Homeroom, Abigail Adams High – continuous from Ep. 1
Auggie smiles and nods at MIKEY again. Cory clocks the tension.
Cory: Okay! Before the social order devours us whole, welcome to ninth grade. Rule one in my class: we respect learners at every level. Rule two: nobody owns a chair like it’s a tiny kingdom. We’re going to… (beat) assigned seating!
Groans. Ava raises a hand like a lawyer.
Ava: Objection. I wore my “front row energy” jacket.
Cory: Sustained and noted. (to Mikey and Dewey) You—window. You—door. We’ll rotate. No thrones in history—well, there were, but most ended badly.
Mikey eyeballs Dewey, then shrugs and moves. Dewey pretends to stretch like he wasn’t terrified.
Dewey: I wasn’t scared. I was… limbering.
Cory: Great. Limber your minds. Syllabi on your desks. We’ll talk expectations, lockers, and why I’m already tired.
Auggie exhales. Ava squeezes his hand under the desk.
Ava (whisper): Day one: you lived.
Auggie (whisper): Barely.
Cory: Also, quick housekeeping: if your last name is “Matthews,” your teacher is impartial and totally fair. (smiles) Mostly.
CUT TO:
Hallway – passing period
Dewey swaggers, jacket creaking, glasses fogged.
Dewey: Did you see me? I handled that.
Ava: With interpretive stretching.
Auggie: Guys, can we not poke the big kid? I’d like my face to remain… face-shaped.
They reach their new lockers. Ava brandishes a tiny level.
Ava: Welcome to “Classic Autumn Chic.” We coordinate shelves. Non-negotiable.
Mikey lumbers by with a battered binder. He pauses, glances at the level.
Mikey: That… a ruler?
Ava: It’s a level. For symmetry. Don’t worry, public school is weird for everyone.
Mikey: Huh. (beat, to Auggie) Your dad’s Mr. Matthews, right?
Auggie: (gulp) I… might know him.
Mikey doesn’t press. He moves on.
Dewey: See? We’re fine. He respects us.
A thick geometry book slips from Dewey’s hands, explodes into a confetti of worksheets. Mikey stops, bends, gathers papers—clumsy but careful.
Mikey: You dropped your… math. (hands it over) Watch your corners.
He goes. They blink.
Ava: Plot twist.
Matthews kitchen – that evening
Topanga preps dinner, law-glasses on. Cory grades in the corner. Auggie paces.
Auggie: He said it’s his third year of ninth grade, Dad. That’s like… dog years of ninth grade.
Cory: It’s also three years of showing up. That matters.
Topanga: Bullying is wrong. So is assuming you know someone’s whole story. (to Auggie) How did you do today?
Auggie: I… nodded a lot. And didn’t die.
Cory: That’s high school. Day one win.
Topanga: What’s your plan for day two?
Auggie: Hide behind the flag?
Topanga: (smiles) Or… make one small, good choice. Those stack.
Auggie thinks. Nods—on purpose this time.
School Library – next morning, before first period
Auggie sneaks in, book in hand. He sees Mikey alone at a back table with a shop manual open… and a phone flashlight on the page like a magnifier. Mikey mouths words, stuck on one.
Mikey (quiet): “Comp… com… com-po-nent.”
He notices Auggie, slams the manual shut, and puts on his “I don’t care” face.
Mikey: You lost?
Auggie: Yeah. In general. (beat) Was gonna ask the librarian where World History is. But I found… you. Also, a table.
Silence. Then:
Mikey: World History’s two floors up, left, left, right, past the weird statue of the guy who looks like a potato.
Auggie: Thank you. (beat) “Component.” That was the word.
Mikey stiffens.
Mikey: I know what the word was.
Auggie: Yeah. Just—sometimes my sister used to tap my page when I got stuck. It helped. I… tap softly.
Auggie does a silly, gentle air-tap. Mikey huffs despite himself.
Mikey: You’re real… something.
Auggie: Historically accurate.
Mikey: (grudgingly) It’s not that I can’t read. It’s that the letters do… push-ups. And nobody tells them to stop.
Auggie: The letters do parkour for me. My dad says, “We don’t all climb the same ladder. Some of us take the ramp.”
Mikey: Your dad says a lot.
