Original subtitles

You have these striking alabaster cheekbones.

Did you know that?

No.

Well, you do.

They're strong.

Like you.

You're attractive, Rhonda.

Maybe not in a conventional sense.

Your beauty is more severe.

Maybe even feral, like in a European way.

Yeah.

Let me just...

Hey. It's okay.

We're your friends.

- No one here is going to hurt you. - - Yeah.

- Okay? - Okay.

Let me just try one more time.

Rhonda.

You are stunning.

You're gonna be able to have sex with anyone you want.

Or anyone in the band, at least.

She's a fall, not a spring.

She'll need warmer undertones,

but I do like what you've done with the hair.

I remember when that homecoming queen crown

was placed atop my head like it was yesterday.

I knew in that moment,

I had to get out of my shithole town and make something of myself.

My destiny was sealed right then and there.

Someone less evolved would have taken it as a sign to stay put.

Be a big fish in a small pond.

But not me, I saw a ladder that led out.

I would need to win Miss Indianapolis next,

and win and win and win until I got to where I am today.

A winner's psychology is...

special.

Complex.

Susan knows what I'm talking about.

And now you do too, Rhonda.

Did you know my mother was homecoming queen too?

No.

It's a shame the royal bloodline has to die with me.

I'll just have to pretend you're my daughter, Rhonda.

This must be what it feels like to adopt.

How tragic.

- Since when do you wear Giorgio? - Your father got it for me.

A present for saving your skin at school the other day.

It's very exciting. It's new.

Girlie smell.

Girlie smell.

The homecoming count was in.

And even though it was meant to give us a rare glimpse of hope,

I couldn't help but feel that

by turning Rhonda's return into an impossible fantasy,

we'd actually handed the victory to The Trawler.

The ballots have arrived.

Thank you, Miss Schaffer.

Hi, baby.

- I said thank you, Miss Schaffer. - Yeah.

Candidates cannot participate in the tally.

But since you are a female enrolled as a senior,

you are automatically considered a candidate.

- Leave those to us. - But Bret is eligible to be a candidate.

Why does he get to stay and count?

Because Bret has no chance at king. We all know that.

He's impartial by default.

- Principal. - Thank you.

Well, all right then.

Let's get started.

One for Rhonda.

One for Susan.

One for Rhonda.

One for Susan.

My God.

- Hey. - Is it over? Who won?

No, we're still counting. The halfway mark.

It's so exhausting, but it's close.

Okay. Just give me the numbers, Bret. I run a charity.

I need facts that I can work with, okay?

It's looking good for Rhonda.

But honestly, it's too close to call it.

It's neck and neck.

Okay.

What about me and Susan? Who's ahead there?

What does that matter?

Rhonda's in the lead. Susan's right behind Rhonda, okay?

And me?

You have one vote.

Aw. Debbie, that make you upset?

I didn't think you cared. You're not in it to win.

I know.

I was never going to win because I never do.

Susan does.

This entire school thinks that I'm a frivolous and spiteful clown.

All the charity in the world can't change how people see me.

I don't see you like that.

Would it make you feel any better if I told you that one vote was from me?

No.

Because it would be a lie, Bret.

I was that one vote.

I voted for myself.

We're still counting.

Thank you, Mr. Ellis, for joining us. Shall we resume?

Thank you, Lydia.

One for Debbie.

One for Debbie.

Debbie.

Debbie.

Attention, students.

I want to quickly interrupt your school day

to announce this year's official senior homecoming court

in advance of the final crowning of homecoming king and queen.

Your 1981 homecoming court belongs to...

Rhonda Fox.

Susan Reynolds.

Debbie Schaffer.

Thom Wright.

Ryan Gifford.

And Robert Mallory.

Thank you. Thank you.

Congratulations to this year's homecoming court.

We look forward to crowning the king and queen.

Well, look who it is.

- That's quite an outfit. - They say to dress for the job you want.

