Mr. McNeely: Alright, so we all know that somebody lit Brittnay's car on fire.
Brittnay: And that somebody is named Jenna.
Mr. McNeely: We don't know who it is.
Brittnay: I do. It was Jenna.
Mr. McNeely: We can't really blame anybody at this point.
Brittnay: I can, and I blame Jenna.
Mr. McNeely: So for now that will have to remain a mystery.
Brittnay: Mystery solved! Jenna burnt up my fucking car.
Jenna: Brittnay, I really don't know what you're talking about. I would never—
Mackenzie: Fucking save it Jenna. Nobody's buying your sweet little senator's daughter bullshit.
Mr. McNeely: Okay, alright! Let's move forward. From there, we know that Brittnay punched Jenna in the face.
Brittnay: That is correct. And if you'd like a demonstration of what exactly that looked like, I would be glad to do it again.
Pamela: My God!
Mrs. Zales: Wait Mackenzie, so what did you do to Jenna?
Mackenzie: I didn't do anything.
Mrs. Zales: Somebody blows up your friend's car and you do nothing? Haven't we talked about standing up for yourself, being proactive, taking initiative? I mean, at least Brittnay showed the initiative to fight back and do something about it.
Veronica: Oh actually, Brittnay's father and I don't condone her behavior in that situation.
Brittnay: Shut up Mom! She gave me a compliment. Why don't you try that sometime?
Veronica: I write you a note every night before you go to sleep—
Brittnay: Shut up Mom!
Mackenzie: Yes, Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I failed to punch one of my classmates in the face and break their nose.
Mrs. Zales: Well, apology accepted! Maybe next time, you'll learn to show some initiative. You know, I would expect a lot more from a head cheerleader.
Shay: Oh, actually, Mrs. Zales, Mackenzie isn't the head cheerleader anymore.
Mrs. Zales: What? Mackenzie is this true?
Mackenzie: Yes, Mom, Shay is the new head cheerleader.
Mrs. Zales: Well, when it rains it pours, doesn't it? Looks like it's gonna be a Katelynn-heavy Christmas card this year.
Mackenzie: Mom, Christmas isn't for another—
Trish: I'm sorry, but I'm worried that we're getting a little bit off track here and missing the big issue.
Mr. McNeely: Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cappelletti—
Trish: I mean, there is, or was, a fucking possum on or around the campus of this very school.
Trisha: Uh, it was in the alley.
Trish: Oh, in the alley? Well, what are we even doing here then?
Cameron: Yeah, why are we here?
Shay: Ugh, Cameron, what are you doing here?
Mackenzie: Shay, I called her.
Cameron: I'm Shay's older sister. Um, I was told I needed to be here for an urgent matter.
Mackenzie: I figured since your mom wasn't gonna show up—(Jayna is shown sleeping) We needed all the help we could get.
Darren: I'm sorry, Mr. McNeely, is this going to go on much longer, because I have a plane to catch—(notices Cameron standing right next to him)
Cameron: (beat) Hi.
Darren: (chuckles nervously) Uh, you scared me there.
Cameron: Haha, who me? Hi, I'm Cameron Van Buren.
Darren: Hello, Darren Darabond. Senator Darren Darabond.
Pamela: (clears throat) Excuse me?
Cameron: Oh, sorry, are you his mistress?
Pamela: No, I'm his wife!
Cameron: (laughs) Ah of course! I should have guessed by your age. Soooo... am I to understand you currently don't have a mistress?
Pamela: I'm sorry, who exactly do you think you are?
Cameron: Um, six-one, a hundred and ten pounds, so, before you go off on a rant, just let me menopause you there for just a second, okay?
Shay: Cameron, come sit down.
Cameron: (as she leaves) Biyeeeeeeeeeee.
Mr. McNeely: Alright, so clearly there is an issue between you girls. And we need to get down to the root of that issue. So, let's start with some role-playing. Brittnay, why don't you come up here.
Mr. McNeely: So what I want to do here is maybe re-enact the situation and let's see if we can find a better resolution. I'll be Jenna Darabond and Brittnay, I want you to think, how can I resolve this in a more peaceful manner. Ready?
