Yindra: Such a good little Christian, truly. It’s like God injected his compassion mission into your cute white boy veins.

Charlie: Well… not that good, admittedly. [ a beat ] I think if he was going to make his prototype golden child, he would’ve skipped the part where he made me gay.

Oop. Wow, a casual coming out -- and with a little humor, too! Charlie is getting better at this. Yindra raises her eyebrows at him, assessing for a moment whether or not he might be joking… and then she breaks into a wide grin, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Yindra: Oh, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie… I always knew I liked you. And I should’ve known, considering that awful Les Mis kiss still haunts my nightmares.

She asks how long he’s been out, or at least telling people, and Nigel slides in to proudly note that he told him before Yindra. She rolls her eyes. Charlie admits it’s slow-going and hasn’t been easy, especially with the community outside of AAA, but it feels good every time he does it. Hopefully the rest of his world will turn out tolerant too.

Yindra invites him to her church that Sunday for a change of pace. She’s performing a solo in the choir, so it’ll be guaranteed entertaining, and it might be good for him to see an actually accepting church environment for a change.

Nigel: She just wants to force you to see her ‘70s performance before she shares it with the class on Monday. The more people she can force to be her audience, the better.

Yindra: Hey, now, I don’t care for your sass, Chey Chey.

Either way, her church runs later than his, so it shouldn’t conflict. And Nigel will be there too -- she’s bribing him with brunch -- so it’ll be like a fun little outing. Charlie just seems happy to be connecting with his peers again, so he happily agrees.

Nate, pre-lap: 70… 80… 90…

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Lucas, Maya, Riley, Dylan, Asher, Isadora, and Farkle are convened in and around the back corner booth, watching nervously as Nate counts the final income from the dance fundraiser. All of them are holding their breath… Maya is pacing like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear him to shreds if the number is too low.

Isadora: Jesus, Nate, can’t you count any faster?

Nate: No, I don’t cut corners when it comes to money. Now shut up, or I’ll have to start over.

Farkle, exhausted: Hush, Isa. Don’t make him start over.

Silence settles over them again… and Nate finishes counting the bills from the cashbox. He lifts up a finger to halt them from asking, writing the number down and then pulling up the calculator app on his phone. After combining the total from this with the car wash haul…

Nate: We did it. Crazy sons of bitches, we did it!

They officially made the money to pay for the damages and fund their showdown needs. Victory! All of them cheer, hugging each other and clapping enthusiastically. Riley wraps her arms around Lucas and kisses his cheek, while he’s looking pretty relieved.

Nate: I gotta say though, the numbers seem kind of skewed based on the actual attendance we had. Someone must’ve made a huge donation. [ to Lucas ] Did you notice anyone drop some major cash?

Oh, interesting… Lucas pauses, then breezes past the question. He claims it doesn’t matter who donated what -- they’re in the clear, and now they can focus on what matters. It’s time to kick Haverford’s pretentious privileged ass at showdown.

Hear, hear! The group cheers again, exchanging high-fives and reveling in their hard-earned success.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Isadora arrives home, shedding her jacket and shoes at the door. She’s relaxed, and has a relieved smile on her face. From where he sits on the sofa, Eric looks over to her. 

Isadora: We did it! We raised all the money we need. 

Eric: Oh, amazing! Well done, I’m so proud of you all.

Isadora sits down next to him and exhales. It’s been a long day. 

Isadora: I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’ve decided to write a letter to Zachary. 

Eric: Tha --

Isadora, interrupting: I don’t know whether I’ll send it or not, but I do think it’ll help just to get my thoughts out there.

Eric nods his agreement, and reminds her that he’ll always be there for her. Just as she starts to ask for help on what to include in the correspondence, there’s a knock at the door. Eric goes to answer it, pleasantly surprised to find Jack waiting on the other side. Although he’s happy to see him, Jack seems stressed, so Isadora gets the hint that she should probably give them some space. She wishes Jack a good night and retreats to her room, leaving them alone.

Eric: Did you hear that they made the money to cover the auditorium damages? I’m honestly impressed, but I guess we should never doubt the A class.

Jack: Yeah… yeah, I did. From Lucas. It’s great.

Eric: … okay, what’s going on. You’ve got your thin voice going, how you get when something is wrong.

Jack doesn’t even bother to ask what that means -- Eric knows him well, it’s hardly a surprise at this point. He releases a strained sigh and explains what happened with Yancy, both about him sabotaging the scholarship fund from within the board and then the confrontation they had on the steps. Eric listens raptly, absorbing some of his dread with every word.

Eric: That sick… I always knew there was something off about him. He’s a corporate sellout through and through -- has been since he joined the board. And he has the gall to lecture you… we’ll get him for this, Jack. We just have to strategize --

Jack: No. No, we can’t do anything. Not right now. Not with so many things on the line.

Jack mentions the other piece of Yancy’s threat -- that he might be put on probation for real and potentially let go. Eric scoffs at this, disbelieving. Jack is well-known in the community… no way he’d get ousted. It’s an empty threat.

Eric: What’ll probably happen is that if anything, they put you off contract, and the position would reopen for applicants. So all you’d have to do is apply again, and Evelyn would hand it back to you without question. Yancy is just reaching, he can’t --

Jack: But Evelyn isn’t the only vote that matters, Eric. If they can flip a decision on something like the scholarships… that affects the students… and I don’t think he’s bluffing. I mean, he brought up Lucas, he mentioned… he mentioned you and me…

Eric shrinks a bit at this. It’s uncomfortable that someone is using their relationship as leverage, implying it’s a bad thing, but he’s also nervous about the way Jack is taking it. He knows how much he cares about AAA. He’d do anything to keep it afloat, to do what’s right for the school.

Eric: So… [ with a deep breath ] What do you want to do?

Jack, softly: Right now… I just think we need to… we need to step back. Put things on hold until the dust settles. My examination period should be over soon, and when this is all sorted, then… then maybe we can…

But for now, they can’t. There’s too much at stake… things both of them care about more than themselves. Although Eric is reluctant, he does his best to keep his emotions in check and nods along. He places a hand on Jack’s shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment. Stroking with his thumb, soaking in the touch for all it’s worth. Who knows when he’ll comfortably get to do it again.

Eric: Whatever you need, Jack. I understand. [ with difficulty ] I’m with you.

Jack nods, grateful. More grateful than he’ll ever know. He holds his gaze for a long moment, then leans forward and presses his lips softly to the corner of his mouth. So close, yet so far… Eric closes his eyes, trying his best not to crack.

Jack pulls back, swallowing hard. He clears his throat and nods, back to a fragile shell of professionalism.

Jack: I’ll see you at school.

Eric returns the nod, but he can’t meet his eyes. Jack hesitates for a moment longer, wishing it wasn’t this way, wishing he could stay… then steps back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Like he was never there.

INT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - DAY

Charlie and Nigel are in one of the pews amidst the usual congregation of Yindra’s church, waiting for the choir following the service to begin. Charlie seems excited but nervous, liking the high spirits and jovial energy but worried he’s an imposter just like he is everywhere else. He leans over to Nigel.

Charlie: I stick out like a sore thumb, don’t I?

Nigel: Mm, yeah. But it’s okay, [ patting his arm ] you can’t help that you’re skim milk.

Thank you for that, Nigel. Charlie opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so it’s a relief when Yindra steps down front and center in her church choir robes to address the congregation. She cheerfully greets them and explains that she got to choose the song for this week, which she used to also fulfill the requirement for her art school lesson. Two birds, one stone, am I right?

Either way, she wants to dedicate the heart of this performance to her peers at school and in attendance this afternoon. She knows they’re all going through stuff, and even though it feels like the end of the world right now, it’ll all be water under the bridge one day. All they can do is take it day by day, and by the grace of God, everything will end up the way it’s meant to be.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino

If anyone could deliver soulful, impressive vocals to rival and honor Mercedes Jones (for those of us who did watch Glee, unlike the Havies), it would be Yindra Amino. And deliver she does, both in the church and on the atrium steps at AAA where she splits this performance. The rest of her choir backing her up gospel style really does add a certain something something, but the true emphasis of the number is the meaning.

Your time has come to shine All your dreams are on their way See how they shine, oh, if you need a friend I'm sailing right behind

When she makes it to the latter half and the gospel kicks off clapping to the beat, the entire congregation leaps to their feet and eagerly joins in. Charlie and Nigel are right there with them -- as is the A class in the atrium intercut of the performance.

Yindra brings it home with a spectacular vocal run, and you have to wonder if she really could make it out there in L.A. on her vocal chops alone. The church erupts into gleeful applause as she wraps up and takes a bow with the choir, beaming bright.

Charlie mirrors her smile, enthusiastically clapping along. Experiencing for an instant what it’s like to feel comfortable in church -- allowed to just be himself.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Lucas is anxiously sitting opposite Riley in the usual booth, watching as she carefully reads over his personal essays. She’s doing her best to maintain a professional and neutral expression while she goes, but it’s impossible to hold back the slightest smile on her lips as she reaches the conclusion. When she lifts her gaze to meet his, but purposefully builds suspense by not saying anything, he cracks.

Lucas: Well? They’re terrible, aren’t they? You can just say it if they are.

Riley: … [ breaking into a grin ] They’re great, Lucas. Brilliant, honestly. Not that I ever had any doubt you could pull it off.

What a relief. Lucas exhales a sigh, thanking her for taking the time to read them. Then he continues, softly apologizing for not telling her about what happened with Brandon. Even though he had good intentions, he knows it doesn’t matter. And if he wanted so much not for her to know, then obviously it was never a good idea to begin with.

Riley: You know it’s fine for you to mess up. I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me.

Lucas: [ after a beat ] I guess I didn’t… it’s like the stupid personal essays. I know that… I’m not a shining example of a good person. I don’t think that’s exactly a secret.

Riley: I don’t think that.

Lucas: I know. I know you don’t, and I think that’s why I didn’t want you to know. Because it’s like every thing I do that shows you that, the more you realize that I’m… less than ideal, then…

Riley tilts her head, giving him a sympathetic look. Then she gets up and comes to join him on his side of the booth, sliding in next to him and leaning forward a bit so he’ll meet her gaze.

Riley: I told you that I wanted a relationship with you, and I meant it. And that’s all of you -- everything, the good and the bad. Even if you make a mistake, or I get disappointed, it doesn’t change that. We’ll find a way to work it out. I want you.

Her way with words makes everything sound so easy, so simple… and maybe it is. Maybe it can be just as simple as wanting each other, loving each other, and making it work. Lucas absorbs the sentiment, smiling shyly and thanking her again.

Hard part out of the way, Riley asks him how he managed to break his writer’s block and write those killer essays. What was his secret? Lucas hums, thinking about it.

Lucas: It was kind of what you said. You know, changing my perspective. When I was trying to write it from my lens, it was… well, you know. But then I just tried to think… what would Riley say? If someone asked you about me. And when I thought about it like that, I don’t know… suddenly, it was easy.

Riley chews her lip, smile blossoming on her face. She pulls him into a gentle kiss, one that he returns before swiftly stealing another one. She nudges her forehead against his, fondness shining in her eyes as she looks at him.

It’s no mystery how thinking like her made for some unbeatable work.

Billy, pre-lap: I knew it. I knew he wasn’t loyal.

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - SENIOR LOUNGE - DAY

Dweezil’s phone is sitting on the tabletop, open to the Adams social media page. Displayed are a handful of photos Yogi took during the ‘70s dance… including one clearly featuring Charlie, dancing with Haley and Clarissa. Although it looks like he’s having a swell time, Billy and Dweezil don’t seem happy for their classmate at all.

Dweezil: He’s never really jumped ship. We know he’s always hanging out with Riley anyway. This is just definitive proof.

Billy: Showdown is in a week. If he’s still this comfortable with his old chums, who knows how much shit he’s telling them.

Dweezil: And what if he finds out about the plan? No way he’s going to let us do it.

Billy: I say we take care of this now. Before it interferes with our performance.

Dweezil: He might blow everything.

Billy: Brandon. You have to have an opinion on this shit.

Opposite them and seated at the table, Brandon is examining the photograph for himself. He’s unperturbed as usual, thoughtful and contemplative. He doesn’t comment until Billy and Dweezil basically demand input from him, at which point he offers a calm smile.

