Stageplay
Daniel Waters is a novelist and playwright based in Portland, Oregon. He did not like being thirteen. He is currently in graduate school, preparing to become a middle school counselor.
Back to Vol. XI: “PARA/SOCIAL”
* * *
Season 13
Accessible Version
CAST:
DANIEL: thirteen-year-old boy
WRITER 1: male or nonbinary, any age
HEAD WRITER: any gender expression, any age
WRITER 3: female or nonbinary, any age
SETTING:
A bed, a cupcake, a night table, a lamp.
A conference table, three laptops, three chairs, three coffee mugs, a lamp.
* * *
Spotlight on DANIEL, wearing a party hat, stage right. He sits cross-legged on his bed as “Happy Birthday” plays. In his hands sits a cupcake with two candles, a 1 and a 3. When the song ends he closes his eyes, waits a beat, then blows them out. He takes off the party hat, setting it and the cupcake on his night table. He turns off the light, settling into sleep. Lights dim on DANIEL.
Lights up on the other half of the stage. Three writers sit at a conference table, each with a laptop in front of them. Stained mugs of coffee. Papers strewn about on the table. Writer’s room.
HEAD WRITER: Alright, that’s a wrap on season 12 everybody.
WRITER 1 vaults up from his chair, pumping his fist.
WRITER 1: Fuck yeah, we’re a teenager!
A beat. HEAD WRITER and WRITER 3 stare quietly. Slowly, WRITER 1 sits back down.
WRITER 3: He’s a teenager. You’re … an adult. Allegedly.
HEAD WRITER: Alright. So before we break, let’s do a quick brainstorming sesh. Core beats for Season 13. No bad ideas. Go.
WRITER 3: Yeah, uh, can we maybe cool it on the … boners? Especially at school? It’s starting to feel a little cruel, right?
WRITER 1: Yeah. That’s the point. Don’t take it personally.
HEAD WRITER: It is kind of the point, right? How’s the puberty pacing feeling overall though?
WRITER 1: Honestly, still a little subtle for my taste. Like, I think, for season 13, we lean into more of a, like, fever dream … full body horror … bleh … type thing … but real.
WRITER 3: But real?
WRITER 1: What’s our practical effects budget?
HEAD WRITER: Not nothing. But we’re spending most of it on acne. We could scale back on that?
WRITER 1: No. No way. Keep pushing. More acne than face, more acne than face.
HEAD WRITER: Do we greenlight pubes this year? Or are we still holding out?
WRITER 3: Yes. Please. He feels like an alien.
WRITER 1: Fine. Let’s give him … three.
WRITER 3: Three pubes?
WRITER 1: Yeah. And, like, ingrown.
HEAD WRITER: Nice. So … (gestures to WRITER 3) no longer an alien. But … (gestures to WRITER 1) ingrown. Feels like a good compromise?
WRITER 3: Are we sticking with the sexy mom dreams this season? Feels like … a lot. Maybe we scale back?
WRITER 1: Or … or … we up it.
WRITER 3: We up it?
WRITER 1: Yeah why not? Get Oedipus trending.
WRITER 3: Come on. He’s not content. He’s a person.
WRITER 1: What’s the difference?
WRITER 3: Please. How’d you like it if we sacrificed you to the TikTok gremlins? Should we lead with the male pattern baldness or halitosis? And that’s just above the belt.
HEAD WRITER: Guys …
WRITER 1: How’s the view up there? From your high horse?
WRITER 3: Really good. I didn’t think your dick could get any smaller.
WRITER 1: Oh but I’m the cruel one? Right.
HEAD WRITER: Moving on. How are we feeling about the other stuff with Mom?
WRITER 1: Snooze fest. What if we give her cancer? But then she has an affair with the oncologist.
HEAD WRITER: Jesus. (To WRITER 3) Thoughts?
WRITER 3: On that? Because no.
HEAD WRITER: No. Just … generally. General Mom thoughts.
WRITER 3: I don’t know, I think most of it’s working. They’re both confused, right? They’re still so close, but Mom’s really uncomfortable with how big he is now. Like, he’s still her baby, but now he’s also this … man. There’s almost a disgust there. I think it’s interesting.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah. Agreed. Let’s hold off on cancer for now. And what about Dad stuff?
WRITER 3: Dad stuff’s getting scary. That’s all I’m gonna say. It’s getting scary.
HEAD WRITER: Too scary?
WRITER 1: No. Definitely not. Not yet.
WRITER 3: Not yet? What do you want, like … actual violence? Come on. We can’t …
HEAD WRITER: Yeah, I almost think it’s more violent not to let him explode. Like, the drunken yelling, the stomping, all that teetering rage. We can see that he’s holding back. We just don’t know how much.
