#de la minkus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ambitionsource · 7 months

Text

AMBITION “Living Memory” [ 4.11 ]♮PART 1, half 1

RECAP

Over the shot of Isa and Farkle finally, finally having their first kiss:

Josh, voiceover: Previously, on AMBITION…

Last episode alone was a rush of major, life-changing moments -- violations of autonomy (with Justin’s forceful moves on Maya); hail Mary auditions (Vanessa), and the dawn of profound realizations (cue Zay staring at Charlie and suddenly no longer able to run from the truth that he has been, and remains, so irrevocably in love with him). Relationships erupting into excited, bright new starts -- if you’re Isa & Farkle -- while others crumble into resigned, quiet surrender.

Vanessa: Who does it help to pretend like that isn’t how things are? Who are we protecting? The only people we’re going to hurt are ourselves -- and it’s not fair, Zay. To me, or to you. [ with a shaky breath ] So what are we doing?

For every unspoken epiphany, however, there was an equally volcanic confession. Nigel informed his family of his desire to leave NYU and potentially transfer overseas to a less-than-enthusiastic reception…

Nigel: Hell, when I talked about Zay going out for all these touring auditions and stuff, you said it was cool. You said you hoped it worked out for him. Why is it great when he does it, but when I want to try for something more it’s -- Liezel, frazzled: You are not Zay Babineaux!

And Charlie managed to defy even that, finally revealing his true identity to his mother with predictable, yet still tragic, results.

Charlie, desperate: Mom, this isn’t -- I’m still me! I’m still your son -- Eleanor: Don’t say that to me! Stop lying!

In spite of all that, there was some levity… of a sort, as Yindra took an unconventional and truly wild boat ride for the weekend in the aim of making it into the coveted, elite girl group being developed by Jupiter Records. Although she gave it her all, it’s a wonder what might happen next, considering the experience itself -- full of panic attacks, smashed bottles, and catty gossip -- left little insight as to what might happen next. Hollywood might just prove to be more unpredictable than Adams Academy.

Kimmy: Stop, y’all. We’re women supporting women…

Somehow, all of this chaos -- new career moves, new betrayals, and the hard launch of romances new and long-thought-passed -- happened amidst the true universal centerpiece of life and death. For every start, there is an end, and Kenneth Friar finally met his after a long, tiring, and emotionally complex wait. How Lucas and Grace move forward in the aftermath, carrying all that mixed grief, remains to be seen.

Charlie: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

It’s the circle of life, and as our curtain rises on another episode, it begins again. Every action has an equal opposite reaction; every closed door invites another one to open. What gentle ends and potential new starts await us next -- and what ones came before that brought us to this moment of time in the first place?

If AMBITION has shown us anything so far, it’s that there’s certainly a story beneath every stone just waiting to be turned and told… so as autumn leaves fall in our world and new ones grow in theirs…

Yeah I’ll be singing Hallelujah, whether you like it or not!

End of recap.

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

Sunlight filters in through the curtains, casting the room in a warm glow. It’s still early, so FARKLE MINKUS and ISA DE LA CRUZ have yet to get out of bed.

Even when Isa starts to stir, they’re not in any rush to get moving. They let their eyes flutter open and roll onto their back, looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling. For a long moment, confusion reigns -- where are they again? What are they wearing? How did they end up here?

Then they turn their head to look at Farkle, and it all comes back in an instant.

The letter in a well-worn shared novel. The confessions; the unexpected and new forms of expression. The stuff they did with him -- with their best friend -- that they never believed could happen in real life.

But it did. Somehow, they ended up in bed with Farkle, and based on the fond expression on their face, they wouldn’t change that fact for anything.

He’s still sleeping peacefully, and Isa has no intention of waking him. They’re still drowsy themselves, and have half a mind to just drift back to sleep. They figure they’ll quick check their phone, see the time, and then disappear back into the blissful calm for a little while longer.

The peace doesn’t last.

Upon looking at their phone, Isa discovers they have missed texts. Quite a few, in fact -- one from Dylan, two from Riley. Several from Eric. As soon as they open them and read the messages, they’re wide awake.

Isa: Holy shit.

They sit upright, immediately dialing a number. When someone picks up on the other end, they forget to stay quiet, speaking at full volume and startling Farkle awake next to them.

Isa: Riley? I just saw your texts -- what the fuck is --

Whatever she says on the other end of the line, it leaves Isa gobsmacked. Not that the news is surprising -- they all knew it was coming -- yet it still lands like a bomb anyway. Isa climbs out of bed and gets to their feet, pacing the floor as they listen. Farkle pushes himself upright, still half-asleep but obviously concerned by their behavior.

Farkle: What’s wrong? Is everything -- Isa: [ to Riley ] So he’s dead. [ meeting Farkle’s eyes ] He’s really dead.

Farkle’s eyes widen, matching their somber expression.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - LATER - DAY

Isa is getting ready to go in a rush, Farkle helping them gather their things. Everything is frantic, neither of them having a second to breathe.

Farkle: The car will get you to Burbank. Do you need me to help with a flight, or -- ? Isa: No. No, uh, Zachary said he’d arrange the plane for me. Since it’s an emergency. Farkle: Okay, good. That’s good.

But they’ve got to go. Like now. It already feels like they’re days late. Farkle zips up Isa’s suitcase and helps carry it to the door where they’re slipping on their backpack.

Farkle: Well, okay, um, text me when you get on the plane. And when you land. Isa: I will. Farkle: And tell Lucas -- well, I feel for him. Let them know if there’s anything I can do -- Isa: Yeah. Yeah, will do.

Isa starts to head out the door, so distracted they don’t even think to say goodbye. Then they seem to remember something, viscerally, doubling back before Farkle shuts the door.

Isa: Wait, wait -- !

Farkle hears them just in time, giving them enough of a chance to slip back through the doorway and pull him into a kiss. Somewhat a goodbye, somewhat a reassurance; a desperate grasp for comfort in the midst of new chaos.

When they pull apart, Isa offers a hasty promise.

Isa: Talk to you later.

Farkle nods, managing a smile in spite of the confusion.

Then Isa is gone, shutting the door behind them. Farkle blankly follows a couple of steps after them, gently pressing his fingers to the cold surface of the door.

He sighs and spins to lean back against it, left in a total daze.

EXT. BURBANK AIRPORT - APRON - DAY

Isa jogs to board the small private jet waiting on the tarmac, the engine humming loudly.

INT. MACNAMARA PLANE - CABIN - DAY

They collapse into their seat, already exhausted, as the pilot informs them they’ll be taking off shortly. Isa goes to buckle their seatbelt and then pulls out their phone, shooting a text to their group chat with Dylan and Riley that they’ll be there ASAP.

It’s only once they’ve begun taxiing that Isa realizes one little detail about their current attire -- they’re still wearing Farkle’s sweater from the night before. Oops.

Pilot, off-screen: All passengers, please prepare for take-off. We’re all clear for departure.

Too late to change now… and honestly, it seems like Isa might find just a bit of comfort in that. They cross their arms and hug themselves lightly, looking out the window at the glaringly blue Los Angeles sky.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Not so in New York, where an overcast sky paints the city dismally grey even at sunset. A light drizzle leaves a shimmer on the concrete jungle, making it all feel even more monochromatic.

INT. CHARLIE’S APARTMENT - DAY

On the television, a local weather report notes that the cloudy, rainy weather is set to hang overhead for the next couple of weeks.

But no one is paying much attention to the television. CHARLIE GARDNER is half-eyeing it, but he’s more so listening to RILEY MATTHEWS converse quietly with ASHER GARCIA and DYLAN ORLANDO, who finally made it down from Rochester in the last few hours. When there’s an urgent knock at the door, Charlie is the one to answer it.

Isa is on the other side, still loaded down with their bags as they came straight from the airport. Charlie exchanges a weak smile with them and offers to get their things off their hands, giving Isa the chance to greet the others.

They don’t say much -- what is there to say -- but Isa does accept a tight hug from Dylan. When they let go, he does hesitate on their new yet vaguely familiar sweater, but opts not to comment.

Isa breaks the quiet first, glancing around to make sure they’re not missing the obvious before asking what’s on their mind.

Isa: Is he here?

EXT. CHARLIE’S APARTMENT - FIRE ESCAPE - DAY

LUCAS JAMES FRIAR is alone, hiding out on the cramped fire escape outside their apartment even with the drizzle. He has his arms wrapped around his knees, pulled in close on himself. His expression is blank, empty, which is almost more telling than if he seemed outright emotional.

Moments later, the window creaks open. Lucas doesn’t move as Isa climbs onto the fire escape to join him, settling down across from him and mirroring his posture.

He doesn’t acknowledge them. They don’t expect him to. They don’t need to say anything -- they used to do this routine all the time, back in the day. The quiet is fine.

They’re there. That’s what matters. And right now, after what’s just happened, it matters more than ever.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

A newspaper lands backside up on the doorstep of a home in the Quincy High neighborhood, already smudging slightly from the rain. The bottom right corner of the visible page becomes our focus, as we ease to get a better look.

The obituaries. There, prominently featured, is a black and white photograph of Kenneth Friar.

Community mourns a beloved coach, teacher, and father Kenneth James Friar 1981 - 2022

The rain starts to pick up, splattering on the paper and causing the ink to run. As Kenneth’s image starts to blur and blend, a distant drum line picks up… then it grows more prominent, as if it’s marching closer…

EXT. TEXAS HIGH SCHOOL - FOOTBALL FIELD - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

That’s because it basically is -- marching, that is.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Tusk” as performed by USC Trojan Marching Band || Instrumental

We’ve been transported back in time, smack dab into the middle of a high energy, high enthusiasm football game. Bleacher stands are packed on both sides; the high school marching band is getting folks hype. Cheerleaders are hollering and doing their choreography, with frenzied pom-pom movements and cheerful chants that the people in the stands echo. The outfits are delightfully mid-90s, and there is no rain in the sky here.