Brandon: It’s nice to see him enjoying himself, isn’t it? I like Charles. He’s a nice kid. [ a beat, then suavely ] And a coward.

Brandon gingerly places Dweezil’s phone back on the desk, reclining back in his chair.

Brandon: I’m not worried about him.

Billy: Man, you’re kidding --

Dweezil: And what if he decides to --

Brandon: Don’t you get it? He’s not going to do anything. If there’s one thing you can count on with Charles, it’s that he’s spineless. He’s not feeding them information, and even if he does take offense to something we do, he isn’t going to do shit. Gardner is soft, and he’s the least of our worries. But in a week it’s not even going to matter. Especially not when we’ve got this.

Brandon retrieves the flash drive from his blazer pocket, placing it on the table between them. Billy and Dweezil eye it with interest -- they all clearly know what it contains.

Brandon: Once we crack into this, it’s over. We’re going to crush Adams like we do every year -- whether Charles helps or not.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Ah, to be back in the warm embrace of the auditorium -- even if it’s still a bit banged up. It’ll take a little while longer to get the auditorium back in tip-top shape, but the A class can at least come home to roost in it again, which is where they gather for the kick off the next week.

All of them give a round of applause to Harley for his assistance in repairing their mistakes, and hope that he enjoyed the performances of the last few days. He assures them he did, though as he understands it, the week isn’t quite over yet. He steps back and allows Jade to take front and center.

She thanks all of them for being patient with her while she finished up her portfolio materials, and at this point she only has one more request. Behind her, Dave and Dylan roll out the racks with her ‘70s portfolio costumes, and she explains that she needs models to pose for the photographs she’s going to include in her application of all her hard work. Now hm… where on Earth is she going to find suitable, available models for free who she just happened to know all the measurements of and would fit perfectly into these custom costumes…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Shake Your Booty” as performed by Forever In Your Mind || Performed by AAA Seniors

Riley beams, claiming she thinks she knows where they could find a few volunteers. The A class launches to their feet, rushing the stage to see what Jade has in store.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The boys kick off this energetic, bopping closing number, changing into their Jade ‘70s ensembles and grooving in the dressing room. Sliding through the wall --

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The girls are doing the same, fluffing their hair and doing each other’s make up as they sing into the mirrors. Once they’re all set, Yindra leads the way out into the dressing room hall…

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Where they meet up with the boys, strutting in their fierce, authentically ‘70s looks. They make a mad dash for the auditorium --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And reclaim their stage, breaking into disco grooves as they toss around solo lines and show off their outfits. Jade stands with Yogi and helps him direct the costume shoot, both of them dressed up as well with Jade sporting the stereotypical but Jade-infused bohemian flower power girl look with a flowy white dress with puffy sleeves and a leather headband laced with wildflowers.

On the bridge, we get a montage of all of the A class posing in their outfits as they dance to get their pictures taken. This highlights not only how much we love this silly crop of seniors, but also how fantastic and individualized Jade’s costumes truly are. Paired with the earnest and jubilant performance, it’s a truly lovable showing.

Then they bring it on home with a disco line dance, all breaking into the same groovy choreography and all in their ‘70s garb. Zay watches from the audience with Lucas and the faculty, for once seemingly not in despair over being benched and still getting a custom outfit of his own. Dylan and Asher are front and center, and they pull Jade into it on the last few lines, so she also gets her boogie in before the day is done.

If one thing is clear, it’s that disco is far from dead, thank you very much! And while the A class has a lot on their plates -- and insurmountable stakes ahead -- it’s hard not to feel hopeful when they’ve got each other.

Whether that’s enough, well, soon we’ll find out.

END OF EPISODE.

#episodes #307 #S3 #WEEEEEEEEEEEE #s3 round 2 lets go girls!

[moonstarphoenix]

Hi! I saw some of your tags about Steve and Peggy and I remember how angry I felt after Endgame and how it made me reconsider everything about their “relationship” and even Peggy and I was wondering what is your detailed opinion about her/ their relationship? I remember how I used to think she was this incredible female character, but now I realize it was mostly because the mcu lacked good female characters because looking back, there are some very questionable things about her.

Endgame has caused a lot of us to reconsider Peggy and the “relationship” with Steve. I honestly never gave much thought to her. She was in the first movie and then he moved to the future and she was a part of his past who had lived her life. An old friend he could reconnect with. Endgame, however, changed all of that.

Also, I apologize to my followers. This got long.

Peggy Carter is a very questionable, morally gray character. To me, it’s obvious that she held very little interest in Steve other than as a viable candidate for Project Rebirth until he became Chris Evans-sized. The little interest she shows at camp and in the car ride is because he is literally unlike any man she has ever likely encountered, like the guy she punched, who likely always objectified her. Her interest in Steve seems to stem from the fact what he can do for her career. This is a theme that carries on though not just TFA but through Agent Carter as well. The colors she wears in the iconic first season shot of blue dress and red hat, naming the whole organization SHIELD as a nod to Captain America. The rewriting in the radio program of what happened to Bucky suddenly becoming Betty Carver. It’s like a big red arrow saying “I knew Captain America (Captain America, not Steve Rogers). I was his one and only!”.

They don’t talk for months throughout TFA. Literal months. There’s nothing that shows us them getting to know one another, them writing letters, etc. It indicates they haven’t spoken in months by the time he shows up to entertain the troops. My good friend, @cosmicmechanism, did a timeline that shows how very little contact they actually had in the movie. [LINK] He’s off being the showpony, she’s doing whatever it is she is doing. Which is another issue. We are never actually told what they hell she does. Is she an agent for MI-5? Is she a spy? Is she a secretary? We never know, other than for no real reason, how/why she seems to be pulling a paycheck from the US Army and appears in meeting with high ranking army officials when she shouldn’t have been there. Had they kept her the Virginia heiress she is in the comics, her presence in the US Army would have made a little more sense.

The AC tv show presented a lot of problems in trying to elevate Peggy’s importance to Steve. She certainly wasn’t leading the Commandoes and wasn’t anywhere in the field with them, otherwise she would have been shown in the montage in TFA with them and she would have had a prominent part of that exhibit in TWS instead of a brief interview ABOUT STEVE RESCUING HER HUSBAND IN AZZANO.

Anyway, there’s also the way she acts with and around Steve. She stops the safer transport to Azzano to drop him off in a war zone with bombs actually going off around them. There would have been soldiers on the ground tracking Steve’s descent. He would have been easily captured. Then, there’s the red dress trope. The vixen appearing in a scene for no other reason than to seduce the hero from the other person in the scene, whether it’s a friend or other love interest. Even if you don’t ship Stucky, you can still read that scene as the seductress looking to come between two best friends. Plus, there was no reason for her to even come to the bar dressed like that. If she wanted to remind Steve of a meeting, she would have appeared in normal clothes.

And of course, we have the attempted murder scene. This is the scene that made so many, including me, not like Peggy Carter. That scene of Peggy shooting Steve behind is new shield is played for laughs and a moment to make seem badass but it’s toxic, violent, and downright abusive. She acts like she already had a claim on him. He was not hers. They weren’t dating in any way. And yet, her reaction to walking in on a free man kissing another woman was to shot him. In a closed environment with a big metal circle the only thing protecting him. She didn’t know that shield would protect him. She didn’t know those bullets wouldn’t ricochet. She could have easily killed Steve or any person in that room including Stark.

The next major grievance to me that they gloss over the fact that as a director of SHIELD, she would have had a hand in hiring Zola, the same Nazi scientist she knew had captured and tortured Bucky, the best friend of the man she supposedly loved, who she knew was HYDRA. She allowed him to continue his work, likely signed the paychecks that funded his continued experiments. She was a founder. She would have had a say. She would have been a part of that decision. That indicates something darker as well. Based on the fact that we saw Howard Stark call Zola Arnim, shows that they became close to him. And that hints that it is entirely possible that Stark and Carter knew about Bucky or at least the Winter Soldier program, which is human experimentation. That doesn’t look too well on MCU’s golden girl, does it?

If they had allowed her to be the morally grey character and actually showed Steve realizing that HYDRA had corrupted SHIELD from the beginning and she was involved in that, I think a lot of us could have come to terms with the character. It certainly would have been a better story and added layers upon both Steve and Peggy. Instead, they pushed this false ‘love of his life’ narrative and how she made him the mad he was for a woman he had kissed once, talked to maybe 4 times, and a relationship that likely wouldn’t have worked out due to a difference in morals and ethics.

Their relationship is a problem because we are never fully shown them developing that love. We get a few flirty glances, an attempted murder scene, a kiss in the middle of a mission, and a compass with a picture that Steve had obviously cut out himself. They could have had them exchange letters, had her send him a real pic, etc. Anything to show them getting to know each other. Instead, we get him staring at a compass that honestly would have been destroyed in the crash or would have been thrown from the window on impact. It shouldn’t have survived.

I do think you’re right, Anon. I think a lot of us thought she was an amazing, badass character because she was only one of three female main characters at the time. Until we are introduced to survivors Nebula and Gamora, and genius Shuri, and strong, beautiful Okoye and Nakia (true badasses all of them). And let’s face it, Hayley Atwell (a problematic woman in her own right) did a good job pushing Steggy and trying tot elevate Peggy’s importance to Steve as more than it really was and shown to be, also negating the whole reason Steve became Captain America, trying to enlist in the army 6 times and always fighting, and the relationships he had with Bucky and his mother, Sarah, pre-serum.

So I hope you enjoyed this reading! Thanks for the wonderful ask!

#Anonymous #answered ask #anti peggy carter #anti steggy #anti endgame #i'm so sorry this got so long #i keep trying to cut it down #but i talk alot #and can't ever seem to edit things down #anti hayley atwell

[andaxay]

Preservation of Self

My entry for February’s @telltalemonthlychallenge. February’s theme: Black History Month.

Hyperion has been cutthroat since the day she accepted the offer of employment. Yvette does what she thinks she needs to. To thrive. To survive.

-----------------------------------------

One last coffee before they left.

Secreted away in a quiet room, away from prying eyes that would question why Vaughn the mild-mannered accountant had an important looking Hyperion briefcase chained to his arm. Best to avoid such questions.

"You're really doing this?" Yvette wrapped one slender leg around the other as she sat, sipping a latte, looking from one best friend to another with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

"Oh, we are doing this," Rhys leaned forward with a smug smile and raised eyebrow. Vaughn rubbed the back of his neck as he stared, wide-eyed, at the table in front of them, perhaps questioning every life decision he'd ever made that had led him to this point. "We are doing this so much. Who else is going to screw over Vasquez?"

"Vasquez is more than capable of screwing himself over, given enough time," Yvette said dryly, folding her arms.

"And how long will that take? Are you willing to wait for years for that to happen?"

"He might get eaten by a skag the second he sets foot on Pandora," Vaughn chimed in, wearing an expression that said 'and the same could happen to us'.

"And he might not," Rhys countered, "in which case, enjoy being middle management saps for the next ten to fifteen years. I, however, am not willing to clean up Vasquez's damn trash three times a day, just so he can drink in how much power he has."

"Fair point," Vaughn conceded and Yvette nodded solemnly.

"Well, then," she said after taking the last sip of her latte, "you have everything you need." She paused, looking at both of them. A twist in her gut. "Good luck. Try not to die - there's an awful lot of paperwork to fill out if you do."

"We'll miss you, too."

-----------------------------------------

Vasquez's furious shouting reached Yvette's ears before the man himself stormed into her office. She steeled herself, remaining cool and calm, tapping away at her keyboard as he stalked up to her desk.

"Mr. Vasquez?" Polite, despite her gut curling at the sight of him. Slimeball.

"Yvette!" Vasquez glared down at her, breathing heavily, before he appeared to relax slightly, stepping into the persona he often reserved for buttering up management. "Yvette. Just the lady I was looking for." He stepped around her desk and sat on the edge of it, looming over her. "Urgent business. Confidential, of course. Management... I, need to meet with Rhys. Only he, ah, seems to be difficult to pin down." Vasquez stared down at her, his eyes burning. She stared right back, innocently, collected. "You had lunch together, shared plans for the afternoon..."

