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V/O: SAM ECKLUND
It was the portrait of a nation.
[Clips from American Vandal : high school exteriors, Kevin eating pizza rolls, Dylan Maxwell looking at the ocean]
In a lawless society, it represented justice.
[Clips: the dicks, the shitting, the crime scene pinboards, the Spartacus moment at the end of Vandal season 1)
Yeah, it was about dicks, shit, and dumb teens. But it was also about friendships. Relationships. It was about the threads that tie our society together - and what happens when they break.
[Zoom in, unsubtle, on the evidence board. One red thread dangles free, drifting in a non-existent wind.]
But when it ended?
[SCREEN FADES TO BLACK]
Hi. I’m Sam Ecklund - documentary-maker and professional best friend. This is American Vandal: Uncut . It’s the final chapter of an unfinished story. I didn’t start it - that was my friend Peter. But I’m gonna do my best to end it.
[INT. Student housing - a slightly grimy corridor, with dorm rooms in intervals all down it.We’re standing outside number 45, with Sam, who turns to the camera and raises his eyebrows. There’s a slight wrinkle between his eyebrows - he’s apprehensive - but he’s smiling. He raises his hand and raps on the door, which eventually opens, revealing Peter, in pyjamas. Upon seeing who it is, he smiles, but then catches sight of the camera, and frowns.]
PETER: No.
[The door slams shut, and the screen fades to black again.]
No matter what I have to do to make it happen.
(American Vandal: Uncut)
The key to making a really good documentary is asking a really good question.
Like, what was it like to fight in a war? Or go into space? Why do people do weird shit? Did that one person really murder that other person? Who, ultimately, did the dicks?
The thing about Peter, though, is that he's an answers guy. And if Vandal taught him anything, it’s that people just don't add up right. You think you're trying to help someone, but you just make their lives worse. You care about someone so much you shit yourself on purpose. On camera . You make something real–something that counts –and Netflix cancels your show, and renews Black Mirror for a fifth season.
Basically, nothing means anything, and all actions are kind of the same, because they all take place in the same oblivion, devoid of meaning, so there’s no point trying to make any sense of it.
They get dropped by Netflix the summer before college, and by the time they get there–Peter gets into USC, and Sam follows Gabi to the East Coast–Peter has decided that he is going to reinvent himself.
“I’m Peter,” he says on his first day, to his new roommate. “Uh, I like sports.”
His roommate looks at his conspicuous lack of muscles dubiously, but it’s a first step.
Over the next three years, he manages to establish himself as someone ... inoffensive. The sports thing doesn't have a lot of longevity, which he should've predicted, but he keeps his head down in class, makes a few friends. He even goes to the LGBT club meetings a few times, which is both deeply stressful and kind of exhilarating.
People recognise him from Vandal , sometimes, but he steadfastly ignores them until they go away.
All of which is to say that Peter Maldonado is 21 now, and a senior, and he's not a virgin anymore, and he's moved on, artistically speaking. He goes swimming on Tuesdays, and to D&D on Thursdays. He hasn't so much as looked at a piece of red string in years. He's left his past behind.
Or so he thought, until it comes knocking at his door.
“I won't let you in while that thing is running!” he yells through the door. He doesn't know why Sam is here - he hasn't spoken to him in a few months at least–but he doubts this is a social visit. It looks like some bullshit to him.
There's some muttering on the other side of the door.
“I'll turn the camera off if you let me record the audio?” Sam calls, voice muffled.
“No!”
More muttering. Then Peter heard Sam’s voice, clearer. “Come on, man, it's me. Just hear me out.”
Peter hesitates. “What's this about?”
“Open the door and I'll tell you.”
Peter looks at it, caught in indecision, and then his gaze flickers to the window - but it's old and jammed and he can't get it to open on the best of days.
Plus, even though he's already wistful about his peaceful life slipping through his fingers - as it inevitably will - he may as well go out with as much dignity as he can, and leaping out the window to escape an uncomfortable situation wouldn’t really help with that.
So he pushes up his glasses, readjusts his Batman pyjama bottoms, sweeps the remains of foil from the Reese's cups he'd demolished last night to get him through an essay under his bed, and opens the door a crack.
“Camera stays outside,” he orders. “You'll have to deal with whatever audio you can pick up from there.”
“Fine,” says Sam.
Amateur, thinks Pete. He didn't even negotiate a talking head out of that one. Then he mentally slaps himself out of it, and opens the door fully.
They eye each other for a second. Peter steps aside and Sam comes in, perching on Peter’s bed.
“Talk, then,” says Peter.
“What, no ‘hey, Sam, how've you been? Happy Halloween? I like your hair?’”
“You could say you like my hair,” Peter points out.
Sam looks at it. “Yeah, maybe we should cut to the chase.”
Peter shrugs. “I'm not doing it, whatever it is.” He sits back down on his rolling chair and spins pointedly away.
“It's about Vandal ,” says Sam. “I want to bring it back.”
“Nope,” says Peter, immediately. “No fucking way.”
“Look, man, I know how you feel about this and I would never ask but I've been feeling like we left something unfinished for a while–”
“Oh, well, isn't that sad,” says Peter meanly to the window, an unfamiliar rage rising in him. “Sam feels bad so we just–easy as that, we just bring it back, let me call up Netflix and humiliate myself again and make another season of shitty television about shittier kids who I can't even relate to anymore, it's all just Hamilton and e-cigarettes with them and we'd be the weird grown adults following them around with a camera and we'd get cancelled again, and it would just be another absolute waste of a year under our fucking belts. Grow up, Sam. Move on. We lost. Deal with it.”