Suffice to say, it’s a far cry from the arts-centric, modern world of Adams we’ve grown used to.

That being said, it doesn’t seem like everyone’s cup of tea there either. In the shadows of the bleachers, a girl watches uncertainly, hovering just out of sight and getting a good look at the crowds without letting herself be seen. She’s petite, with ash blond hair plaited over her shoulder and a shy disposition. The whole scene seems just a bit too loud, too overwhelming for her. While she’s got on a cute sundress, you can hardly tell, as she’s hidden behind an oversized denim jacket that she’s practically swimming in.

It’s a younger Grace Friar, or as she was once known, GRACE KINSLEY (16). And before she was stuck in New York, living the non-life she is now, she was a teenager just like our mains.

The game continues out on the field, giving the cheerleaders the chance to reset and grab some water. This is when one of them catches Grace lingering by the bleachers, brightening and grabbing her attention with a wave. She enthusiastically gestures her over to the fence, and after a moment, Grace reluctantly leaves the sidelines and comes to meet her.

The cheerleader who greets her is full of bubbly charm, tall even as a teenager with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. She has deep red hair, as fiery as her personality, only tamed right now by necessity into a tight ponytail. Her grin makes up for it, though. This is RACHEL MCGUIRE (16).

She bounces on her feet as Grace approaches, reaching over the chainlink to give her a hug once she reaches the fence.

Rachel: You came! I can’t believe it. Grace: Yes, against my better judgment. Rachel: Oh, wah wah. You are so prosaic. Grace: Did you just pick that one up from the thesaurus today? I don’t think you’re using it right. Rachel: Maaaybe. But whatever, I’m just so glad you’re here! Isn’t it fun? Don’t you just love the energy? Grace: It is… something. All right.

Rachel rolls her eyes. Even if she isn’t going to convert her best friend to the wonderful ways of school spirit, she got her to come to at least one game this year, so she’ll consider that a win.

Rachel: And you’re coming to the party, right? It’s going to be so crunk.

Grace wrinkles her nose. That sounds like the last thing she’d rather do… this scene is already raucous enough. But Rachel senses her hesitation and before she can even say no, the redhead gives her a signature pout, signaling she’s not going to let this drop.

Rachel: Come on, please? Just once. For me. Grace: I don’t know… Rachel: Just for an hour. For thirty minutes. Hell, if you walk in and last five minutes, I swear I will stop asking to copy your English homework. [ taking her hands ] Gracie, it’s our junior year. I want you to experience one party before we graduate and become decrepit old people. Cheerleader: Rachel, come on! We need to get ready for the pyramid! Rachel: Lay off, Jessica! [ back to Grace ] Pleeease?

Well… when she looks at her like that, how can she say no? Grace’s turn to roll her eyes, but she can’t help but smile as she caves and agrees. Rachel jumps with glee and claps their hands together.

When Rachel turns to focus back on her squadmates, something catches her eye on the field.

A couple of football players are looking at them. Two of the cute seniors, the taller of whom is definitely eyeing Grace behind her.

Delightful. Rachel’s eyes widen with excitement, and she leans back to get Grace’s attention again.

Rachel: Gracie. That guy is totally looking at you. Grace: Huh? [ with a slight frown ] Shut up. No he isn’t. Rachel: Yes he so is. I saw it. Oh my God, imagine, you come to your first football game and walk away with suitors? Talk about proving me right that you need to get out more often. Grace: No -- that’s not -- shut up. [ crossing her arms ] They’re not even looking over here. He’s looking at the game. Rachel: The game is on time-out. And he was definitely looking at you. Grace: Doubtful. Maybe he thought I was someone else. Rachel: Is it so impossible to believe that -- Jessica: Rachel!

God, Jessica, could you chillax! Rachel groans, telling Grace they’ll pick this back up later. Grace seems grateful for the escape, gesturing Rachel on her way. She does a little mocking pom-pom move.

Grace: Stay balanced.

Rachel sticks her tongue out at her, then jogs to go join the other cheerleaders. Grace hangs by the fence for a moment longer, taking in the hectic scenery all around her… certainly more her best friend’s domain than her own…

And then she sees it, too. When she looks towards the field at the players, as they get ready for their next play, the left tackle on their team glances in her direction -- and seems to look directly at her.

She doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know her. But his blue eyes are like lightning, even all the way from there… and when he smiles slightly a second later, thunder rattles Grace’s bones.

Well, that’s enough being present and seen for one night. If only that was all. Grace whips around and makes a beeline back for the bleachers, a flush rising up her cheeks. She glances back over her shoulder only once the next play has started and there’s no chance he’ll still be looking at her.

In the rush of movement, all she can make out is the bright white “F” starting the lettering on the back of his football jersey.

Then he blocks an offense maneuver from the opposing team, and the crowd in the stands goes nuts around her, totally dominating the soundscape. The horns of “Tusk” blare loudly --

INT. HOUSE PARTY - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

And become the opening notes of an iconic party banger, playing through the tinny speakers available to the high school teens of the nineties.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” as performed by Cyndi Lauper || Instrumental

The mood is jubilant at the afterparty for the game, as it appears the home team carried victory. At least, that’s the impression you get as you watch the crowd of players hoot and chant for each other in the living room and chug down celebratory cans of beer.

At the same time, the cheerleaders are having a toast of their own, all raising their red solo cups and taking a shot of whatever their vodka of choice is. Rachel has dragged Grace into this circle as well, who dutifully sips her red solo cup along with the rest but with markedly less confidence.

Once the group disperses a bit, Rachel turns back to her friend and reemphasizes how glad she is that she decided to come out for once. She’s now let her cheer ponytail down and is fluffing out her hair, which looks even more vibrant red in the mood lighting of the party. Instinctively, she reaches out and starts to affectionately nitpick Grace’s hair too.

Grace: Don’t waste your effort. I’m never going to look like you. Rachel: You’re right. That is, I could never be as effortlessly adorable as you are.

She gives Grace a boop on the nose.

Grace: Okay, so, you’re already clearly drunk. Rachel: Am not. Not all of us are lightweights like you. I just happen to know what I’m talking about, which is that you are beautiful and smart and now that you’ve escaped your self-inflicted dungeon of imprisonment -- Grace: I don’t think being an introvert is -- Rachel: The whole world is going to see it too.

Rachel nudges Grace into taking off her armor of denim, allowing her cute dress to see the light of day. She helps her tie the jacket around her waist.

Grace: Maybe, but I’m not sure that’ll do much to cover up the whole… being boring and smelling like hay because I live on a farm thing. Rachel: All part of the allure. [ off her head shake ] I mean, mister left tackle certainly already noticed…

Oh, not this again… Grace grows more shy, pushing some stray hair behind her ear.

Grace: Again, you’re exaggerating. Rachel: Am not. Grace: Why would he even -- he was probably looking at you. You were right in front of me. We don’t even know each other. Rachel: As if that matters? In this case, it really doesn’t. He doesn’t know most people. He’s that senior that transferred over from Claremont. Which is good, because our last left tackle was so shit. But anyway, knowing someone or not does not preclude one from wanting to know someone. Which he does. Want to know you. Grace: How could you possibly know that? Rachel: Because I know things. Because I’ve had three boyfriends, and they all have to start somewhere. [ glancing over her shoulder ] And because he’s looking our way right now.

Rachel’s smile is downright overjoyed. Grace frowns and looks over her shoulder.

She wasn’t lying. The left tackle from earlier is chatting with the quarterback and another player, easy smile on his face… and he keeps glancing over at them.

At her.

Grace whips back around, all levity gone from her expression.

Grace: Oh my God. Rachel: I told you. I told you! Grace: Shut up. Shut up. It’s not -- they’re just looking. It’s not like… it’s not like he’s over here. Rachel: True… for now.

Rachel’s smile widens. She nonchalantly pushes away from the counter and traipses her way towards the boys, Grace watching her in mild horror.

Grace: [ in a whisper ] Rach. Rachel! Come back!

Rachel tosses her a wink over her shoulder, then flips her hair to prime volume as she saunters over to join the footballers. She begins to chat up the quarterback, complimenting him on the excellent win…

And giving mister left tackle a wide open playing field. Grace curses to herself and spins back to face the drinks on the counter, no clue what to do with herself. He probably won’t come over here. Why would he? Rachel is right in front of him now -- he’ll probably become enamored with her. Most men do. Plus, it would be a lot of effort to walk over here and talk up a wallflower. She’s worrying over nothing.

Even so, she feels compelled to seek out some courage. Grace reaches for the vodka bottle and quickly pours herself another shot, downing it compulsively before she can regret it.

Lo and behold, Rachel was right on the money. Grace swallows the liquor and grimaces at the burn in her throat, but she pulls herself back together right before another figure comes over to join her.

Left Tackle: Not bad. Don’t think I could down one of those that fast. Willing to pour me one, and we’ll find out?

Grace braves meeting his eyes, getting a better look at him. And boy, once she does, it is hard to look away. He was striking across the field, but he’s absolutely mesmerizing up close. Tall, well-muscled, with sun-kissed skin and sandy blonde hair. It’s clean cut on the sides but a bit longer on top, Freddie Prinze Jr. style, now fully visible without the football helmet.