"As far as I'm aware, he's working," Yvette offered coolly. "I haven't seen him, or spoken to him, since lunch."

"Oh? Working on his next eridium mining contract? Or, maybe, stealing ten million dollars of Hyperion's money and taking it to a Pandoran named August to buy a Vault Key?" Vasquez folded his arms as he leaned in slightly. Trying to intimidate her. Yvette had dealt with much worse in her time at Hyperion.

"I have never heard of August and, like I said, I assumed Rhys had gone back to work after lunch," Yvette said firmly, "so, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Trying to cover for him? Or, have you washed your hands of him already?" Vasquez leered down at her. "He'll be so happy to hear it when we pick him up and drag his soon-to-be-dead ass into a cell for stealing Hyperion property." He smiled, an ugly, sinister curve of a thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Speaking of which, exactly how did he get hold of the money? He isn't an accountant, doesn't have access to funds. Unless... he had help. If I recall, you're both good friends with the man who just happens to manage valuable Hyperion funds and assets. What was his name again? Vinny? Vance?"

Yvette remained poker-faced, raising her eyebrows slightly, questioningly. A vein in Vasquez's temple was twitching.

"I won't deny that I'm friends with them," she said calmly, sitting back into her chair and folding her arms, "but that's all I can tell you. Whatever this is? You're asking the wrong person."

"Mmm-hmm," Vasquez fixed her with a firm glare. "So, that's how it's going to be. Alright, then." He stood and turned to leave, but paused. "I would think about where your loyalties lie, Yvette. Hyperion can set you up for life." He turned again to face her. She remained impassive. "And it can also end it. We can trace everything. Think about that, while you decide your future."

She only allowed herself to exhale once the heavy blast doors closed behind him. Some chewing of her thumbnail, the only show of anxiety she would allow herself.

-----------------------------------------

Rhys and Vaughn had lost the money. They were as good as dead.

Hyperion didn't yet know. It didn't matter. They would.

Rhys and Vaughn would either die on Pandora, or die the minute they stepped foot on Helios.

Climbing the ranks of Hyperion was a colossal challenge that very, very few could ever hope to rise to. The toxic culture, knives in so many backs - sometimes literally. Yvette had dared to hope, when she and Rhys and Vaughn had become friends. One person alone couldn't even begin to chip away at the Hyperion machine, but the three of them, working together?

It was over. It had been silly to think it could have happened in the first place.

Her office phone rang. The caller ID read 'Hugo Vasquez'.

She sighed heavily, then answered it.

"The situation has changed. Meet me in my office. Ten minutes." He hung up before she'd even said a word.

-----------------------------------------

"Your involvement in the stealing of ten million dollars can be... erased, Yvette. Nobody higher up needs to know. ID logs can be manipulated. Traces erased."

She folded her arms. "... If?"

Vasquez was the most serious-looking she'd ever seen him.

"I'll be honest. We need the data in Rhys's systems far more than ten million dollars."

Systems. Like Rhys wasn't a walking, living human being.

"Let's just say that Hyperion is willing to pay a lot to recover this data. To the person, or people, responsible for recovering it" Vasquez folded his arms as he leaned against his desk. Behind him, Pandora was framed nicely within the window of his office. What had once been Henderson's office, before he'd been... terminated.

Henderson had been a racist prick, she didn't miss him, mourn him or even feel sorry for him, but it was a nice reminder about what Vasquez was capable of.

"So," Vasquez continued, "you help me, I help you. You track Rhys, keep tabs on his location and give me all of the information you know. And I'll make sure you're not implicated in anything... unsavoury. And, give you a cut of the reward."

Yvette stood, calm on the outside and reeling on the inside.

Her best friends.

Her best friends who were likely dead regardless.

Likely. Ha. They were toast.

Could she live with being an active part in their demise, though?

Vasquez glared, impatient.

"You make a very compelling argument, Vasquez," Yvette plastered a snakelike smile on her face and part of her died within. "You have a deal."

-----------------------------------------

She gasped as the cold water she'd scooped and thrown into her face hit her skin. The swanky bathroom of her cushy Helios apartment was dimly lit, but she could still see every feature of her face in the mirror. Every line of the troubled expression marring her features.

Vasquez had gone down to Pandora to find Rhys and Vaughn. On the back of information that she had given to him.

Rhys and Vaughn were going to die anyway.

Assuming Vasquez was successful and brought Rhys, or whatever remained of him, back to Helios. The next steps were glaringly obvious. Vasquez would claim all of the reward for himself. Yvette would be exposed, her role in the disappearance of ten million dollars and two intrepid, naïve Hyperion employees with it, one of whom was hiding some incredibly important program in his head, apparently.

She'd be thrown out of an airlock the second Vasquez stepped back onto Helios.

This was about survival, now.

Yvette had quietly been gathering evidence on Vasquez's involvement in this mess. Bribery, incompetence. She was ready to strike. Ready to claim the reward for herself, to survive something else that Hyperion had to throw at her.

But she had to play along, for now.

Which meant leading Vasquez right to Rhys and Vaughn.

Maybe Vasquez would lose. Maybe her best friends would outsmart him, work their way out and escape into the sunset. Yvette couldn't see it happening. Much as she loved them, they'd be hopeless in any kind of fight-or-flight response.

As much as she had loved them.

Because now she'd struck a deal with the devil and anyone who truly cared for their friends wouldn't serve them to their deaths on a silver platter.

It was them, or her.

Welcome to Hyperion.

-----------------------------------------

Vasquez had rolled up in some old, hulking build-it-yourself spaceship that would have looked more at home in a scrapyard and, what was more, had failed to bring Rhys, or any part of him, back with him.

To say Yvette was furious would be an understatement.

She'd stormed into his office, her office, ready to blast him to hell for failing to uphold his part of the deal. Shafting them both, not that she cared about what would happen to him, following his unauthorised trip to Pandora. Without the data in Rhys' system, he was as good as dead anyway.

Something was missing. Vasquez had been unreachable for weeks after landing on Pandora, which had driven her mad. She'd been feeding him information in all that time and he couldn't even be bothered to send her a 'thank you'. But now he was back, something was... off.

Not... not in a bad way, honestly. The malice she normally associated with him was lacking. It was disarming, but Yvette didn't have time or resources to worry about such a thing. What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things?

"You had one job," she spat out, glaring daggers at him. He was... strangely vulnerable?

"I'm on it," he said quietly. "I just need more time."

"Time's up, Vasquez. It's over. I'm calling management."

"Don't," he said, desperate yet calm, collected. "It will only end badly, and not just for me. You think I don't have evidence to back myself up? And so, so much of it points to you, Yvette." Hurt. What a strange thing to witness in his expression.

"Then I guess we're at an impasse." She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I can fix this. I know what to do. To save both our asses."

Yvette remained silent. Like Vasquez cared about what happened to her.

Still, they were stuck. Play along for now, then shaft him later, once she knew what this plan of his was.

"You have the rest of the working day to fix this," Yvette snapped, "and then I'm handing you in. Consequences be damned."

"I don't think you mean that," he said, voice low, almost deadly.

"You don't know anything about me," she countered, equally as deadly. "Get out of my office."

To her enormous surprise, he left.

-----------------------------------------

The escape pod rattled unsettlingly as it plummeted to Pandora. Yvette stared, dully, out at the rapidly approaching planet.

She should be dead. Maybe that would have been the better alternative.

Rhys' face as she'd gone for the escape pod... As he'd told her to go to the escape pod.

She'd sold him out and he'd repaid her by saving her life. Essentially sealing his own death warrant as he'd done so. Even after her pathetic attempts at an explanation and apology while she'd been locked in the cell.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists until the nails drew blood. Helios was breaking apart behind her. There was no way he'd survive.

Ha. Hadn't she written him off, anyway?

She didn't deserve a friend like him. She didn't deserve friends at all. Because, as it had become blindly obvious throughout the last few weeks, she was more than willing to sell them out to save her own skin.

Maybe the pod would crash with such a force that she'd be torn apart upon impact.

At least it would put an end to the burning, lead guilt that weighed down every cell in her body.

-----------------------------------------

"Thanks, Vaughn."

"Don't mention it."

The emergency blanket felt scratchy against her skin. The soup in the bowl in her lap could barely qualify as 'warm'. It was more than she deserved.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

Vaughn stopped in his tracks, turned to face her. Exhausted. Dark circles underlined his eyes and aged him well beyond his twenty-seven years.

"You went through hell, too. I just... want to help."

She didn't know what she could say. Apologies were worthless.

"Eat the soup, Yvette, it will help."

-----------------------------------------

"To... surviving."

"I'll drink to that."

"Mmm-hmm."

Three glasses clinked together in the candlelit room, one of the more... intact ones that had mostly survived the fall from orbit.

"I'm so glad you're both ok," Rhys said quietly, staring into his chipped glass filled with an unspecified alcohol.

Yvette stared into her own glass. Both. Even after everything.

"Rhys-"

His head snapped up and mismatched eyes met her own. Alarmed, almost. He knew what was coming.

"Yvette, you don't have to-"

"I do," she said firmly. Vaughn glanced between the two of them. "I'm sorry. I really am." She sighed heavily. "I guess... I was just trying to survive. I was scared." She scratched at the side of her head. A small scar had formed there, a remnant of her crash-landing into Pandora. She felt the smooth texture underneath her finger. "It was a shitty way of doing it. You guys were - are - the best friends I've ever had. I should have done better."

They were both silent for a moment, exchanging glances.

"We've all experienced Hyperion," Vaughn finally chimed in solemnly. "'Surviving' was about all we could do."

Rhys made a noise of agreement. "You think we didn't do terrible things, too?"

"Still..."

"Yvette, it's ok," Rhys smiled at her. "It hurt, at the time. I won't lie. But I also know what it's like to be in fear for your life."

"Yeah. Who at Hyperion didn't do something shitty at some point? It was practically in the job description." Vaughn also smiled.

"I guess we all learned something," Rhys continued quietly and Vaughn nodded in agreement. "But, that's what it's all about, I guess. I think as long as we acknowledge where we go wrong, and do something to be better... No reason we can't be ok, right?"

A weight, a terrible, oppressive weight that she'd carried for so long, now. Some of it eased.

"I'll drink to that," she offered, smiling, and the three clinked their glasses together again.

#TelltaleMonthlyChallenge #Tales From The Borderlands #TFTBL #TFTB #Yvette The Lunch Leech #Rated T #General

[berrysbaby]

The Next Big Thing in OnCarrot Review

10 Easiest Landlord Computer system application Tactics for End https://wholesalinghousesinfo.com users & Residence Administrators

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#real estate investing #real estate investment software #real estate investor #real estate software #best real estate software #landlord software #software for investors

[keepingupwithlinmanuel]

Lin-Manuel Miranda: I’ve been writing in lockdown

In his head, Lin-Manuel Miranda has an alternative timeline of what he would be doing right now. The 40-year-old would have recently finished filming his directorial debut, for one, the Netflix adaption of the Broadway musical Tick, Tick... Boom!, which survived just ten days of shooting before everything shut down. Right now, he says, he should be in the edit.

Instead, he’s on a Zoom call, talking to GQ from his home about a filmed version of Hamilton, which wasn’t due out for another year, and he’s apologising for the fact that it doesn’t say “Lin-Manuel Miranda” on his screen, but “Lin-Sebastian’s dad”, as it “defaults to the time I did a parent-teacher conference”.

...

So, Hamilton is coming to Disney+, which is incredibly exciting – and a year earlier than planned. Talk me through how that decision was made.

We realised pretty early, even when the show was off Broadway, this is going to be a tough ticket. And we sort of realised there’s value in capturing what it feels like in the theatre with this company. And the three days we shot this film was the week before the principals started to leave. We all left the following Friday. So it’s the best rehearsed cast maybe in the history of movies – we were performing and what we’d spent a year doing. When lockdown happened we had around 75 per cent of it – enough of an original, a rough cut, to be able to sell it to Disney and partner with Disney. We didn’t have a final edit. We didn't have a sound mix, which in a musical is pretty important. But once it became clear there was not going to be any theatre for the foreseeable future, we all kind of pivoted and said, “Oh, this is actually an opportunity to remind people of the power of theatre when there is none.” And so we got to editing and then it just became like racing. We turned in the final cut, like, two weeks ago.

