The Halloween Crash
EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - NIGHT
The street was alive with the flickering orange glow of jack-o'-lanterns. Groups of kids in store-bought superhero costumes sprinted from door to door, fueled by a sugar high that would keep their parents awake until Tuesday.
Aman walked down the sidewalk, cool and unbothered. He was wearing a sharp, tailored black suit with a red pocket square and sunglasses, despite it being 8:00 PM.
He held his phone to his ear.
"You're really staying home?" Aman asked, adjusting his sunglasses. "Alex, it's the one night of the year you can wear a mask and people won't ask why you're scowling."
On the other end of the line, Alex Dunphy was sitting on her bed in flannel pajamas, surrounded by textbooks.
ALEX (V.O.) I'm not scowling. I'm optimizing my study time while the rest of the student body destroys their liver cells. Are you seriously crashing?
"I'm not crashing," Aman corrected her, stepping over a discarded candy wrapper. "I'm making a surprise cameo. It's a networking event."
ALEX (V.O.) You weren't invited.
"Details," Aman smirked. "Besides, i am playing my charcter. I'm doing fieldwork."
ALEX (V.O.) Have fun with your 'fieldwork.' Don't get arrested.
The line clicked dead. Aman slipped the phone into his pocket and looked up at the house on the corner. Music was thumping so hard the windows were vibrating.
"Showtime," he muttered.
INT. HOUSE PARTY - LIVING ROOM
Aman walked through the front door like he owned the place. The air was thick with humidity, cheap cologne, and the bass of a Ke$ha song.
He navigated the crowd, dodging a guy dressed as a breathalyzer and a girl dressed as a 'Sexy Cat.'
"Who are you?" a random guy in a toga slurred, blocking Aman's path.
"Aman," he replied smoothly, not breaking stride. "I sit behind you in Chem. Nice toga. Very historical."
The guy looked down at his bedsheet, confused, while Aman drifted away.
He made his way toward the massive TV in the corner, where the real party was happening—at least for the guys who cared more about sports than dancing. The Varsity Soccer Team was huddled around a game.
"That's offside!" one of them shouted at the screen.
"Actually, the defender kept him on," Aman said, sliding into the circle. "Look at the replay."
The guys turned. One of them was Duke Orsino, who looked suspiciously like a young Channing Tatum.
"Who's the suit?" Duke asked, eyeing Aman's sunglasses.
"Tony Stark," Aman lied effortlessly. "But tonight I'm just watching the game. You guys play 4-3-3 this season, right?"
Duke blinked. "Yeah. How do you know that?"
"I watch," Aman shrugged. "Midfield looks solid, but your back line pushes too high."
Duke grinned, handing Aman a red cup. "Finally, someone who gets it. Coach keeps telling us to press, but we get exposed on the counter."
"Exactly," Aman nodded, taking the cup. "You need a sweeper."
Within thirty seconds, Aman was "in." He was fist-bumping the left back and debating Premier League stats.
INT. HOUSE PARTY - ENTRANCE
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. The music didn't stop, but the conversation did. Heads turned toward the front door.
The Plastics had arrived.
Regina George walked in first. She was wearing a white corset, bunny ears, and enough confidence to power the entire block. Flanking her was Gretchen Wieners (a sleek black cat) and Karen Smith (a mouse, purely because she had ears on).
They looked perfect. They looked untouchable.
And trailing behind them was Cady Heron.
Cady was... terrifying.
She was dressed as an "Ex-Wife"—a zombie bride with grey skin, rotting teeth, and fake blood dripping from her mouth. In a sea of lingerie, she looked like a horror movie villain.
The party went silent.
"Why is she so scary?" a girl near Aman whispered.
"Is that the new girl?" Duke asked, grimacing. "Yikes."
Regina glanced back at Cady, gave a tiny, dismissive shrug, and walked away toward the drinks, leaving Cady standing alone in the entryway, looking mortified.
Aman sighed. He handed his cup to Duke. "Hold this. Rescue mission."
He walked over to Cady, who was picking at her fake veil.
"Hey, Cady," Aman said loudly. "Scary. I like it."
Cady looked up, relief washing over her zombie face. "I didn't know the rule," she whispered frantically. "I thought Halloween was about being scary."
"It is," Aman assured her, gesturing to the room of scantily clad teenagers. "They're doing it wrong. You're the only one who understood the assignment."
Cady smiled, showing off her rotting fake teeth.
"Come on," Aman said, guiding her toward the soccer team. "I want you to meet some guys. This is Duke. This is Cady. She knows what a real jungle looks like. And since you guys love football—sorry, soccer—she can tell you about playing it in Africa."
Duke looked interested. "No way. Did you play on dirt fields?"
"Sometimes," Cady said shyly. "But we had to stop if the lions got too close."
"Sick," Duke nodded approvingly. "That's hardcore."
Aman stepped back, watching Cady blend in. Mission accomplished.
INT. HOUSE PARTY - KITCHEN / STAIRS
Twenty minutes later, the vibe had shifted again. Cady had excused herself to find Aaron Samuels.
Aman was leaning against the banister, nursing his drink, watching the drama unfold from a distance. He had a perfect view of the kitchen doorway.
Regina George was leaning against the counter, talking to Aaron Samuels. She laughed, touching his arm. Then, she leaned in and whispered something.
Aaron looked surprised, then smiled.
Regina grabbed his face and kissed him.
It was a power move. .
In the doorway, Cady froze. Her zombie makeup couldn't hide the heartbreak in her eyes. She watched them for a second, then turned and bolted toward the back door, wiping tears from her face.
