Amanda walked to a side door, reached for her keys, and with a bit of elbow grease, she turned the key. Last year, she copied the keys to most of the buildings around campus from a maintenance man, and from time to time made residency in a building of her choosing. Amanda quickly walked through the dark halls to the second floor. She’d been here so many times she could walk through with her eyes closed. On the second floor, she walked into room 204 and flipped the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs illuminated the drab classroom. The school was in dire need of a grant. One could almost see mold growing on concrete walls.

She walked to the front of the class and stood on a stool and opened a ceiling tile. Reaching in, a slight fear came over her; there was no telling how many spider webs she’d put her hands through. Despite the silk, she grabbed her trash bag of goodies: guns, knives, ammo, bank blueprints, etc. Then she closed the tile and hopped down and landed on her feet, but the height dropped her to a crouch. When she rose upright, a green chalkboard drew her attention. The board was full of equations, some familiar with her, and others stumped her brain. The phrase Julie said, kept repeating in her mind: Who dares, Wins. Her pulse rose, almost matching the rhythm of a battle drum, which then was plucked in her head. The drum’s pace was fast, which prompted her to work at that pace.

Amanda erased the entire board and now with a fresh start and drew up a plan of how to recover the Fisher Account. Anything she could think of she wrote on the board, nothing off-limits. When Amanda finished, so did the drums. She took a step back and observed her plan. Everything is written entirely brainstormed, subjects circled, and explained in three lines. The items circled: Lance, Heroin, Julie, and a question mark. Uncertain about what to do with the question mark, but aside from that, she smiled and knew the plan was perfect.

“The plan of plans,” she whispered.

Julie decided to head back to the bar and hang out with the inebriated Shawn. Around 4 a.m., he chose to come back home, so she gave him a ride in her BMW.

“So, how was Amanda?” he asked.

“Honestly, or how I feel?”

“Why do you girls give me options?” he asked.

“Would you rather us not respond? Cause we can do that too,” she said.

“I’m too drunk for this,” he laughed.

“The best thing you could have said.”

The two reached his and Dean’s house and exited her car. She walked the stumbling Shawn to the front door. “Ok, I’ve walked you here, now please be safe.”

“No, no, no, Julie, you have to come in,” he dropped, begging on his knees.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Do it for me, please?” he asked.

“Shawn you’re drunk and you—”

“I know.”

“You split up with your girlfriend.”

“Well, she split up with me,” he gestured to himself. Some of his vowels had begun to sound British. The acting classes Morgan signed everyone up for were paying off.

“But you won’t take no for an answer. Will you?” Julie asked.

“Does it look like I will?”

“Fine,” she smiled. She thought Shawn looked pathetic, but she still had tender feelings toward what he was going through.

“Great,” he carefully stood. “Have I ever cooked for you?” his words dragged as he said them. “I can make pancakes. You like pancakes, right?”

“I really should leave,” she said.

“No, no, you’re coming inside,” he mumbled. “You’re gonna try my pancakes.” He reached into his front pockets. He looked to the stars and exhaled. “I left my keys at the bar.”

“Is Dean awake?”

“Unlikely, but I think there’s a spare around the back,” he said. “Stay here.” Shawn stumbled his way to the back door.

Julie knew the smart move was to leave, but Shawn needed someone, then more than ever. In his state, their time together was meaningless. I can’t just abandon Shawn. He’s one of my best friends. He wouldn’t do that to me. As she thought, she realized the seconds turned into minutes and still no Shawn. She knocked on the door and heard him scrambling to open it. The phone dropped, followed by a loud thud on the floor, and a slew of four-letter words echoed through the house. The door opened.

“Sorry, I blacked out... pancakes!”

“Shawn listen—”

“No, you’re coming inside,” he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her inside.

Inside the living room, she saw the phone line was disconnected and the receiver halfway across the room, making the spiral cord nearly straight. Shawn flopped on the couch, and a bedroom door swooshed open, where Dean crouched ready to strike.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked with a pistol gripped in his right hand.

“We’re okay,” Julie said. “Shawn’s just drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” his voice cracked from the screaming he had done during the car ride with Julie. He was a mess with or without Amanda breaking up with him, it's just a small view of his push vs. pull personality. As others would pull closer, he’d push back, but he blamed the alcohol.

“Julie, what are you doing here?” he eased his pistol grip.

“Babysitting,” she smiled.

“Take care, Jules,” he said and closed his lair.

Shawn viciously smacked the cushion beside him, “Sit.” She sat beside her drunken friend, unsure of what to do next. “Jules, do you remember the old days?”

“How old are we talking?” she asked.

“Like when I and you first met,” he said.

“You mean: you and I. Yes, I do.”

“I can say what I want in MY story!” Shawn was more than a little expressive.

“Dean is trying to sleep,” she said.

“Amanda introduced us, and I felt something.”

“I see,” she sheepishly said.

“Admit it, Jules, you and I want each other,” his tone grew deeper.

Julie sat silent for a moment twiddling her thumbs as she thought of what to say, where a tactical approach was necessary when dealing with Shawn. “Honestly, I’ve always seen something between us, but we’re with separate people,” she waited nervously for his response.

“I’m not. Amanda and I are over,” he said. “Besides, Mark’s an asshole, and you should be done with him.”