How do you feel generally about the future for Broadway? Are you optimistic that it’s going to bounce back?

I’m optimistic. I’m not optimistic about any kind of timeline. Like I don’t know what theatre looks like on the other side of this, particularly in the absence of a vaccine. One of the books I've been reading during this lockdown is Will In The World, the biography of Shakespeare by Stephen Greenblatt. And I read it because I wanted to know what did Shakespeare do when the plague shut down the houses? Because there was that sort of meme going around, you know, “He wrote King Lear, what the fuck are you doing?” It’s not entirely accurate. He did write some sonnets. Those are pretty good. But it's, you know, that uncertainty. When we make our calling where people gather, it’s a real one. And what I'm encouraged by is honestly the fact that given that there are no shows right now, it’s actually a time to tackle some of the more systemic issues with our theatre we need to talk about. How to get an audience for Hamilton that is as diverse as the cast on stage. We're in talks, just for ourselves in this moment – at a time where we're talking about systemic racism in the United States – on how to make backstage look more like on-stage; how to address some of the inequities when it comes to black folks and people of colour in the theatre industry. It’s still so predominantly white backstage and at the top, so I think we're seeing people getting their houses in order because there's time to do it and no one has the excuse that we're very busy programming our season. So I can only speak for the Hamilton company, but we are hoping that when we come back, we come back into a world where we're addressing some of these issues and we're having the tough conversations.

...

Yourself and Hamilton are natural kind of bedfellows with the Black Lives Matter movement. But you did take a bit of criticism for not maybe speaking out early enough? Was that just an oversight?

Yeah, absolutely. And I called it a moral failure. And I stand by that, you know. I had been tweeting about Black Lives Matter since 2015. I remember us rehearsing “My Shot” for the first time when we heard the there was an acquittal for the police officers who murdered Eric Garner and how heavy that felt in the room and how we cried in the room. But for some reason, the moral blind spot is not bringing Hamilton and its social channels as a brand in alliance with that earlier. And so, you know, I think we're making up for lost time in that regard. And you're right, there are natural bedfellows. We are a company made up of black and brown actors who reckon with the origins of our country every night on stage.

...

Something that always stays in my head is when you hosted SNL just before the 2016 presidential election and you sang at a picture of Trump in the corridor “Never gonna be president”, which was so funny at the time but is hard to watch now. How do you look back on that?

The night before we'd heard the Access Hollywood tapes. I don't think we've ever heard such vulgarity from a presidential candidate full stop. The fact that that was not career ending, I don't know what that says. But whatever it says ain't good. But, you know, it is unprecedented that a moment like that happened. And still millions of people said, “This is our guy.”

How are you feeling about the upcoming election?

I am feeling… I don't know. I'm feeling uncertain, as everyone else is. I think people are certainly energised. I think there is a lot of… I think a lot of what you're seeing in the streets and in the world is the country really loudly saying, “This guy does not speak for us” and “The integrity of our voting system is more important than ever.” And that's a big concern of mine. But I have no doubts that the majority of this country does not believe that this president speaks for them. It's just a matter of that being reflected in the voting booth or in the mail and voting situation that we will probably find ourselves in. We've seen there's no bottom. There's no bottom to the guy's actions. I feel positive that more people are speaking out. I feel positive seeing that the overwhelming majority of these protests have been powerful and peaceful and, like, with masks and people handing out sanitisers… I've seen the peaceful protests myself in my own neighbourhood. And none of that changes unless we actually dismantle the systems that set them up. You know, it has to be followed – the lip service has to be followed up by meaningful change. I'm encouraged when I see that Minneapolis is looking to reallocate those police funds to the community. I'm encouraged when I see action. It’s very easy to tweet, but much harder to dismantle these inequities.

...

I guess everyone would want to know if you’re working on another stage show. Any ideas in the locker for that?

Yeah, but I can't tell you. I mean, it's weird, because I kind of messed it up because Hamilton had such a public birth, right? Like, I didn't know the Obamas would call and say, “Do you have anything about America and can you perform it at this podium?” But I did. And so that that was the most public writing I've ever done, because I kind of showed everyone the ultrasound in 2009 and then I didn't finish it until 2015. So I can't write that way again, because the scrutiny on me is so much greater now. And, you know, the best idea to kill an impulse is to talk about it. But, yes, I'm writing some new things that I think would work nicely in the theatre and I have some time to do it.

OK, so without asking you to give the game away, can I ask how far you are through the writing process for it?

I'm writing the first three or four songs, which I'll rewrite once I find out what it's really about. You know, because you start thinking you know what it's about and then if you get lucky in a place, it starts to tell you what it's about. And you go, “Oh, shit, I thought I was writing it for this reason, but I'm really writing it for this reason.” So I'm writing the initial impulse songs right now and it'll tell me how much I did.

#lin manuel miranda #GQ #representation #hamilton #politics and advocacy #hamilfilm #unnamed new theatrical project #unnamed disney project #interviews

[stonerbughead]

Maria watches friday night lights (#35)

5x12 baby, helpppp how are we already at the penultimate episode (already, i say, after dragging this first-ever watch out basically as long as humanly possible L O L why am i like this)

my reactions / recap / flailing under the cut

I see that Tyra is literally the preview photo so I’m already like OH SHITTTT

Tami coming home from the airport with potentially life-altering news...and Eric is asleep in front of the TV on the couch, clearly trying to wait up for her, my heart.

AHHH Julie’s home??? A surprise? This is so fucking cute! The ending vibes are definitely here.

Omg Tim are you good, baby? Is he throwing his bed out of the trailer? Damn he clearly has so much trauma from prison.

Damn NBC 8 is pulling up, that’s how you know it’s State. “It’s State, Levi, get used to it.” “No, I’ll NEVER get used to it!” Lmao i love Levi.

WOW look at Luke trying to set up childcare so moms can participate in a hearing about school funding! GO OFF KING

Omg i almost forgot Mindy was pregnant again. Billy’s so excited...oh fuck, TWINS? They’re gonna be so broke forever. Mindy is as horrified as I would be lmao

Oh shit, here we go...Tami’s finally telling Eric about the job offer...and admitting she wants it!!! AHH

“We’d have to move to Philadelphia.” “We live in Texas. Honey, Texas...is where our friends and family are. Texas is where I work, Texas is where I have my job.” Weren’t y’all just thinking about moving to Florida like two episodes ago? I smell a double standard, sir!

Ugh Eric is shutting down. “I can’t talk about this right now.” BISH

“How many times have we moved before for your job?” MMHMM that’s right, Eric! You look shell-shocked but you need to take that in, sit with it!

Tim Riggins behind the bar is hot. Just an observation.

Ugh, the tension between poor Tim and Billy. Tim’s gonna go to Alaska?! WOW did not see that plan coming!

“What the hell are you gonna do, sleep with a bunch of woodchucks?” BILLY WHAT LMAO

“You’re gonna leave Texas?” “YES.” I love the drama in both these back to back conversations about the thought of Leaving Texas.

Broken dryer, Jess, I’ve been there. Like right now, we have a broken dryer in our apartment. Ooh, Vince coming and finding her and being gentle!

Aw poor Jess. “I finally found a coach who was open-minded enough to let me in and not laugh at me. He lets me shadow him and teach me how to be a coach, and now they’re gonna take it all away.” These poor kids.

VINCE: “We won’t let that happen.” MY HEART. I love them.

Wow, Luke’s being sold a low-tier football program, isn’t he? “We just got a Costco, and a brand new movie theater in the town.” yikes.

How is a reporter asking Eric “are you worried he’s taking on too much?” about a teenage boy. Like, how do they know this much about Vince’s life? Texas football culture will forever amaze me, even after watching almost the entire series.

“We haven’t even scratched the surface of what Vince Howard can do.” AWWW my heart! Eric is such a good coach.

Oh wow, the East Dillon Lions vs. Dillon Panthers funding debate!!! Did they send a Booster Club representative here to Buddy’s door to shake him down? “There’s gonna be a lot of changes.” Like what IS THIS?

“Vince Howard is gonna be a Panther.” This is... A Lot. “That chair at the head of the table is waiting on you.”

Oh nooooo Tim getting physical with a customer.

“I’ve been waiting five minutes for my drink.” FAMILIAR VOICE IN THE CORNER??? “Hey there, jailbird.” It’s Tyra, and she has long brown hair! I dig it! I dig this reunion!

Aw, Eric coming home and immediately apologizing to Tami for earlier.

Tami’s being realistic that if the Lions lose, their economic situation is in jeopardy—so a good job offer on the table is something to consider!

“So you’re routing against us?” OMG and there’s a moment when Tami thinks he’s referring to them but then realizes he’s referring to “oh, the team?” jfc “You and I, or us the Lions. Of course.”

“You know what, I’ve been a coach’s wife for 18 years. Every decision we’ve made has been based on your coaching career.” LIFE BEYOND FOOTBALL OH SHIT

Oh God Eric’s getting up with the keys???? Come on, dude! This is not cool! There are so many colleges and high schools in Pennsylvania! I promise they play football there!

Omg did Tyra just tell Tim about the twins since he refused to really talk to Billy?

Aw Tyra wrote to him in prison? That’s sweet.

Awww Mindy’s literally having a breakdown about not having enough space, and not being able to handle three kids. These poor babes. And the football team’s fate hinges on this because of the assistant coach’s salary...fucking crazy

Ooh now Buddy’s trying to hype Eric up on the Panther-Lions Superteam they’re gonna create.

Aw the whole fam at Billy and Mindy’s—Tyra, Becky, even Mama Collette.

“He’s got some stupid idea he’s gonna go to Alaska and work on a pipeline.” Well, when someone comes to prison and tells you they’ll actually let someone who has to check the felony box work a job with decent wages, yeah. God, the prison industrial complex sucks. Feeds the most vulnerable people into the shittiest jobs.

Julie outside of the Saracen home? Awww. Has she seen him since that romantic Chicago good-bye?

Luke, listen to Becky!! “I’d really appreciate if you put down the wrench and listen to me.” YES GURL

“That’s not real. You are! And I just think there’s been a lot of misunderstandings.” “Well, that’s really pretty you should put it in a love poem.” “Are you kidding me? Go to hell!” yeah, correct answer, Becky! These teens are under so much STRESS! The DRAMA!

Omg all these grown men screaming at the town hall meeting about football i cannot

Ewww these classist fucks. “Some of us on this side of town happen to own our houses.” Eat the rich.

Why the fuck is Billy writing a fucking speech while driving? And he’s surprised he swerved? Sir…

Aw poor Eric with pain in his eyes telling Billy he can’t be definitive about his job security...I mean, yeah.

Aw, Luke coming into the bar while Tim is working after...that talk with Becky…

“You and Becky...are you in love with her?” Tim looks so amused. “Are you serious?” “...Yeah. “No, I’m not in love with Becky. I care about her.” THANK YOU BOYS AND GIRLS CAN BE FRIENDS. Is this not what Becky tried to tell you last night? “I’ve been there a few times when nobody else was, but that’s about it.”

Aw Luke is so similar to Tim rn! Not “feeling it” from the school that wants him, even tho he loves football!

“You’re going to state, yeah? Nothing’s gonna beat that.” “Play it that way. Play it like it’s the last time you’re ever gonna lace up.” Some iconic Tim Riggins lines here!

“We were at the meeting last night, but we don’t want to argue or yell, we just want to give you our thoughts.” MY HEART i love Vince and Jess. “Well, that’ll be refreshing.” LOL after all these grown ass men were screaming over each other

“Was it really that bad?” “If you’re asking if I was raped in prison, Tyra, the answer’s no.” LOSING IT at this exchange lmao

“Tim Riggins, what the hell is going on with you?” that’s the question!

Oh shit is Tyra just finding out that Tim took the fall for Billy now...fuck

“He had a wife, a family. I had the chance to give him something, to give Stevie something we never had. To give him his father.” Damn, the look on Tyra’s face. She knows all too well why he did what he did even tho it fucked him up :( THE EMOTION. THE PAIN!

Damn they’re announcing the decision on the Dillon teams *before* state?