Brittnay: Ugh, yes.
Mr. McNeely: Oh my god Brittnay, looks like your car's on fire.
(Brittnay slaps Mr. McNeely's face)
Mr. McNeely: How on earth is that a more peaceful manner?
Brittnay: Because what I really wanted to do was this. (kicks Mr. McNeely in the crotch)
Mr. McNeely: Right in the McNeelys! You can have a seat. This, uh, this isn't working.
Mrs. Zales: Nice! (high fives Brittnay) You watching this?
Mr. McNeely: So clearly we have a lot of work to do. Uh parents, why don't we show the girls that there's a better way to resolve a conflict? Let's split up into pairs and figure out a way to resolve this disagreement through a little role play without using fists or what are those, cleats? And while you're doing that, I am going to tend to what I believe is an exploded testicle.
Cameron: Alright, so role-play, hm? What're you thinking? French maid, pizza delivery guy, naughty schoolgirl, or can we just make it easy and do senator bangs a co-ed?
Darren: Well maybe we should just stick to the situation Mr. McNeely gave us.
Cameron: Oooh, kinky! Alright then, do you want to be your daughter, or do you want me to?
Darren: I think we should probably keep this uh, appropriate. After all, I am a United States Senator, and a happily married man. Also, my wife is looking directly at you. Very aggressively.
Cameron: You know what's great about wives?
Darren: What's that?
Cameron: Not a goddamn thing.
Pamela: What do you think about that girl?
Trish: I don't know, probably like an eight, eight and a half.
Pamela: I don't like the way she's looking at my husband.
Trish: I know what you mean, Trisha's father used to look at me the same way.
Pamela: Well, what happened?
Trish: Oh, I, uh, I left to come here. I'll probably see him later tonight.
Pamela: Okay, so, how do you want to do this? Do you want to play Brittnay, or do you want to play my daughter?
Trish: I'm gonna be honest, I kind of had my heart set on—
Pamela: You want to be the possum, don't you?
Trish: I would love to be the possum, yes!
Mrs. Zales: Oh my god, I can't believe people are actually going through with this bullshit.
(Trish attacks Pamela)
Pamela: Ow, fuck!
Trish: Did I get you?
Mrs. Zales: Boy, I gotta tell you Veronica, your daughter is really headed in the right direction. She took charge, knocked that girl right on her fucking ass!
Veronica: Well, I don't really think that the way that Brittnay handled that situation was very—
Mrs. Zales: Oh come on, punching that girl in the face showed some real initiative! That's the kind of attitude that the youth of today need! Always with the texting and the Instagrams, it's like none of them have any balls anymore!
Veronica: I don't know, I just don't agree with the vulgarity or the violence that Brittnay seems to enjoy so much.
Mrs. Zales: Oh Christ, don't tell me you're anti-cursing too. God, if it weren't for the word fuck, I would've died of an aneurysm years ago.
Veronica: Well, my idea of relaxing is just a nice big mug of chamomile, maybe a dash of honey, a spoonful of—
Mrs. Zales: Fuck.
Veronica: I'm sorry what?
Mrs. Zales: Just say it. C'mon, fuck.
Veronica: I really don't think that's necessary.
Mrs. Zales: C'mon, fuck it. Just once. Say it. Fu...cK!
Veronic: Oh I don't—would not like to—please—not enjoying—
Mrs. Zales: It's just a word, c'mon.
Veronica: Ooooh, alright, fuck. Haha, there you go. Happy?
Mrs. Zales: Felt good, didn't it?
Veronica: I guess a little. I mean, it's just a word, right? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck, she's such a fucking cunt! I'm sorry, I just don't know what came over me, I mean—who doesn't like a fucking Leaf? It's an electric car, goddammit! We have one planet! I'm sorry... I just... I'm so sorry—she just doesn't appreciate fucking cunt bitch fuck! Sorry, I'm sorry, oh God I—
Mrs. Zales: Whoa, alright, looks like we just jumped in the deep end, didn't we?
Veronica: I'm sorry, I just, I don't know what came over me.
Mrs. Zales: Please, welcome to motherhood.