[Open to an empty desk with a pair of folded hands on them. The nails are painted a deep maroon. A yearbook is thrown onto the desk, the cover says LAUDLEY HIGH. Pan out to a teacher walking between the rows of desks passing out yearbooks. The girl who was just given the yearbook is BLAIR.]
BLAIR (Narrator): The yearbook is handed out within the last twenty minutes of school every single year. It’s not even because the majority of the yearbook staff sit around playing solitaire instead of actually making the yearbook, it’s some weird taboo the school has. They completely overestimate teenagers, like if they give us more than twenty minutes to sign yearbooks we’ll fill them with obscene and illegal things and then smoke the pages. Like there isn’t way worse things going on and people totally don’t have the real stuff.
MS. FLANNIGAN: (in a bored tone) Alright, class, you know the drill. Twenty minutes and we’re out of here. [The students instantly pull out pens and sprint around the room trying to sign each other’s yearbooks. Only BLAIR remains seated and drags out her movements, slowly taking out a pen and scribbling her name: BLAIR FINLEY, into the front cover of the inside of the yearbook before rising and walking to the door to get her yearbook signed by those in other classes, apparently.]
[As soon as the door shuts music begins, and the opening credits roll as a montage of BLAIR walking through the halls talking to people and getting her yearbook signed plays. There are flashes of the yearbook slowly filling up with signatures, including those of characters that will appear later. The montage ends abruptly with the final bell ringing.]
[BLAIR walks slowly through the halls with an army green knapsack slung over her shoulder. Other students are running havoc in the hallways, and a girl in an incredibly short skirt does a cartwheel in front of BLAIR, who grimaces. She gets hit in the face with a paper airplane thrown by a group of nerdy boys sitting on a wooden bench, who sneer as if they had meant to do it. They all begin to nudge a particularly nerdy guy, XAVIER, who stands up and approaches BLAIR]
BLAIR (Narrator): This may be the only time I will ever be happy to be talking to a guy like Xavier Jefferson, who for some reason sees throwing a paper airplane in a girl’s face as a pickup technique.
XAVIER: Hi, Blair.
BLAIR: It’s a band. Jefferson Airplane? Come on. [He continues to stare blankly at her.] Okay, maybe not… [There lapses another long silence and BLAIR plays with her backpack strap before continuing to walk again. XAVIER continues with her.]
BLAIR: Anyway, what I was saying was nice paper airplane.
XAVIER: Oh, yeah, thanks. Sorry you kinda got hit in the face. [He manages to look slightly ashamed.] We were practicing our marksmanship.
BLAIR: (She twists a finger round a piece of hair and mutters) Glad I could help with target practice, I do have a small face. I bet you used your poster of Jessica Simpson at home to practice for this “practice”. (She looks pointedly at him, obviously joking, but he doesn’t catch this.)
XAVIER: (Quickly, as if correcting her.) Paris Hilton.
[BLAIR looks shocked and taken aback.]
BLAIR (Narrator): Come on? Who has a Paris Hilton poster on his wall? I thought Xavier would at least have some class in wall girls, but apparently not. I figured some style, sophistication, at least. I bet he has the sex tape, too. Eww, I just got a really gross visual in my head of Xavier watching porn. I think I just threw up in my mouth.
BLAIR: Well, ummm, I gotta go. Later, Maverick!
XAVIER: (seeming unsure of how to respond to the allusion) Um, bye?
[BLAIR continues to walk through the halls until a girl, LIV, comes up and gives her a hug.]
BLAIR (Narrator): And that would be my best friend Liv. Her actual name is Olivia Lager. Yes, Lager as in the alcohol. All throughout middle school we all called her Long Liv Lager and she got super mad when she found out I was the one who thought of it. Come on, someone was bound to eventually.
LIV: [Linking her arm through BLAIR’S and skipping down the halls] It’s summer! How freaking sweet is that?
BLAIR: (rolling her eyes): Sweet as Sour Patch Kids, Liv.
LIV: Those things are actually like loaded with sugar. Have you actually read the Nutrition Facts? It’s so gross; those little panels of death tell you so much. [BLAIR looks down at her maroon fingernails and picks at them, bored.]
BLAIR: I have 80’s power ballads stuck in my head.
LIV: Seriously, why? [They stop and LIV spins a combination into a locker. BLAIR leans on the locker next to LIV’S as LIV begins emptying out the locker of books, notebooks, massive amounts of makeup, a hairbrush, a wall mirror, etc.]
BLAIR: I was talking to Xavier and he was being super creepy, but anyway, I made some joke about Jefferson Airplane and now my brain sprouted massive hair and I have the weirdest urge to play air guitar.
BLAIR: (Starting as if the glasses had reminded her.) Holy Buddha I forgot to tell you!
LIV: (still picking at the residue from the glue on the locker) Eww, what is this crap… (then absentmindedly) Huh?
BLAIR: Xavier said he had a picture of Paris Hilton on his wall! Paris Hilton! How disgusting is that? He’s a total porn sell-out. It’s like the chicks that run around crucifying Zac Efron or what’s-his-hair. [Just then LIV pulls a picture of Zac Efron out of her locker and kisses it. BLAIR groans.]
LIV: Do you think the school will totally piss their pants if I leave this weird glue on here?
BLAIR: Probably. [LIV groans as if she’s in trouble and leans her head on the inside of the locker.]
BLAIR (Narrator): Liv acts totally surprised every single year when that crap gets stuck to the inside of her locker. Like it totally hasn’t happened to every other locker she’s had since she hit puberty and starting lusting after men who just have to be in her locker.
BLAIR: So, any plans for summer?
LIV: [Shuts locker with a sigh and they continue to walk] Nah, just to beat my score on solitaire. That thing is so smart.
BLAIR (Narrator): For the record, Liv is on the yearbook team. I have been to those meetings of theirs, and all they do is sit there trying to beat solitaire. It’s a major shocker the thing even gets done, even within the last twenty minutes of school.
BLAIR: It is a computer, Liv. [The girls now exit the school and walk towards a massive brown van with CAMP CHIPAHAWNA on it. LIV laughs and BLAIR throws her a look.]
LIV: Ha, I can’t believe they made you bring the van.
BLAIR: Advertising, apparently.
BLAIR (Narrator): Yeah, my parents pretty much own one of those clichsummer camps with the Native American-sounding name, cabins, canoes, and the same group of kids every year. There’s a long story behind it, but pretty much they couldn’t have kids, they adopted me, and they wanted more, so now they run this camp. It’s pretty gay, but Liv and I get to do whatever we want. The only totally lame part is as soon as I could drive they made me drive the van around to advertise. Like people carry pads of paper in their car and write down the numbers of speeding vans filled with weird kids. If I actually saw the van at that moment I'd think it were a cult.
LIV: (eyeing the guys up) Yum. I wouldn’t mind that kind of sugar!
BLAIR: Of course while we’re in this freaking van.
LIV: You do realize you’re still wearing those hideous sunglasses?
BLAIR: Please, Dick Cheney, shoot me now. [Pounds head on steering wheel]
BLAIR (Narrator): I wonder if my parents know that they’re condemning me to social autism by making me drive this hunk of rusted metal. I bet they do. I bet they want me to remain unmarried and help them with the camp! I have uncovered their plan! It’s conspiracy! It’s…
BLAIR: You up for some Freddie Mercury?
LIV: (Wrinkling her nose) Wasn’t he like uber weird or something?
BLAIR: Well so are we! [Turns on the radio and begins to dance, causing the guys in the car to stare. She still has the sunglasses on. She just laughs.]
© Copyright 2016 vintagewritergirl. All rights reserved.
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