You know, as if being a teenager in today's world
isn't difficult enough.
I can't even begin to understand
what you're all going through right now.
I'm not even gonna begin to try.
What's happened is awful,
so I do want to say whatever feelings you're having,
whatever emotions are racing through your body,
it's completely normal.
That Monday, there was an assembly
to commemorate Chrissy and Mr. Carpenter.
The editor of the literary arts magazine read a poem called "Summer Passing."
"Death.
Flower.
Death.
Hour.
Death.
Kiss me.
Death.
Chrissy."
Thank you.
Through tears,
Chrissy's friends told over-the-top anecdotes about the deceased.
She really, really cared about pandas.
So I think if reincarnation is real,
Chrissy is a baby panda
somewhere far, far away.
One time, during a sleepover in the seventh grade,
Beth, Chrissy, and I snuck into the graveyard
and tried to summon the ghost of Resurrection Mary.
And I said, "I like Skee-ball too."
She just kind of smiled, you know?
That Chrissy smile, and...
we kissed.
And it was over in an instant, but it felt like...
Eternity.
Um...
We should also remember that Mr. Carpenter,
a much beloved teacher here at Colfax High,
he lost his life that night as well, so.
They were fucking!
Who said that?
- Come on. - Huh?
Who said that?
Nobody? Did I just imagine that?
I think I heard correctly.
Real classy.
- Hey, hey, hey, stop, stop. - No, did I just make that up?
Thanks, man, thank you.
No, fine, I'm fine.
I'm fine. Was that--
Oh, was that you, grease ball?
- Okay. - Hey, come on.
- Not today, all right? - I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. Yeah.
Um, anyway, in conclusion,
uh,
I would like to ask
Chrissy's beautiful sister
to stand up.
Right, everybody, let's give Becky
that old Colfax camaraderie, huh?
Come on, Beck. Don't be shy.
Becky.
Hey!
- Becky! - Oh, fuck.
Casper hadn't found Becky's headshot in the yearbook
because over the course of the last year, she had developed greatly,
evolving from a baby-faced tomboy
into a heartbreaker of her own.
This one time,
I was getting double-stuffed by Chad and Greg Mazarro
in the back of my dad's Beemer,
and Chrissy came out of nowhere
and helped me finish them both off.
I just wish Chrissy was still alive
to get double-stuffed by the Mazarro brothers with me.
Bravo, Kurt. Amazing.
Oh, by the way, did I tell you guys?
Anatol Depner's having a Halloween party.
He said his cousin's coming down from the Dells,
bringing a couple kegs.
Ooh, righteous.
What's the matter with you, Tatum?
You okay?
I think I got the hots for the dead girls' sister.
The mystery blonde?
Of all the girls at our school, you got the hots for her?
Her parents ain't never gonna approve.
Please.
I never dated a girl whose parents approved.
Oh.
Okay, well, good luck with that, Romeo.
I got a plan.
Chambers, right?
I'm ready for my interview now.
Okay.
- I-- - Hey, you--you can't smoke in here.
So where do you want me to start?
The beginning.
It all started one night after band practice.
I was tripping on acid.
I don't remember much from the high except it was hot as hell
and I was seeing stars.
I'm high on California sunshine driving an unregistered motorcycle.
I don't know if I was hallucinating from all the shit I had running through me
or if I'd crashed
and I was in some kind of purgatory.
I didn't even know if I did it or not.
Not at first, anyway.
Plus, I knew with my rap,
just admitting I was there would be enough to book me.
So I took off.
Did you see anything?
Anyone?
It might have been my imagination,
but I swear to God I saw some perv peek from behind a tree.
Then again,
I saw a lot of things that night.
You know what I mean, Chuck?
Oh, shit.
Oh, God, Charlie.
Oh, shit.
Ah, top of the morning to you.
What do you think?
It's good. It's a little wordy for my taste,
and you use the word "dissimulate" twice,
but it's really good, man.
- Thanks. - It's really good.
You know, when I was a kid,
I was obsessed with this story
about this girl that was murdered in my town.
I couldn't get enough of it,
and the whole town thought that her boyfriend did it,
including me,
but the police could never pin anything on him.
Then, you know, a couple years went by, I picked up the newspaper.
Turns out it was the pizza delivery guy.
That's who did it.
I say this because there is a world
where you might never know
who killed Carpenter or Chrissy.
Everybody wants to think it's Casper Tatum
'cause it fits a perfect little narrative that they have in their mind,
and they are too terrified to imagine
that it might just be some random, everyday guy
who lives in the town over.
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