“What are you hoping for?” loaded question, Julie! “I hope that the Lions get to stay put, and I hope that I get to be Dean of Admissions at Braemore College.” awww yeah you do deserve it all, Tami.

Oh wow all these people from both teams standing in the street, drinking and talking and waiting for the decision with “i was living in a devil’s town” playing??? THIS SHOW.

I feel for the dude who has to address this town about this decision.

Anddd there it is, they eliminated the East Dillon program. The rich kids cheering for their victory in front of the poor kids mourning the end of the program they fought to make better is so fucking tacky.

And omg now they have to play state?

“Let me tell you something, you’re gonna be the star quarterback of the Dillon panthers next year, and you’re gonna shine.” OH this hug between Eric and Vince! “See you at practice tomorrow.” Again, the reminder that these people gotta play a *state championship*! wild

“We need to talk.” BUDDY WHAT?

Aw Julie and Tyra hanging out and there are Panthers screaming out of cars. “Welcome back to Dillon.” “No place like it.” Oh, this warms my heart.

I love this exchange: “You know, it’s kind of like this drug. When you get outside of it, you see it for what it really is. But when you’re in it, it seems like there’s no other possible reality.” “It’s a hard place to shake.” “Yeah...I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Whatever happened with you and Matty?” SAME, TYRA, SAME. “We’re good. I mean, we still talk every now and then. He went to Chicago. I went to visit him awhile back, and...I don’t really know what we are or aren’t or…” INTRIGUE. “I kind of just really miss him.” “Life’s harder when you really love someone.” Awwww. I loved that scene so much.

Wow, Buddy and Eric are talking at the Panthers field?

Oh, Buddy’s trying to sell him on winning the championship and then going to the Panthers to coach along with Vince….

“I can never come back to this school and coach. Never.” I mean, FAIR.

“Three rings in six years. That’s history. No one’s ever done that. You’ve got everything you want.” Yeah, Buddy, but does Tami get what she wants in that scenario?

Lol i love all the East Dillon Lions drunk on the field, like seasons’ past with teams past…

“Alright I’m taking a piece of grass home.” LOL TINK

To State and to Coach Taylor, huh? Sounds familiar. And Buddy Jr. is puking. Lmao.

“Just make sure you’re really okay with losing him.” YES Tyra! As much as Billy has majorly fucked up, i agree with her that the idea of the Riggins brothers losing each other when they ONLY had each other for so long...it makes my heart sad.

Oh shit are Tim and Tyra about to kiss? I almost forgot they were together back when this whole show started! “Please don’t go.” DAMNNN

Wow what a scene. Eric comes home with his news that he could have “everything” and Tami replies, “I’ll say to you what you haven’t had the grace to say to me: congratulations, Eric.

“I want you to take me someplace.” “Where?” “I’ll tell you when we’re on the way.” This is really cute! Also Tyra is so hot damn gurl i see you!

Aw Vince shooting his shot, yes! “What about you and me?” “I was really proud of how hard you tried. Thank you.”

“You already have two strikes against you.” “Jess, I was born with two strikes against me.” LOL SO TRUE. and aw what a hug!

Tyra took him to his land, didn’t she??? “Alaska, Tim?” He’s SMILING. Is that Texas Forever vibes i’m seeing here?

AH, Matt is home with a Christmas tree to see his grandma!!! She’s so excited!!

Aw she forgot his dad’s dead? “Did you say it was Christmas?” Oh this is so sad.

Why are Buddy and the Panthers coach standing at the Taylors’ front door like fucking cops late at night? This football program is sinister at times.

“Eighteen years.” Yeah, Tami. And then she turns it back on: “Can I get you two anything? Iced tea, water?” and FADE TO BLACK.

Damn!! What an amazing set-up for a series finale I’ve heard only good things about!!! AHHHH

#maria watches friday night lights #mine #friday night lights 5x12

[jaywrites101]

Why You Should be Voting Democrat: The Republicans are Hypocrites Against God.

This is an essay I now have to give to a person living in this house with me. Some context, they pinned a piece of Republican propaganda they received in the mail to the community posterboard with the words “why I vote Republican” written on it. I have interpreted this as an invitation to challenge their beliefs. And my response is in the essay below.

Sincerely, By Everyone in This House

Pro-life vs Pro-Choice

This argument is a messy one to argue, this is something our country is literally divided over this and each argument is so twisted it's hard for either side to understand one another. For this to be the hill you've chosen to fight on I'm going to have to assume two things—1: you believe abortions are murder, and 2: You believe abortions are a common occurrence made by lazy people who want to get rid of the consequences of their bad actions.

Both of these are common arguments made by the Republican party to defund Planned Parenthood. So it may surprise you that not a single person on the Left is trying to disprove your fighting points.

That's because this isn't about abortions at all. It's about women's rights. Abortions only play into this because it was the item that forced the issue before the courts and the public.

In 1973, Roe v. Wade was a landmark decision of the U.S. Supreme Court in which the Court ruled that the Constitution of the United States protects a pregnant woman's liberty to choose to have an abortion without excessive government restriction. This decision effectively guaranteed that a woman had the right to treat her body as her own property, meaning she could choose what she eats, who she has sex with, and, yes, whether or not to carry a pregnancy to term.

The decision ruled that the US Government has no right to decide the moral outcome of a single person's choices. Nor do they have the right to force a person to live in what they currently believe to be an ethical lifestyle.

This is the one and ONLY law in our country that explicitly gives women the same rights to life, responsibility, and authority that a man has. It also the only law that ensures a woman has the ultimate right to refuse to have sex with a man.

Republicans want to overturn Roe v. Wade and defund Planned Parenthood (not end abortions). They often cite the evils of abortions as the reasons why they want to overturn it. However, this is not their real motivation. Planned Parenthood has a multitude of other services for women and men besides abortions. They help people conceive children, provide safe-sex alternatives to reckless teens, provide both erectile stimulants and contraception, and even hormone therapy for trans people transitioning genders. They also provide pregnancy care for women just like any other hospital.

And as we've discussed Roe v. Wade is about a woman's rights to her body.

Republicans are trying to keep women from having equal rights. This much has been stated by Republicans in the 1970s and that mentality continues to today. It's blatant hypocrisy from a group of people who've only read the Bible enough to make real Christians like yourself believe they're doing God's work. And they are not shy about signaling how religious they are. God even has a Bible verse for them specifically:

 “Therefore, when you do a charitable deed, do not sound a trumpet before you as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory from men. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward.” Matthew 6:2. (NKJV)

Government Spending

This one's actually a very easy argument to refute. Republicans are always talking about making tax cuts and spending less money. In truth, all the money they save goes straight into the military budget which increases by BILLIONS of dollars each year. We're currently spending $934 billion a year on our military budget. According to the last Discretionary Spending Audit under Obama, more than half of that goes back into the politicians in both the House and the Senat across both sides of the aisles. That's also why this issue is one many Democrats actively support; the military is giving them a kickback.

The tax cuts you experience is not the government saving an extra twenty cents by cutting out beef from their cafeteria and passing the savings to you. It's the Republican party throwing the US into more debt to artificially give you a tax break so you'll continue to vote for them, and force the Democrats to be the ones to have to put that back to normal so they look like the bad guys.

Long story short, if you want the government to save money, vote Democrat, pay higher taxes and demand a drastic decrease in military spending.

Fun Fact: If we succeed in cutting the military budget by one-hundredth of a percent, the excess funds would pay to empower EVERY SOCIAL SERVICE the democrats suggest (from healthcare all the way to free electricity.) for the next ten years.

Education (Really? This one's so backward you should know better without me explaining.)

Republicans have been so far on the wrong side of this debate I'm surprised I have to tell it to you. For decades they've cut school budget both in the public and private sectors. They happily cut millions of dollars a year from the federal grants that are supposed to help kids afford college, while also artificially inflating the price of school, school supplies, and class prices.

This is not some secret thing you'll have to search hard for. They brag about it on tv every other episode of Fox News. 

The document you gave me lists education but provides no real proposals or examples of problems they hope to change, it is preying on your ignorance in this situation to make themselves look good. (What follows was not any part of the document they left, but are bullet points I thought they should be thinking about when they go to vote.)

Gay Rights

People who are gay, or otherwise not cishet WASPS should have the right to live a life of their own choosing without persecution or judgment from us. Jesus says everyone has that right amongst man. We're supposed to leave all that to God, so leave it for God.

Racism

I direct you to the current protests as proof that Racism is a thing that still exists, and has only gotten more unmanageable as time has moved on. Also, every Black Lives Matter protest since Martin Luther King Jr.

Socialism

Roads, parks, schools, and social security are all social programs funded by the government for the people. We on the Left wish to expand these capacities to healthcare, electricity, internet, higher education, and phone services, while also insisting that the government provide the minimum funding needed for people to live. (This in a time when the cost of living keeps rising higher due to unchecked capitalism.) We demand the government provide for the homeless, and regulate the supply chain of food. (because over 70% of all food in the garbage across this country is thrown away while it's still fresh.)

We have the ability to end starvation, and homelessness in this country. We argue this means we have the responsibility to do so as well.

Gun Reform

Democrats believe no civilian needs access to weapons of war. It's too easy to exploit these weapons and it results in mass killings of innocents. There are far better and more effective ways to defend yourself and your family than buying a bunch of guns and shooting anything that makes a noise in the night.

Police Reform

This is the current agenda. Police have gone unpunished for their crimes against civilians, (especially civilians of color,) and our current system 1: Encourages police to kill first, ask questions never, 2: Forces cops to take on roles they are untrained for, and 3: Gives them too much power without any reliable method of accountability. We demand all three of these things be addressed and changed in a meaningful way.

All of this without even mentioning Trump, the man actively trying to be a dictator.

#politics #trump #vote #fuck trump #against trump #this person is driving me insane with their political views

[hobohumanitarian6]

This is a long post so please be warned!!! I need to get some things off my chest....

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING POSSIBLE⚠️

Feedback to this post is open-ended. You cannot offend me and will not be blocked.

⭐ So here's the thing: one of my late grandmother's friends just posted that her 29 year old son died in his sleep with seemingly no explanation. This really shook me I guess. For one, I used to hang out with this kid during the summers a lot. My specific memories are very vague, but deep in my consciousness I know that I have called him friend in the past. For another, many things lately have been prompting me to ask the difficult questions ie

Why in the fuck am I here?

What's the meaning of it all?

When is my life going to get better?

How do I prepare myself for better things?

Am I blocking me or is something else blocking me?

What am I doing wrong that the universe doesn't think I'm ready for a new chapter?

Am I really with the right person?

What about the afterlife?

Am I going to be silenced or speak out?

What if I can't do some of things I want/dreamed of?

What is going to satisfy me if my future doesn't go as planned?

⭐ I've been doing quite a bit of soul searching through all of this, established the framework of the person I want to be and

BAM! 🧱 💥 🏃🏻‍♀️

Straight into a fucking. Brick. Wall.

⭐ I am in one of the worst continental states in the US (by even statistic) and before all of the shutdown and pandemic began, I had plans to be relocated with my new job, a place to call home & reunited with family by June 1st. Clearly that didn't happen....

⭐ I am spending $900 a month for a 250 ft² motel room just so I am not out on the streets.

Homelessness. Can we talk about that for a second? People getting arrested for being out past curfew because they don't have a place to go, put in jail because they're in the way, not tested or treated for the virus because they generally have no insurance, giving people loads of food stamps so the emergency assistance funding is broke-

600 dollars of groceries is a lot if you have a fridge, freezer, microwave, oven, toaster, etc not if you have to buy your food from overpriced convenience stores and gas stations and fresh food from grocery stores that 70% of the price is for the packaging it comes with!!

Soup kitchens closing because they don't want to risk contamination. Who's feeding those without a hot meal? Do they realize malnourishment is the quickest way to get sick with any pathogen!?

Shelters closed because of overpopulation. Domestic violence homes turning battered women and children away because there's too scarce of resources and funding. Yet people care about big corporations going bankrupt? Please tell me what the difference is between a goddamn human fucking life and a couple lawsuits because you didn't know how to prepare for an ever-changing economy.