Then there’s the eyes. Oh, those eyes.

Grace clears her throat, then does a little shrug. Somehow, she manages to come off coy, despite how her knees feel like jelly.

Grace: I don’t know. Probably not a good idea. I don’t want to be responsible for taking down our prized new left tackle.

He laughs, and the sound makes Grace crack a smile without even trying. And if that wasn’t enough, his smile is absolutely killer.

Left Tackle: Damn, if I’m going to be taken down by the cute little thing by the bar, I think my football career is in trouble. The offense on the other team ain’t got nothin’ on you, huh?

Grace shrugs again, figuring saying nothing is wiser than whatever stupid stuff might come out of her mouth. She’s never been great with words -- spoken ones, at least.

Thankfully, this seems to intrigue him rather than put him off. He leans against the counter.

Left Tackle: Well, if I’ve met my match, I’d at least like to know the name of the girl who is destined to take me down. Can I wrangle that much?

Hm, smooth… Grace contemplates for a long moment…

Grace: Grace.

Pretty. The left tackle smiles brighter, obviously thinking so himself, before nodding.

Left Tackle: Grace. Like the sound of that. [ holding out a hand ] I’m Kenneth.

Grace holds his gaze, taking him in, before letting her eyes drift down to his outstretched hand.

After a second, she takes it.

Cue title sequence.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

The rain continues, creating puddles on the grey sidewalks. A fresh but soggy newspaper left on the doorstep of a different apartment building remarks on the relentless torrent of dreary weather while also giving a subtle nod to the passage of time. Lettering onscreen emphasizes it moments later…

Three weeks later.

From there, the camera pans upward, heading to an upper floor.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGEL’S BEDROOM - DAY

NIGEL CHEY finishes zipping up his bag, ensuring it’s sealed tight before he ventures out into the rain. Droplets patter against his window as he secures his windbreaker.

He tosses a glance towards the window, obviously not thrilled about it. Considering how unenthused he is about NYU these days, it’s all too tempting to just blow it off and stay in.

But the last thing he needs is a drop in his grades. Not after the hell that was last semester -- and if he does want any chance of transferring, anywhere at all, he’ll want to keep his academic standing above water. So he shoulders his bag with a sigh and heads out.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - DAY

When Nigel emerges from his bedroom, his family notices immediately. They notice, but no one says anything, not sure how to break the tension.

It’s evident this cold shoulder has been going on for a while. ERNESTO CHEY exchanges a look with LIEZEL CHEY, tacitly encouraging conversation, but she keeps her mouth shut. Even if she did want to speak, she surely wouldn’t know what to say. REYNA CHEY watches the silent movement from her usual armchair, more riveted by it than whatever pathetic soap is on TV.

Nigel pretends not to notice, for once not feeling like the one who needs to placate and keep the peace. He could walk right out the door like he has for weeks now, but Ernesto manages to get a word in before he can disappear.

Ernesto: Quite wet outside today. Bad weather. Nigel: … yeah. Liezel: Be careful getting to NYU. It will be slippery. I don’t want you to get sick.

Nigel chooses not to acknowledge his mother’s comment. The silence stings, but Liezel says nothing else, dipping her head down to her work at the kitchen counter.

Ernesto: Are you sure you want to walk? I could drop you off. Nigel: I have my coat.

He gestures to his windbreaker indicatively. Hard to argue with that. Ernesto reminds Nigel of when dinner is, and he claims he’ll try to be there, but as of the last few days there’s no guarantee that’ll be the case. For better or worse, Nigel is demonstrating he can be self-sufficient when he wants to be.

Even if no one else seems happy with it. Nigel opens the door, Liezel braving one more meek comment.

Liezel: Have a nice day.

Nigel doesn’t respond, shutting the door behind him before she can finish the sentiment. It obviously hurts, though Liezel does a decent job of stuffing it down. It seems Nigel got his knack for compartmentalizing from somewhere.

Reyna, on the other hand, is less than pleased to see it. She frowns to herself, shaking her head slightly as Ernesto and Liezel awkwardly return to their business.

EXT. JUPITER RECORDS - DAY

In natural contrast to the eastern downpour, the sunshine is still relentless over in Los Angeles. It glares brightly against the glassy exterior of the Jupiter Records building, reflecting in all directions.

INT. JUPITER RECORDS - MEETING ROOM - DAY

The mood is decidedly more jubilant here, too, as the EXECUTIVES excitedly inform the gathered young women that they are the official finalists for the coveted five spots in the label’s girl group project. After the retreat and weeks of debate, they’ve narrowed it down to less than ten finalists, six of whom are present in the room with them.

KIMMY PRICE, who looks just thrilled to be included; TABITHA FLORES, who is already impatient to prove herself and tapping her manicured fingers on the surface of the long meeting table they’re seated around. ALEENA SAYYID remains curious but calm, while MADYSIN MAY is busy sitting up on the table and lowkey flirting with the Jupiter representatives present. RONICA LEWIS watches the rest of them wild mild interest, keeping her game face on.

And YINDRA AMINO. She’s managed to squeak her way into final consideration, though what exactly made each of them pass the test remains a secret. So for now she’s trying to remain agreeable and somewhat aloof, holding her few cards close to the vest.

But even this close to success, the pressure doesn’t let up. Because now that they’re this close, the scrutiny becomes even more intense, as the process now requires extra assessment to develop the ultimate configuration of the girls they have left. This means more chemistry tests, more vocal mixes, and any number of personal questioning while they build out the perfect presentation of girl group excellence.

Just peachy. Yindra manages a smile and does her best to hide her nerves, nodding along as the executives lay out expectations for this final step.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

The Friar apartment has a strange new energy to it. Although it looks nearly the same, just with one less body sometimes occupying the space, something about it has irreversibly shifted. It feels simultaneously heavier yet lighter; shaded with tension yet unburdened with fresh relief. Like although weight still hangs heavy overhead, the space is no longer perpetually holding its breath.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - DAY

The same seems to be the case for GRACE FRIAR. Although her features are etched with grief, and the bags under her eyes indicate more than a few restless nights in her recent history, there’s a serenity to her that wasn’t there before. She’s tired, but at ease, and she walks the floors of her apartment without dreading every creak under her step.

There’s miles to go before she sleeps, though. Kenneth’s passing may have happened in a moment, but the aftermath feels neverending. So much paperwork to handle, inquiries to follow through on. The man may be dead, but he was sure to leave things for her to clean up after him.

That, and the reminders never cease. She goes through the mail she just collected, looking for legal documents but finding more than a couple letters from well-wishers instead. Old friends from high school or Austin sending their condolences, mourning a great man and expressing their shared grief.

Folks who clearly kept up with Kenneth, but sure didn’t make an effort to stay connected with her.

More than that, they have questions. When will the funeral service be? Will there be one? If there’s financial straits preventing it, they’re happy to contribute. Kenneth was such a wonderful man, after all, it would be a damn shame for them not to have the chance to celebrate his life together. After three weeks, they just have to wonder… and if there will be one, they want to do everything in their power to clear their calendars to be there.

They’re not the only one with these questions. Grace herself has them -- one of the many things keeping her up at night -- but pulling something together has been harder than she anticipated. She knows she could find the help, of course…

But it’s not just about her. Grace places the mail on the kitchen counter and doubles back, heading across the living area to the other end of the apartment.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S BEDROOM - DAY

As they attempt to downsize and sort through Kenneth’s belongings -- and he certainly had the most things to possess out of the three of them -- Lucas has taken on the task of going through the items stuffed into the closet in his already closet-sized bedroom.

But he’s not making very quick work of it. It’s more like pulling teeth, Lucas seated against the doorframe of the closet and mainly sitting in thoughtless silence. He’ll occasionally pull some random item out of the darkness, turn it over in his hands and try to find meaning in it, before ultimately chucking it into the cardboard box they’ve deemed trash or back into the depths when he can’t decide where it belongs. More often than not, he’s been aiming back into the closet.

Grace arrives in the doorway, gently knocking to get his attention. He stops staring into space and meets her eyes.

Grace: How is it going in here? Lucas: [ with a shrug ] Fine.

Given the trash box only has about one more item in it than the last time Grace checked on him, that’s likely. But she doesn’t point that out, treading cautiously towards what she actually wanted to discuss.

Grace: I’ve gotten more letters. From friends in Austin. They send their best. Lucas: Good for them. Grace: Many of them are asking about services. If we’ve got a date yet. [ a beat ] If we’ll have a date at all…

Lucas doesn’t have the answers, and it’s obvious from his expression that he doesn’t want any. He clenches his jaw and tilts his head back against the doorframe. Grace would like to do the same, but she pushes through and addresses it head on.

Grace: I think we need to decide if we’re going to do this. We can’t keep putting it off. Lucas: Okay? Sounds like you’ve decided then. Grace: I haven’t. I want us to be able to figure it out together. I know it’s -- it’s complicated. But people are asking, and three weeks is quite a long time after someone -- Lucas: Why the hell do I care what “people” think? It’s not their stupid family. [ tossing something into the trash box ] If they care so bad, why don’t they throw a party themselves?

Fair enough. But not helpful. Grace crosses her arms, trying not to bristle at his tone.

Grace: I get that this is weird. I know. You think I don’t know just as well as you do? [ touché ] But we need to act on it. We need to do something. Even if it’s just to get it out of the way, to allow everyone to move on. Including us.

Lucas’s jaw twitches, but he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t look at her either, but the lack of a pithy comment is better than usual lately.

