Bobby Funke:
Look Clara... I am the best writer you got.
Clara:
Bobby, you've never finished an article.
Bobby Funke:
[
sternly] Well, are you going to give me this one, or not?
Clara:
...No.
[
awkward pause]
Bobby Funke:
Do you want to come to Homecoming with me, then?
Clara:
[
smiles] ... No.
Bobby Funke:
[
narrating] Clara was one tough cookie. All I wanted was a taste.
[
Funke sighs and walks away]
[
first lines]
Bobby Funke:
[
narrating] You want to know the truth about high school? You've got to break it down into its elements. Unfortunately, at St. Donovan's, the periodic table is more crooked than a case of scoliosis. Just give me the chance and I'll set it all straight. Case in point, Spanish homework. "Dame un batido de esperma" does not mean, "Take me to the airport." It means, "Give me a sperm milkshake." And 22 kids gave that as an answer in Spanish 3 last week. I'm not sure about the milkshake, but somebody is sure feeding us something sticky. Every clique on campus is copying the same damn homework. Burn-outs, pretty boys, drama-dorks, jocks, debaters, player-haters, you name it. Oh, it's big, all right. And I'm on it like pink rubber bands on your little sister's braces. The name's Bobby Funke. I write for the paper.
[
last lines]
Clara:
Forget it, Funke. It's high school.
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