Thank the universe i am sheltered with minimal resources to take care of myself and I have a steady job due to an enormous company's "chance on a down-in-the-dumps contractor." This job I have held steadily for a year despite chronic health issues has been the best thing to happen to me by far in a long time. I am definitely not by any means complaining about my job or that I even have life necessities right now. Several million don't have that.

⭐ The problem with this state is there are no resources for a person who's struggling to make an honest living. I lost my apartment two years ago because I had to take a medical leave of absence at my job then, got behind on rent and was evicted without a chance to catch up. The power was cut three nights before I had to leave, and I owe a deposit on the electric company to get any type of service back in my name. The realty company who owns the apartment complex will not allow a payment plan without a fraction of the principle paid down, so therefore I cannot apply for private or realty housing and I have been on the waiting list for federal housing assistance for 3 years without a single word. I also had my bank card stolen with my ID when I was trying to catch a bus to work a few weeks after that so whoever it was made small purchases that my bank applied interest and late charges to so that is also standing in debt. Thank universe my current employer allows direct deposit to a savings account at a bad credit institution or I'd be royally fucked.

⭐ Before I made the hard decision to doll out almost a G a month just for a room, I tried sleeping in my pickup. I even took the effort to pallet it for a platform bed & make benches to live in free campgrounds, cemeteries, truck stops, boonie dead ends, and behind abandoned buildings. I had a 12V converter that I connected to a rice cooker and made a tin can stove to grill small portions of meat on a single-egg mini skillet. I kept getting chased off by rangers, cops, annoying people trying to do crack and not get their lives better, and eventually violently detained for "suspicious activity" - I was thrown on the ground, put in handcuffs, patted down by a male officer with no female present, searched my vehicle without consent & written a citation: this was 2 am, I had a campsite reservation, I was clearly sleeping & my vehicle was current. The officers did not give me their name or numbers so I could not make a report.

⭐ I have chronic health issues - hip dysplasia & hyper mobility (not severe enough to be EDS), anemia, rexhia (NOT PRO ANYTHING), pre diabetes, H.S, BPD, PTSD, endometriosis & chronic migraines. I have filed time and time and time again for medical assistance but have always been denied. Every time I try to see a doctor, they claim I have this-or-that infection caused by this-or-that disorder, sent to an overpriced pharmacy with illness-irritating antibiotics that just keep me in an unending cycle of flares and barely-managable pain. Do not let anyone privileged or wealthy confuse you - you are not treated the same if you don't have coverage. Sorry to say but it is indeed a fact.

⭐ With this job I work 40-50 hours a week, eat as healthy as I can on a dime sized budget, and cover all my expenses. Yet I cannot move forward in this state on to better things. I want so badly to have a family, to go to college, etc but I cannot do this with living month to month someplace that isn't even my own.

⭐ The emotional affect this has had on me is tremendous. I am embarrassed of my situation, and never allow any guests in fear they'd judge me. I never take any photographs, which is heartbreaking because it has been one of my long-time hobbies. I am extremely guarded and I lie about small details to protect myself. I have severe trust issues and I always hold a dagger at my waist because I have to assume any minute you'll pull out a Glock.

⭐ Naturally I am an empath and this has brought me more compassion and understanding than I ever thought possible. The police brutality against people of color and racism in socio-economic programs truly breaks my heart because as a white female and all the struggles and discrimination I've endured, I can only begin to understand it's 1000x harder for people of color especially. I stand behind your protests 100%. I beseech you, go fight for what you deserve! I will be begging higher powers for your protection indefinitely!

⭐ I have gained a new perspective on non-profit organizations and volunteer work. Some are truly amazing and their stories move people to tears; others are truly wicked stealing from the poor, embezzling cash flow for their own vanities. Please please please research the charity you are interested in thoroughly before getting involved. Volunteer work will always be appreciated- and will teach you many invaluable lessons. If you help these organizations and need help yourself: respect yourself, hold yourself high, and ask for the assistance. They will generally be more inclined to help. If you are turned away, try not to be bitter. Administrators only do as they see fit.

⭐ That's another thing - bitterness. This has been the most vile and roughest character default I've ever had to battle with myself. When you've been through the shit and you can't see the sewer (sts) it's so easy to stay in the dumps. It's so easy to feel entitled because you've clawed your way to the top. It's easy to feel angry with everyone because it's you vs the system. It's so fucking easy to give up completely and stop trying and just lay down and die. It's easy to step in front of a two ton bus, oncoming freight train, taking the entire package of extra strength Excedrin not because you have a migraine, but just not to feel a thing, go completely numb for one single second. It's easy to go down to the head shop and get a nickel bag of weed to chill and get a 5$ pizza and forget you have responsibilities.

IT'S SO FUCKING TOUGH MAN

⭐ Growing up strictly religious, I tend to shy away from Christianity or other "preachy religion" now. I hate having Jesus shoved down my throat at a service before a hot meal on a Tuesday night and the "speaker" automatically assuming I need to stop smoking crack and going to jail and get my life back on track and God will bless me when I'm in the 46% who has never been to county and hold a job while trying to get back on my feet.

ADDICTION IS NOT POVERTY GUYS

I still support people who go to church and speak in tongues if that satisfies them. I still support people who are strictly vegetarian and make a pilgrimage to the mecca if that satisfies them. I still support people who have 7 two week long feasts a year for something that happened 4000 years ago if that satisfies them. I still support people who believe in baptisms for the dead and not drinking coffee if that satisfies them. I still support people who call Jesus the Nazarene and believe that Lucifer the Dark Lord will prevail if that satisfies them. I still support people who call down the power of the moon into their plant babies and give thanks to the triple goddess if that satisfies them. I support religion or practices of all kinds.

I believe I was meant to be tolerant and be good to others. That this life will give back what you put in. That there is a higher power that governs all and it is up to you to determine just what that is to you. Not to tell people what is wrong with their lives just based on your personal story.

⭐ During this pandemic, I have done a lot of soul searching. Journaling, listening to podcasts, listening to seminars on values I'd never know existed, trying to discover who I am. This journey has included empathy training, reiki, yoga, somatic movement, feldenkrais methods, and astral meditation. I just have a list of these questions I'd like answered or given suggestions to:

What do you believe is the meaning of life? Is there any philosophers, speakers, teachers, theologians, writers, musicians etc that can help answer this?

What is your definition of religion in it's rawest form?

Do you know of any resources I may not have thought of?

Is there any criticism you can give good or bad?

Am I focused on one thing and neglecting another?

Do you have any further opinions on the topics listed above?

Do you have a suggestion of the next right step?

Do you have ideas on how I can help with the aforementioned problems?

How do I stop feeling like I'm wasting my time?

How do I find contentment in everything should I die tomorrow?

What is your opinion of the afterlife?

How do you find happiness in the midst of bullshit?

What did a friend/relative/mentor tell you when you were going through an existential crisis?

Have you felt trapped too? Due to the covid or otherwise?

Any curse words, songs, books, movies, etc of use?

🌸🌸I sincerely appreciate any feedback 🌸🌸

#quote #long post #personality #asking the important questions #asking for myself #asking the real questions #asking for advice #homelessness #homestuck #restless #depression #high anxiety #ptsd #chronic migraine #endometriosis #bpd #bpd blog #bpd thoughts #bpd things #anemia #rexhia #rexie #not pro anything #poverty #venting #socio economic #spirituality #soul searching #soul deep #existential anxiety

[trylonandperisphere]

Battle over mail-in voting could leave both parties with doubts about results in November | WPMI

WASHINGTON (Sinclair Broadcast Group) — President Donald Trump again accused Democrats of trying to “steal” the November election Monday as Democrats continued to question his willingness to abide by the results, and new polls suggest the public is growing increasingly concerned about the security of the process and the credibility of the outcome as Election Day draws nearer.

“In an illegal late night coup, Nevada’s clubhouse Governor made it impossible for Republicans to win the state,” Trump tweeted Monday morning. “Post Office could never handle the Traffic of Mail-In Votes without preparation. Using Covid to steal the state.”

A bill approved in a special legislative session over the weekend would empower Nevada Gov. Steve Sisolak to direct the secretary of state to send mail-in ballots to all active voters. Seven other states are already planning to do the same, despite objections by the president and some Republicans.

President Trump’s latest complaint about states shifting toward voting by mail due to the spread of the coronavirus came days after he floated the possibility of delaying November’s election entirely. He backed off that suggestion after bipartisan backlash, but he continues to predict it will be “the greatest election disaster in history.”

The pandemic has already presented unprecedented challenges in the primaries, bringing a massive surge in demand for absentee ballots, a shortage of volunteers willing to work at polling sites, and long delays in tabulating results. Voters in Georgia waited in lines for hours to cast votes in person, more than 20,000 ballots submitted by mail were rejected in Wisconsin, and New York election officials have taken over a month to determine who won some races.

“It is irresponsible for political officials to suggest that the United States cannot conduct a valid and legitimate election during a pandemic,” said Elizabeth Bennion, founding director of the American Democracy Project at Indiana University South Bend. “At the same time, it would be irresponsible to assume that it should be business as usual.”

In three months, state election systems will be tested again, with many more ballots and much higher stakes. Election officials are racing to rectify errors, establish safeguards, and prepare for an expected onslaught of early voting and absentee ballots as Americans aim to avoid gathering at crowded polling locations on Election Day, and some say the president’s rhetoric is not helping.

"I think it really shatters peoples' confidence in the process," Washington Secretary of State Kim Wyman, a Republican, said in an interview with NPR Saturday. "We need to make sure we're inspiring confidence in the public that this is a fair election. And the way you do that is balancing access and security."

While some election integrity experts appear confident states will be able to resolve the problems that emerged in the primaries and hold safe and secure elections in November, voters do not share that faith in the process. A Reuters/Ipsos poll released Friday found a majority of Americans are afraid the 2020 election will not be fair.

About half of respondents, including 80% of Republicans, echoed the president’s complaints that increased use of absentee ballots would result in widespread fraud. In addition, about three-quarters of registered voters expressed concerns about voter suppression and “organized voter fraud by political actors.”

Still, 67% of voters said they expected their ballot would be counted accurately if they voted by mail, including six out of 10 Republicans. GOP voters were twice as likely as Democrats to worry ineligible people would cast ballots, but even 40% of Democrats believe voter fraud is a widespread problem.

A Harvard CAPS-Harris Poll released last week showed 70% of voters support having a mail-in ballot option, but 78% are concerned about vote tampering. About 80% of respondents opposed the practice of ballot harvesting, in which partisan groups can collect mail-in ballots door-to-door and submit them in bulk in some states, and 60% worried ballots would erroneously be sent to people who have died or moved away.

“The new normal of questioning legitimacy for the candidates has now been extended to the process of selecting a winner,” said Michael Cohen, CEO of the Cohen Research Group. “This is far worse. It solidifies political polarization and gives reason to those who opt-out of democracy that it’s all rigged, anyway.”

Republicans and Democrats are locked in litigation in 18 states over attempts to expand access to absentee ballots in light of the pandemic. Democrats maintain anyone who wants to vote by mail to protect their health should be allowed to do so, but the Trump campaign and its allies insist blindly sending ballots to all registered voters will result in rampant fraud.

Though election security experts say mail-in ballots are somewhat more susceptible to fraud than voting in person, states have protocols in place to mitigate those risks and there is no evidence any kind of voting fraud is common. That is why many have called for the federal government to provide more money to states for election administration to ensure they have the resources to distribute, collect, and count votes accurately.

House Democrats approved billions of dollars to assist states with vote-by-mail in the HEROES Act in May, but a Senate Republican stimulus proposal released last week included no such funding. Election funding is just one of many contentious issues Democratic leaders and the White House are trying to hammer out a compromise on this week, and there is no guarantee additional money is coming for elections.

At least 16 states have made changes to voting procedures because of the pandemic, and 77% of all voters will now have the option of voting by mail without an excuse beyond fear of the coronavirus, according to a Washington Post analysis. Only eight states will require voters to provide a reason besides the pandemic to obtain absentee ballots, and none of those are likely to be decisive states in the presidential election.

