Poison Ivy

She was definitely a turnoff,|too overt.

Look at her...

Obviously, big problems.

Most girls|don't fly through the air...

with their skirt|around their waist.

Supergirl at least had|the decency to wear tights...

not that I read comics.

I'm more the politically,|environmentally correct...

feminist, poetry-reading type.

You know...

boring.

I wonder if she posed|for that painting.

Great perm.

Blond hair...

obvious bleach job.

Too bad it's six months old.

I don't know how she does it.

I get airsick on a seesaw.

I guess she's sort of beautiful.

I don't know. Those lips.

Lips are supposed|to be a perfect reflection...

of another part|of a woman's anatomy.

Not that I'm a lesbian.

Well, maybe I am.

No, definitely not.

I told my mother I was,|just for shock value.

She said, "Fine, just as long|as you don't smoke. "

Which, of course,|is my main joy in life.

Probably oral compensation.

I don't think I was breast-fed.

I can't imagine|where she came from.

None of the other kids|at my school are that scangie.

I really wish|we could be friends.

A dog got hit! Come on!

Someone should just kill it.

It's still breathing.

Oh, God.

You kids pipe down!

Principal's office. Please hold.

Take a seat, ma'am.

It's a stick-on.

See?

I like the ivy.

The cross makes me think|of death, but the ivy is life.

Sort of the tragic|and the hopeful, you know?

What did you do to your hair?

It's Egyptian.

Cool.

What are you busted for?

I got to keep|a certain grade-point average.

I'm slipping in biology.

You're one of those|scholarship kids.

You make it sound|like Jerry's Kids.

It's not a disease.

Sorry.

Did it hurt?

No. They used a gun.|It was really Quick.

But you've got this wire|running through your nose.

It feels like a booger.

Who's the old dude who picks|you up in the pimpmobile?

It's my dad.

He's having a midlife crisis.

My name's Sylvie Cooper.

What did they nail you for?

I phoned in a bomb threat|to KTVM.

You know that lame guy|who does the editorials?

He said that teenagers|are too hormonally imbalanced...

to have driver's licenses.

He said the age should be raised|to twenty-one.

How did they know it was you?

Wait a sec.

I've seen your dad.|He is that guy...

that jerk on TV who does|those tweaked editorials.

You phoned in a bomb threat|to your own father?

That's great.

No, I mean it.

I'm gonna break this|to you real slow.

Your dad's an a**hole.

I ought to slap you good.

You can't put two hundred people|out on a sidewalk...

just because you|don't like an editorial!

They're trying to get rid of me.|Whose side are you on?

Sylvie, you hurt me.

I didn't mean to.

I'm sorry, Dad.

No more than me.

I.

No more than I.

You're grounded.

You rich fuckhead!

I worked for it!

It's nice and cool in here.

I missed my ride.

Could you take me|to Olympic and Fairfax?

Just a sec.

She's my best friend.

Why didn't you think|of that before?

Come on.|Just this once, please?

Then I'll be grounded forever.

What's her name?

Ivy.

Great.

Good Lord.

Get in.

I get carsick.|Do you mind if I sit in front?

Sure.

Thanks.

Your name is Ivy.

Something wrong with your mouth?

TMJ. It's stress-related.

It gives you terrible headaches,|makes your jaw stiff.

Almost killed Burt Reynolds.

Do you have to buy condoms, too?

No, I've got to get a spermicide|with Nonoxynol-Nine in it.

What?

It's a school project.|This HIV-positive guy...

talked about not shooting up|and using condoms.

It's not like we're supposed|to screw around or anything.

We're supposed to learn|to not be embarrassed.

Don't worry. We turn|everything in at the end.

Save the receipts.

Sh*t.

Where have you been?

Grounded.

You lost your boot.

It's my only pair.

Your turn.

No way.

Way.

Forget it.

Are you afraid?

Come on. I won't laugh.

I got to go.

Who cares about|a stupid rope swing anyway?

What's your real name?

I like Ivy.

It sort of gives me the chance|to start over.

It's so beautiful.

Where did you get it?

From my dad.

He must really love you.

He also feels guilty.

I was adopted.

My biological father was black.|You can tell by my hair.

My mom is my real mom...

but when Darryl married her...

he adopted me.

I'm pretty sure|it was to make her happy.

I think|he really cares about you.

My dad didn't want me|anywhere around.

He'd get pissed if you|tried to talk to him.

He'd throw stuff at me,|like food or spitballs.

Your dad read "Hustler"?

I don't think so.

One day I went through his room,|and I found all this stuff.

He had, like,|five hundred magazines...

of the kind with the chicks|and the high heels...

like they look like|they're ready for a... exam.

Sordid. Come on.

I bet that's why|you look so sexy...

so that your dad|would notice you.

Thank you, Doctor.

Did it work?

He left anyway.

I tried to commit suicide once.|See?

- Where?|- There.

Used to be a lot worse.

Is my hair thing covered up?

Yeah. Why?

My parents.

I tried to convince them|it was female pattern balding...

that my hair fell out|in the shape of an eye...

but I don't think|they really bought it.

It's too big.|You can never find anyone.

How you getting home?

Hitch.

Not everybody gets to go home|in a Mercedes.

Maybe I'll see you around.

I don't really have|many friends.

Me, neither.

Well, yeah, any friends.

Yeah. Everybody hates me.

Everybody hates me, too.

Do you want to come over?

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