Fifteen Minutes

A/N: So, I’m trying to work on my ability to write short scripts, as I’ve only written forty minute television drama scripts before. If possible, review and tell me what you think about it in general, but if you have any suggestions on formatting or making it more script-like and less story-like or whatever (because I normally write prose), that’s a big part of what I need feedback on. Thanks in advance.

Also, if you have an opinion on a) names or b) whether or not jagoff constitutes a "swear word," feel free to mention that.

FADE IN:

Int. Bedroom - Day

It’s a small room. It looks like a girl’s room, or the idea of one. Posters on the walls show baby-faced boys and the bedspread is frilly, pastel-colored. There’s a guy in the room, though. He doesn’t look quite healthy. He cleans his nails rather obsessively, sitting in a chair in the corner, and his clothes match his appearance. He’s young, mid-teens, nonetheless. His name is MICHAEL.

There’s a teenage girl on the bed, though. Long body stretched out and she’s painting her nails. The paint has glitter in it. Light comes in through the window, highlighting the girl’s hair and the CDs spread across the bed next to her transfer rainbows to the ceiling. Her name is SARA.

SARA

What do you think the most you can do in fifteen minutes is, Michael?

Michael looks up. He frowns at her. He shakes one of his hands, acting as if it hurts.

MICHAEL

I dunno. (PAUSE) Why fifteen minutes?

SARA

(finishing her nails)

Because it’s a very important amount of time. I found some dead relative’s pendant, let you in the window, and have almost gotten my nails perfect in fifteen minutes. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes. (raises her eyebrows)

MICHAEL

(sighs)

Sara, you’re crazy.

Sara puts the nail polish bottle away and blows on her nails. She ignores Michael for a long moment and then falls back onto her bed. She lifts up a CD.

SARA

You know, I think I’ve figured out your problem.

MICHAEL

(joking)

And what’s that?

SARA

People are cruel. That’s crazy, they say. That’s weird. What a freak. And you’ve internalized this to the point that me thinking that fifteen minutes is an important amount of time is more crazy than, say, you thinking everyone but you is an alien. (PAUSE) After all, if everyone else is alien, that would make you the alien, wouldn’t it? I’m also pretty sure some lovely mental health professionals have whatever’s up in your head sorted out and named.

Michael shakes his head. He fidgets and stands up. he takes to pacing the floor in front of the bed. He’s still playing with his hands.

MICHAEL

I don’t deny I have problems--

Sara reaches out and catches him by the arm. She looks him in the eye.

SARA

You sound like a Borg to even me. Don’t worry. I totally believe you. But you’ve got to believe me, okay? Fifteen minutes is important.

Michael rolls his eyes, mutters something under his breath relating to grammar.

MICHAEL

Okay, fifteen minutes is important.

Sara smiles winningly.

SARA

Great! Now we have work to do.

Michael gets her to release his arm and backs up.

MICHAEL

Work?

EXT. Outside Store - Day

Sara has braided her hair and a pendant causes the shirt she’d been wearing before to become crooked, heavier on one side of her body. She looks excited and she’s pushing along a shopping cart. In it, there is a garden hose, shortbread cookies, a box of tea, a jar of marmalade, and Dianthus flowers. Michael walks with her, slightly lagging behind with his hands in his pockets. Concern is written all over his face.

MICHAEL

Are you going to tell me what this is for?

SARA

It’s a surprise, duh. You’re no fun.

MICHAEL

You spent, like, thirty dollars on a bunch of random stuff.

SARA

If it’s planned, it’s not random. And, anyway, human beings aren’t good at random. We have patterns and all. But you wouldn’t know that, would you, Mr. Alien?

Michael stops. Sara continues to push the cart a few steps and then turns. She avoids stepping on thrown away gum and goes back to Michael.

SARA

(whispering)

What’s wrong?

MICHAEL

Sara, you’re on the swim team. You make straight A’s. Until last year, you were dating Derrick Evans. Everyone loves you. And you befriend me. Why?