Still, election night will likely look a lot different this year than in past cycles because of the reduction in in-person voting, and experts say the media and political leaders should be preparing the public for days or weeks of uncertainty. Barring an overwhelming victory by Trump or Biden, several key states could be too close to call on Nov. 3, with millions of mailed ballots not yet counted or still in transit from voters.

“It seems likely that people who disagree with the outcome of the election will question the integrity of the process, especially if they are primed and prompted to do so by candidates, campaigns, and opinion leaders,” Bennion said. “This is why it is important for politicians and election administrators on both sides of the aisle to promote voter access and ballot security.”

Leaders and pundits have instead, at times, stoked voters’ fears about this scenario. According to The Washington Post, President Trump has attacked the integrity of voting by mail more than 70 times since March, often with little or no evidence to support his claims, and undermining his party’s efforts to encourage supporters to use absentee ballots in the process.

“I want to have the election. But I also don't want to have to wait for three months and then find out that the ballots are all missing and the election doesn't mean anything,” Trump said at a press briefing last week. “That's what's going to happen. That's common sense, and everyone knows it.”

As Trump wavers on whether he would trust the results, top Democrats have voiced concerns he might rig the election or somehow refuse to leave office if Biden won. House Majority Whip James Clyburn, D-S.C., suggested Sunday the president does not support “fair and unfettered elections.”

“I believe that he plans to install himself in some kind of emergency way to continue to hold on to office. And that is why the American people had better wake up,” Clyburn said on CNN’s “State of the Union.”

Appearing on the same CNN program, former Georgia gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams—who has often alleged the 2018 election she lost was stolen from her due to Republican voter suppression—warned President Trump is “doing his best to undermine our confidence in the process.” She also accused him of trying to weaken the Postal Service at a time when reliable mail service will be integral to ensuring a fair election.

Rep. Maxine Waters, D-Calif., tweeted Monday that Republicans would “lie, cheat and steal to stay in power.” Her comments highlighted reports that new Postmaster General Louis DeJoy’s efforts to slow down mail delivery in the name of cost-cutting could prevent voters from receiving and submitting ballots on time.

“Trump put Postmaster DeJoy in charge of the postal service to dismantle the USPS & sabotage vote by mail. New procedures are causing massive delays,” Waters said.

None of this is going to give partisans in either party much reason to believe their candidate truly lost once all the votes are counted. Cohen predicted a disputed election is “a near-certainty” at this point, and he cautioned that chipping away at the foundations of democracy, even if lawmakers see valid cause for concern, could weaken the nation in the long run.

“Leaders should be dialing down the rhetoric for members of their political tribes so there is confidence in the process, and so, if they win, they can be viewed as legitimate,” Cohen said. “Putin and Xi are rooting for Trump and Biden to fail on this.”

Foreign interference is another potential complication. William Evanina, director of the National Counterintelligence and Security Center, warned in a statement last week that foreign adversaries are “seeking to compromise the private communications of U.S. political campaigns, candidates and other political targets,” as well as attacking state and federal election infrastructure.

Evanina also accused China, Russia, and Iran of using social and traditional media to spread disinformation and undermine confidence in elections.

“As Americans, we are all in this together; our elections should be our own,” he said. “Foreign efforts to influence or interfere with our elections are a direct threat to the fabric of our democracy. Neutralizing these threats requires not just a whole-of-government approach, but a whole-of-nation effort.”

These are not new problems. President Trump has governed for three-and-a-half years under a cloud of liberal suspicion over Russia’s role in the 2016 election, and some Democrats still openly claim his election was illegitimate. Trump was among those suggesting the same about his predecessor based on false allegations that President Barack Obama was born in Kenya.

Many Democrats still harbor resentment and doubt over the outcome of the 2000 election, in which the Republican majority on the Supreme Court halted a recount of votes in Florida, allowing President George W. Bush to declare victory. President Bill Clinton faced legitimacy questions, as well, after winning the 1992 election with only 43% of the popular vote.

If the 2020 election is close, experts foresee lawsuits, protests, and massive media campaigns waged by both parties intended to convince the American people they won before all the votes are counted and the results are certified. If the litigation reaches the Supreme Court and two Trump-appointed justices—including one who secured his seat only because Republicans refused to consider President Obama’s nominee in 2016—cast deciding votes that afford him another term, the outrage from the left would be deafening.

No matter who wins in November, though, the president who is inaugurated next January will likely find much of the country harboring deep doubts about his legitimacy, and that could make enacting his policy agenda and leading the nation far more difficult.

“Neither president will have a honeymoon, meaning it will be extremely challenging to get big legislative wins in that crucial first year,” Cohen said.

However, the fact that the United States has gone through several disputed and divisive elections in the past provides Bennion with hope that American democracy can weather whatever happens this November without suffering deep institutional damage.

“We have survived terrible crises and periods of great division before, and we will survive it again,” she said. “Public officials can lead the way by showing a shared commitment to free and fair elections.”

#u.s. elections #elections #mail in voting #u.s. politics #u.s. government #u.s. culture #vote

[black-out-wonder]

Never Judge A Book: A Sanders Sides High School AU // Chapter 1

So yeah, I did it. I have so many ideas for this, and if anyone has any suggestions, I am more than happy to hear them! I like hearing opinions and ideas tbh. I kinda want this to be different from other stuff I’ve done, so I’d be ecstatic if anyone wants to shoot some ideas my way. If anyone wants to be tagged, just let me know!

Pairings: Eventual Prinxiety, Intrulogical

Warnings: Cussing, bullying, punching

You are here // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5

                                -------------------------------------------------

Roman thought he knew what to expect when he walked into the theatre for class. He was a junior in the theatre program and he thought he had seen it all. Once when they were doing Shrek the Musical, he had walked into the theatre to be greeted with the kid playing Donkey chasing the guy playing Lord Farquaad. Both of them in costume, and in character. Another time, when they were doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream, he walked in to find one student on the balcony with the donkey head on and the other on the stage, reciting the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet in internet terminology. Today was a different kind of chaos. True chaos.

There were papers all over the place, all of the students on their phones, each one looking like they regretted every decision up until that point. He grew confused. He knew he was a few minutes late, but he didn’t think he would miss that much. “Roman!” the teacher, he insisted that they call him Terrence, called out to him.

“Hey Teach, what’s going on?” Roman questioned.

Terrence sighed, “At the meeting yesterday, I was informed that the school was cutting funding for the theatre program.”

“What the heck?!” He exclaimed, not understanding why.

The program wasn’t the most popular amongst the students in terms of joining, but people in town loved to watch the performances. “They said that there wasn’t enough student interest and that the money needed to go towards programs that students are interested in. So we’re doing a phone-a-thon.”

“What can I do to help?” Was the first thing that left his mouth.

Roman wasn’t the most popular guy around and this program was the only place he felt like he belonged. He couldn’t let this go. It was his passion. Terrence grinned, “I knew you would ask that.” He grabbed a stack of papers, holding it out for him to grab. “We need student interest. I want you to hang up these flyers all over the school.” 

Okay, he could do that. He took the stack, saluting as he grabbed a roll of tape and exited the theatre. He quickly glanced down at the flyers, seeing that they were an announcement for The Little Mermaid auditions. He nearly squealed at it, excited that they were finally doing a Disney show! Terrence must be desperate, he thought to himself, knowing that despite enjoying Disney himself, his theatre teacher liked to stay away from their stage shows, trying out other productions. 

He began hanging up the flyers, placing them anywhere they would be seen. They were colorful and flashy, so they should gain some attention that way. He was putting one up just outside of the cafeteria when he felt sharp jabs to his sides, causing him to drop the flyers in shock. He scrambled, trying to catch them before they went everywhere, but failed miserably. “What do you think you’re doing peasant?” A familiar voice mocked.

Roman let out a sigh as he realized who it was. When he went to turn around, he was grabbed and shoved against the wall. He came face to face with Justin Herald with Nathan Lott grinning maliciously behind him. “When I talk to you, you reply, remember?” Justin snapped. 

“What on Earth do you want, Justin?” Roman rolled his eyes.

Despite the other boy being shorter than him, he was very intimidating. He couldn’t afford to show that he thought so, though he was pretty jittery around these guys. Suddenly, though he was expecting it, the wind was knocked out of him as Justin punched him in the stomach. It made him slightly angry. Why did he take this? But then he remembered that he was a theatre student, not an athlete. These guys were athletes and there was no way he would be able to overpower them. “Next time you want to give me attitude,” Justin growled. “It’ll be your face that I hit, got it?”

Roman nodded quickly, causing Justin to release him. He and Nathan kicked the papers that had sprawled across the floor, making an even bigger mess. He didn’t move until the pair were out of sight. Once they were gone, he got to work, trying to pick up the papers as quickly as possible. He held back tears as he did so, refusing to cry over a could of mindless bullies. He hated that he couldn’t defend himself. Maybe that’s why he became a target. He was so weak.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he saw someone lean down and pick up one of the flyers, “Theatre, huh?”

He glanced up and nearly gaped at who he saw. Why was Virgil Clark standing here, wasting his time with something clearly below him? “I was in a couple plays in elementary school,” Virgil mused as he eyed the paper. “I mean, I was just ensemble, but it was pretty fun.”

Roman could completely understand why Virgil was popular. He was athletic, but he wasn’t an asshole. He was a cross country and track and field star, the first sophomore at their school to get in the top three at the state competition in both sports. And besides that, he was very attractive. His freshly dyed violet hair hung over his forehead, almost completely covering his upturned olive-colored eyes. He had a slight tan from being out in the sun with a few freckles scattered across his face. He stood tall, yet relaxed, his long limbs covered with black, ripped skinny jeans, a violet tee shirt with the school’s sports jersey over it and headphones hung around his neck. Virgil’s eyes flickered from the paper to meet his clear blue irises. Roman held in the urge to blush. He couldn’t let the athletic boy know he found him attractive. Virgil was known to flirt with anyone and play with people’s feelings. “You alright?” Virgil questioned, tilting his head to the side. “You look a bit pale.”

Snapping out of it, he nodded, “Why yes, I am perfectly fine.”

He went back to pick up the papers, refusing to acknowledge the fact that Virgil was still staring at him. “You’re Roman, right? Roman Prince?” 

He knew who he was? How the hell did he know his name? He looked back up to see that he was still staring intensely, but he now kneeled in front of him. No matter how creepy it sounded, Virgil was so close that he could see the brown rings around his pupils. It took every ounce of self-control to not seem affected.  “Yes, why do you ask?”

A smirk appeared on his face as he folded up the flyer, sticking it in his pocket, “Well Princey, I’ll see you around.”

Roman looked back down as Virgil rose up, only watching his Converse as he walked away. As soon as he couldn’t hear footsteps, he allowed himself to blush. He covered his face with his hands. Oh god, he was such a disaster. It was those eyes that nearly did him in. Finally, he shook his head, grabbing the remaining flyers before running off to hang the rest of them up.

Remus was going to have a field day once he told him what had happened.

                               -------------------------------------------------

Taglist:

@bookwyrminspiration @fandoms-winkitywonk

(Thought y’all would want to be tagged <3)

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #virgil #roman #logan #patton #deceit #tw deceit #remus #prinxiety #intrulogical #sanders sides high school au #high school au #tw cussing #tw bullying #tw punching #shay writes

[mayansmcx]

Hell Hath No Fury

Hi all! I’ve literally never done creative writing but I’ve been so fixated on finding Mayans fan fic. As an obsessive fan and reader, I’ve read pretty much all of them. So that led me to trying to write my own to try and fill some of the need for more! Deciding whether or not to make this an Angel/Nestor love triangle thing or not. I like messy relationships. Let me know that you think!

————————————————

Working in the Mayors office wasn’t my lifelong aspiration but after working for a Congressman who embodied all that was bad in politics, I couldn’t get away fast enough. That’s what led me here, to Santo Padre. I always knew I wanted to work in politics, but leaving so abruptly from the office in DC, and under the circumstances, it was difficult to find a job in any level of the field where my old boss wouldn’t immediately try and sabotage. Luckily, Santo Padre doesn’t even qualify as a dot on a map and so my former boss had no damn idea I was applying here or the connection I had to get into this office.