WRITER 1: We could do, like, a little property destruction this season? Like … abuse edging.
WRITER 3: It already is abuse.
WRITER 1: Oh, please.
WRITER 3: I just wanna be careful it doesn’t become cartoonish, right? Like, the Dad stuff works because of how real it is. How badly he wants his dad to love him, and how incapable Dad is of loving him the way he needs. They’re kind of a perfect disaster. But if we push Dad too far, I think we lose the heart of it.
HEAD WRITER: What if we add the property destruction, and some more, like, violent posturing, but then also do a few more soft moments? To balance it out.
WRITER 3: And make it more of a mindfuck?
WRITER 1: Exactly. Yes. Like, we could do a scene where, like, brownout Dad pats him on the shoulder, like, way too hard, and he says, “You know, Daniel, you’re a weird kid, but I do love you, my boy.” With a messy side hug or something. But then an hour later he throws a vase.
HEAD WRITER: Love it. Good compromise again, you guys. This is what I’m talking about. Everything works better when we’re working together. That might actually be a good motto, or … uh, mantra.
A beat. WRITER 1 and WRITER 3 stare menacingly at HEAD WRITER. Another beat.
HEAD WRITER: Or table it. We can table it. (Checks notes on his laptop.) Alright … cool cool … cool cool cool cool cool … what else? What about the school rebrand? Our little theater kid? How’s that playing?
WRITER 1: Well, let’s see, he’s a fucking terrible actor, literal disaster show, has zero awareness of his body, a Mickey Mouse voice, and nobody fucking knows whether to laugh at him or cry for him. I think it’s going really well.
WRITER 3: (Empathetic) It’s painful to watch.
WRITER 1: Yeah. (Amused) Really is.
HEAD WRITER: I feel like we could still be doing more. Like, you know, a C plot.
WRITER 1: Network loves a C plot.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah. So maybe he starts performing outside of school, like, not just a play, but like …
WRITER 1: Slam poetry?
WRITER 3: Is that even still a thing?
WRITER 1: Who cares?
HEAD WRITER: Yeah. Yeah. I like that actually. Let’s have him get really into slam poetry.
WRITER 1: Can we give him a trench coat?
HEAD WRITER: We can.
WRITER 1: Then I feel like … we should?
WRITER 3: Should we?
HEAD WRITER: I think it could play.
WRITER 1: Can he perform in the school talent show? Like a slam poetry thing? Poem? Could be epic.
WRITER 3: Actually … yeah. That could be really good for him.
WRITER 1: Yeah, or, or, he performs, and it’s just … we just go full slasher, disaster movie blood everywhere horror scene, cultural appropriation everywhere you look, exploding acne, definitely a boner, maybe more. And then he never does slam poetry again. And we give him, I don’t know, something else to do that’ll also end terribly. In season 14. Doesn’t matter what.
WRITER 3: When did this become Carrie? No thank you. And of course it matters what.
WRITER 1: Fine. Beat poet. Then we could keep the trench coat motif.
WRITER 3: Oh it’s a motif now.
WRITER 1: Yeah I think we want him super weird about the trench coat. Almost like it’s his dad hugging him. So he won’t take it off. He almost gets, like, feral about it.
HEAD WRITER: Should he sleep in it?
WRITER 1: Goes without saying. Is thirteen too early to smoke a pipe?
WRITER 3: Guys, guys! Can we, like, take a step back here? Don’t you think we’re alienating the audience a little here? I mean, how many times can this kid flail? Can’t we give him something that, you know, actually makes him happy?
WRITER 1: Happy?
Laughs quietly to himself. A beat. Slowly, WRITER 1 stands up and walks into DANIEL’s bedroom as the other writers gawk at him. Once he’s there, he picks up the cupcake, unwraps it, and takes a large bite. When he begins talking, his mouth is still full.
WRITER 1: Look, no one who’s anyone got where they got being happy at thirteen. Trust me. It’s a death knell. (Takes another big bite.) There are no guardian angels in hell, it just … confuses the inmates. Besides, he doesn’t need us coddling him. He needs to learn to stop needing things from the world … ever. And then, maybe … (finishing the cupcake) we can talk cupcakes. (Looks at DANIEL.) Eh, kid? How’s that sound? Something to look forward to. (A beat. He licks his fingers. Looks at HEAD WRITER.) Did Mom make these?
HEAD WRITER: She told him she did.
WRITER 1: Checks out. (He hesitates, then looks back at DANIEL, his posture, momentarily, soft.) She says a lot of things she doesn’t mean. (He straightens, tosses the wrapper on the bed table, grimaces.) They leave a weird aftertaste. A little artificial. Still good though. (He walks back to the writer’s table, looks at WRITER 3.) We’re not alienating anyone except you. Have you seen the ratings? People are eating this shit up.