He pauses to catch his breath, and suddenly comes back to himself, thankfully immediately before he spits out, and get your own fucking ideas, you sponge. He chokes down the words in time.
Turns out repressing all his feelings about Vandal ’s cancellation may have had some...adverse effects.
“Wow,” says Sam. “Got, uh, any unresolved issues there, maybe, Peter?”
“Oh, shut up,” Peter mutters. “Anyways, you're not convincing me.”
“Look,” says Sam. “What I'm saying is no Netflix. We don't need them. Not even a full series of episodes. More of, I guess, a special. The Serenity to our Firefly . Back to basics: you, me, a camera, the story. And I think you're going to want to hear this story.”
Peter glares silently at the sky. When he doesn't reply, Sam continues.
“So, six weeks ago, I get this email. Someone from this community college, back in Oceanside. Turns out someone's been pulling dumb pranks, graffitiing crap on the walls. People think it's some kind of ghost.”
Peter scoffs. “We turned down more interesting things for season 2.”
“Well, this is the thing. See, the person who got in touch with me–well, we know him. We knew him.” Sam hesitates. “It was Dylan, Peter.”
“Dylan Maxwell? ” Peter spins back around, staring at Sam.
“Yep. In the flesh. Well, over Facebook.”
“What’d he say?”
“Well, he's a student there. He's actually doing really well– - he's really turned it around. But this thing– - man, I don't know. He thinks he's being set up. He's the only person who's been at every ghost sighting.”
“Circumstantial,” says Peter, but he feels uneasy. He's been in the business long enough to know that in the real world, there's no such thing as coincidence.
“I don't know, man. The more I learned about it, the more it seems like there's something there.”
Peter scrubs a hand over his face. “I thought you even didn't like him.”
Sam shrugs. “Does it matter? Look, this is our chance to round things off. Don't you feel kind of responsible for what happened to him?”
“We helped him,” says Peter, but he feels a pang of guilt. This is why he doesn't think about this stuff; how can you square the best and worst thing you ever did? “Anyway, I don't know how we can help now. I don’t work in true crime anymore.”
“Oh, come on , Peter,” says Sam. “Yeah, I know we got fucked over, but don't you remember what it was like? We said something real. About America . Before Netflix ever noticed us. You were the person that made it matter to, what, thousands of people? And now, you're in this hole, working on that–” he gestures towards Peter's laptop, where his final project is playing silently “What even is that?”
“It’s a documentary about the life of the eucalyptus tree,” says Peter.
Sam raises an eloquent eyebrow.
“Nature is fascinating,” says Peter defensively.
“But does it do crimes ,” says Sam.
Peter opens his mouth and then shuts it again.
“That's what I thought,” says Sam.
“I just–” says Peter. “I'm not sure. I don't know.” He falls silent. “I don't want it to be like last time,” he says reluctantly. “I think we were, maybe... irresponsible. With some stuff. I don't know, dude, it's like, would Dylan even have done the dick at Ms. Shapiro’s house–the only dick that actually mattered, in the end–if it wasn't for us?”
“So we help him now,” says Sam. “We finish the story. Nobody ever has to see it but us.”
Peter should never have opened the door in the first place. This was never going to go any other way.
“Fine,” he says. “But the minute things go sideways, I'm out.”
Sam grins at him, then fishes something out of his backpack and tosses it at Peter, who fumbles it slightly but ends up catching it. “You won't regret it, man.”
It's a ball of red string, because of course it is. Despite himself, Peter feels something start to thrum in his ribcage, familiar and alive.
SAM ECKLUND V/O: Blue Valley College is a small community college just outside of Oceanside with around 4000 students. It's probably best known for hitting the news back during the evil clown epidemic of 2016, when at one point it had the highest number of clowns per capita in the country.
INT: DEAN’S OFFICE. The Dean sits behind his desk in a small, slightly shabby room, which has been draped with soft furnishings. In pride of place is the Dean’s degree certificate - from Blue Valley twenty years ago.
DEAN: Well, I admit, that wasn't our finest moment. But we weren't voted 'most impressionable campus’ in the country for no reason! [Laughs, then becomes serious] Just kidding, that was not an academically rigorous study. But you know, all publicity is good publicity! Application rates have actually tripled since people learned more about our highly acclaimed theatre department and its state-of-the-art costume facilities.
SAM ECKLUND V/O: But it seems that students of Blue Valley haven't moved on from their dark past, and a sense of foreboding has always loomed over this otherwise normal campus. In autumn of 2021, that bad feeling bubbled over.
[Shaky camera footage of a vaguely person-shaped glow] “Fuck! Is that a ghost?”
[SCREEN FADES TO BLACK]
SAM: Was it? You know and I know that ghosts don't exist. But the phenomenon that came to be known as the Juul Ghoul had very real consequences.
Footage: Sam and Peter ringing a doorbell. Peter's foot is tapping. Sam gives him a look
“Dude, it's Dylan, are you seriously freaking out right now?”
“It's been a long time!” hisses Peter.
“Calm down,” says Sam. “Be chill. Can you do that?”
“No,” says Peter mutinously, and then the door opens.
(American Vandal: Uncut)
Peter never thought he'd ever see Dylan Maxwell again.
