Drake, 14,  believes he's a vampire who caused the death of his mother in a traffic accident. His new friend Wisteria, 16, is a bit goth and fascinated rather than horrified by this.
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(Drake and Wysteria enter in the middle of a friendly conversation.)

DRAKE: (Awkwardly:) So, thanks for coming over to my house this time.

WYSTERIA: Not a problem. I was wondering what it looked like. (She turns to him excitedly.) Do you have a coffin?

DRAKE: No. Just a bed. Sometimes, I close myself up in the closet, though, and that feels like a coffin, sort of. At least it's dark, though I don't imagine most coffins smell of mothballs and fabric softener. I can show it to you later, if you want.

WYSTERIA: That'd be great. And this is your yard?

DRAKE: This is it. A sprinkler, some crab grass and some dried dog poop you'll find later if you're not careful. We spared no expense.

WYSTERIA: (Hopefully:) I don't suppose you were—

DRAKE: (Finishing her sentence:) —Buried here? No. I did have a parakeet once that lost an argument with Mrs. Berkley's cat. It's buried over there under that planter. So far, it hasn't risen from the dead, though. Only me. (An awkward pause.) So...how was school today?

(Wysteria sits.)

WYSTERIA: BOR-ing! I swear, if I ever use Algebra in real life, I will come back and pay Mrs. Sheffield a million dollars. I did write a new poem, though. Would you like to hear it?

DRAKE: Sure.

(Wysteria takes a folded up piece of paper out of her pocket and stands, resuming her more formal pose from the cemetery.)

WYSTERIA: (Reciting from "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron:) "She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
Let Tommy Spencer fall within my sight,
That I might strike him, between the eyes."

DRAKE: What?

WYSTERIA: What?

DRAKE: It's just, in my head I saw that going in a totally different direction.

WYSTERIA: It's a work in progress, now shush!

(She returns to her formal pose again and continues her recitation.)

"And as he falls and falls away,
Perhaps he'll think about that day,
When he refused to take me to the prom,
And lost his wits upon the...upon...oh, it's no use. I can't think of a rhyme for "prom!"

DRAKE: What if you use "dance" instead? (He adopts a weak caricature of Wysteria's pose.) "When he refused to take me to the dance,
And I was forced to kick him, in the pants."
How's that?

(She takes out a pencil and begins scratching something out on her paper.)

WYSTERIA: I like it!

 (She starts to write, but then her shoulders slump and she begins crossing things out again.)

No, it sucks! It all sucks! (Crossing to Drake:) Oh Drake, you have no idea how lucky you are!

DRAKE: Lucky? Me?

WYSTERIA: Of course! You have no idea what it's like to be ordinary and live a boring normal life! I live in a perfect house with a perfect yard with a perfect little brother and a perfect dog—

DRAKE: I like dogs. They don't like me, though. My Aunt Sadie had a Schnauzer once and all it ever wanted to do was chew up my socks and try to pee on my leg.

WYSTERIA: Well, I have the perfect dog, who always goes on the paper, never slobbers on the shoes, never chases the mailman—he's even got the perfect name—Chipper. Who names a dog Chipper? I swear my life is so dull it makes re-runs of Full House look like Masterpiece Theatre!

DRAKE: I like the name Chipper...

WYSTERIA: And I haven't even told you the worst part yet.

DRAKE: There's a "worst" part?

WYSTERIA: You have no idea! (Looking around carefully:) I'll tell you this, Drake, but you have to swear you'll never tell anyone!

DRAKE: My god, what happened?

WYSTERIA: Do you swear?

DRAKE: I swear, I swear! May my life go straight to hell in a handbasket if I ever tell—oh, wait, that happened already. Well, I still swear—

(He locks his lips and throws away the key.)

Your secret's safe with me.

WYSTERIA: Are you ready?

DRAKE: I'm ready.

WYSTERIA: I can't believe I'm telling you this.