WRITER 3: I know. I know. It’s just … it’s getting a little dark. That’s all.
WRITER 1: Yeah … sure is. And the door’s right there. You can leave anytime. The show’s the show.
WRITER 3: Oh that’s where the door is? I’m learning so much from you. Where’s the lamp?
HEAD WRITER: Guys. Come on, let’s not do this whole song and dance. Let’s talk about Mimi?
WRITER 1: We’re definitely alienating Mimi.
WRITER 3: (Sighs) Poor, sweet Mimi. Yes, how are we feeling about our girl?
WRITER 1: I feel like, season 13, Mimi gets hot.
HEAD WRITER: Hm. Are we thinking … recasting? Prosthetics? Or … how’s that gonna—?
WRITER 3: She’s beautiful already.
WRITER 1: Or maybe she just … gets boobs? But her face stays how it is.
WRITER 3: Beautiful. It stays beautiful.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah. That’s good. (Begins typing.) Character development, Mimi, breasts. Cool. Then we can keep everything else the same. See what that does to him.
WRITER 3: Jesus Christ.
WRITER 3: I’m not even … (sighs) Do you think (smiling as she pictures it) … do you think he and Mimi ever date? Because I think that could be really nice. For both of them. I mean … she’s kind of amazing. They obviously like each other.
WRITER 1: Can you even imagine? Dad might self-combust. Her face hurts his soul.
WRITER 3: Yeah but he’s a dick. Who cares what he thinks?
HEAD WRITER: Our boy over there cares more than literally anything in the world. So yeah … I don’t think it’d play. Sorry.
WRITER 3 sighs, annoyed.
WRITER 1: I feel like … maybe they do hook up, though, like, on New Year’s Eve of season 17, but it’s so amazingly terrible they don’t talk for ten years. Maybe ever.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah. That could work. (Types.) I’ll throw it in the future folder. Now … let’s talk Marcus.
WRITER 3: God. Season 10 Marcus feels so far away.
HEAD WRITER: Do we have a full friend breakup this season? Or keep it barely hanging on?
WRITER 3: It does feel kinda right. Like, they used to do all that dumb, beautiful kid shit together, but now Marcus is, like, popular. The football thing seems real. And he’s very aware that he needs to be cool, and being anywhere near Daniel … definitely isn’t cool.
WRITER 1: Should we do a fight scene? Could be epic. I got a buddy whose dad was a fight choreographer on West Side Story.
WRITER 3: I think it’s better if it just fades and they just … stop existing in each other’s orbits. And never even talk about it. Just … feel it. Makes me sad though. Breaks my heart a little.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah that’s perfect. Let’s run that.
WRITER 1: OK … now … I do have this idea that’s been gnawing at me. It’s a little weird but, I don’t know, hear me out.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah … just say it. Trust your gut. Bad ideas are just good ideas … dressed up as, uh … dressed up as, um … bad ideas. Or … What’s your idea?
WRITER 1: Suicidal thought.
WRITER 3: What?
HEAD WRITER: Yeah. Say more.
WRITER 1: That’s it. That’s the idea. Suicidal thought.
WRITER 3: Does he tell anyone about it?
WRITER 1: Who does he have to tell?
WRITER 3: Like, Mom?
WRITER 1: Honestly, deep down, I think she wouldn’t even care. If I’m being honest.
WRITER 3: (Shakes her head.) There’s no mom in the world who wouldn’t care about that.
WRITER 1: (Pulls out his phone.) Want me to get you on the horn with one? Careful, she’s a talker.
WRITER 3: (Hesitates, exhales, looks down.) I didn’t know this was an autobiography.
WRITER 1: (Shrugs.) Write what you know, right?
WRITER 3: Or just … go to therapy.
WRITER 1: Fuck you. You go to therapy.
HEAD WRITER: Perfect, we’ll all go to therapy. After this draft. (Looks at WRITER 1.) Look, I get it. Suicide, that’s real stakes. And stakes are good.
WRITER 1: Network loves stakes.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah, but they don’t love getting sued. And suicide’s a live wire. We’d have to involve legal. I think it’s a no go. Sorry.
WRITER 1: (Puts his phone back in his pocket.) Snowflakes.
WRITER 3: (Sighs. Her tone softens.) Do you have any … other ideas?
WRITER 1: Yeah. I think he should jerk off in the trench coat. Maybe start it mid-season. Then he actually starts needing it to finish. And it becomes almost like this talisman for him.
WRITER 3: Jesus Christ. First of all, that’s not what a talisman is. But also, come on, isn’t he doing that too much as it is. Pleasuring himself? I meant to bring that up earlier actually, shouldn’t we maybe cool it on that too … a little? Like, he’s gotta be sore down there, right?
