Weird
"Come on, Screech, I can't do this without you!"
He can't, and Screech knows it. Zack comes up with the ideas, he sells them, but he doesn't do the work. Screech can print up fake report cards easily. It's not right, Screech knows this, too. He would never hide a bad grade from his parents, if he had any. Still, he won't refuse.
"I need you," Zack says, and that's what Screech needs to get by.
---
Sometimes it's not enough. Sometimes Screech has to lose himself in books and conspiracy theories and equations. He builds a wall of useless knowledge around him, puts his real name away in a drawer, and becomes Screech. They feel sorry for him, "the gang," because he's weird. They don't know how much easier it is to be weird than to face normal.
They all hide, really; Lisa behind her makeup, Jessie behind her causes, Slater under his muscles, and Zack behind…well, Zack. Kelly doesn't hide. She's honest. That's why they all want her, and that's why she scares the crap out of Screech.
---
"How do you spell that?" Screech asks, rubbing his eyes and focusing on the computer screen.
"Z-A-M-O-R-S-K-I," Zack repeats, tossing a baseball against the wall.
This may be Screech's least favorite noise.
"Hang in there, buddy, this is our last one!" Zack drops the ball and squeezes Screech's shoulders.
"Right, right, any special requests?"
"Uhhh," Zack runs back to his notebook. "He says he wants nothing higher than a B in Latin, because his parents won't buy it."
"Do you realize how greatly I am compromising my morals here?"
"Screech, buddy, pal," Zack turns on the charm. "Think of how greatly we will profit from our venture!"
Printed. Done.
"How are you planning to spend your share?" Screech asks.
Zack shrugs, "I don't know."
"Then why? For God's sake, why am I up at 4:00 AM making fake report cards?"
Zack did not expect this.
"Calm down," he says. "What's the big deal?"
"Do you just get a kick out of this? Do you enjoy fucking with my head?"
"Since when do you swear?" Zack replies quietly.
Screech slumps back in his chair. This is why he doesn't try. It's too exhausting. Zack thinks for a minute, then kneels down by Screech's desk.
"I don't know why I do this. It's just what I do. I'm Zack, you know?"
"And I'm Zack's friend."
"No! No. You're you. You're Screech."
"Trust me, being Zack's friend is better."
"I treat you like crap!"
Screech laughs at the honesty.
"But," Zack continues. "You are my friend, because I like hanging out with you."
"Why? I'm a loser."
"Only because you act like yourself."
"Gee, thanks," Screech leaves the computer and heads to his iguana, Stacey.
Zack grabs his arm, "I didn't mean that like it sounded. It's just that…you don't care what other people think about you. That's cool."
Screech stares at him, incredulous.
"Zack, I am terrified of what other people think."
Something crosses over Zack's face that looks suspiciously like understanding.
"I…am so sorry," he says, and it's not for just tonight.
No, Screech thinks. He doesn't understand, he just feels guilty.
"Get those report cards. I worked hard on them."
Zack doesn't let go of Screech's arm.
"Thank you," he says.
Zack kisses the side of Screech's face and takes the papers and leaves. Screech feeds Stacey and crawls into bed, knowing he won't sleep.
It's pity, Screech knows, but it's enough.