DRAKE: Me either, because so far, you haven't told me anything!

WYSTERIA: This is so embarrassing!

DRAKE: Wysteria! In 12 hours the sun will come up and I'll burn to death, all because I'm still standing here, waiting for you to let me in on this big secret. That will be embarrassing! This is merely pointless.

WYSTERIA: I don't know...

DRAKE: Wysteria! Tell me!

AIMEE: (Shouting;) My parents have a happy marriage!

DRAKE: (Incredulous:) What?

WYSTERIA: They don't fight, they don't get mad—any other house would be filled with all sorts of delicious family drama! Will their marriage survive? Will one of them have an affair? Will they manage to keep it all together for the sake of the kids? You know how in some families the parents close the door so the kids won't hear them fighting?

DRAKE: Yeah.

WYSTERIA: Not mine! My parents close the door because they can't keep their hands off each other! At their age! My dad is almost 50, for crying out loud!

DRAKE: It sounds sweet...

WYSTERIA: Sweet? Drake, you don't know how good you have it. You get to live your life in a cocoon of such pain and anguish. A wonderful symphony of feeling and heartbreak that most of us have never known. It's exquisite!

DRAKE: It is?

WYSTERIA: Of course! Drake, the things that have happened to you are so deep; so real! You dance every day on such a fault line of despair and self-destruction, it gives me goose bumps just thinking about it. I'd give anything to feel that powerful! To feel that alive!

DRAKE: Wysteria. Wait a minute. You wish you had a life like mine? My life sucks. My mom is dead and I'm the one who killed her. I'm a monster! My dad is so depressed he can barely get out of bed in the morning and you're worried that your dog won't chase the mailman? Any day, I'm afraid I'm gonna chase the mailman and take a big hunk out of his neck! I hate my life.

WYSTERIA: Drake, I didn't mean—

DRAKE: (Interrupting her:) My parents used to be happy. They held hands and laughed, and then I killed it and no one will ever laugh in this house again. (A beat as he turns to look at her.) I thought you got it. I thought you understood what I was going through.

(She runs to him and gives him a tight hug, but he doesn't respond.)

WYSTERIA: I'm so stupid! I do get it, Drake. I really do! It's just that my own life is so bloody pointless! (Stepping away from him in frustration:) Sometimes I get so tired of being ordinary that I could just scream!

DRAKE: Ordinary? I think you're amazing.

(Michael comes through front door.)

MICHAEL: Drake! You need to come in now. Your guest is here.

(Michael exits back into the house.)

DRAKE: My "guest." Look at him; he's so ashamed of me that he can't even admit I'm in therapy. I guess I'd better go.

WYSTERIA: OK. Oh, I brought you a present!

DRAKE: Really?

(She pulls a beat-up old hardback book out of her bag and hands it to him.)

WYSTERIA: I saw it in the used bookstore today and thought you might like it.

DRAKE: (Looking at the cover:) John Polly— Poli...

WYSTERIA: John Polidori. It's pretty old. The story, I mean. The first one of its kind. There's a foreword inside if you want to read it. Anyway— (An awkward pause.) Enjoy your therapy.

DRAKE: Thanks. How do my eyes look? I don't want to go in there with bloodshot eyes.

WYSTERIA: (Looking closely at his eyes:) I told you that you were drinking too much tomato juice.

DRAKE: Yeah. You headed back to your perfect home?

WYSTERIA: (Smiling awkwardly:) I guess. Are you still going to come to the movies with me tonight?

DRAKE: That's tonight? Oh jeez, Wysteria, I don't know—

WYSTERIA: Please? I'll buy the popcorn.

DRAKE: Well, in that case. Can we put some "O positive" on it?

WYSTERIA: What?

DRAKE: I'm kidding. I guess I'll see you there.

WYSTERIA: Great.

(She quickly gives him a peck on the cheek and exits.)

Bye! See you tonight!