WRITER 1: And you think we’re the cruel ones? It’s literally the only thing he has. And you wanna take it away?
A beat.
WRITER 3: OK. Fine. But I want, like, a super cool eighth-grade skateboard stoner dude to compliment it. Tell him he looks dope or something. Whatever language they use now. Our boy needs a win.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah. Lock it. Nice work you two.
WRITER 1: Are Kangol hats still a thing?
WRITER 3: Also can we talk finale? Before we break? Just so we have a sense of where we want him to go this season. Kind of a full arc.
WRITER 1: Where we want him to go? I don’t think we want him to go … anywhere … this season. Do we?
HEAD WRITER: Like … no arc? Will that play?
WRITER 1: Yeah. For sure. What I really think we want is a season that feels like everything, like … world is ending world is ending world is ending aaahhh … but it’s really just … buncha nothing. More of the same. Basky bask in the golden hour of suffering.
WRITER 3: Wait, no? No. Didn’t we just do that in 12? Come on, we gotta give him something to hold onto this time. We gotta give him a glimpse of, like, a future … or something. Guys, do you even remember what it was like, to be thirteen? (A beat.) Do you? Come on. Let’s at least throw him a bone?
WRITER 1: I thought you said you wanted fewer boners?
Long beat.
HEAD WRITER: I remember, when I was thirteen, we did this assignment where we wrote letters to ourselves in five years, so when we graduated high school, we read it. I found it a few years ago, after my mom died and we were going through the old house. It said: Hi. If you’re reading this, it means five years have passed. P.S. Feel free to reuse this as needed.
A beat, turns to WRITER 3.
HEAD WRITER: Look, I hear what you’re saying, I do. But our boy over there, he’s still just … really bad at being a person, you know? And yeah, he’s fighting against it, but he’s losing. Badly. And I think he’s gotta keep losing for a while. That’s … that’s … kind of just the show. And it’s, you know, pretty fucking hilarious. While also being—
WRITER 3: Tragic.
HEAD WRITER: Yeah.
WRITER 1: So, no objections to no arc for season 13?
WRITER 3: OK but is there one moment we can give him … not even a win but, like, one moment this season, one second where he feels … seen? A little.
A beat.
WRITER 1: I see him. He’s right over there. Does that count?
WRITER 3 slams her laptop closed. The other two writers jump. Slowly, she stands up and walks across the stage to DANIEL, as the other writers look on. Once she’s close, she stops, staring at him for a while, her posture soft, warm.
WRITER 3: (Softly, almost to herself.) Hey. Hey friend. (Still softly, but to the others.) We can’t keep messing with this kid. He’s … he’s … there has to be some kind of mercy here or he’ll … I don’t know. I don’t know. (Trails off.) He’s gonna break. Because he’s real. He is. He’s not finished, he’s not in control, but … he’s real. (A beat.) He’s real and he’s fragile and he’s confused and he hurts and he needs help and and and and … he deserves it. He deserves it. He deserves a fucking second to breathe. (Another beat.)
WRITER 1: (To HEAD WRITER) He’s breathing fine, right?
HEAD WRITER: (Checks laptop.) Yep. Vitals are good.
WRITER 3: We just … dropped him in a warzone. And we keep adding bombs and planes and knives and traps and guns and grenades and more and more evil, bad, evil, bad, evil, bad. And the poor kid … the poor kid … (a breath) … look at him. He doesn’t have any armor. And we’re saying … (rips the covers off of him, throws them on the ground) you can’t even have that (rips the pillow from under his head, tosses it aside) or that. Haha! Now what’re you gonna do? We’re torturing him!!!! (A beat. Quieter.) We’re torturing him. And he needs someone … he needs us … to protect him. To draw a line in the sand, and say no. No, that’s about enough. (A long beat.)
HEAD WRITER: You done?
WRITER 3 nods, tired, sad.
HEAD WRITER: OK. Now look at him.
WRITER 3: Hmm?
HEAD WRITER: I said look at him.
WRITER 3 turns and looks at DANIEL. He adjusts in his bed, his body cradled, now using his hands as a pillow.
HEAD WRITER: And tell me, does it look like we’re torturing him?
WRITER 3 breathes, staring. Then, slowly, walks back to her seat at the writer’s desk and sits down, her face tired, defeated. DANIEL rustles in bed. A beat. WRITER 1 looks at HEAD WRITER. HEAD WRITER holds his finger to his mouth. The three writers stare, silently, as DANIEL stretches his arms, takes a long breath, and sits up in bed. He stares blankly forward, at the audience, staring at him. He sighs, then turns to his left, to the bedside table. He sees the empty plate, where the cupcake was. He stares.
BLACKOUT.