Julie stood up. “I should go,” she said, and then walked to the front door.

“Amanda went off the deep end,” he said.

“True, but it doesn’t mean she’s without feelings,” Julie said and walked out.

Around 8 AM, Amanda thoroughly outlined her plan on a spiraled notebook with everything in her plot described to the hour. She kept it in her backpack and had finally gotten the courage to rally her first recruit for her mission: Julie.

During the bus ride to Julie’s house, Amanda only thought of what she would say. She knew there would be no more peace if she followed with her plan. A war would begin, and Mark would never stop. His throbbing hatred towards her would play as fuel in his locomotive, just chugging along to destroy the next barricade. She exited the bus at the closest stop, only two blocks away.

On the LA streets, she walked by a black man attempting to sell some broken amps, knowing he’d pester her about making a deal. Amanda crossed the street, keeping her distance.

She finally arrived at Julie’s house only to get cold feet on their porch. The many scenarios had run through her mind. One's if she knocks on the door and places her plan in motion, and it fails. A script where she didn’t knock on the door and likely kicked from the group, then possibly addicted to…. Amanda knocked on the door and rang the doorbell.

Mark opened the door wearing a wife beater and shorts. She saw he carried a revolver in hand. His face had a look of disgust, “I’m sorry, but we don’t sell drugs here.”

“I need to talk with Jules.”

“You’re not setting foot in this house, you crack whore,” he proceeded to close the door. Amanda slammed her foot between the door and the door frame.

“I’m going to speak with Julie,” she said in her me-against-the-world tone. In the past, her voice cracked when under pressure, but on that day, she could sing Nothing Compares 2 U better than Sinèad O’Connor.

“You addicts are like cancer,” Mark said. “I won’t let you get to Julie.”

“I’m telling you, I’m going to speak with Julie,” Amanda said.

Neither would budge an inch; Mark clenched his jaws waiting for Amanda to make her first move. She stared up at him, waiting to make the first contact and had the desire to reach into her bag of goodies.

“Who’s at the door?” asked the waking Julie.

“It’s no—”

“It’s me, Julie!” Amanda said.

“Amanda?” Julie said as Mark’s eyes narrowed at his guest. She walked to the door Mark had opened halfway. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk,” Amanda glared at Mark, “in private.”

“Sure,” Julie said in her dry voice. “Just give me 10 minutes.” She headed inside to change clothes. Amanda and Mark continued their staredown.

“You win round two,” Mark said.

“What was round one?”

“You were high. Morgan told me not to kill you,” Mark said. “I rule that one a draw.”

The two remained silent until the appropriately dressed Julie walked back outside. When she got to the porch, Mark hugged her and gave her a passionate kiss.

“What was that for?” Julie asked.

“In case I never see you again,” he said.

“Ok?” she said as Mark walked inside.

“Can we go for a ride?” Amanda asked.

“Sure. Where to?”

“How do you feel about MacArthur Park?” Amanda asked. Julie sighed due to the park’s history of violence but nodded her head when Amanda revealed she’d be packing a weapon a grin grew from side to side on Julie’s face.

At the park, the two found a chipped wooden bench to sit. The mostly Latino gang neighborhood made Julie uncomfortable, but Amanda felt her backpack of supplies should keep them safe. She hadn’t slept in 30 hours, and it was evident to Julie.

“Are you ok?” Julie asked.

“Good, I have it all figured out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last night before you left,” Amanda said. “You said: Who dares, Wins. Which got me thinking.”

“Where are you going?” Amanda then handed her the spiral notebook with her plan.

“Turn to page four,” Amanda said. “I can’t succeed if I don’t try. So, I’m going to try to get the Fisher Account.”

Julie turned to page four as the Seven Points Security business card dropped outs. The page title reads Julie. Line after line of scenes, many of which she carried a significant role. Julie gave a shocking expression.

“What is this?” she asked as Amanda picked up the card.

“It’s your script,” Amanda said. “I’m recruiting you to my side. I need you to make this work.”

“Your side?”

“Once I get started, there will be a war,” Amanda said. “A war between Mark and I. Jules, I need you on my side.”

Julie sighed and closed her eyes; she proceeded to shake her head. “No,” Julie said in a stern voice. “I’ve defended you for years, and I’ve been there for you whenever but girl, this is too much.”

“OK, I understand.” Amanda nodded her head and thought of any other way to make her plan work without Julie and came with nothing. “I want to close this chapter of my life. I need you, Jules. How do I win you over?”

Julie pondered the statement, “How will this war end?” Julie asked.

“Me getting the Fisher Account, followed by peace,” Amanda said.

“Why rob Morgan after all he’s done for us?” Julie narrowed her eyes.

“He hurt me more than anyone will ever know,” Amanda sighed.

“How?” Julie asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Amanda said, thinking of her times Morgan brought her to the clinic.

“OK,” Julie said. “I’m in if nobody gets hurt.”

“Alright,” Amanda said, “but I need you to swallow your pride and help me put an end to what’s tearing us apart.”

A long moment of silence filled the air. Julie thought hard and couldn’t see any other peaceful ending. “Ok, I’m in,” Julie said. “What’s my first move?”

“Good, you’re first move is to tell Mark you bought me some drugs,” Amanda said.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”