unlike terms
737 Words
ACT I, SCENE I
Setting:
A busy hallway at North Ridge Junior High, just after the lunch bell. The space is alive with energy—students rush between classes, lockers slam, voices echo. Posters promoting the upcoming State Science Showcase and the Regional Junior Basketball Championship are taped to walls, showcasing both the school’s academic and athletic pride. A large poster reads:
“Go North Ridge Hawks—Next Stop: California!”
At Rise:
TYLER McCALL, 13, athletic and charismatic, stands at his locker in the middle of the hallway. He wears his school’s warm-up hoodie, basketball shorts, and sneakers. His backpack is barely zipped, a chemistry folder sticking out like an afterthought. He’s flipping through a practice schedule printed on crumpled paper.
DERRICK, his best friend and teammate, approaches from down the hall, spinning a basketball on one finger.
DERRICK (grinning):
Yo, T! Coach says defense drills today—cones, sprints, full-court. You better not ghost like last week, or he’s gonna put you on towel duty again.
TYLER (half-distracted):
I’ll be there, man. Just need to find my—ugh—science folder.
DERRICK (mock horror):
Science? Since when do you care about class?
TYLER (dry):
Since Mr. Patel said if I tank one more quiz, I’m off the team. Something about "academic integrity" or whatever.
DERRICK (laughing):
Man, school’s always in the way. You need Ava Monroe-level brainpower to keep up.
TYLER (groaning):
Don’t even say her name. Guess who Patel paired me with for the chem project?
DERRICK:
No. No way.
TYLER (slams locker):
Yup. Monroe herself. Queen of Lab Reports. Thinks I’m an i***t.
(Suddenly, as if summoned, AVA MONROE, 13, focused and sharp-eyed, appears from behind a line of lockers. She wears a navy cardigan over her uniform, glasses slightly tilted from her brisk walking. She carries a color-coded binder and walks with purpose.)
AVA (flatly):
That's because you are.
(TYLER and DERRICK turn. DERRICK quietly slips away with a "good luck" wave, leaving TYLER to face her.)
TYLER (forcing a smile):
Hey, Ava. I was just talking about you.
AVA (not stopping):
I know. I heard. Don’t worry—I’m not thrilled about this either.
TYLER (mock innocence):
What? You don’t want to spend quality lab time with me? Shocking.
AVA (snapping her binder shut):
This isn’t quality time. It’s damage control. You miss one more lab, and Mr. Patel said I have to carry the project myself.
TYLER (grinning):
Well, lucky for you, I’m very carryable.
AVA (pauses, raises an eyebrow):
That doesn’t make sense.
TYLER:
Neither do most of Patel’s assignments.
AVA (sighs):
Meet me in the chem lab after practice. No excuses. We need to plan our reaction series and write a hypothesis.
TYLER (playful):
You’re really taking the fun out of science.
AVA (cutting):
Because unlike basketball, there’s no buzzer to save you when you’re failing.
(TYLER flinches slightly, but keeps up the act.)
TYLER (shrugging):
I’ll bring snacks.
AVA (cold):
Bring a pen. And your brain, if it’s not too busy dunking.
(She walks past him. As she passes, TYLER turns to call after her.)
TYLER:
Hey! Ava—
(She stops halfway down the hall but doesn’t turn around.)
TYLER (a bit more seriously):
You ever miss a shot?
(AVA stands still for a moment, then speaks over her shoulder without looking at him.)
AVA:
Only when my teammates don’t follow the plan.
(She exits. TYLER watches her go, then leans against the lockers, a little impressed.)
TYLER (to himself):
Okay... maybe she’s not entirely awful.
(Just as the hallway begins to clear, MR. PATEL, their chemistry teacher, passes by with a pile of folders. He stops when he sees TYLER still loitering.)
MR. PATEL (teasing):
McCall. Hallway isn’t a substitute for lab time. You two started the project yet?
TYLER (defensive):
Soon. I mean… today. After practice.
MR. PATEL (deadpan):
Excellent. Let me know if you need help finding the periodic table, or remembering to label your beakers this time.
TYLER (grinning):
One exploded, and people never let it go.
MR. PATEL (heading off):
In science, mistakes teach. Just try not to make the same ones twice.
(Lights dim slightly as the hallway begins to clear. TYLER slings his backpack over one shoulder and starts walking slowly toward the gym.)
TYLER (quietly, more to himself than anyone):
Don’t miss the shot, huh…?
(He dribbles an invisible ball once as he disappears down the hallway.)
- Writer