He would never have thought of it this way at the time, but during the first season of Vandal , they ended up spending enough time together that Peter was pretty comfortable around Dylan, in the end. Yeah, most of that time was focused on the documentary, but there was also–breakfast burritos, and driving places together, and beer pong at after-prom. There were the evenings when Peter would run late at Dylan’s, and his mom would make extra so he could stay for dinner. There were countless evenings on the sofa, at the dinner table, in Dylan’s bedroom, patiently dissecting every single angle of the case. Peter picked up how Dylan thought, a little, and how he felt about things. In the end, though he only figured this out retrospectively, Dylan thought of Peter as a good friend.
But after everything, Vandal wasn’t enough to keep that fragile thread of liking from mostly unravelling as soon as they went their separate ways. He heard that Ms Shapiro dropped the charges against him, for some reason, but that was while they were in the thick of season 2, so he never got all the details. He knows Dylan is at community college. Whenever Peter is tagged in photos on Facebook, Dylan usually wow reacts to them, which everyone knows is the semi-ironic, friendly reaction of choice for people who are bros. But they haven’t had an actual conversation in years.
If he'd thought about it, he would have said that Dylan had a right to be mad at Peter, after everything. So yeah, he's bracing himself.
But Dylan's face breaks open into a grin as soon as he opens the door.
“Yo!” he crows, yanking him into a hug and slapping him on the back. “Pete! My guy!”
Peter freezes, then tentatively pats him on the shoulder.
“Come in, man. Hey, bro,” he nods at Sam. “Shit, this is like…whoa. You are totally the same. Oh man, the camera too? You have not changed one bit.”
“I have contacts now,” says Peter nonsensically as they follow Dylan into his mom's familiar dining room. Sam looks at him scathingly.
Dylan hasn't changed, either. He's still wearing pretty much the same wardrobe, though Peter can't spot a carrot motif anywhere, which makes him a little sad. He's filled out a little, maybe. Otherwise, this is all bizarrely exactly as he remembers it. There's even the old familiar faint smell of weed and Doritos.
“So I thought we could get right into it,” says Sam, as they settle at the table. “Peter will just ask you a couple questions about what's happened since you left Hanover, Dylan, yeah?”
Peter feels weirdly nervous. He hasn't done this in a while. He'd thought Sam would be doing the bulk of the actual documentary, seeing as it's his grade and Peter is mainly there under duress, but Sam insisted that he and Dylan had better rapport.
He clears his throat. “Okay. So, Dylan, why don't we start with what happened after you got arrested?”
Dylan frowns. “Oh, yeah. Shit was messed up. Ms Shapiro was totally gonna screw my family out of, like, ten million dollars but I guess people kept emailing her about it, so she dropped the charges. I gave back my suit, and everything.”
That was us, Peter thinks suddenly. He'd had enough emails from people who felt bad for Dylan. Made sense that they would be emailing other people about it too. People who could actually do something about it.
“So, what happened after that?”
Dylan scratches the back of his neck. “You know, s’weird. I thought just not being in jail would be pretty good. But things still, like…sucked. Honestly? They sucked ass .”
“Mm,” says Peter.
“But then my mom was like, you can work for Coop or you can go to community college. And I really didn't wanna work for Coop for the rest of my life. His van smells so bad. So here I am, you know?”
“And things are good?”
Dylan grins. “This place is honestly great. You know, the Dean tweeted me personally, asked if I wanted to come here? It got like 15k retweets. And like, look at me now, I'm gonna graduate and do the hat thing and open my own business.”
“A business?”
“Printing t-shirts. You know, with like, dick jokes, and people humping things, and Rick and Morty. Like you get on holiday. I'm majoring in textile studies so I'm gonna fucking make bank.”
Peter sits back and looks at Dylan.
He's been feeling off-kilter ever since the interview started and Dylan the straight-A student is not exactly helping. He'd expected Dylan angry, bitter maybe, bad feeling between them for how the doc turned out way back when. He hadn't accounted for Dylan being happy .
“Things are good,” he says again.
“Well, yeah,” says Dylan. “Until the Ghoul.”
SAM ECKLUND V/O: The first person to see the ghost was Chris “Nips” Tucker.
“Dude runs, like, crazy hot,” explains Dylan. “You’ll be like, just open a window, dude, but he’ll already have his shirt off.”
You’ll see why this information is relevant in a second.
Chris was targeted on Halloween–the first time anyone had seen or heard the ghost. He'd been at a party with Dylan: the two of them had decided to walk over to the convenience store just off campus to buy frozen yogurt when it happened.
“Dylan went to take a leak on the way,” says Chris. “I'm outside on the sidewalk, and all of a sudden it gets super, super cold. I haven't felt that cold since, like, fifth grade. And I look up and I see it just - floating. This big, white thing. Kinda hazy. Like, a foot off the ground. It was moving away, but then it stopped. It turned. And I swear to God, it looked at me. But - get this - it didn't have a face.”
“Fucked up,” says Dylan, with feeling. “That shit’s fucked. Up.”
“Yeah,” says Chris. “We had like a full on staring contest for like two minutes. But I blinked and it vanished, and there was just...this, like, cloud. Then I smelled it. Mint. But kind of smoky. Like a vape pen.”
“A vape pen?”
“Yeah. It was like a high school bathroom stall up in there.”
“Okay–well, then what happened?”