Mayor Antonia Pena needed a new Chief of Staff after hers went ghost and never showed up for work again - they still don’t know why he bailed or why he never came to get the stuff from his desk, but apparently his last few months there he started to spiral: drinking all the time, jumpy, bursts of anger... the works. No one was entirely surprised he left, by what I’ve been told.

Its a pretty mundane gig. The town is, for the most part, quiet. The outlaw biker gang, the Mayans, have some weird unspoken arrangement with the cops where they help keep the town as safe as they can on their respective sides of the law.

We never see much of the outlaws, which is why it is weird as shit that the head of the motorcycle gang just walked into our office and requested an urgent meeting with the mayor. Usually I try and field these requests and take the meeting for her, but in this case she wants to meet directly.

“Come on back, the mayor is ready for you Mr.....” I trail off, as I realize I never actually caught his name.

“Just call me Bishop. And this is Taza.” He says, gesturing to the man next to him.

“Nice to meet you Bishop and Taza. My name is Lennon. I’ll be staffing the meeting.” I reply politely.

“Lennon, we were kind of hoping for a private meeting with the Mayor, no offense.” Bishop says, running his hand through his hair, seeming a little tense.

“As the Mayors Chief, it’s my job to staff her. If it makes you feel better, whatever you say in there, I’m going to find out anyway. I’m the cogs that make everything run for this office. I take on the grunt work so she can focus on the big picture. It’s usually easier for me to hear things directly than getting the recap later.” I explain, hoping they understand what it is that I do.

“Ah, so you’re the one who makes shit happen” Taza lets off a quick chuckle.

“More or less.” I give a light laugh, “she makes the decisions, I coordinate it to make it reality. Makes her life easier, and gives me a job.”

I open the door the Mayor’s office and invite them in. Mayor Pena is reviewing paperwork for the newest city council proposal for repairing the sidewalks by the school.

“Hey boss, our drop in is here” I alert her.

She sees our visitors and promptly puts the papers back into their folder before standing up to greet them.

“Bishop it’s so nice to see you again. Or at least I believe it is for now, it depends on what you’re about to discuss” Antonia states, trying to sound relaxed, but the rigidness in her body language is hard to ignore.

Bishop smirks, “Well, you know us, always trying to stay out of your hair. That’s why we feel bad about coming to you. We need a favor.”

Antonia relaxes a little, which I find odd (all things considered). “Well, tell me what I can do for you” she replied confidently.

“One of our guys is locked up in Indio right now. Nothing bad, just a little drunk and disorderly charge after a bar fight. Given the fact that he’s wearing his kutte, they seem to be going a little harder on him.” Bishop explains.

“Ah yes, those damn biker stereotypes foil a nice evening once again!” Antonia says as she plet off a genuine laugh which Taza and Bishop joined in on as well. “We’ll see what we can do. Lennon, I’m going to need you to work this today.” Antonia said as her eyes met mine.

“You got it, boss.” I nodded quickly. “Now gentleman, why don’t we go grab some coffee and you can tell me what it is that we’re working with.” They both stood up and followed me out of the building and across the street to Tino’s Café.

We place get our orders and grab a seat in the back corner.

“Alright Mr. Leader of a motorcycle gang, what’s the situation” I say playfully. Humor and playful banter is my go-to for alleviating any tension. People tend to ease up with a fun-loving approach.

“It’s not a gang, it’s a club. And my official title is president”, Bishop says as firmly as he points to the patch on his chest before he lets off a quick laugh. “Anyways, like I told the Mayor, one of our guys is in lock up in Indio. He drank a little too much and some hedge fund lookin’ kid got mouthy. Shit escalated, a fight broke out. Hedge fund kid cried about the big bad biker and got off, said he wanted to press charges, and then our guy was hauled away.” He states matter-of-factly.

“Ok, that’s not too bad.” I say as I mull over the facts. “What’s his name?” I ask.

“Reyes. Angel Reyes.” Taza, who I now see has a Vice-President patch, answers. “Two of our guys, Coco and EZ were with him. They made it back this morning.”

“Alright, give me a second and I’ll make a call to up there and see what magic I can work” I tell them as I get up and walk outside, not waiting for them to okay my decision.

I google the number to their police department and dial. It rings three times before someone answers.

“Indio Police Department, this is Officer McMann” a monotone voice comes on the line.

“Hi, my name is Lennon Parker and I’m the Chief of Staff for Mayor Antonia Pena here in Santo Padre. I hear you have one of our constituents. Who do I need to speak to about the charges and possible release.” I say in my ‘official and authoritative’ voice.

“No one. He’s staying here. He’s not getting bail given the fact that he’s a member of a known criminal group.” He finishes his statement and immediately hangs up the phone.

I walk back into the coffee shop not bothering to hide my annoyance.

“That idiot hung up on me. Looks like I’m talking a trip to Indio. Can’t hang up on me to my face.” I snap as I grab my purse.

Both men raise their eyebrows and look at each other.

“I like your attitude, kid” Taza tells me. “We’ll send some of our guys with you.”

“It’s fine, I should be okay getting there and back.” I express, a little confused as to why they’d want someone to accompany me.

“Nah, he’s one of ours. And after last night, if Coco and EZ aren’t there to talk shit when he gets out, they’re gonna feel real sad” Taza laughs.

“Can’t deny you guys these simple joys in life. Have them meet me at the office in 20 minutes and we’ll go from there.” I concede.

I stroll back to the Mayor’s office and let Antonia know what’s going on.

“Be smart, Len.” She tells me, “I know how your mouth can get you in trouble.” She tries to laugh it off, but deep down we both know she’s serious.

I’ve only been working for her for six months, but we met each other about a decade ago when I was in a fellowship program and she was working for the City Planner. She was a good bit older than me, but somehow our friendship still clicked. She took on the roll as friend, and surrogate big sister. It’s why I didn’t want the Chief job the first time around. Mixing professional with personal can get messy.

“Oh c’mon Toni, there’s no fun in this if I can’t ruffle some feathers.” I winked at her as I walk out of her office at sound of motorcycles fast approaching.

I walk out to the parking lot and see two men hop off their bikes. One is shorter and lean with long hair and eyes that scream “don’t fuck with me”. His black and white plaid jacket was under his kutte. The other is tall, well built with short hair and a cut off shirt that drew attention to his muscular arms. His kutte wasn’t like the rest, it was less adorned and had a simple “PROSPECT” patch.

Without any pause, I introduce myself. “Hi I’m Lennon, you must be EZ and Coco. Now who is who?”

“Im EZ” the tall one raises his hand. I reach out to shake his hand, which he meets.

“So that makes you Coco.” I say as I move my hand to shake his. He looks at my hand for a second before giving it a quick shake as he nods.

“I assume you all don’t want to ride in my car, so if you want, follow me or meet me there. Whatever you want.” I tell them as I turn around and walk to my car.

“Alright, catch you there” one of them says, I don’t look back to see which one.

I turn the music up in my Audi A4 and start my drive. Getting lost in my thoughts as I strategize every possible path to getting this stranger out of jail.

Almost two hours later, I arrive at the jail. The two bikers are already sitting in the parking lot smoking their cigarettes.

“Took you long enough.” Coco says, not even bothering to make eye contact.

“Well you know, if I try and split lanes like you guys get to, it becomes a car accident.” I retort with no hesitation or care about his coldness. “Let’s go do this thing. Let me do the talking, they’re already holding the whole ‘biker’ thing against him.”

EZ opens his mouth to say something, before realizing there is no logical point he can make to find flaw in what I have just said.

I turn around, and walk up the steps. Throwing my shoulders back, I open the door and walk to the front desk. Quickly checking the name tag of the officer at the desk, I note it’s the same ass I spoke to on the phone. My annoyance from earlier reemerges.

“Hi Officer McMann. My name is Lennon, we spoke earlier. I need you to go get your superior.” I smile sweetly, but my tone reads more menacingly.

“No, he’s busy. If it’s about that biker, I already told you, he’s staying put.” He tells me, completely unphased.

“Oh no, officer. You seem to be mistaken. I did not request to speak to your superior. It was an order.” I say, losing all pretense of fake politeness.

I immediately see someone come out of the office in the back.

“Officer McMann, what seems to be the problem?” The older officer asks.

“This woman would like to speak with you, Chief, regarding the release of biker from their po-dunk down. She works for the Mayor” McMann tells his boss.

“Well it seems like you’ve wasted your time coming down here if you’re trying to get him out” the Chief tells me, the air of superiority he has immediately gets under my skin.

“Well, Chief… Ryan, is it? Chief Ryan, you seem to think this is an exercise in futility because our city is, what did this inept officer say? Po-dunk? I didn’t come down here to try and get Mr. Reyes released, I came here to do it.” My sickly sweet smile now dissipates. “You see, you might think I’m a nobody from a nothing-to-do town, but before I worked for our Mayor, I worked in DC, for a Congressman. You know what’s nice about being a Chief of Staff for a Congressman? All of the connections I made.” The Chiefs face falters and fear starts to creep into his eyes as he realizes he doesn’t have the upper hand in this discussion anymore. “In fact, I have your Senator and Assemblymember here in my contacts. I’m sure you know what they do, right? They help secure your funding. Senator Monroe and Assemblywoman Ruiz are quite fond of me after a bill our offices all worked together, I’m sure they’d love to hear about your prejudicial treatment of one of the Mayor’s constituents. So now, before I have to escalate this - which based on the look of your face is something you don’t want – go release Mr. Reyes and see to it that no charges are filed.” I finish, the confidence and ferocity of my voice is lost on no one.

“But… you see, we’ve already started the paperwork for the case…” the Chief states, clearly rattled.

The falsely sweet smile returns to my face, “I’m sorry, did I stutter?” The smile drops again, “I said release him. Any paperwork you’ve filed sounds like a personal problem. One that you can fix once you release Mr. Reyes.”

Chief Ryan is quiet for a few seconds. “McMann, go get Mr. Reyes and apologize for our mistake” he tells the young officer

“Good call” I tell him as he sulks back to his office.

“Damn girl” Cocos voice calls from behind me, the previous coldness in his tone was gone “that was some good shit. Old boy looked like he saw fuckin’ Jesus for a second.”

“I don’t like being talked down to. Especially not by some old white dude with an ego.” I shrugged.

“You didn’t knock him down a peg, you kicked his ass down the stairs” Coco is replied.

“Look here he comes Angel” EZ says as we look up and see an extremely tall, well built man with a beard getting uncuffed at the end of the hall.

He walks out rubbing his wrists which bear indentations from the handcuffs and are lightly red.

Before they can start to talk shit to him, I jump in.

“Hi Angel. I’m Lennon. The Mayor sent me here as a favor to your president. I wanted to introduce myself before these two start giving you shit” I say as I shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you. And thanks” he says casually.

I walk out of precinct, the three men close behind me.

“Nice job there, genius. You can’t go around punching rich blonde pretty boys and not catch shit.” I hear Coco tell him.

I tune out the rest of their friendly bashing as we get to where we parked.

“So, we have two bikes and a car. Is Angel going to be riding bitch or will his gargantuan ass need to ride with me?” I say, clearly comfortable with the situation at hand which catches them off guard.

“Uh, yeah. That’s good. Still a little hungover from last night so I appreciate it.” Angel tells me as looks back at his friends.

“Alright then Sasquatch, get in.” I jokingly command. “But don’t expect too much quiet.”

“Whatever you say, lady.” He shrugs.

“I’ll see you guys wherever I drop off Floyd Mayweather here.” I tell the two men on their bikes.

“Mayweather? I can read.” Angel tells me, obviously a little taken back by my personality.

“For some reason, I doubt that.” I tell him deadpan before smirking.

I laugh as I slide behind the wheel of my car, “Let’s go Angel. You have two hours with me. Let’s see how much you can handle.”

“Damn little girl. If i would have known they were gonna send a comedian, I might have stayed in jail.” Angel says as he keeps the banter going.

“I like her!” EZ yells to the other guys before he starts up his bike.

“Fuckin’ great” he rolls his eyes, the sarcasm in his voice immediately followed by him shaking his head with a smile. “Lets go!” he chirps as he slides into the passenger seat.

This will be fun.

#mayans #mayans fic #mayans fan fic #mayans fx #ez reyes #angel reyes #coco cruz #nestor oceteva #miguel galindo #soa #sons of anarchy