Fast Times at Ridgemont High - A True Story

The Rat Moves In

A student could mark his time by certain events that passed during the school year. First there was homecoming, then the World Series, then Halloween, and Thanksgiving, all working up to that coveted fourteen-day Christmas vacation. Like any other school, Ridgemont High made a big deal of the Christmas season. The classrooms were decorated in tinsel, the windows frosted with spray snow. Some teachers brought in trees. It all meant two things. First, it was a season to rejoice. Second, the race to vacation was on.

The Rat sat in biology watching the clock. Only three more periods until Christmas vacation; three more classes until Mark Ratner was sure Stacy would be lost forever. He made the decision sitting in Youth and Law. Today was the day.

After class, Ratner walked by the A.S.B. office and there she was, working side by side with Mike Brock. As usual.

Her eyes. She had the greatest eyes. And her hair! It was just great the way it fell onto her shoulders . . .

Stacy finished up. “Next,” she said.

“Hi,” The Rat mumbled.

“Hello. How are you doing today?”

“Pretty good,” said Ratner. His glance turned directly downward. It was as if nothing, nothing in the world could get him to look up at this girl with confidence. “I was wondering when basketball tryouts started. I missed it in the bulletins.”

“Let me check,” said Stacy cheerfully. She shuffled through some papers.

“Monday. They start Monday in the gym.”

“During vacation?”

“I guess,” said Stacy. “Are you going away?”

Ratner looked up. “Maybe,” he said. It was a well-known fact that Cool People never hung around during Christmas vacation. “How about you?”

Stacy gave a sour look. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think I have to stay here in yuk-town.”

If ever there had come a time for The Attitude, Rat figured, it was now. “Hey,” he said. “How about if I give you a call over Christmas vacation?”

“Sure,” said Stacy. “That would be fine.”

“Great,” said The Rat. He watched as she tore off a piece of an envelope, wrote her phone number on it, and pushed it through the hole in the window. He silently coached himself. Take it slow.

“Good luck with tryouts,” she said.

“Thanks,” said The Rat, all Attitude. “And maybe I’ll talk to you over vacation.”

The Rat nodded a cool goodbye, turned the corner, and banged into a trash can.