EXT. BASKETBALL COURT. DAY
We fade in on a low angle shot of a basketball court. It’s a sunny day in Whitecreek, a few scattered clouds decorate the sky. Baseball and soccer is played on the grass field in the distance. Children scamper around a nearby playground.
A soccer ball drops into the frame. A stalky teenager, DICK, 17, backs his way into the shot. He wears a pair of short “nineteen-seventies” basketball shorts, a blue t-shirt that’ soaked through with sweat, and a white headband. His face is flushed and dripping with perspiration. He breathes heavily and glares at his opponent. Dick heaves a mucus filled cough and hocks a green clump of disgusting off to his left. He wipes his mouth of residual gross and smears it on his shirt.
Bring it, fucker.
JAKE, 17, stands at half court, his right foot sits on top of the soccer ball. Unlike Dick, Jake has a thin and agile frame. He wears more contemporary sports apparel. He winks at Dick.
Did you just wink? You coming on to me, Jake?
(stands and crosses arms)
Tuck it back in your thong, missy! Let’s play some ball!
Jake kicks the ball through Dick’s legs and soccer dribbles it towards the basket. Dick recovers quickly, for his size, and cuts Jake off before he can reach the key. Jake retreats a few steps and dances the ball around the three point line. Dick keeps up but breathing is becoming increasingly difficult. Jake grins.
Wipe that grin off your face.
You okay, Dick? You don’t look too good. Your face is turning white.
(gives Jake the finger)
Bring it. Fucker.
Jake fakes right and goes left around Dick. Once in the key, Jake picks the ball up and lays it up into the hoop. He catches the ball as it exits the net and spikes it hard onto the black top.
Ball game, Dicky! That is how you play Geraldo Ball!
Dick staggers into the key and puts his hands on his knees, he’s finished.
(severely out of breath)
No way. That was a foul.
Ball before, the key.
You picked up the ball before the key.
Oh bullshit! Even if it was a foul, you haven’t scored since Monday. Additionally, I don’t think your body can take another point, chubby.
Jake gingerly pats Dick on the back. Dick instaneously begins to vomit.
FADE TO BLACK.
Oh, Jesus Christ, Dick!
Dick tries to respond but he can’t speak through the throw up.
White Lettering: Shadows of Suburbia.
INT. ADDISON’S CAR. DAY
ADDISON CHASE, 35, comes to a stop at a red light. She smiles as she reads the sign marking the end of her trip, “Welcome to Whitecreek.” The backseat and trunk of her wagon are packed to the rooftop with belongings. She looks to her son, SHILOH CHASE, 17, whom is asleep in the passenger seat. A portable CD player is nestled in his lap. Addison ruffles her fingers through his hair.
Wake up, sleeps, we’re here.
(shakes head from Addison’s fingers)
An annoyed Shiloh rearranges his sandy colored hair.
Oh, come on, Shiloh, it’s messier now that you’re done fumbling with it.
Shiloh pouts as he stares out the window.
God forbid some cutie would see you in here without your hair in perfect disarray. And if you did catch the eye of said “cutie,” I have a feeling that your hair style would be the last thing on her mind. Unless a sport wagon filled to the hilt with all of our belongings and a giant trailer in tow is a turn-on these days.
Silence from Shiloh.
Man, did you girls see Shiloh’s trailer yesterday? Man, it was so big, and orange!
Shiloh bites his lip as he fights back a smile.
Uh oh, he’s loosing it!
Shiloh cracks as he leans over and rakes his fingers through he mom’s maroon colored hair. A car behind them honks.
Addison accelerates through the green light.
Shiloh and Addison look inquisitively out of their windows. Whitecreek is a suburb of tree lined streets, brick houses, picket fences, B&Bs, organic food, and milk men.
Addison takes a piece of paper from the center counsel and hands it to Shiloh.
Okay, it’s a right at the third light. Summerwood loop.
Summerwood loop. It’ll be nice to get into a real house. Motels get old real quick.
EXT. STREET. DAY
A typical tree lined suburban street. Nice houses, perfectly manicured lawns, the occasional gnome, and an SUV in nearly every driveway. A WEBVAN is making a delivery to a house down the street.
Addison’s wagon rounds the corner and comes to a stop in front of a small single story house. Addison exits the car and stretches. She stands at a trim five feet ten and wears a pair of tight fitting blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Plainly put, she’s the girl next door, fifteen to twenty years later.
It’s a real picket fence!
Shiloh skips to the fence and taps his hand on its Gothic tops.
The front door of the house next door opens. A portly lady, LOUISE TUCKER, 43, emerges with an obnoxious wire whisk basket in her hands. Barely able to see past the basket’s contents, Louise lumbers her way across the front lawn. Her permed hair protrudes from the sides of the basket, like a clown trapped in a birdcage.
Addison calmly steps in front of her son to shelter him from the suburbanite that approaches.
Here, let me help you with that.
Non-sense, my dear, go ahead and open the front door I’ll follow you in.
INT. THE CHASE HOUSE. DAY
Addison opens the front door to the fully furnished house. She tries to hide the horror on her face but Addison obviously can’t stand what she sees. White carpet, yellow window treatments, and floral patterned EVERYTHING, surround her.
Louise places the basket on the entry way table and straightens her dress.
Isn’t she beautiful? I took the liberty of decorating for you. It’s a little more contemporary than what I prefer but when I heard you were coming from the big city, I went a little more modern.
Oh, did you? I can’t even tell.
Beautiful. I’m sorry, dear, my name is, Louise Tucker.
Louise extends her hand. At nearly six feet tall, Addison shakes the five foot one Louise Tucker’s hand. It looks like she’s greeting an Umpa Lumpa, but with worse hair.
Nice to meet you, Louise. I’m Addison Chase, this is my son, Shiloh.
Shiloh, what an interesting name.
Nice to meet you, Louise.
Er, uh, Mrs. Tucker.
Louise turns to the basket and removes the cellophane wrap.
Oh, you really shouldn’t have.
Non-sense, my dear. Just a few little odds and ends to welcome you two to our town. Bath soaps, scented candles, fresh coffee, assorted chocolates, and this nifty little salad bowl.
Well, thank you, Louise.
Louise reaches into her pocket and retrieves a small leather bound book.
Oh yes, and of course, the Good Book.
Addison, slightly offended, turns to Shiloh and waves the book in the air.
Look, honey, God!
Shiloh smiles and snatches the book from his mother.
Shiloh begins to sarcastically flip through the pages. Louise is shocked.
Mrs. Chase, I simply brought a few items that I hoped would make you feel welcome.
Addison looks to Louise with remorse.
I’m sorry, that was completely inappropriate and immature. Thank you for the gifts, Louise.
You’re welcome, Addison.
Well, I’d better be getting back. I’m supposed to be hosting a PTA meeting later in the evening and I’m no where near prepared.
Addison extends her hand to Louise.
Thank you for welcoming us to the neighborhood.
Louise waddles her way back to her house but not before shooting Shiloh a dirty glare. Shiloh tips an imaginary cap to Louise who raises her nose and huffs away.
Shiloh and Addison turn back to their home.
Yep, this house is a cock blocker.
Addison grins before smacking Shiloh in the back of the head.
(tosses keys at Shiloh)
Do it to it, son.
Shiloh jogs out to the trailer. Addison looks around the family room and crosses her arms.
Thanks for the house, Mr. Rockwell.