Grace: We can’t just stay in this limbo forever. It doesn’t help anyone. Least of all you. So how about we just… do it. Go through the motions, get through it, and then we can put it to rest. For good. Lucas: [ under his breath ] What a perfectly normal way to talk about burying your husband…

Yes, but when has anything about this family ever been normal? Even so, Grace is clearly put off by the comment. She knows this is hard for him -- she has no doubt about it -- but he seems to forget she lived it all too. In fact, she lived much, much more of it than him.

She doesn’t say any of that, though. If he’s going to act like a kid about it, then she’ll do her best to buck up and act like the adult in the room.

Grace: I’m going to move forward with funeral preparations. Jack and Eric said they would help us with the logistics, so I’m reaching out tonight. [ a beat ] You can be involved, or not, that’s up to you. I get it either way. But I can’t do nothing anymore. Lucas: Okay. Whatever. [ deadpan ] You’re the parent.

Just in case she forgot. Since their situation has been so fucked up, and convoluted, and he basically raised himself. Since she’s never seemed very good at being one before, guess now is as fine a time as any.

It’s almost like he’s fourteen again. Like he has so much anger, so much pain, and he doesn’t know who actually deserves it, so Grace gets a heaping share. All the nuance of their world has died with Kenneth, and now it’s just the two of them left to sort through it and remember how to live with it all.

Grace is giving all the patience she has left towards him, but God, if it isn’t hard sometimes. She chooses to hold her tongue and steps away, leaving Lucas in the quiet once again.

He doesn’t seem thrilled with how that went either, but holding everything together is taking up enough of his mental power right now. He swallows the ache in his throat and sniffs, reaching for another pointless object in the darkness.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Some of that darkness lingers with MAYA HART, who looks about as tired as Grace. She’s seated at the kitchen table but isn’t eating her breakfast, instead staring blankly out the balcony door towards the bright Los Angeles sun.

Her shine is dulled enough that Farkle notices, remarking on it when he exits his bedroom with his backpack and finds her at the table. He jokes about catching her in a rare pre-glam moment, which she just manages to remember to smile at.

Farkle: Honestly, I’m more impressed I managed to catch you at all. I feel like you and I have just been missing one another constantly since you got back from your retreat. Melissa and Justin must really be working you hard for the EP. Maya: Um, yeah. Yeah, it’s just been… super busy.

She’s a good enough actress that her delivery is just believable enough -- at least with someone as equally consumed with their own emotional baggage as Farkle. That’s what Maya wants to discuss anyway, using Isa as a convenient route to get the topic as far away from her and Global Beat as possible. Once they gloss over any updates from the Friar front…

Maya: Isa tell you all that? Farkle: No, Riley. Isa’s been… I’m sure they’re overwhelmed. And busy. Just with everything going on with Lucas. Maya: Right. They did leave in a pretty big hurry. [ a beat ] I couldn’t help but notice the couch was all clear when I came back though. That weekend. Farkle: Oh… yeah. Well. You know how I like to… keep things clean. And tidy. Maya: Mhm. It certainly didn’t look like anyone had slept there the night before, though. Let alone anyone six feet tall. Farkle: [ clearing his throat ] Yeah. Well. Isa said I should just share the bed with them. That it was stupid to be on the couch when we’ve been friends for -- you know, a long time. Maya: Right… Farkle: And it’s comfortable. Casual. We were just being, you know, cool about it. Maya: Of course. So must have been a good weekend, then? Farkle: Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’d say… yeah. Maya: Good vibes. Chill times. No big news to report. Farkle: Uh, nope. Yeah. Yeah… no, yeah. Maya: Right.

For such a good actor in his own right, Farkle really is terrible at being nonchalant. Maya can see right through him, and it’s the first time in days that she’s felt compelled to crack a smile. He meets her eyes, and she simply quirks an eyebrow knowingly.

That’s all it takes. Farkle caves, spilling into a hasty explanation about everything that happened with Isa. Partially just because he can’t seem to help himself, but also because it’s clear he has been dying to tell someone. With the way things ended so abruptly, with Isa having to rush off to help Lucas, it feels like he’s been living his life on pause for the last three weeks.

Maya listens attentively, with mild amusement, letting him stammer out all of the spinning thoughts in his frazzled head until he manages to wear himself out.

Maya: Wow. Farkle: So now it’s like -- I mean, I’m trying to be cool about it. And I am. This is a serious time, and I want to respect that and give them all the time they need. I get it. But I’m also like… I mean, what am I supposed to do with myself? We didn’t really get to talk about it, and like -- I had sex with them. One of my best friends. Maya: Ew. But yeah, crazy. Farkle: And I don’t want to like make a big deal out of it, or be insane, but how am I supposed to not be crazy about that? Am I insane for wanting like… I don’t know, a shred of insight as to what they’re thinking about the whole thing? [ hiding his head in his hands ] For the love of God, am I ever going to stop being a disaster? Maya: Sources say no. But that’s okay, that’s my favorite thing about you.

In any case, she understands why he feels so wound up. If something that big shifted between the two of them, it would make her anxious too. He’s valid, but she can only hope Isa will have the sense of mind to let him know what they’re feeling about it sooner rather than later.

On the other hand, she can’t help but find the whole thing just a little bit funny.

Maya: I’m just trying to figure out when exactly you became such a hot commodity. Like, Zay? Sure, he’s always been hot shit -- and wouldn’t let anyone forget it. But you, my darling, baby giraffe Farkle Minkus? When did you suddenly become such a whore?

Farkle groans, shoving Maya’s elbow and making her laugh. Although the comment is in jest, Farkle feels the need to defend himself.

Farkle: It’s not like that. This wasn’t just… I mean, yes, okay, hooking up with Charlie was one thing. Maya: Still insane, by the way. Farkle: But this isn’t the same. It’s Isa. It’s not… it’s always been different with Isa.

The sentiment is said so delicately for how it may as well be stating the obvious. But Maya doesn’t rib him for that. Instead, she softens, eyeing him with equally gentle fondness.

Maya: I know.

She may have been onto it even before either of them, in fact. She knows Farkle has long carried this torch -- and how fragile his heart has been as of late. As long as he’s closer to being happy, that’s all she really cares about.

For now, though, he has to go to class. When he asks if Maya will be heading back to the studio today, she freezes momentarily, before expertly deflecting. She claims she’s been doing some last-minute song-smithing here, and that her producers gave her the all-clear to hermit away until she’s got it polished how she likes. So if he sees her milling around the apartment more than usual, he shouldn’t think anything of it.

Never mind the real reason she can’t bear the thought of stepping foot back inside Global Beat. If Farkle never finds out -- if no one ever does -- then all the better.

INT. NYU - THEATER - DAY

A matinee production of Ghost is currently rolling, EVAN SCOTT and his co-star playing the Whoopi Goldberg role occupying the stage. The show must go on, and it certainly is, the world inside the theater walls proceeding as if nothing has changed.

Which explains why Riley is mentally anywhere but onstage. She’s waiting in the wings, due to reemerge under the lights in the next scene, but her focus is elsewhere. She’s pacing the darkness and engrossed by her phone, keeping up a text conversation with Lucas. He’s given her the update about Grace wanting to move forward with services, so there’s a lot to discuss and unpack.

Riley tries to type out a thoughtful reply, but Lucas beats her to her next message.

“Don’t worry about it. Probably easier to just talk in person”

Which is likely true, but also feels like a convenient way to nudge confronting the feelings as long as possible. Riley hastily deletes the paragraph she had typed before, instead agreeing and assuring him that she’ll be there as soon as this performance wraps up.

On stage, someone repeats their line more forcefully, but Riley still doesn’t notice. It’s not until a stagehand nudges her and informs her she’s missed her cue that she pulls it back together, quickly pocketing her phone. From her perch on a stool in the shadows, IMOGEN LEE snorts.

Imogen: Damn, Riley. If you’re basically out to lunch, I can take over. I have been studying my lines…

Riley so does not have the bandwidth to deal with petty understudies right now. She ignores Imogen and takes a deep breath, doing her best to shove the real world from her mind and get back into character.

As she steps out onto the stage --

INT. NYU - DRESSING ROOM - LATER - DAY

Riley finishes stuffing her bag in a hurry, still half in costume and make-up as she rushes to leave. The show has just barely wrapped up curtain call, but she doesn’t have time to waste.

INT. NYU - BACKSTAGE HALLWAY - DAY

As she steps out of the dressing room, she nearly runs into Evan, who catches her arms before she can topple over. Once he confirms she’s all right, he asks where she’s running off to.

Evan: Auditorium is this way. You know Hill is going to have notes. She -- Riley: She always does. Yeah. It’s not that I don’t want to hear them, I just… I really have somewhere else I need to be. [ checking her phone ] Did you feel like the orchestra was moving at the speed of sludge today? We’re like twenty minutes later than usual. Evan: Uh, no. I was more concerned with remembering the right notes.

He says it playfully, but there is a slight edge to his tone. Imogen isn’t the only one who’s noticed Riley seems less than focused -- and now it’s starting to affect the production.

Still, Evan approaches it more tactfully than their peer. He lowers his voice to give them more privacy, waiting until a couple of their castmates pass by and disappear through the stage doors to speak.

Evan: You missed your cue. Before intermission. Riley: Yeah. Yeah, I know, sorry. Evan: All good. It’s just a college musical. I just wanted to check… like, is everything okay? You haven’t seemed quite like yourself.

No, Evan. No it’s not. She doesn’t have time to be there for her friends who are facing some of the biggest auditions of their lives, nor have basically any involvement in her roommate adjusting to letting their father into their world. She can’t be there for her friend who just ended a toxic relationship, or help her candidate jump into his hard-won new role.

