To help filming run smoother, me and my group have decided to write a script so there's something to follow.
FADE IN:
(CREDITS FADE IN AND OUT ACROSS SCREEN)
The final bell rings. Students leave and go out of the school, laughing, hugging, making summer plans. The energy is high—except for one girl, Maddie (16).
She walks alone, her movements slow, her face expressionless. An EXTREME LONG SHOT shows her making her way to the parking lot. Friends huddle together, parents pick up students, but Maddie is alone. She gets into the backseat of a car, closes the door. Two GIRLS are sitting in the front, talking excitedly. The car pulls away.
The car starts. NON-DIEGETIC SAD MUSIC begins to play as the car pulls out of the school parking lot. The opening credits appear while the camera shows shots of the route home, passing through streets and endless rows of houses.
INT. MADDIE'S HOUSE - AFTERNOON
The front door opens. Maddie goes in. The house is dark and silent. She closes the door behind her.
She opens the fridge, the light harsh against the dimly lit kitchen. She grabs something to eat—nothing special, just a quick snack. She walks to the counter, opens her phone, and scrolls through messages. She stops at a text thread with her friend.
She types "Hey, do you want to hang out?" but pauses before hitting send. Instead, she opens Instagram. Her friend’s latest story plays. The friend is laughing with other people, a group of happy faces. Maddie’s gaze falls, her fingers hover over her phone. After a long moment, she deletes the message in the text box.
INT. MADDIE’S BEDROOM - AFTERNOON
She throws her backpack on the floor, and lays on her bed. She goes on her phone and scrolls through social media. Videos and pictures of her classmates pop up, their all laughing, hanging out, enjoying life.
Her expression falls. She sets the phone down, turns away from the screen, and pulls her curtains shut.
ON SCREEN: The title "Dear Diary;" slowly appears and fades away.
Maddie turns on her nightlight. The glow is soft, barely cutting through the darkness. She reaches for a notebook labeled "DIARY" and a pen.
She hesitates, lying back, rolling onto her side, then back onto her back. Something is weighing on her. She finally starts writing.
As she writes, a distant sound interrupts—maybe the garage door opening. She freezes for a moment, then continues.
FOOTSTEPS. Growing louder. Her bedroom door swings open.
MOM (40s) walks in, flipping on the overhead light. She pulls open the curtains.
MOM
Come on, Maddie. Let’s go. We’re going out.
MADDIE
(softly)
I don’t want to.
Mom sighs, walks over, and tugs at her arm.
MOM
Enough. Let’s go.
As Maddie stands up, the diary slips from her lap and falls open on the floor.
CLOSE-UP: The page reads, "Dear Diary, I’m not even sure if I want to live this summer."
Mom doesn’t see it. She guides Maddie out of the room.