HIGHWAYS & EXITS: A Screenplay

By X. D. Brown

Highways & Exits is a coming of age romance crime thriller about a man named Brick who befriends two charismatic fugitives after leaving home following his high school graduation. The fun & love that ensues produces a man who is forever changed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798823020251

X. D. Brown

X. D. Brown is an author and screenwriter living in Pennsylvania. His first book, Always Come Back, a collection of short stories, was published in 2013. The book became a semi-finalist in three writing competitions. Brown published his first novel ‘Ready to Slay’ in 2016. His first screenplay, ‘Outside’, was published in 2020.

Book preview

1333_c.jpg

HIGHWAYS & EXITS

A SCREENPLAY

X. D. BROWN

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2024 X. D. Brown. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/02/2024

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2026-8 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2027-5 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2025-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024900014

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

INT. HOSPITAL–DELIVERY ROOM–ESTABLISHING

Everything is LOUD and FAST as we’re provided FRAGMENTED SHOTS of: a NEWBORN BABY BOY. He wails and thrashes.

Plastic tubes and IVs run haywire over a WOMAN’S stripped, sweaty body. The WOMAN is LESLIE SUMMERS.

She lays motionless on a bed with idle eyes.

Doctors and nurses surround her.

A nurse places the BABY in an incubator and wheels it out.

Breathing tubes, EKG, resuscitator—a haunting, loud melody.

The ER metal door CRASHES open. We meet JOHN SUMMERS—mid-thirties, fit, tall.

Doctors roar medical jargon as the EKG’s steady BEEPS evolve into a single BEEP!

JOHN

LESLIE!

John rushes to her beside.

He bites into one of his knuckles, on the verge of losing it.

He kisses her on the forehead.

She smiles a very faint smile, too calm. Then all signs of life are gone.

MOS SHOT: John sinks to his knees, starts to sob.

INT. SUMMERS’ HOUSE–BEDROOM–YEARS LATER

It’s a modestly sized room with a few MAPS of foreign lands randomly taped to the powdery blue walls. On the floor sits BRICK SUMMERS—he’s ten. Brown hair and eyes. Scattered around him are army action figures, books, and a cheap plastic GLOBE.

Brick reaches out his hand, closes his eyes, and spins the globe around.

He randomly stops it with his hand and opens his eyes.

He tucks in four of his fingers and reads where his index finger remains.

BRICK

Sicily.

He looks closely at the globe.

BRICK

Italy.

He picks up one of the action figures, stands up, and stands him up on a plain wooden dresser. Focus on the action figure as Brick talks for him.

BRICK

I’m not from a rural place

at all. Not originally.

I was found in a bamboo

basket. It was no larger

than a gallon milk jug.

I lived on—what did I

live on?

A moment.

BRICK

Mangoes, water, ice, and

goats. Their meat and

cheese. Milk too. This

was well before I was a

grown man.

Angry YELLING (OS) between a MAN and WOMAN, then a violent SMACK.

Brick sets the figure down on the dresser and tip-toes into the KITCHEN.

He looks closely at his PARENTS, the bickering MAN and WOMAN, TRACY SUMMERS and John Summers.

John’s middle-aged now, bulkier, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair.

He sits at a table, feet propped up on it.

Tracy sneaks a sink towel and covers up her lower left cheek. She’s in her late thirties.

TRACY

I should make pancakes.

No, I should make French

toast.

(a moment)

Oh, my new waffle maker!

I should make waffles—

that’s what I’ll make.

John takes his feet off the table, stands up, and pats the counter with his hand.

JOHN

I’d like some blueberry ones.

He walks out of the room.

The waffle maker sits atop the stainless-steel counter; it’s an expensive model.

Tracy stands in awe of it, then plugs it in.

TRACY

What do you think of it? I

think it’s grand. I do. I’ve

just adored them since I was

a little girl, younger than

you.

She sighs.

TRACY

Waffles. My mother used to make

homemade batter.

She grabs two small baggies of mixture and a measuring cup from the cupboard.

TRACY

Waffles are wonderful, and

that’s simply why there are

so many kinds. I can make

a lot of different kinds,

nineteen kinds, but your

Granny could make ten more

than that. She could. You

don’t believe it, do you,

dear? It’s true, though;

twenty-nine.

She opens a baggie and dumps some mixture into the cup.

TRACY

Blueberry, pecan, almond,

and maple-flavored waffles.

Chicken and waffles.

Chocolate chip waffles!

Lemon-poppy seed, strawberry,

and Belgian waffles.

Cherry—

Brick suddenly YANKS the sink towel out of her hand to reveal a WELT—large, black and blue.

Wide-eyed, she suppresses a gasp.

He stares at her as though to say I knew it.

TRACY

What kind?

He stares at his stepmother.

TRACY

What kind would you like?

BRICK

Strawberry.

TRACY

OK! OK.

EXT. DRIVEWAY–OUTSIDE OF HOUSE–MINUTES LATER

An antique sports car is parked right up next to the garage. Some sort of Mercedes. Classy and luxurious.

The house is a modestly sized split-level house. It has burgundy shutters and door with a brick front. It’s summertime.

On the trunk of the car, a badge reads: SL Mercedes Roadster 1971.

John crouches down at the driver’s side door, waxing it.

Brick appears at the garage with a baseball bat in one hand, a baseball in the other.

He moves to John’s side.

BRICK

Will you pitch to me?

He throws the ball up into the air and catches it.

JOHN

Want to know why you’re

in the outfield?