Off Campus

- -

["Dancing with Myself" by Billy Idol playing]

You looking for someone?

Fuck. N-No, I…

S-Sorry.

In my class, average actually means average.

That is why 70% of you got a C+ or lower.

It's a fucking jock class.

Like, why am I being forced to try?

-I probably failed. -Oh, I definitely did.

You think we can still drop it, bro?

I can't. I need this for my major.

Relax. I'm sure your coach will convince Tolbert

to get creative with their grading system.

Jocks. So pretty.

So entitled.

Aren't you above stereotypes?

Babe, I'm trying to be below one of those stereotypes.

Maybe behind.

And none of you star athletes should expect any special treatment.

You knew what your practice schedule looked like

before you signed up for this class, Mr. Maxwell.

Me? No, I was just curious about extra credit opportunities

to, you know, learn more.

You can learn from your next assignment. Oral presentations.

- -Okay, yeah. Definitely dropping.

Thanks.

Perfect. Another D.

So, how'd you do?

Not good.

Girl, really?

Yeah, I wrote it in like an hour, so…

Fucking hell, you aced it?

I knew it. Show me.

-Do you mind? -What?

Only you get to look at things you shouldn't?

Okay, now that we got that covered,

anybody want to hazard a guess as to what we will be discussing today?

There goes your manic pixie dream boy.

Justin Kohl is not my anything.

-It's not too late. -

It's not too late.

You are intolerable.

Did she do it? Did she talk to Justin Kohl?

No, no, she's too busy pining wistfully from afar.

He has literally no idea who I am, okay? Am I supposed to just fling myself at him?

- Yes. - Mona!

I've said maybe two words to the guy, and they weren't even good words.

Hannah, you love his music and you've been crushing on him for weeks.

Sound check's at five. You're on at nine. Okay, eight words ever.

- -Hey, Mona.

Who-- Who's Mona?

I think you.

I-I'm not Mona.

It is an M, though, right?

Not even close.

What do you want, Garrett Graham? Petals to walk on?

Maybe another fancy gym that costs thousands of dollars,

even though the theater department is literally falling apart.

So, uh, I failed that paper.

It sounds like a lot of people did.

And I was thinking it'd be great if I didn't fail again.

So…

Was there a question in there?

A question, I don't think I heard a question, no.

You guys are late for scene study. Go, I'll see you at dinner.

- -Bye, Mona.

I need your help.

Wow.

What?

See, usually with questions, voices kind of go up at the end.

And your voice didn't do that, so…

Okay, could you,

pretty please with sugar on top,

help me study so that I don't fail spectacularly?

Better. But no.

Come on. Do me a solid.

I mean, you kind of owe me for that sneak peek.

-That was an honest mistake. -Was it?

I mean, tons of girls would have paid good money for the view you got, so…

I'm scarred for life. If anything, you owe me.

Well, I have to ace the oral presentation, or I can't play.

Believe it or not, I have priorities that have nothing to do with hockey.

Find another tutor, dude.

Shit.

Hey. You wanted to talk to me?

If this is about being late, I have a new idea for a shortcut.

Oh.

Oh, you have your bad news face.

It's your scholarship.

It's not happening this year.

-What? -Budget cuts.

Don't even get me started.

No, we're three weeks into the semester. How-- How can--

No. No, they can't. No.

We'll get you an appointment with the financial aid office.

They can help.

They're just gonna give me another work-study job.

I can barely do all my schoolwork as it is.

Oh, my God.

Okay, whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't stop breathing.

You need air to process and live.

Yeah, I also need money.

Is there another scholarship I could apply for?

Another classical composition scholarship?

Well, I could switch concentrations. Performance?

Girl, we both know you're a much stronger composer than clarinetist,

and there's no money in classical.

Well, jazz. Jazz. I could write jazz.

Even less money, right?

What do I do?

Well, let's chat again on Monday after you've had a few days to sit with this.

Hey, Hannah, we're gonna get through it, okay?

I could write pop.

First place comes with a scholarship, right?

Right, but--

You just said that I'm a stronger composer than clarinetist moments ago.

And I wrote an outstanding piece

on pop harmonies in your music theory class freshman year.

-I mean, your word, "outstanding." - It's true.

Not many people can write so eloquently

about the harmonic vocal identities in the work of One Direction.

Yeah, see? Yeah, I can totally pop.

How hard can it be, really?

Famous last words, because the competition,

it's pretty steep.

No, I can do this.

I will do this.

Okay.

Bring some ideas into class.

-And we'll talk. -Okay.

Dean!

Dean!

Where are you at?

Dean!

Do not give me the silent treatment.

He's taking the world's longest shower.

-Still? -At least the door's shut this time.

Logan, drain's clogged again.

No shit. Finish your fucking shower, I'll come fix it.

Dean, come help with the kegs.

I told you, I'll be right down.

Yeah, but when?

You want me to come down naked, Tucker?

Because I'll do it.

He sure will.

Never mind. Forget I asked.

Maybe Garrett will help.

Where the fuck is Garrett?

-Hmm. -Guys?

- Hey, what's up, buddy? - What's up, G?

- Hi, Garrett. - Garrett!

- Hey! - Hey.

Hi.

-Yo, Garrett. What up? -What's up, bud?

Can't wait for the Eastwood game tomorrow.

-Ladies. -Hey.

Oh, it's Garrett.