Auggie: He does. We’re working on it.
They share the tiniest smile.
Auggie: If you want… we could… ramp together? I’m bad at finding rooms, you’re good at maps. I’m okay at sounding stuff out; you probably know tools. Trade?
Mikey weighs it. Shrugs like it costs him nothing—because it costs him everything.
Mikey: I like wrenches.
Auggie: I like… not being punched.
Mikey: Deal. (beat) Don’t make it weird.
Auggie: Already weird, but okay.
Homeroom – later
Cory writes on the board: STORY BUDDIES. Groans.
Cory: We’re going to pair up and read a short article out loud to each other—once for sense, once for kindness. Half of history is the story; the other half is how we tell it. Ava with Doy—Dewey. (catches himself) Auggie with—
Mikey: (blurts) I’ll do Matthews.
A ripple goes through the room. Ava's eyes widen. Dewey tries to look braver than his jacket.
Cory: Works for me. (gentle, to all) Quick reminder: we go at the speed of us. Not the speed of “smart,” not the speed of “show off.” The speed of us.
Pairs settle. Ava turns to Dewey, businesslike.
Ava: Enunciate. If you hit a word you hate, skip it, come back, and we will annihilate it later.
Dewey: (melts, then re-toughens) I mean… cool. Yeah. Words fear me.
At Auggie and Mikey’s desk, Auggie points to the title.
Auggie: “The Erie Canal: How a Ditch Changed Everything.”
Mikey: “Ditch,” I get.
They read. Auggie taps softly when Mikey stalls; Mikey supplies a missing date from memory. Small wins pile up. Cory watches, proud but quiet.
Hallway – after class
Dewey flings his jacket over his shoulder like a movie star whose movie got canceled.
Dewey: Turns out being cool is exhausting. Also hot. This jacket has weather.
Ava: Fashion is pain. Education is power. (beat, softer) You did great. Your S’s used to sound like sideways Z’s. Now they sound like S’s with jobs.
Dewey: Thank you… Miss Morgenstern.
Ava: You may call me Ava. Once. Don’t get used to it.
They grin.
Mikey appears, trying to be casual.
Mikey: Yo, Matthews. (beat) You’re… not the worst.
Auggie: You’re… not terrifying.
Mikey: Don’t spread that around.
He looks past them at the classroom.
Mikey: Your dad… he’s okay.
Auggie: Don’t spread that around.
They share a conspiratorial nod.
Cory’s classroom – last period
Cory hangs a poster: “People change people.” He addresses the class.
Cory: Tomorrow, we start our first unit: Maps & Stories. You’ll pick a place you think you know and find out how you’re wrong. That’s history. That’s also… people.
A hand shoots up.
Ava: Is there extra credit for color-coding?
Cory: Always.
Dewey: Is there extra credit for jacket removal? I’m sweating character development.
Cory: Profusely.
Mikey: (half-hand) Do we… have to read it out loud again?
Cory: Only if you want to. Or you can record it on your phone and listen back. Or draw it. Or build it. Different ladders, same roof.
Mikey nods, relieved.
Cory: Dismissed. Go be ninth graders. Or at least go practice.
They file out. Auggie lingers.
Auggie: Dad?
Cory: Mr. Weird?
Auggie: Today I made… a small, good choice.
Cory: (proud) I saw. Tomorrow, make another.
Auggie: I might need… a map.
Cory: (hands him one—hand-drawn, silly) Already made you one. It’s mostly arrows to the bathroom.
Auggie: (laughs) Thanks.
They share a look that’s half a hug.
TAG – Lockers, end of day
Ava adheres a tiny brass label above Auggie’s shelf: “AUGUST MATTHEWS – CO-OWNER.” She adds one next door: “AVA MORGENSTERN – CO-OWNER.” She sticks a third below, crooked on purpose: “COMMUNITY.”
Mikey strolls past. He stops, takes a piece of masking tape, and writes “MIKEY” in block letters. He sticks it on the empty seat near Cory’s door.
Mikey: (to no one) Now my name’s on it.
He peels half of it back, writes “…and Guests.”
Auggie: That’s… pretty cool.
Mikey: Don’t say that where my reputation can hear.
They all grin as the bell rings. Day two ends. The map gets a little clearer.
END.