“The smoke clears, and there's this writing on the wall on the far side of the sidewalk. It says ‘IMPOSTER’. In blood.”
Tests revealed that it wasn’t blood - just red paint. But the message was still disturbing.
“That shit’s out of Hereditary,” says Chris. “Like, the demon Paimon comes calling, don’t say I didn’t fuckin’ call it.”
That was the first time. Soon, people were seeing the so-called ghost everywhere. The tell-tale smell of vape smoke that followed it around gave it a name: the Juul Ghoul.
(American Vandal: Uncut)
Peter is reviewing their day one material in the motel he and Sam are staying in when he hears a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he calls.
It’s Dylan. “I brought tacos.”
“Oh,” says Peter, blinking. “Oh. That's nice.”
Dylan shrugs, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck. “S’not a big deal.”
Peter shuts his laptop and moves up and they settle awkwardly on the rickety single bed. Dylan, gangly as ever, takes up twice as much space as Peter does.
“What’s, uh, what’s up?” asks Peter, once they start eating.
Dylan shrugs again. “Nothing. What’s up with you?”
“Uh...nothing.” Peter eyes Dylan. “Not to be rude, but I meant, why are you here?”
“Oh.” Dylan chews for a long time and then swallows. “What do you think?”
“About the tacos?”
“About the Ghoul .”
Peter sighs. “I think it’s too early to say.”
“But like,” says Dylan, accidentally spewing bits of taco shell onto his lap. “Can you, like, exorcise it, or whatever?”
“Exorcise–Dylan, ghosts don’t exist.”
“I don’t know,” says Dylan darkly. “Seemed pretty real to me. First time I saw it I thought I was gonna die, straight up. Sometimes I’m like, maybe I did. How would I even know, you know?”
“You’re definitely alive,” says Peter firmly. “And whoever is doing this is also alive, and we’ll find them.”
Dylan nods, looking unhappy. He takes another bite of taco. “I know you’ve got my back, bro,” he says, around it.
Peter feels a twinge of guilt, and pushes it away immediately. It’s not a helpful emotion to feel. “We’ve got some good starting places already,” he says reassuringly. “We know loads about the Ghoul, we’ll catch a mistake soon. We know about the actual crime–a lot, actually. From there, we can build a list of suspects.”
“Sick,” says Dylan, looking slightly cheered.
“We need to find anyone who might have any kind of vested interest in either freaking you out with the Ghoul, or making it seem like you did it. So anyone with a grudge against you. And anyone with a connection to vaping.”
Dylan looks shifty. “I don't know, man, I'm, like, popular now. People dig me here. S’why this sucks.”
Peter doesn't fully buy it, but he doesn't push the issue. Better save it for the camera. “Okay. Tomorrow Sam is going to carry out some interviews–they might throw something up.”
Dylan nods, and stands up, dropping taco crumbs on the floor. “Thanks, man.”
Peter hesitates for a second, then stops him as he's about to leave. “Dylan. We'll find them, okay?”
Dylan turns, and smiles at Peter. “Dude, like I said. I know you've got my back.”
He opens the door. “Still think an exorcism couldn't hurt , though.”
Then he's gone.
SAM ECKLUND V/O: The strange thing was, Dylan Maxwell was at the scene whenever the ghost showed up. Whether it was in the cafeteria, or the football pitch, or the auditorium, or the car park where people go to smoke up, he always seemed to be around. Soon enough he started to think that the messages might be for him - but by then, a lot of people thought something very different.
Dylan Maxwell. A man with a troubled past, to say the least. But since Hanover High, he seemed to have turned his life around.
DEAN: Oh, Dylan? He's a nice young man. He's really made something out of himself. [Beams paternally] Yes, I'm glad we took a chance on him.
[Mr Stephenson, drama teacher, grandpa-like]
STEPHENSON: We don't place overly high expectations on our students here at Blue Valley - we're just happy when they're happy, and stable. Dylan has made himself very useful painting sets backstage this year.
[DYLAN puts the finishing touches on a chest of drawers, then paints his classic finishing touch on the top: an instantly recognisable dick, barely visible. He winks at the camera.]
SAM ECKLUND V/O: Dylan Maxwell arrived at Blue Valley with a pencil case and a determination to put the past behind him.
DYLAN: Oh yeah, it's cool. Teachers rate me here. It doesn't matter that much about the dicks. Like, this chick in my freshman lit class, she drove her dad's car into a Baby Gap. I bring a pencil to class, I'm Mr. Fuckin’ Valedictorian.
SAM ECKLUND V/O: But does everyone feel the same way?
LUNCH LADY: Oh, that Dylan, he's the bane of my life. I don't care if he's a ghost or if he's being haunted by a ghost - the sooner he leaves for good, the better.
SAM ECKLUND V/O: Chloe Abramowitz is a lit student and president of the Pagan Society.
CHLOE: It's obvious: Dylan is being haunted by a vengeful spirit. Maybe he angered someone beyond the grave.
SAM ECKLUND V/O: Jeremy and Sadie Anderson are cousins, and have had the lead roles in every play the school has put on for three years. He’s the Sharpay of the school - and in this school, there are no Troy and Gabriellas.
[Jeremy Anderson, tall, coiffed, all-American, and Sadie Anderson, blonde, cool, and disapproving.]
JEREMY: Come on. What other student here has a record of doing this kind of thing? What other student nearly went to jail for it? This is probably another one of his stupid pranks. [Pause for dramatic effect] It’s Dylan Maxwell. He’s the Ghoul.
