Fast Times at Ridgemont High - A True Story

Spirit Bunnies

By the second month of the school year, Stacy Hamilton’s favorite class was Beginning Journalism/School Newspaper. Not only was it her one class with Linda Barrett, but the atmosphere was always pleasantly chaotic. Time passed more quickly in this class than in any others on her sophomore schedule.

Today was assignment meeting day, and things usually got out of hand.

“I want to write about the rock group Van Halen,” announced William Desmond, the wrestler-sports columnist. “I went to see them at the sports arena last Friday and they were disgusting.”

“My ass,” said Randy Eddo, campus ticket scalper and “advertiser” in the school newspaper. “They were tremendous.”

Desmond turned and addressed Eddo. “Oh yeah? You like it when David Lee Roth sticks the microphone between his legs, don’t you?”

“No, you like it,” said Eddo. “That’s why you remember it.”

“There’s too much rock in the newspaper as it is,” interrupted Reader editor Angie Parisi. “Why doesn’t anyone want to write about the foreign exchange students?”

Silence.

“All right, I’m just going to have to assign it.” She looked around the room and settled her gaze on a curly haired young student sitting next to Stacy. “Why don’t you?”

“Okay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Louis Crowley,” he said, tugging at the blue down vest that was his trademark.

“Okay, I want you to interview the three students from India here this semester . . .”

The class’s attention was diverted by the appearance of two cheerleaders at the door.

“Oh, class,” said Mrs. Sheehan, the journalism teacher, from her back-of-the-room seat. “Dina Phillips and Cindy Carr wish to talk with us for just a few moments. Come on in, girls.”

Head cheerleader Dina Phillips stepped forward to address the journalism class. At age seventeen, she was the best dresser in Ridgemont. She wore an expensive skirt-and-blouse ensemble that day. Her smile was a quintessential sosh production—the glimmer in the eyes, then the slight crinkle at the corners of her mouth, moving into the traditional broad teeth-baring smile. Even Cindy Carr stood back in silent deference as Dina spoke.

“I just want to say,” said Dina, “that we are not Spirit Bunnies. Last year, all your articles in the school newspaper referred to us as Spirit Bunnies, and everybody started calling us that, and we just want to say that we’ve gotten the name changed this year to Commissioners of Spirit. We always hated the name Spirit Bunnies. It bugged the heck out of Cindy and myself.”

“It’s just such a put-down,” said Cindy Carr.

“They don’t call the Chess Club Checker Champs or something goofy like that,” continued Dina Phillips. “We just want to be known as Varsity Commissioners of Spirit. We’re going to go to everything this year, you guys. We’re going to go to soccer, wrestling, and basketball. Not just football.”

“We’re going to do a lot of new and different things this year for spirit,” said Cindy Carr. “Like, for instance, we’re bringing back the Pep Club.” She started to say something else, but Dina broke in.

“It takes a lot of guts to get up and do something that a lot of people will make fun of,” she said. “Cheerleaders aren’t some elite special little group in the clouds. We’re not out to be better than the crowd. We just want the crowd to participate, and we want spirit from every little person in this entire school. We need your support.”

There was no reaction, and the moment hung heavy in the air.

“Well, thank you, girls,” said Mrs. Sheehan.

The former Spirit Bunnies were just about to leave journalism class when someone else appeared at the door. It was Vice-Principal Ray Connors, with a slip in his hand. He was grave and to the point. He didn’t even ask Mrs. Sheehan if he could interrupt her class.

“May I speak with Louis Crowley, please?”

Crowley rose to his feet, unsure of what was about to transpire. It was an eerie sight. “Madman” Connors wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulder and walked him out of the class. By the next period, word had rocketed around campus. There had been an accident out on El Dorado Bridge. Two cars had been morning-racing across the structure, and one edged a third car out of the way. The third car had slammed up against the railing, caught its wheel on a turret, and had flown over the side and into the water below. The car had contained the father and sister of Louis Crowley.