- Yeah, what job is that? - King.

Come on, I got you something.

Come on.

You know, I thought you didn't care about that stuff.

I don't, but I do care about Thom losing.

Listen, if I do become homecoming king,

I want you to know that Rhonda can never be my queen.

You're my queen.

Robert, stop.

We can't.

Robert, Giorgio is not cheap.

Neither are you.

It's wonderful.

What are you doing?

I want to smell like my girl.

Everyone, please welcome your freshman class float.

The Jaws of Opportunity.

They sure won't get swallowed by the pressure.

All right.

Next up, we have the sophomores'

Setting Sail to New Destinations.

Excuse me. Thank you.

Thanks so much.

Believe it or not, the concession stand wouldn't make you a daiquiri,

so here you go.

It's Tab with a half a flask of rye bourbon.

Next, we have the junior class with their float...

Nearly the same thing.

Give My Regards to Broadway.

If that doesn't razzle-dazzle you, I don't know what does.

Look at this god-awful float.

You are about to put the whole school to shame, Steven.

- Yeah. - I'm proud of you.

And last up, we have the senior class with their float.

"The Last Fantasia, a deconstructed opera

wherein aesthetics and context refuse the choke hold of expectation,

heralding a 1980s defined by mutiny of form."

Good job, guys!

It's a masterpiece.

You know, in your 12 years of working for me,

I've never seen you do one single thing right,

but tonight, you came close.

I just want us to remember this...

this moment.

All right, everyone, that does it for our parade...

How did Debbie pull this off?

Next up will be your very own...

Maybe some of me rubbed off on her after all.

Announcing the winners of this year's homecoming king and queen.

I don't know.

Float's weird.

Am I the only one who doesn't get it?

I think it's visionary. Ferdinando Scarfiotti's a genius.

Don't be nervous, Rhonda.

This is yours to win. Just try to breathe.

And now, the moment we've all been waiting for.

I'd like to welcome this year's homecoming court to the stage.

Let's go, Debbie!

Here are your final nominees for homecoming queen and king.

And with no further ado, your homecoming queen this year is...

Susan Reynolds.

Fuck me raw.

Fuck.

And your homecoming king goes to...

Robert Mallory.

Guess they like the new kid?

Thank you all so much.

This means the world to me. It really does.

But I can't accept this crown.

It belongs to a true queen,

a survivor,

and a beauty in her own right. She's gonna give it to Debbie.

I'd like to give this to Rhonda Fox.

Come on, Rhonda. You deserve it.

- Susan Reynolds kidnapped me. - What?

That's not true.

That's not true. Rhonda, why would you say that?

What are you searching for, Bret?

A police contact. I need to help Susan.

I wouldn't worry about Susan. She has an alibi.

We were at my house both of the nights that Rhonda and Matt Kellner disappeared,

and the police already know because I told them.

When did you tell them that?

When they took me in and questioned me for six hours

because you told them to look into me, you fucking pest.

You're a little bit obsessed with me, aren't you, Bret?

Well, you would love that, wouldn't you?

What kind of game are you playing, Robert?

I'm not playing a game.

I don't think about you at all.

You're invisible to me.

And that really bothers you, doesn't it, Bret?

Well, I'm sorry to break it to you,

but people aren't thinking about you

nearly as much as you think they are.

You think about me and Susan.

Don't you, Bret?

You imagine me playing with her nipples.

Her eyes rolling back as she feels all nine inches of me inside her.

Do you wish you were there with us, Bret? Replacing me inside her?

Hoping you can lick up my come off the floor while we aren't looking?

Your threats don't work on me, Robert.

I know who you really are.

You're just a sick, little rich kid who killed his own mommy.

Says the boy whose parents have been in Europe for a suspiciously long time.

Should we tell the police to look into that?

Look under the floorboards. Bring in the cadaver dogs.

I know them very well now.

Stop fucking with me, Bret.

Consider this your final warning.

Don't fuck with a king.