There’s just been a major death in her may-as-well-be family that has shattered all sense of normalcy, and she doesn’t have nearly enough time to help pick up the pieces. There’s just not enough her to go around.

But none of that is his business, so she shrugs.

Riley: Yes. Yeah, it’s just…

She really doesn’t have the words to express it. After another wordless head shake, she settles for little.

Riley: I’ve got a lot on my mind.

Clearly, if she’s forgetting when she’s supposed to enter stage right. Before Evan can respond, she’s distracted again by her phone, buzzing with another text from Lucas.

“Don’t bother. Don’t want to burn you out between shows. It’s all pointless anyway”

The frown on her face signals this isn’t the kind of reply she wants from him. Evan eyes her curiously, but wisely decides not to dig deeper right now. He opts to stick with the things he can address.

Evan: Well, whatever you’ve got going on, don’t be any later. I can take any notes Hill has for you -- aside from the imminent comment about your late entrance. Riley: Of course. That would be great, Evan, thank you. I owe you big time.

He nods, offering a smile and leaving her be. He glances back at her over his shoulder as he steps back into the auditorium, watching her become absorbed in her phone yet again.

Another text from Lucas.

“Just go home. Talk later”

Her boyfriend is going through what may very well be the biggest emotional clusterfuck of his life, and she can’t be there for him. Not the way she wants to be. The longer she’s gone, the easier it is for him to do this. To pull away; to recede into himself and bottle it all up. To be crushed under it, when this is precisely the moment he has to power through. She hates that she can’t be there, when all she wants to do is be there by his side to endure it together.

There’s not enough time -- and she dreads the possibility that she might just lose him too.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I Have Nothing” as performed by Whitney Houston || Performed by Riley Matthews

Although she’s been killing it on the stage, nothing beats a Riley performance that’s coming authentically from the soul. As she walks the backstage halls of the theater, singing her solo soliloquy, it feels more captivating than any professional staging or bright stage lights could fabricate.

That always goes doubly when she’s singing about Lucas. The lyrics are more than fitting. In the same vein as “On My Own,” “My Man,” and “Better,” no kind of performance demonstrates more of Riley’s range than the ones straight from her heart -- and at this point, the two are one in the same.

Lucas is her heart. And if he’s breaking, she’s broken too.

Don't walk away from me I have nothing, nothing, nothing If I don't have you

Once Riley reaches the end of the hallway, back in front of the stage doors, the camera pans away and makes her feel smaller and further away. Before the key change can hit around 3:05, her vocals start to distort, sounding far away and bleeding into Whitney Houston’s original track --

EXT. RURAL COUNTRY ROAD - FLASHBACK - DAY

Which becomes diegetic, playing through the chunky over-the-ear headphones of Grace’s portable CD player. She’s on her walk home from the bus stop, her family farm a good mile out from where the closest public school bus drops off.

Grace doesn’t seem bothered by the walk. It’s one of her favorite times of the day, actually, time to be alone with nature and get lost in her thoughts. With a well-worn pair of cowboy boots and the autumn breeze, there’s no better chance to find a second to breathe.

Only today, it seems, she’s not alone. She frowns slightly when the song starts to end and she hears gravel crunching behind her -- someone driving along the dirt road. It doesn’t get much use on a typical afternoon. She glances over her shoulder.

An older but very cool blue Ford pick-up is ambling down the street. She expects it to pass on by -- maybe doing business with the Carmichaels down the hill -- but it slows as it approaches her. For a moment, she tenses, not sure whether she should be wary…

Until she recognizes the face behind the wheel. Beautiful eyes, and that smile that could start wars.

Kenneth. He pulls up beside her and rolls down the passenger side window, offering her one of those coveted smiles. She removes her headphones, looping them around her neck.

Kenneth: Howdy. Fancy meeting you here. Grace: I live here. Kenneth: In the middle of the road?

Grace blushes, already flustered just from his attention. They’ve been chatting a bit for weeks now, definitely flirting here and there, yet he doesn’t seem to lose any effect on her. It’s almost annoying. She pushes some hair behind her ear.

Grace: You know what I meant. Kenneth: Sure did. That’s why when my parents surprised me with this baby this afternoon, and I got to take it for my first drive, I thought hey -- what better place to cruise for a while?

So he came right to see her. Grace doesn’t know what to do with that information, so she breezes past it.

Grace: It’s nice. I like the color. Kenneth: I know. You love blue.

Yeah… she does. After a beat, Kenneth runs a hand through his hair.

Kenneth: Can I give you a ride? Grace: I’m used to the walk. It’s okay. Kenneth: I ain’t asking if you can handle it. Knowing you, I’m sure you can. I’m asking if you want a ride.

Well. That is different, isn’t it. Does she hold out her resilience, stay sane and keep walking the path of safe, familiar independence… or does she get in the car with him?

Somehow, the choice is easy. Grace takes a deep breath and steps off the grass, approaching the car. Kenneth’s expression is utterly delighted as he leans across the console to unlock the passenger door.

She climbs up into the seat and exchanges a shy smile with him.

EXT. KINSLEY FAMILY FARM - FLASHBACK - DAY

Kenneth pulls up outside Grace’s home, putting the truck in park. Directly in front of them is the farmhouse, a modest but charming dwelling surrounded by acres of green. Several dozen feet away, the red wood of a barn is visible, and adjacent another dozen feet, a roomy stable with a fenced-in riding pasture.

INT. KENNETH’S TRUCK - FLASHBACK - DAY

Although there’s nothing holding her back, Grace doesn’t immediately get out of the car. There’s something nice, and a bit enthralling, about sitting in his passenger seat.

Grace: Thanks for the ride. Kenneth: ‘Course. Any time. Grace: Don’t make promises like that. You’re gonna end up a chauffeur before you know it. Kenneth: Hey, if it means getting to spend a little more time with you, then I’m game.

The compliment comes out effortlessly smooth. So damn charming… Grace can feel the blush crawling up her cheeks.

She flushes even further when Kenneth takes a long moment to take her in, gazing at her with a soft shade to his features. After a moment, he starts to lean closer…

As per usual, Grace panics and deflects. She interrupts his move with conversation, letting words spill out of her without thinking.

Grace: What are you up to for the rest of the afternoon?

Kenneth hesitates. The slightest edge of frustration creeps into his features, but it ebbs away quickly and is replaced with amused fondness. There is something about this little cat-and-mouse game they have going on that is all the more enjoyable. It’s like the more she plays hard to get, just dancing outside the perimeter of his obvious interest, the more appealing she becomes -- whether Grace is doing it intentionally or not.

Kenneth: Probably practice. Some weight-training -- coach says I need to gain another five-to-ten to maximize my impact on the field. Grace: [ sure, she totally gets what that means ] Uh-huh. Kenneth: So the usual. Football, avoiding homework, ignoring my dad when he tries to grill me about football and/or homework. How about you? Grace: Um… homework. [ off his laugh ] Then maybe some writing, if I have time. Kenneth: What kind of writing? Grace: Just… personal stuff. Silly stuff. Nothing important. Kenneth: You like, an author or something? I didn’t know you were into all that. [ off her shrug ] So when do I get to read your stuff? Grace: Yeah, uh, try never. Kenneth: Oh, come on! Don’t tease me like that --

He reaches out and playfully tugs at her braid, which she giggles at before swatting his hands away. Their hands brush and linger for a moment longer than necessary, before Grace pulls hers back and twiddles with the end of her plait.

Kenneth slouches back in his seat, whistling and shaking his head as he gets another good look at her.

Kenneth: Dang. A bona fide writer. I mean, I knew you were smart and everything, and you’ve got those killer grades in English. But… Grace Kinsley, you truly are something else.

No one has ever said anything like that to her before. No one has ever looked at her like that, the way he is right now. Like she’s actually there rather than invisible -- like there’s something worth seeing.

It’s thrilling, but also terrifying, so Grace feels the sudden instinct to bolt. She offers another shy smile and starts to gather her bag.

Grace: First things first, I have to feed the horses, so. Best get going.

EXT. KINSLEY FAMILY FARM - FLASHBACK - DAY

Grace hops out of the car, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Kenneth looks disappointed to see her go -- and a bit disappointed that his excuse to prolong heading home has run out.

Kenneth: Writer girl, horse girl -- is there anything you don’t do, Kinsley? Grace: Football.

Kenneth barks out a laugh, which earns another smile from her. Kenneth thinks on that, a moment of vulnerability breaking through.

Kenneth: As someone who does, gotta admit, think right now I’d rather be feeding the horses.

The comment surprises Grace. Given how good he is at the game, how much of a king he seems like on the field, she assumed football was naturally his whole world. She never would’ve guessed there was even a hint of conflict hidden beneath that strong veneer.

Somehow, the moment makes her feel the desire to open up too.

Grace: Do you want to see them?

The invitation slips out before she can question it. Kenneth contemplates… then grins.

INT. KINSLEY FAMILY FARM - STABLES - FLASHBACK - DAY

Grace pulls open the door to the stables and enters first, signaling for Kenneth to move quietly. Since he’s new, his presence might unsettle the horses. He playfully mimics her gesture, pretending to zip his lips.

Tellingly, the horses do react to the unfamiliar face. They grow skittish, whinnying in apprehension. Grace shushes them and talks softly as she makes her way further inside, Kenneth hanging back a bit to watch. Although it’s a marvel to see how natural she is with the creatures, he seems a little perturbed by their reaction to him.

Kenneth: Don’t think they like me. Grace: They don’t know you. Like I said, they’re shy around strangers. Kenneth: Fitting. Sounds like someone else I know.