SADIE: Duh.
FOOTBALL PLAYER: Dylan Maxwell? Who's that?
[FADE TO BLACK; COME BACK ON DYLAN]
DYLAN: I mean, it sucks. It’s kind of like what it was back at Hanover. But come on, dude, you know me. We go back. We’ve got, like, history. And you know that I? Don’t fuckin’ vape .
(American Vandal: Uncut)
Wrapping up their first few days of interviews feels simultaneously familiar and different. Peter hasn’t done this since Vandal , but it’s not how it used to be. Digging up the truth had totally consumed him, back then, but now–maybe because the mystery is a lot weirder (a vaping ghost?), or maybe because there’s history there, but he feels strangely distant from it all. Still, he goes through the motions of it, and it’s easy, like he never stopped in the first place.
“So, there are a few threads,” he says, one evening at Dylan’s. “We’ve got something to work with. I think we should look into the Dean–he seems pretty publicity-motivated, and he has the resources to pull something like this off. This one could go all the way up to the top.”
Dylan looks thoughtful. “I don't know, man. Like, on one hand, he's a Dean. I don't know if he would do that. But on the other hand, he keeps calling me a real TV star and making me talk to the local paper about this place, so I get it. But...on the other hand, the ghost looked like it had tits, to me. So I don’t know, man.”
Sam dutifully writes ‘tits?’ on a post-it and pins it to the board.
“And then there’s that kid Jeremy,” says Peter. “He really seems to have it out for you, Dylan. What’s up with that? It would be weird if that came from nowhere.”
“I don't know, he just randomly hates me,” says Dylan. “We don’t, like, hang, you know?”
“So you’ve never spoken to him?” asks Peter. “Think about it.”
Dylan looks thoughtful. “I mean, I don't know if this counts. It’s probably nothing.”
“Anything could count,” says Peter, leaning forward and exchanging a glance with Sam. “The smallest interaction, anything.”
“Well, there was this one time, he, uh–” Dylan grins, and pokes his tongue in the side of his cheek. “It was awesome. But that’s it, for real.”
Peter stares at him. “He blew you?
“I’m pretty sure we can say that counts,” says Sam. “Also, explain .”
“Cool,” says Dylan. “Yeah, it was at a party, I don’t know. Kinda came out of nowhere. I guess we were playing beer pong. Then it was strip beer pong. Then we made out, he gave me a BJ, that was pretty much it. I was drunk, so.”
“Right,” says Sam. “Uh–Peter?”
Peter has no clue where to go. It’s pretty new as sensations go.
Well, if he’s honest, that's not right. It’s more like he has so many opinions about this whole situation that he doesn’t know what to say first. On one level, the most important level, this could change everything. Like, if Dylan made Jeremy feel rejected in any way, that could put a whole new spin on things. Peter needs to know exactly what happened, how it went down (well, aside from the obvious) and what happened after and who initiated–
He kind of gets stuck on ‘who initiated’, because that kind of ties into the other persistent thoughts that are buzzing underneath. Thoughts like, Dylan Maxwell is not straight .
What the fuck ?
“Uh...Peter?” asks Sam again.
“You’re bisexual?” asks Peter stupidly, then kicks himself. It’s a leading question. Also it has no actual relevance to the documentary. Get a grip , he thinks, then with horror, realises his mouth has opened again despite himself. “Since when ?”
Dylan sits back and spreads his hands expansively. “Okay. Here's how I see it. I’m an ass guy, you know. And dude ass and lady ass, it’s like, what's the difference? Yeah, they look different. I guess . You got tiny asses. You got big asses. You got asses that are, like, I don't know, medium. But it's like, separate but equal, right?”
“You really can't say that, man,” says Peter reflexively, but weirdly, he can see the logic in what Dylan is saying. Obviously not the last part, and he’d never say it out loud even for the documentary because he hasn’t had enough personal experience to verify it as a fact, but feeling different types of attraction for different types of people? That’s pretty much Peter’s, admittedly much more limited, experience of sexuality so far.
“We're all the same from behind,” says Dylan, wisely.
“Well, this has been illuminating,” says Sam loudly, glaring at Peter. “But let’s get back to the documentary.”
“The documentary,” says Peter. “Yes. Okay. Well - I guess even if Jeremy felt, uh, spurned-”
‘Spurned?’ mouths Sam.
“–we still need to look into whether he could have feasibly done this. We’ll keep him on the list. Now–the Dean.”
They get what they need out of the interview with Dylan. Sam pulls him aside afterwards. “Dude, what was that about?”
“What? Nothing. What?”
“Your little freakout there. Don’t lie, I know you know what I mean. You kind of sounded super homophobic, man.”
Peter starts. “ What ? That’s not–I mean. I’m not a homophobe. I’m–you know what I am.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “I know, idiot. Just–be a little less weird about it or other people will start getting the wrong idea. You didn’t drunkenly come out to everyone at Five Guys at 2AM, just, like, me and ten other random strangers.”
“Let it die, Sam,” says Peter, and thinks, okay. Less weird. He can do that.
“Well, a lot of people think this campus is haunted,” says the Dean. “It’s pretty old, you know. People talk a lot of big talk about Harvard…”
He trails off meaningfully.
“So, the ghost?” prompts Sam.
“Oh, the ghost! Oh, yeah.There's a presence here. For sure.”
