Spy Camp...or something

Prompt: script about a meeting of international leaders-to-be in America


Max (shrugs shoulders): Yo.

Gemma: Hi.

(waves. silence. Gemma fiddles with a pen, tapping it several times against the back of her desk. After a minute, Max’s eyes start to glaze over.)

Max: Do you mind?

Gemma: Sorry. (Small smile) So, you’re here for the summer camp, too, right? I can’t believe they’re already running late. I mean. (A sigh) Well, no, I’m not, like, complaining. It’s just. They set this up, right? You’d think it would at l—

(Kent enters from the back of the stage. He vaults over the table between Max and Gemma, and slumps onto the front of the desk, his limbs loose and almost touching the floor. He is a gangly fellow.)

Kent: S’up!

Max: Kent! Thought you weren’t gonna make it, bro. (They high five.)

Gemma (to herself): Now, what is this? Some sort of lads’ club?

(The room darkens, as if a bulb has broken. Gemma stifles a squeak.)

Gemma: God damn it.

(Silence, except for the sound of shuffling as Max and Kent adjust to the darkness. Gemma starts tapping erratically on the desk.)

Kent: I didn’t even notice the blinds were down. Or, what? The windows were closed.

Max: Something like that. (pause) Who’s tapping?

Gemma: It’s me. Sorry.

Max: Did you just stand up?

Gemma: Yeah.

(Max splutters to himself. The sound of someone standing on the table. Kent clears his throat.)

Kent: Gemma – you gonna investigate with me?

Max: Hey!

Kent: Well, you were a given.

(Gemma has already made her way across the room.)

Gemma: I swear there were windows. You saw windows, right? Windows letting light in.

Max: I’m making no conclusions.

(Kent coughs)

Kent: I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.

Max: Wouldn’t dream of it.

Gemma (is still scrabbling against the wall): What? Where’ve the windows gone? I swear there were windows.


The End

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