Grace rolls her eyes, petting the nose of one of the ponies rather than responding.

Kenneth: Guess they should work on their socializing skills. How many other people have you brought in to meet them? How’d they fare?

This time, Grace is silent for other reasons. Her expression grows more guarded, and slightly embarrassed. The lack of an answer speaks volumes, though, Kenneth putting it together fast enough.

No one. Grace hasn’t brought anyone else in here.

This is her safe space, a sacred shelter, and somehow he’s managed to find his way inside.

Cautiously, he saunters over to join her by the horses and does his absolute best to be unassuming. Considering he’s a hulking football player with no sense of subtle, it doesn’t work, the horse Grace is currently petting skittering away a bit as he approaches.

Kenneth: Sorry. I’m more trouble than I’m worth. Grace: Don’t say that. Kenneth: Think they’ll ever like me? [ looking at her ] Do I have any chance?

The question feels loaded. Grace meets his eyes.

Grace: You have to earn their trust.

She’ll do her best to help him, if she can. Utilizing her own goodwill with the horse, she lures it forward again, back up to the edge of the pen. She soothingly rubs its nose and then dips her forehead against the flat of its muzzle, Kenneth watching in bewildered fascination.

Once it seems calm enough, she glances his way… then takes his hand, gently guiding it up to brush the horse’s nose.

Cute a moment as that might have been, it doesn’t quite land. Because nope, this dude has not earned its trust, and it’s not playing the same games Grace may be. The horse brays and shuffles backwards again, out from under their hands.

Kenneth: Damn it. Grace: [ with a laugh ] Don’t worry. Just give it time. Kenneth: … so does that mean I’m welcome back here again?

It sure does seem to imply… Grace realizes that, pausing and glancing at their hands. They’ve come to rest on the edge of the gate, hers still laid on top of his tan fingers.

Kenneth doesn’t seem at all opposed to that. In fact, he starts to flip his hand to link their fingers together, but Grace slips away, retreating further into the stables to distract herself with the horse feed.

As much of a tease as she seems intent on being, Kenneth manages to take it well. He swallows his impatience and follows her over to the oat barrels, taking a good look around. An item hanging on the wall above her catches his eye.

Kenneth: What’s that?

Grace follows his gaze, landing on the same sight. It’s a decorative horse shoe, slightly larger-than-scale and made of shimmering blue glass.

Grace: Nothing. Just some art. Kenneth: Well, I don’t believe that. Wouldn’t be hanging in such a high place of honor if it wasn’t special. Grace: It’s in a stable. Kenneth: Which is a place of honor to you. Ain’t that right?

Touché. Grace doesn’t deny that, keeping her eyes on the oat scoop.

Grace: My mama got it for me when I was little. From a local artist in North Carolina, when my parents went. I couldn’t go, stayed with my grandparents, but she knew I was sad about it. I wanted to see the wild horses. So she brought me back the next best thing.

Learning a lot about each other today. Kenneth continues to look at it, absorbing how much it means to her… then lets his gaze drift back to her.

Kenneth: So you were always big on ponies? Or did she just take a lucky guess that you’d be obsessed -- Grace: How did you know my favorite color is blue?

The question slips out unprompted, confusing Kenneth. He raises his eyebrows when she turns to face him, her expression guarded… but delicate too.

Kenneth: What do you mean? Grace: When I saw your truck. I said “I like the color,” and you said you know. That I love blue. Kenneth: … yeah? Is that wrong? Grace: No. It’s right. It’s exactly right. How did you know that? Kenneth, amused: Is that a real question? You told me, Grace.

Once, in some inane conversation in the last few weeks, she must’ve mentioned it. Offhanded, to fill the space, not thinking anything of it herself.

But he heard her. He listened.

Grace: Oh. I don’t remember that. Kenneth: Well, I do. [ a beat ] I remember everything you say.

Oh. Grace’s stomach flips, and that flush returns to her cheeks. She doesn’t turn away from him, but her gaze dips to the floor, not sure if she’s ready to be so seen.

But Kenneth is ready. He’s been ready. He steps closer.

Kenneth: I like listening to you. Grace: I don’t know why. I’m not good at it. Talking. Kenneth: I think you’re dang good at just about everything. Grace: I’m not. I don’t… talk, and I don’t… let people in here -- Kenneth: And yet, here we are. Grace: I don’t let people in. You hang around long enough, you’re gonna figure out why. I’m nothing special. I’m -- I’m just -- Kenneth: Grace.

He’s made it in front of her now, closing the distance between them. Grace has backed up against the feed station, nowhere else to run and hide. Nearby, the horses whinny uncertainly.

With a tender touch, Kenneth reaches and tilts Grace’s chin upward, guiding her into meeting his eyes again. Not allowing her to shy away. This time, she doesn’t pull away.

The space between them grows thinner… Grace has the sense she should slip away, the relentless instinct for self-preservation, but it’s suddenly hazier in the magnetic storm of his grip. They inch closer… and closer… their lips almost brush…

Kenneth: [ in a murmur ] Do I have any chance?

In an instant, Kenneth gets his answer. Because despite his eagerness, Grace caves first, leaning into their first kiss. The first one is slow, testing the waters, and they break for a quiet moment to catch their breath when they pull apart.

Then, it’s game over. Kenneth cups Grace’s face and pulls her into another kiss, this one more urgent than the first. And by some grace of God, or maybe the Devil, Grace loses all her reservations in the thrill of his embrace. She matches his fervor and kisses him back, grabbing his flannel and pulling him close.

We pan up and away, lingering on the decorative horseshoe…

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Out of the fog of the nineties and back in the present, Charlie is back at Chubbies. He has his travel journal open and colored tabs ready to organize, but that seems to be as far as he’s gotten. He’s distracted this afternoon, lost in his own head as he stares blankly out the window and watches people pass on the sidewalk without really seeing them.

He certainly doesn’t see ZAY BABINEAUX, who enters the diner from the other side of the street. Unlike Charlie, he’s energetic and alert, and he only brightens further when he spots the all too familiar back of Charlie’s head.

But he has to tread cautiously -- it’s been a minute since his little revelation during his audition, but the feelings haven’t changed. So he may not be able to pull off nonchalant as expertly as before. He needs to act strategically to avoid embarrassing himself.

So Zay does what he does best. He goes for a tease. He quietly approaches from behind and then strikes by surprise, reaching over the back of the adjacent booth to tap Charlie on his far shoulder. He jumps in response, naturally looking over his shoulder until he realizes that’s silly a second later, since he’s just looking at the window -- and whips his head back around just in time to find Zay standing at his table with a cheeky smile on his face.

Charlie: Jeez. Zay: Hi. You’re twitchy today. Charlie: You scared me. Zay: Since day one. It’s basically my job.

Charlie resists the urge to roll his eyes. Zay plops into the booth opposite him, asking how things are going. What’s he working on? Before Zay can get too close a look, Charlie swiftly closes the journal and subtly pulls it closer to himself.

Charlie: Nothing much. Just killing time until those college acceptances come through. Zay: Seriously? Charlie: Were you expecting something else? Remember who you’re talking to here. Zay: Wah, wah. But no, not particularly. I just feel like -- I don’t know, I assumed you were booked up. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.

Yeah… that would be the lowkey mood-swing-depression hibernation… classic ostracized-by-Eleanor coping mechanism. Charlie avoids getting into it, though, clearing his throat and shrugging.

Charlie: No, yeah, I’ve just… um, been busy.

Response of the month, apparently. Zay can tell he’s being vague, but he decides to let it go for now, because being near him again already feels volatile and pushing any buttons when he’s so internally unsteady feels like risky business.

And he already has a big ask on his mind. Speaking of colleges and acceptances…

Zay: So. Turner. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it. Charlie: Oh, shoot, yeah. Sorry, I totally meant to follow up -- Zay: Why are you apologizing? Don’t apologize to me. Charlie: Okay, right. Sorry. I mean --

Charlie winces at himself, earning a laugh from Zay. He takes a second to compose himself, skipping the compulsive apologies, then starts again.

Charlie: I meant to check in earlier. Zay: Before you evaporated? Charlie: Sure. So, what? Did you hear anything? I feel like if you had, you would’ve said something. Zay: Correct. Believe me, if they’d told me anything worthwhile, you’d be the first to know. [ shaking his head ] No, they’re saving that big reveal for later. But they’re doing a post-audition semi-formal gala of sorts this week to celebrate everyone’s hard work, and for getting this far, blah blah blah. Charlie: Wow. That’s nice? Zay: Yeah, in theory. Only they’re also announcing the three finalists for the two spots at this thing, rather than sparing us all the tragedy or just saying which two got picked upfront. Charlie: Wow. That’s… a lot. Zay: No fucking kidding. Blood might be spilled, Carrie style. Not to mention it’s such a dramatic as fuck way to do this whole thing, but I guess that’s kind of par for the course in the business. The other part is that we all get to do some sort of solo presentation, like a little talent show, to make us all feel good and special before they harpoon most of our high hopes.

It’ll be interesting, at least, there’s no doubt about that. Based on his expression, Charlie seems grateful he’s not trying to exist in this industry more and more every day.

Zay: Anyway, the circus allows each of us to invite a plus-one, and I was thinking you could come with me. [ a beat ] You know, as a thank-you for showing up in the first place.

It takes Charlie a minute to process the request, and once he does, he isn’t quite sure he can believe it.