“Have there been any sightings in the past?”
“So many,” proclaims the Dean, generously. “This place is a real hotbed for ghosts. And my aunt was a psychic, so I know. Never anything dangerous, I might add, but just enough to give the old place some character.”
“Do you think that attracts more students?”
The Dean pauses. “It certainly has raised our profile in the past. People: they love ghosts.”
“Sir, I looked into your admissions statistics over the past decade. They’ve actually fallen quite a lot–the only spike was after the clown thing. Do you think this is going to replicate that?”
The Dean smiles, tight-lipped. “Well. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
(American Vandal: Uncut)
After speaking to the Dean, Sam stays on campus to get some incidental footage, and Peter goes back to the motel. He needs some time to think.
But the more he tries to get his mind around the case, the more distracted he feels. He sits down on the scratchy motel bed with his laptop to do some research and immediately gets up to go and grab a Diet Coke from the vending machine down the hall. Then while he's there he suddenly feels claustrophobic, like he needs to get some fresh air.
He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s never found it hard to sit down and work on a project like this before. It’s simple: you just do whatever you can to get to the truth and you don’t stop until you get there. He spent so long squinting at a screen for Vandal that he had to get stronger glasses.
The way Vandal ended, he’d thought it would feel unfinished forever. This chance to round it off, properly, is something he never thought he’d get. But now he’s doing it for real? It's nothing like he thought it would be.
This is why he'd switched to nature documentaries. Nothing confusing about those.
He's on his second lap of the block when he sees Dylan, presumably walking home. When he sees Peter, he grins and starts jogging over.
It's strange seeing Dylan so... purposeful. Had he ever been the kind of person who jogged, before? It's like the pencil-ready guy he once briefly was has finally taken centre stage. Yeah, he's majoring in textile arts at community college rather than engineering at Boulder, but it's a good look on him. He seems taller somehow, more broad-shouldered. He looks–well, happy. Despite everything.
“Hey, man,” he says, when he gets to Peter. “What's up? Where are you headed? Wanna come over for dinner?”
“Oh–uh, sure.”
“Let's have burgers,” says Dylan decisively. “Man, I am so hungry.”
It turns out that by that, Dylan means 'let’s go to Burger King and Peter can pay for burgers and chicken wings’, but Peter doesn't mind. They decide to go back to Dylan's apartment, eating as they go. Between 'getting along with Dylan without a camera there’ and 'going back to the motel to stew’, both make Peter equally nervous, but the motel also depresses him beyond belief, so.
They walk in companionable silence for a while, but Peter can feel a perverse compulsion to enter risky territory bubbling up inside him. He tamps it down for as long as he can, until–
“So, uh,” he says. “You seeing anyone? Any girls, or, uh, I guess, guys?”
“No,” Dylan says, through a mouthful of burger. He swallows. “Dude, do you have some kind of problem?”
“No!” says Peter a little too loudly. “What? No! You, uh, you should fuck anyone you like. Fuck everyone! It's not my business.”
“You literally asked,” Dylan points out.
“Well, I didn't wanna know, ” mutters Peter.
Dylan slants a look at him, amused. They keep walking.
“What about you?” asks Dylan after a while. “Tell me you're not still a virgin, bro.”
“I'm not a–I've had sex!” This whole conversation was a horrible mistake. Peter hates his stupid mouth.
“Nice,” says Dylan, reaching out for a fist bump. “You still together?”
Peter winces, thinking of the last guy he'd had sex with, in a utility room after the AV club Halloween party. He thinks his name was Dave, or maybe Dan. “Oh...no. I'm focusing on work right now. I can't do both at the same time, it's unrealistic.”
Dylan scoffs. “That's stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
“It's called–like, multitasking , dude. When I was dating Mac, you think I didn't have to plan my time so I could do pranks? As well? They take planning. You don’t just go out and just... hump some nuns, you know?”
“You don't?” says Peter, momentarily distracted. He rallies. “Multitasking is...is doing dishes and laundry at the same time. Not trying to prioritise two important things at once. You tell me how to do it, if you're such an expert on romance.”
Though, pipes up a little voice at the back of his head, if there was one thing that Dylan had seemed to instinctively know how to do, even for just a while, it’d been caring about Mac. Before the dicks, before everything–he remembers Dylan with the dog food, just hours before his life changed irrevocably. He'd just been bad at knowing when it was over.
“I don't know,” Dylan is saying, “we just did, like, date night and shit. We'd, like, go out to the woods and hotbox my car. Romantic stuff.”
“My documentaries are more important than hotboxing,” says Peter with dignity.
“But that's not, like, your life. Your real life. Like, all this shit, the Ghoul–that's my life. You gotta figure out your own shit.”
Peter feels exposed. “That’s not–no. I don't...no.”
“Denial,” says Dylan. “Not just a river in Europe.”
“It actually isn't a river in Europe,” says Peter. “But–whatever.”
The next day, Peter is at the campus café emailing his professor when he gets a call. He eyes his phone for a second–who calls anyone nowadays, seriously?–before picking it up gingerly.
“Hello?”
“Dude,” says Dylan's voice, excited. “You gotta get over here right away. There's something you need to see.”
The line goes dead. Peter hesitates for a second–he has a camera, but Sam is tied up in more interviews all day. Whatever it is probably isn't that important, he decides, and heads over to Dylan's dorm room.
When he opens the door ten minutes later, Dylan is almost vibrating. “Finally. Check this out, dude.”