Aman watched her go.
Internal Monologue: I could stop her. I could run after her and tell her Regina is playing games. I could tell her Regina is a hyena in bunny ears. I could save the school from the Burn Book and the bus accident.
He looked at his drink. He looked at the party.
"Meh," Aman murmured, taking a sip. "Let her go. I'm having fun."
INT. HOUSE PARTY - HALLWAY
Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the front.
Olive Penderghast burst in, accompanied by her friend Brandon. They were both stumbling, acting drunker than anyone actually was.
"WHERE IS A BED?!" Olive screamed, slurring her words theatrically. She was wearing a Puritan dress with a red 'A' stitched on it, but she was acting like anything but.
She grabbed the host of the party. "Hey! Which room can we use?!"
Before the girl could answer, Olive dragged Brandon into the guest bedroom and slammed the door.
The music stopped. The entire party—easily fifty kids—gathered outside the door.
From inside came the sounds of aggressive bed-squeaking and exaggerated moaning.
"Oh! Oh yeah! Right there!"
Aman stood with the soccer guys near the wall. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Brandon was gay. He also knew Olive was performing.
"Wild," Duke laughed, shaking his head. "That girl is crazy."
"Totally," Aman agreed, playing along with the mob.
After a minute, the door opened. Brandon walked out, buckling his belt and high-fiving people like he had just scored the winning touchdown. Olive followed, hair messed up, looking flushed and defiant.
She marched toward the front door.
"I'm joining you guys in a minute," Aman told the group. He set his cup down and followed her.
EXT. CURB - NIGHT
Olive was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for her ride. The cool air was a relief from the stifling house.
"Hey, Olive," Aman said, walking up behind her.
Olive jumped, spinning around. "Hey, Aman."
"Are you okay?" Aman asked, his hands in his pockets. "That was... a lot."
Olive crossed her arms over her chest, defensive. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
"It's just..." Aman gestured to the house. "That performance inside? It was totally out of character. You're not that type of girl."
Olive's eyes narrowed. Her jaw set.
"What do you mean 'not that type'?" she snapped. "You think I can't get laid? You think I'm a prude? Is that it?"
"No," Aman said calmly. "I just mean you—"
"God!" Olive interrupted, throwing her hands up. "You're really behaving like a stereotype now, like a greasy Indian. Just mind your business!"
The insult hung in the air. It was ugly. Unnecessary.
Aman's expression went cold. The concern evaporated instantly.
"Okay," Aman said, his voice flat. "That's offensive. I was just checking on a friend. But if this is who you want to be... sorry for crossing the line."
He didn't wait for an apology. He didn't wait for her to realize what she said.
He turned on his heel and walked back toward the house.
Behind him, Olive stood on the curb, the anger draining out of her face, replaced by a look of sudden, sharp guilt.
INT. HOUSE PARTY - LIVING ROOM
Aman walked back into the noise, shaking off the interaction.
Greasy Indian. Right. Add that to the list.
He rejoined the soccer team. They were buzzed, laughing, and huddled in a circle.
"We're striking out, man," one of the jocks complained. "Miller just got rejected by a freshman. It's brutal out here."
"Aman!" Duke slapped him on the back. "You're up. Pick a target. The game is simple: get a number, or get a kiss."
"Aman's has the suit," another guy laughed. "He thinks he's Bond. Let's see it."
Aman " Tony stark ."
Aman looked around the room.
He saw the "safe" girls—the nerds standing by the snacks. He saw the "easy" targets.
Aim higher, he told himself. This is your second chance at life. Why play it safe?
His eyes drifted across the room and landed on Karen Smith.
She was standing alone near the punch bowl. Gretchen and Regina were nowhere to be seen. She was staring blankly at a helium balloon floating near the ceiling, looking beautiful and completely vacant.
Aman grinned.
"Okay boys," Aman straightened his jacket. "Here I go."
He grabbed a fresh drink from the table and started walking across the room.
"No way," Duke whispered, grabbing his friend's arm. "He's approaching a Plastic. He's dead."
"He reached too high, man," Miller shook his head. "RIP Tony Stark."
"Well," Duke raised his cup. "At least he has my respect."
Aman walked up to Karen. She didn't notice him until he was standing right in front of her.
"Hey," Aman said, offering the drink.
Karen looked at him. Then at the drink. Then at him again.
"Hey," she said.
"You look bored," Aman observed.
"I am," Karen sighed, touching her mouse ears. "My ears hurt. And Regina left me."
"Wanna play a game?" Aman asked.
Karen's eyes lit up slightly. "I like games."
"Let's start with a simple one," Aman said, leaning against the table, matching her energy. "Truth or Dare. What do you choose?"
Karen thought about it for a solid five seconds.
"Hmm... I choose Dare."
Aman smiled. It was the dumbest, cheesiest line in the book. But sometimes, you just have to shoot your shot.
"I dare you," Aman said, looking her right in the eyes, "to kiss me."
Karen blinked. She looked at his sunglasses. She looked at his suit.
"I'm not gonna lose," Karen stated seriously.
She stepped forward, grabbed his face with both hands, and kissed him.
It wasn't a peck. It was a full-on, Hollywood-style kiss.
From across the room, the soccer team erupted. Duke Orsino spilled his drink. Miller fell off the arm of the couch.
"LEGEND!" someone screamed over the music.
Aman pulled back, smiling. Karen smiled back, looking pleased with herself.
"Did I win?" she asked.
"Yeah, Karen," Aman laughed. "You definitely won."