Charlie: Oh. Zay: I know I didn’t exactly sell it that well, but I swear it’ll be fun. Probably. Maybe. At least entertaining. And not stressful for you, considering you don’t have any stakes in the whole thing. Charlie: Well, aside from you… Zay: Aside from me. But personally. All the more reason to have you there -- I’m going to need all the luck I can get. Charlie: No, right, ha ha. For sure. I just, um…

Charlie subconsciously grips the edge of his journal, hugging it a bit closer to him.

Charlie: Is Vanessa gonna be cool with that? Or are you all not allowed to like, be each other’s plus-ones? Zay: Oh. No. No, uh… don’t think she’d like that very much anyway.

That’s foreboding. Charlie frowns, confused, opening the door for Zay to truly catch him off-guard. Forgot to mention this little detail…

Zay: We ended things. A bit ago.

Charlie stops breathing. For how sharply those words just sent electricity through his veins, though, he does a remarkable job of keeping it together.

Charlie: Oh. Shoot. [ frown deepening ] I’m sorry. Zay: [ waving him off ] It’s… you know. Whatever. I mean, honestly, it’s fine. For the best. Like, we liked each other, but with the competition and everything…

Not to mention the whole still-in-love-with-your-ex thing. But details, details. Regardless, the point is that there’s certainly no issue here. There’s no barriers to entry, and no reason not to follow his gut and invite him along.

That is, except for Charlie himself. If he doesn’t want to go, no harm, no foul.

Zay: Like I said, I totally get if it sounds like a lot. You were just my first thought.

If Zay says one more nice thing so easily like that, he’s going to knock him out. But Charlie manages to keep his cool, contemplating for a moment before shrugging.

Charlie: Why not? I’d be happy to come. Thanks for inviting me.

Zay grins, relieved. Charlie aims to shake off the strange tension that seems to have resurfaced between them, taking a shot at his expense.

Charlie: Besides, it’s probably wise for me to tag along. If this really is going to become a bloodbath, you’ll need someone to cover you -- or pull you out of there before you commit murder.

He kids, but he hasn’t met the Turner cohort yet. Zay makes a face.

Now that he’s gotten through his high-stakes request -- and got the answer he hoped for -- Zay’s brain is working enough again to think about anything else.

Zay: Speaking of shit we meant to ask about, how did that thing from the other night go? When you left the audition? I know you were pretty serious about it.

God, Zay, you have no idea… and he still won’t, as Charlie side-steps the question once the initial rush of dread wears off.

Charlie: Oh, yeah. Yeah, it went… great. All good.

Zay smiles, and Charlie just manages to mirror it.

INT. JUPITER RECORDS - OFFICE - DAY

To round out the afternoon, Yindra finds herself specifically called into the office of one of the main label representatives putting the girl group together. The LABEL REP greets her cheerfully and invites her to sit wherever she’s comfortable.

Label Rep: We’re just waiting for one more.

That has Yindra more uncertain than before. She figured being singled out was either very good news or very bad news, given they’re running at six right now, but if she’s not the only one then she isn’t sure what to think.

Even more so once Aleena appears in the doorway, receiving the same warm greeting.

She and Yindra eye each other curiously for a second, both trying to suss out what could have possibly brought them both here. They’re not similar voice parts. They don’t have the same core skills. Aleena is far from Yindra’s most direct competition, far as she could surmise.

Even so, there they both are. Aleena offers a tight smile and takes the seat next to Yindra, both of them turning their attention to the label rep.

Label Rep: First, I just wanted to offer my most sincere congratulations. It’s quite the feat that you both made it this far in the process, and I hope you’re very proud of yourselves.

Yindra senses hedging, but Aleena beats her to a pithy comment.

Aleena: I’m saving the pride for if I actually make it, personally.

So they can skip all the niceties. What is this really about? The rep gets that signal, clearing their throat and getting to the point.

Label Rep: It’s no joke about how talented both of you are. Between us, you two are certainly some of the strongest contenders in this crop, and I’m not just saying that. There’s so much going for each of you, so in that regard, keep doing what you’re doing. Yindra: But…? If we’re here discussing it, surely there’s a but.

Indeed. The label rep goes on to explain that as they well know after the retreat experience, the label is taking everything into consideration when crafting the ultimate girl group to resuscitate the genre. That goes for skill, but marketability as well. Looks are one factor, of course, which neither girl should be worried about -- they’re both gorgeous. However…

Label Rep: The general public is a fickle beast, particularly the American subset. Did you know consumers will become averse to a product they traditionally love just because the packaging suddenly changed colors? Or because the text of the brand name is just slightly too big?

Point is, the smallest details really do matter. That goes doubly for the industry, where being an entertainer basically invites scrutiny to an abnormal degree. This is something the label is keenly aware of, and trying to anticipate every angle as they put together the perfect combination of women. For the two of them…

Label Rep: The concern has been raised that your names may be… too similar.

Yindra frowns, confused. Aleena looks less caught off-guard, but just as perturbed.

Yindra: I’m sorry? I don’t understand. Label Rep: With a girl group -- or any group, for that matter -- you want each member to be distinct. To bring their own unique personality and flavor to the table, that dissuades any sense of interchangeability. You want there to be the feeling that this combination of girls is it, the absolute pinnacle of personas coming together for a master class in performance. Aleena: Right. Sure. Yindra: But I don’t see how that applies? Our names aren’t similar. I mean, I guess they both end in “A.” Aleena: So does Tabitha. Label Rep: Yes, well -- Aleena: And Ronica. Yindra: Wow, maybe there are a lot of “ah” ending names -- Label Rep: That’s not the concern. But the reasoning is beside the point.

Regardless of why, they’ve honed in on these two as a potential issue, and they want to be ahead of the curve by proactively finding a solution. Thus, why they’ve summoned them there today.

Label Rep: We’re hoping that one of you -- or both, if you so choose -- would be willing to take on a nickname. While a member of the group.

Something more distinct, and ideally poppy. A pseudonym that’ll ring fresh with the rest and help create the perfect symphony of names that just flies off the tongue.

Although she can’t put her finger on why, the suggestion makes Yindra uncomfortable. Despite how cheerfully the rep is pitching it, something just doesn’t feel right. Aleena seems equally resistant.

Aleena: So you want us to play a part. Label Rep: No. No, not at all -- Aleena: You’re asking us to take on a different name. Isn’t that inherently being someone else? Label Rep: Absolutely nothing about either of you needs to change. You have great assets all around, and we want to highlight that. It’s just about… finding the right label. Spicing up the packaging. That’s all. We want to give you the best chance for success.

Only a name isn’t just a label -- it’s an identity. It’s Yindra’s identity, and she isn’t sure she wants to get her start being known by something else entirely.

Label Rep: Some of the greatest artists out there today have stage names, after all. Like Lorde! Or… or, um… Yindra: Lady Gaga. Aleena: Cardi B. Yindra: Halsey. Aleena: Lana Del Rey. Label Rep: Yes! Yes, all of the above. You totally get what I’m saying.

Except she couldn’t be bothered to do her own research first… well, suppose that’s the joy of having the grunt work in a project like this. It’s certainly not one of the label executives sitting down with them to have this conversation.

Aleena: So how is this being decided, exactly? Label Rep: Well, that’s the best part. We know you all are working on building collaboration, and we want to foster that one-hundred percent. So we’re putting the choice in your hands! The two of you can work it out amongst yourselves who would like the fun little name remix.

Oh, even better! They not only want one of them to drop their identity, they’re going to make them battle it out to pick who. Less blood on their hands. Aleena and Yindra exchange an awkward side-eye.

Label Rep: To help you decide, the label is going to send you a list in the next couple of days with some of the new names they’ve been workshopping for you. So you’ll have a much better sense of what this new pop persona might sound like before you have to pull the trigger.

With that, she’ll let them go, but they’d love it if they could hear back before the end of the week.

INT. JUPITER RECORDS - HALLWAY - DAY

As they exit, Yindra tries to make conversation, mostly to cover her own discomfort.

Yindra: That was weird, right? Kind of dumb to make us have to work out their aesthetic preferences, but -- Aleena, flatly: It’s not about aesthetics.

Yindra pauses, uncertain. Aleena stops walking and sighs, deciding to just give it to her straight.

Aleena: It’s not that our names are similar. You said it yourself, they’re not. They’re basically at opposite ends of the alphabet. Yindra: Yeah. Which is why it’s dumb that -- Aleena: It’s not that they’re alike. It’s that they’re not white enough.

Yindra’s stomach drops. That must have been where the itching sense of distaste came from. It wasn’t said out loud, not by the label, but…

Aleena: Look, I’ve been in this business a couple years now, and they all play the same games. [ with an eye roll ] They want diversity points, and lucky them based on the girls we’ve got left, they’ll get them. That’s not a bad thing. But… God forbid it sounds too much like it.

If prime marketability is what they’re after… well, something’s gotta give. Apparently. Whether that’ll be Yindra or Aleena, though…

For now, remains to be seen. Aleena claims she’ll hit her up later, once they’ve both had time to think through this bullshit.

Aleena: That is, if this doesn’t make you wanna run for the hills. Wouldn’t blame you.

Or is she just saying that, so she’ll get out of her way? Hard to say.

Yindra doesn’t respond, left standing in the hallway and suddenly feeling more alone than ever.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

Riley steps into a similarly lonely entryway, though the promise of company is just around the corner where the light is shining. It’s strange to walk this apartment without feeling like you’re treading on eggshells, but that’s exactly what she does, heading into the living area.

Grace spots her first, currently sitting on the couch going through boxes from the bedroom. She stands when she sees she’s there, more than a little surprised.