On the table is a vape pen and a note.
“Is that–holy shit.”
The pen is green, and has a marijuana leaf haphazardly stenciled onto it. It looks a lot like literally any vape pen.
Peter picks up the note with his sleeve stretched over his fingers. “Did you touch anything?”
“No,” says Dylan. “You think it was the Ghoul?”
“I think so,” says Peter, unfolding the note awkwardly. “'Back off while you can, this will end not with a whimper, but with a bang.’”
Dylan grins and makes a jerking off motion. Peter ignores him.
“Holy shit, Dylan,” he breathes. “This is a clue .”
“Is that weed flavoured vape ?” asks Dylan. “Shit. Why not just real weed, you know?”
“Well, now we know they're not a poet,” says Peter. “And they have a flair for the dramatic.”
“I'm gonna test it,” says Dylan decisively. “To see if it really tastes of weed.”
“Not with a whimper, but with a bang,” reads Peter again. “Not a whimper , but a bang .”
“I don't know, man, that still sounds horny to me,” says Dylan, bringing the vape stick to his mouth.
Peter looks at him, and something falls into place.
“ Don't, ” he says, and lurches towards him. Dylan looks up at him, bewildered, as Peter collides with him, slapping the vape pen away from his face, and there's a moment where they freeze before two things happen: the vape stick explodes, and they go crashing to the floor.
Peter ends up hovering awkwardly over Dylan, holding himself up with a hand, their faces inches apart. Dylan's eyes are wide and his right hand is braced against Peter's shoulder, holding on tight. For a moment, they just stare at each other, breathing hard. Peter can just about feel Dylan's warm on his face.
Then Peter rolls to the side, wincing as he shifts the weight from his hand, and Dylan groans.
“Ow. Fuck!”
They both look at Dylan's rapidly reddening hand.
“It's burned,” says Peter blankly, then gives himself a shake. “Dude, you gotta go to the health centre.”
“What just happened ,” moans Dylan, cradling his hand to his chest.
Peter looks around. The air smells of burnt weed and the vape pen is lying on the floor, somewhat charred but otherwise no worse for wear.
“They booby-trapped the pen,” he says. He looks back at Dylan. “They booby-trapped the pen .”
“Fuck, man,” says Dylan with feeling.
Peter stands up, pulls off his hoodie and crouches down beside the vape stick, wrapping it up. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears. “Dylan, you know what means?”
He meets Dylan's eyes.
“We're on to something.”
Peter paces in front of the evidence board, Sam sat on a desk behind him.
PETER: You should've been there, dude. It's getting real now. This changes everything.
SAM: I know, I know.
PETER: And fucking - ghosts - don't leave notes saying to stop investigating . Whoever is behind this is getting sloppy, panicked. It's only a matter of time.
SAM: Okay, so where do we go from here?
PETER: [points at evidence board] It has to be the vaping. That's the key to all of it. It doesn't make any sense - there has to be a connection.
SAM: [pulling over laptop] I 've actually been digging into that. Did you know you can use the e-liquid in vape pens to make smoke? If you light it in a particular way. There are loads of videos on YouTube.
PETER: Just like the Ghoul.
SAM: And with the pen, now, it's kind of like–he's reclaiming the nickname. He's taunting us.
PETER: They've gotta be sourcing this from somewhere. We need to look at all the local vape shops, anywhere that stocks this type of pen. Maybe we'll get lucky.
SAM: Makes sense. Look, I'll get started with that. You go tell Dylan what's going on.
(American Vandal: Uncut)
Things start to go downhill when Peter visits Dylan at the health centre.
“Family and partners only,” says the nurse staunchly.
“A of all,” says Peter. “I brought him here. B) he has a minor burn on his hand . And C), this isn't a fucking cancer hospital, it's a campus health centre. You gave him Neosporin .”
“Family,” says the nurse, unmoved. “Or partners. Only.”
“Fine,” snaps Peter. “I'm his boyfriend, happy now?”
He stops abruptly, and eyes the nurse, who looks back at him just as dubiously. She clearly doesn't believe him, but steps aside.
Peter is still half-ready to take it back, but he needs to talk to Dylan, so he decides to run with it. Dylan is sitting in bed, hand bandaged. Peter sits down in the chair next to him, then, glancing at the nurse, who is looking suspiciously at them from the door, takes Dylan's undamaged hand. Dylan looks at him, alarmed, and his hand twitches, but he doesn't pull away.
Peter fills him in quickly. Dylan listens carefully, and when Peter is done, he frowns.
“Okay. Uh. So, promise you won’t be pissed.”
Peter has a bad feeling about this. “...what.”
“Promise,” insists Dylan, drawing his hand out of Peter’s and fucking spitting in it, holding it out for Peter to shake.
“I’m not gonna–that’s gross. No. What is it, Dylan? I won’t be mad, you just have to agree for this to go on tape later.”
“Okay. So, uh. You know how I was painting sets for Stephenson this year?”
“Yeah.”
“It was a pretty sweet gig. One of the days I was working, these school kids came by to use the theater. They do it sometimes. They were, like, twelfth graders. And they asked me...to get them. Something.”
Peter is starting to have a bad feeling about this. “Dylan. Were you dealing them weed?”
“No!” protests Dylan. “No, just, uh. Vape pens.”
