Happily Unhappy: Season 1

Season 1, Episode 1: Pilot

"How are you feeling?"
It's a pretty loaded question, no matter who is asking about what. As humans, we have an overwhelming amount of emotions about everything. A breakup for example: pissed, sad, angry-pissed, lonely, longing, angry-pissed-sad, desperate. And sure, it could go the other route: happy, relieved, thankful, understanding, predictable. Or how about when one is under the influence: light, goofy, hysterical, clumsy, tired, mellow, paranoid.
The question itself is a loaded gun, stocked with bullets and the person asking is supposed to be shot with answers they didn't expect. Sometimes we ask, "How are you?" when we're just being polite, especially to strangers. And most of the time we respond with "Good, how are you?", even though we're probably drowning inside. It's what society has constructed us to do, pretend we are okay in the view of people around us. How is that okay in itself?
"I didn't even know the kid," Josie Mendoza answers from the navy blue leather chair on the other side of Ms. Torres' desk. "And I know that might seem heartless to say but some of these teachers are acting like he killed himself."
"Josephine, I don't think you understand how serious Mr. Greda's actions were," Ms. Torres says, readjusting the clump of papers in front of her. "Lighting down an entire bar and then overdosing on Xanax is hardly stable."
Josie sighs, glancing up at the clock above the closed cabinets behind the guidance counselor. The entire population of Broadview Heights is all shook up on this bullshit. Broadview is a sleepy town just outside of Albany and three hours from New York City. It consists of lots of mom-and-pop shops, retro libraries and streets, and families of all different classes. Sure, Josie cares about what happens in the town in which she lives in. But does she really give a shit about Troyan Greda? She isn't saying she's well known within the student body, but she really didn't have a clue who this dude was when he made the morning paper. After some reading, she discovered that he attended her school and is actually in the same grade as her, a sophomore. She then did her usual social media stalking to find out what the other losers at this loser school are saying.
OMG prayers to Troyan!
Bruuuhhhh who burns down a bar? That's just rude.
OK seriously insane.
We don't know what is going on people's lives. Remember that.
Where he get that zanny thooooo
Josie calls bullshit on the whole thing and she's been vocal about it. Troyan doesn't speak much at school, only to his select friends and even that is limited. A shy boy burning down an entire business and then overdosing on pills is a call for help, obviously. But lucky for him, his chief-of-police-grandfather bailed him out of trouble without a second thought and no one thought anything of it. Justice would be served if Troyan wasn't white, though, Josie is sure. Her mother is a little bit old-school and would've left her in jail for the weekend so she learned her lesson. But she's not dumb enough to do something as reckless as what Troyan did.
"You're right, he's very unstable." Josie twirls a piece of her wavy chestnut brown hair around her finger, slouched against the leather. "And he should probably get help for that."
Ms. Torres sighs, rubbing her glossy lips together as she finally gives up. "Okay, well you know where to find me if you want to talk things over."
Josie calls bullshit on this whole thing, too. One by one, the students of Broadview High are being brought into the guidance office to talk about how they're feeling about this whole Troyan mess-- as if most of them even care.
"Great, I'm glad to see we're on the same page," Josie chirps and rises from the chair, slinging her overly-pinned messenger bag over her shoulder on her way out into the busy hallway.
Students are bustling up and down the corridor with bags stuffed with books and hands cradling their precious little phones their entire worlds are wrapped up in.
"How was the shrink?" River Calvin strides up next to his best friend, nudging her with her shoulder. "Did you talk about all of the feelings you have built up inside of you waiting to burst?"
Josie winces at the word shrink but answers anyway, "Yep, she even gave me a gold star sticker for participating."
"I got one, too!" He plays along, voice booming off the maroon lockers on either side of them.
This is how their conversations usually go: sarcasm, playing off the other's sarcasm, and maybe a few more dashes of wit during whatever talk they're going to have. Josie and River have been friends for three years after they met in seventh grade math glass for dummies-- not the actual title but it might as well be since the assholes of their grade treated everyone in the intervention classes like they rode the short bus. Obviously, no one signs up to be in intervention classes, you're placed there. And they were the lucky ones.
"I'm already tired of hearing about him, no offense to the dude," River says when they round the corner near the courtyard. "One way to end the summer is lighting down a bar, huh?"
"It's sad how much attention he's getting," Josie responds. "There's already an Instagram page dedicated to him to raise money for whatever reason."
River heavily sighs. "Whatever. This is gonna blow over in no time, I'll bet you. This school focuses on shit for days at a time before they go back to ignoring everything."
Josie can't agree more. "You are not wrong, my friend."