Grace: Hi. I didn’t realize you were stopping by. Riley: Yeah. I hope that’s okay. [ holding up a takeout bag ] I figured with everything you guys are working on, you probably aren’t super focused on meal prep. This place is on the way from NYU, so thought I’d grab something. Keep everyone fed. Grace: That’s sweet. Thank you. But I hope you’re not taking too much time. Shouldn’t you be at the show -- Lucas: Riley?

Both women pause, turning to look at Lucas standing in his doorway. He heard her voice and couldn’t be sure he wasn’t going crazy -- although despite his request that she skip coming by, he doesn’t seem upset to see her there.

Lucas: I thought you weren’t coming.

Riley can answer both questions in one. She smiles at Grace, then holds Lucas’s gaze, resolute.

Riley: I’m between shows. I’ve got time.

To her, being there for him is never going to be a burden.

That little detail cleared up, she passes off the food to Grace, encouraging them to dig in whenever they’re hungry. She’ll grab some before she heads back for the evening show, but in the meantime, what can she help with? She’s eager to contribute however she can.

Now that she’s there, Lucas isn’t going to fight her on it. He gestures for her to join him and she happily obliges, the two of them quietly discussing whatever minimal sorting Lucas has managed to accomplish.

Grace dutifully takes the food into the kitchen before returning to her own task, pausing for a moment to listen to Lucas and Riley chat in the other room. It’s reassuring, honestly, to hear how different his tone is with her. Far less unpredictable, and less abrasive, than she’s been navigating the past couple of weeks.

It makes her smile, even just a bit… and in some ways, it takes her back. She settles back onto the couch and goes back to sorting through one of the smaller boxes she pulled from their bedroom closet, a mish-mash of mementos and photographs.

As she lingers on one of her and Kenneth from high school…

EXT. AUSTIN SUBURBS - MONTAGE - FLASHBACK - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Alright” as performed by Supergrass || Instrumental

We’re thrown back into the rose-tinted world of the late nineties, fully submerged in the whirlwind of Kenneth and Grace’s young romance. It’s reminiscent of The Notebook, full of whimsy and charm. They walk the halls of school together, Kenneth insistent on showing off his new girl despite her shyness and less-than-popular everygirl status. She attends more games to cheer him on, a joy to both Kenneth on the field and Rachel cheering on the sidelines.

He indulges her hobbies too, though, infiltrating more time in Grace’s sacred space as she cares for the horses on their farm. He listens attentively enough while she bores him with details about them, and the two get playful as she teaches him how to harness and ride one. He also makes a habit of bothering her while she’s trying to do homework, or write in her journals -- he even snatches it from her at one point and starts to flip through it, which she only manages to get back once she’s playfully wrestled him for it and he’s stolen a kiss instead.

Of course, they do that too. Kiss. More and more frequently, the longer they spend together. At school, on the sidelines during games when they’re between plays, after Kenneth takes her home. Deeper and longer kisses in his bedroom, or hers, or in the barn when he’s managed to distract her from the horses. In one shot, he nudges her back against the wall and kisses her hard, Grace’s decorative horseshoe wobbling dangerously on its hook.

Though Grace remains more hesitant than him, and more likely to turn her cheek or shy away from his affection with a bashful grin, Kenneth isn’t deterred. He seems to take it in stride -- more of that hard-to-get game he felt she’s been playing with him since they first met. If he is frustrated, he’s doing a good job of hiding it, and she usually makes up for it with another adorable quirk or embrace a moment later.

It almost feels like a dream. The whole sequence of little moments and memories is so disarming and endearing, it’s almost possible to forget who we’re looking at and what they become. Some things are less clear in hindsight…

In fact, watching the two of them here, they could pass for any of our favorite AMBITION duos. Cute, carefree, full of natural chemistry and the undeniable desire to be near each other.

Feel alright…

EXT. THE HIGH LINE - DAY

Nigel and Zay are on the High Line, taking the chance to share a walking lunch in an otherwise hectic week. They both commiserate about the fact that they’re glad they’re not the ones dealing with funerals and all that, let alone this week.

Zay: I’ve got enough on my mind with this whole transfer gala thing. I told Riley if she needed anything, she can totally hit me up, but… suffice to say, Friar always reminds me that I am extremely lucky to have the family I do. [ elbowing him ] We lucked out in one way at least, huh? Nigel: Oh, yeah… for sure.

The agreement is hollow, but not enough for Zay to notice. He can sense that Nigel isn’t quite zoned in, though, so he tries to gear the conversation towards him. How is this semester going? Any better than last -- he hopes?

Zay: Surely NYU is realizing what they’ve got with you in their ranks, or I don’t know, man. If they don’t choose you, they oughta lose you.

He says it jokingly, but he has no idea exactly how spot on he is. Truly no clue, because of all people, Nigel hasn’t told him one word of his UK ambitions. Not that he couldn’t, in fact, he knows Zay would empower him without hesitation. He’s all about bold moves and asserting your worth.

Yet, even now, Nigel demurs. He opts not to say anything, because when he looks at Zay, all he hears is a relentless echo in his brain.

You are not Zay Babineaux!

He loves Zay, but he can’t understand this. They’ve never been the same.

So Nigel shrugs, redirecting the conversation back to Zay’s big events this week.

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

Despite how casually she played things off with Farkle, Maya is far from the pinnacle of productivity these days. She mainly spends her time holed up in her room, pretending to be songwriting but not actually getting anything done. If you asked her, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell you how she spends most of her days. It all feels like a big blur.

Until lighting strikes and brings everything into sharp, stinging focus. Maya sits up from her blanket cocoon when her phone vibrates with a text. She’s already preparing what she’ll say to Farkle to deflect, or assure him she’s busy, but it’s not from him.

It’s Justin.

“Hey hey heyyy, hope everything is good with you! wondering when ur thinking about getting back into the studio? we’ve got hit songs to create for your big EP debut haha”

It’s so casual it’s actually disturbing. As if nothing happened, as if everything between them is exactly how it was before the retreat. It’s so easy for him to brush it off and forget -- no big deal, no consequences.

It’s not that easy for Maya. She’s been doing everything in her power to forget about it, about him, for weeks. But it’s a losing battle, considering he and Melissa were becoming her whole world. Seeing it thrown back in her face is so unsettling, it makes her sick.

Literally. Suddenly sure she’s going to vomit, Maya pushes the blankets off of her in a frantic rush and races for her bathroom.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - BATHROOM - DAY

She collapses on the tiled floor in front of the toilet, dry heaving and hands shaking. Thankfully, nothing comes out, but that’s mostly because she hasn’t been eating too well lately either. Once the intense bout of nausea subsides, she groans and falls back against the side of the bathtub.

Maya has never felt this way before. So unsteady, affected by the smallest shift in the wind. So… weak.

She hates it. She hates it, and there’s nothing she can do about it. The damage has already been done.

But at the very least, she can protect herself from attacks like this. With vitriol, she reaches for her phone and opens the text thread with Justin, then slams the block button.

Brief moment of empowerment ebbing away, Maya crumbles again, folding in on herself and slouching down to let her forehead rest against the cold porcelain of the bath.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Justin isn’t the only one wondering about Maya’s absence. JOSH MATTHEWS has noticed -- partially because it’s so quiet without her blathering on and on about herself.

And because he’s got outstanding business with her. He never did hear back after he left her that voicemail, even though he’s been checking his messages and missed calls repeatedly. He thought he might be able to catch her in the office, at least let her know he left it in case she just for some reason missed it…

But clearly, that isn’t going to be so simple. Because for weeks now, M.H. has been M.I.A.

Josh clicks into his drafts in his email, where we see he’s crafted an entire email of all his notes to Maya about her demos. Thoughtful, even-handed with praise and constructive criticism, having given each of them more effort and time than Melissa or Justin have thrown their way combined. He wrote them down in the off-chance she rejected him outright, so he could at least give her the material to do with as she pleased…

But he can’t send it. He can’t let go of the hope he might be able to discuss it with her in person.

It’s dangerous to contemplate it here anyway. He goes back to his inbox, skimming through an email that just came through from Ernest Floyd. Based on the amount of exclamation points he included, he’s very excited about whatever he’s cooking up.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said and been putting it to work. I’m putting a bunch of new stuff together, and I can’t WAIT to show the world. I’m using one of those demo tracks you made me last summer -- prepare to be AMAZED!!!!!”

That’s nice. If only anyone on Earth cared. Josh starts to type out a canned encouraging response, just so he knows he’s still in his corner, but he’s distracted as MELISSA SUZUKI returns down the hall from lunch. She gives him a cheerful greeting as she passes. Josh returns it, about to let the moment pass…

Josh: Hey, is Maya coming in today? Or… at all this week? Melissa: Oh. You know, I’m not sure. I don’t think she’s on the calendar. [ playfully ] That’s your job, isn’t it? Josh: No, she isn’t. She hasn’t been. [ a beat ] I just thought maybe you all were meeting off schedule or something. Or she might stop by. I feel like she hasn’t been around in weeks.

Sure hasn’t, Josh. And Melissa knows this -- there’s a moment where her features flicker with recognition, and bizarrely, what looks like a hint of shame -- but she brushes it off a second later.

Melissa: I think she said she was going to take some time out of the studio, actually. Do some workshopping on her own. Josh: Oh. Okay. Melissa: But she should be back soon. I’m sure.

Melissa gives him a smile, then lets it drop. Josh doesn’t question further, but something about it all is still bothering him… if she’s working so hard on stuff on her own, then why is she leaving him on read? He thought they had gotten through their rough patch, that things were in a good state. If it’s not just her being petty for no reason again…

What is he missing?

[ 411 Hub ] [ Next (Part 1, half 2) → ]

#411

0 notes