SARA

Because I decided I was bored. (raises eyebrows) Do you like being bored?

MICHAEL

Um, no?

SARA

Exactly. It was all boring. You’re more interesting. And I befriended a lot of people once I dumped Derrick. He didn’t really like me having friends.

Michael looks upset by this. He shifts from foot to foot.

MICHAEL

He was a bad guy?

SARA

Almost everyone is a bad guy. Can we go now? This is important. We’re wasting time.

MICHAEL

Are we on the clock?

SARA

No.

She walks back to the buggy then without another word. Michael looks indecisive and makes a few gestures--useless gestures--and then follows.

EXT. Glenwood Avenue Sidewalk - Day

Sara and Michael have ditched the buggy, exchanged it for a beat up car that sits a bit too close to the sidewalk a few paces away. They’re in a good part of town with a large house before them and Michael is carrying the sheet of plants with the garden hose wrapped around his neck like a python--or noose.

Sara has put the rest of the goods in a bag that proclaims Earth Day 2008! and her braid is coming undone. She has tried to run her hands through her hair too many times. She tries again, but stops herself before she touches her hair.

MICHAEL

Rich people make me itch.

SARA

That doesn’t surprise me. It’s the rich that pay for the probing and stuff, right?

MICHAEL

That’s not how it works!

Sara gives him a surprised look and takes a step back. His eyes widen and he gulps convulsively for a minute.

MICHAEL

(whispering) Sorry.

Sara shrugs.

SARA

It’s okay, man. Just keep chill. We don’t want someone calling the cops on us. My dad would kill me. (pause) He thinks I’m staying with Shelly Dodger. Because her alcoholic mom is better than staying home alone.

Michael gives her a look, half-panicked. His breathing shifts, faster. Noisier.

SARA

Calm down. My dad won’t kill you. He’s fat, you could outrun him.

MICHAEL

That’s not very nice.

SARA

He’s not very nice.

Sara steps up onto the manicured green lawn. Michael steps forward and flails a bit. He stares at her in utter confusion as she marches up the slight hill, going closer to the house.

SARA (CONT.)

(mocking deep voice)

Ho-hum, you used to date such an outstanding young man. I don’t care if he was a total jagoff, he was rich! Now you invite crazy drug addicts around the house--

MICHAEL

I, um, don’t do drugs.

Sara turns about. She gives him an oversized smile and then waves him on. When Michael doesn’t move, she snaps her fingers.

SARA

(normal voice)

I’m aware. No track marks and I can’t imagine you putting up any alien-made powder up your nose, eh?

MICHAEL

That’s not how--

SARA

Yeah, yeah. Are you coming along?

Michael walks right up to the edge of the grass.

MICHAEL

(whispering)

I think you’re trespassing.

SARA

(loudly)

No I’m not. Now come on. Don’t make me drag you up to the house as if you were a small child, Mickey.

Michael visibly winces, either at the noise level or the nickname. Or both. He wipes a hand across his forehead and then nods. He steps onto the grass.

SARA (CONT.)

Lovely! Now step lightly, soldier. Clock is about to start ticking.

EXT. Beside the House - Day

The sun is shining and the bugs are being noisy and it seems like the two go hand-in-hand. Sara is standing with her hands on her hips, sun to her back, and Michael is staring at her, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out exactly what’s happening. She’s dropped the bag to the ground and would appear to just be basking in the afternoon sunlight.

There’s nothing special about where they’re standing. There’s a stretch of muddy dirt and a spigot and a window above with the blinds drawn.

Then the lights click on in Michael’s head.

MICHAEL

Oh! (PAUSE) Are we...planting flowers?

SARA

That is part of phase one, yes.

MICHAEL

Oh.

Sara drops down to her hands and knees. Michael averts his eyes, even though she’s wearing shorts. He looks embarrassed, maybe blushing a bit.

SARA

Okay, you figure out how to make that hose work or whatever, but put the flowers down first. I’ll put ‘em in the dirt, you know?

Michael loiters awkwardly.

