catastrophe || j. foley

Tape 1: Side A

INT. CLAY'S HOUSE - NIGHT-
CLAY'S ROOM

Mostly tidy, mostly teenage, a few piles of books and papers, an unmade bed, backpack and contents strewn across it.

Clay is digging through his notebooks and binders when his mom steps into the doorway.

MRS. JENSEN: Back so soon?

CLAY: I forgot something.

He stands up, and she sees the gash in his forehead.

MRS. JENSEN: Clay. Your forehead.

CLAY : What? It's nothing.

But when he turns to check it in his mirror, he's a bit surprised by the amount of blood. Wavers just slightly.

MRS. JENSEN: Did you fall off your bike?

CLAY:  Low hanging branch. I went through the woods. It was dark.

He continues to search for the map.

MRS. JENSEN: I'll get the first aid kit.

CLAY: I don't need first aid.

MRS. JENSEN: You're bleeding. You need ointment.

CLAY: Eww. Mom don't say "ointment."

Clay goes to look at himself in the mirror on his closet and winces when he sees his forehead and then he turns to his mom.

CLAY: I'm fine. Really.

MRS. JENSEN: What happened?

CLAY: I told you. Bike. Branch. Skin.

MRS. JENSEN: That's all?

CLAY: Mom. I tell you everything
about my life because it's so fascinating. I'll clean it up. I have to go. Tony's waiting for me.

MRS. JENSEN: Ah-ah

She reaches behind his door and grabs his helmet and hands it to him.

MRS. JENSEN: Your helmet. Please.

EXT. TOWN STREET - NIGHT - FLASHBACK

Clay skids to a stop in front of the Crestmont. Dismounts and begins to lock up his bike.

HANNAH (O.S.)
Love the helmet. Looks adorable.

Clay turns, blushes. Fumbles with the helmet strap.

CLAY: You mean "adorable" in the "helpless baby animal" sort of way, I'm guessing?

HANNAH: Aren't you afraid of helmet hair?

CLAY: My hair does the same thing no matter what, just sits there.

She considers his hair. Twirls a few strands in her fingers. Clay tries to slow his heart.

HANNAH: You just need some product. A little effort to style it. Blow-dry it in the morning.

CLAY: And sacrifice my masculinity?

HANNAH: That ship has sailed, don't we think?

Pointing towards his helmet.

CLAY: Forgive me for wanting to keep my brains inside my head.

HANNAH: Yeah, well. You get better use from yours. Instead of say some other region like most boys?

CLAY: What do you-- you're totally smart.

HANNAH: You're sweet. I have other gifts. And one day, I'll figure out what they are.
Come on Helmet Head. You've got bathrooms to clean.