MICHAEL

A’right. Um.

Sara pulls out her cell phone and does a few second’s work on it.

SARA

Tick-tock.

Michael fumbles about and manages to get the flowers on the ground, container slipping into the mud, and then works on getting the hose untangled from around his neck.

EXT./INT. Back Porch of the House/House’s Kitchen/House’s Living Room - Day

The porch doesn’t seem the newest and it is screened in. It isn’t modern and it isn’t particularly pretty and leaves from autumn are still clustered in the corners.

Sara walks up the steps leading to it and walks across the creaky floor without batting an eyelash. She has the bag back and she’s muddy, some of the mud smeared even on her jaw. Michael follows, looking more tired than ever, and even his checking of his nails and hands seems subdued.

MICHAEL

I don’t like this, Sara.

SARA

Shush.

Sara opens up the door to the interior of the house. Apparently, it was left unlocked. She slips in.

Michael stands gawking for an instant and then opens up the door himself. He sticks his head in. He hears rustling, like Sara is moving things around or something, and wets his mouth. He looks behind himself nervously.

MICHAEL

Sara, get out of there. This is different from planting flowers. You’re in somebody’s house.

SARA (O.S.)

It’s okay. I’ve started volunteering at a nursing home.

MICHAEL

How does that make this okay?

There’s no response from inside the house. Michael sighs and rests his forehead against the doorjamb momentarily. It leaves a smear of sweat. He looks around one more time and then goes inside the house.

He lets the door close loudly behind him. A cowbell rings. He nearly jumps out of his skin. He literally goes a couple inches off the ground and his body stays tense when he lands.

WOMAN (O.S.)

Sara, is that you?

The kitchen is lost to a bygone time. It’s older and somewhat unkempt. Sara has unpacked the cookies and marmalade and tea by the stove top. She has a kettle going and cups lined out--three of them--and the cookie container is opened, same with the marmalade which has a spoon in it. She’d been ripping off a paper towel sheet from a roll--a roll of the sort with the floral edges--and then winces.

Michael gives her a panicked look.

Sara rolls her eyes and lets out a huffy breath. Her bangs, now loose, move with the breath.

SARA

It’s me. One minute.

Sara finishes ripping of the paper towel and lays it on the counter. Then she checks her phone. She nods to herself and then walks over to Michael. She grabs him by the arm and leads him further into the house. Most of the lightbulbs are either off or dead and the windows in the house are all covered.

The living room is covered in books and spreads of paper and a calico cat that mews at him when Sara and him walk by.

The living room is lost in time, too.

There’s an old woman sitting in a chair, reading some papers with her glasses low on her nose. Her hands shake.

Sara sits him down across from the old woman in another chair. Michael is still tense and he looks up to Sara for guidance. She raises her eyebrows.

SARA

Four minutes.

With that, she dashes of.

Michael is left sitting across from the old woman. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t seem to notice him, even. He bounces a leg and looks around the room. The cat comes over and sniffs him.

Shortly, though, Sara brings out a tray with three teacups and the cookies, made into little sandwiches with jam in the middle.

SARA

(to the woman)

I made jammie dodgers and tea. (PAUSE) I planted some flowers in the side garden.

Sara moves an ottoman to the middle of the room and sets the tray down. She lets out a breath, hands back on her hips. Her hair is even more undone.

She then bites her lip and turns to Michael. She looks him up and down.

SARA

I met Anna at the nursing home. She was visiting another woman there, Margaret. I told them about you. (PAUSE) Anna told me she wanted to meet you.

Michael gives Anna a suspicious look. The old woman hasn’t moved except for those shaking hands.

MICHAEL

Why?

SARA

Because she’ll say she’s eighty, but she’s older. (PAUSE) And because she figures you’re a changeling.

Anna finally moves. She meets Michael’s eye. Her eyes are old, surrounded by wrinkles. The camera goes to Michael’s, young, unlined, but with pupils twitching with nerves.

ANNA

Oh, he is one, child. He is.

The timer on Sara’s phone goes off.