Peter is going to wring his neck. “You were what? ”
“They paid so much!” says Dylan. “And I bought them cheap from this guy living out in the woods, so I made, like, crazy money.”
“You didn’t think this would be relevant information?” says Peter, his voice getting louder. He sees the nurse’s shadow darken the doorway, and lowers it again. “You didn’t think that would matter to an investigation into the vaping ghost that is currently stalking you?”
“I thought I would get put in jail!” Dylan looks hunted. “You have to promise that you won’t tell anyone who could put me in jail!”
Peter opens his mouth furiously, then takes a deep breath and calms himself down. “Who was your supplier?”
“My supplier?” says Dylan, confused, before realising. “Oh. I actually don’t know his name. He lives pretty far, maybe an hour’s drive.”
“Why not use someone local?”
Dylan shrugs. “He’s my boy, you know? He grows, like, the best weed. He harvests this, like, moss, and he adds it to shit. I met him one day when I was driving upstate and had to stop to take a leak. I think he’s a janitor somewhere, but like, weed is his calling.”
Peter sits back and stares at Dylan.
“Great ass,” Dylan adds, nostalgically.
HOT JANITOR: Sometimes it doesn’t seem right, yeah. But I use the money I get to buy seeds and hot lamps so they don’t get too cold in the winter and stuff like that, so it’s like, sometimes you have to make sacrifices, you know? For the greater good. Lichen are very pure beings, so I bet they would understand.
SAM: So, you have manufactured the aerosol inside e-cigarettes out here?
HOT JANITOR: Yeah. I use this particular strain - wanna try? No? I grind it up and add it to the e-liquid, or the weed, whatever. It has a mild psychedelic effect.
SAM: And you sell this to shops to sell on?
HOT JANITOR: Oh, no way. No. I don’t want to part of the supply chain, you know? I want to be out of the system, as far as I can be. I sell direct to buyers. Here, take some of these carrots home with you. Last of this season’s crop.
SAM: Has anyone recently made a mass order with you? Or maybe repeat mass orders?
HOT JANITOR: [frowns] I guess. People do it quite a bit - I’m kinda out of the way, here. There was one that was strange, though, just before Halloween - someone who reached out anonymously. I just had to leave the aerosol in a bottle on the edge of the woods and they picked it up.
SAM: That’s our guy. That’s the Ghoul.
HOT JANITOR: Oh man, you think so? That bums me out. I wouldn’t want to be part of something like that.
SAM: You’ve already helped. Thanks so much, we really appreciate it
HOT JANITOR: No worries, no worries. Good vibes to Dylan. Don’t forget your carrots.
(American Vandal: Uncut)
Peter is...struggling.
Not with the case, which is going well. Sam is methodically making his way through a list of Hot Janitor’s buyers, trying to find someone who might know about him and who might have it out for Dylan. Peter is looking into all the vapers at the school, in case there are any leads there. They’ve ordered a fingerprinting kit off Amazon which is due to arrive any day now and they’ll use that to fingerprint the note that came with the pen.
And more than that, Peter can feel in his bones that they’re drawing in on something - on someone. It’s no surprise to him that the Ghoul sightings have dried up spectacularly since Sam started interviewing students. Whoever is behind the Ghoul is scared, and that means they’re getting somewhere
So the case is fine. It’s his own life that’s going to pieces.
Peter has never really been able to wrap his head around dating. It often feels like everyone else in the world knows exactly what they’re doing and Peter is the only person who missed the memo. The problem is, that makes his stupid confused body very suggestible, which means that just pretending that he and Dylan are dating is enough to fool it into thinking they’re actually dating.
He can’t now stop himself from noticing things like Dylan’s solid, comforting weight, whenever he leans over Peter’s shoulder while he’s editing. It sounds so simple when he puts it like that –just that Dylan is present, and tall, and broad, a very low bar–but he can’t stop feeling hyper-aware whenever it happens, like some little measuring mechanism in the corner of his mind knows exactly how much space there is between them and won’t stop sounding a tiny alarm. He notices whenever Dylan looks at him–and Dylan sometimes looks dumb, yeah, when he’s pulling pranks or saying something stupid or not engaging , but there are some times when he looks at Peter and he’s so clear-eyed that Peter can’t help but feel uncomfortably pinned down by it.
It’s terrible . And the worst thing is, Dylan is worryingly lackadaisical about the whole thing. Peter’s explained a million times to him that it’s just fake, and Dylan will nod and look like he gets it, but then he’ll be throwing an arm over Peter’s shoulder or smiling fondly down at him or tousling Peter’s hair and all those things could just be friendly, but they don’t feel friendly.
They agreed that it could be useful to keep the fake boyfriend schtick going for a while and Peter is deeply regretting that choice. Most people have just accepted it–the main person linked to the documentary is Sam, after all–and it’s now just a regular part of life. It’s normal, to stop by Dylan’s first thing with coffee so they can head onto campus together, and to know Dylan’s classes so that they can meet up at lunch or so that Peter can come and walk him home. He doesn’t think twice about ordering food for Dylan or referring to him as ‘my boyfriend, Dylan.’ This is the most serious relationship he’s ever had, and it’s not even real .
It’s absolutely a relief when the Ghoul leaves them another message.
It’s another vape pen–which they’re careful not to touch, this time–and a flyer, which turns out to be for the annual Blue Valley New Year’s Dance.
“It’s a message,” says Sam.
“He’s going to do something at the dance,” says Peter. “We have to be there. He wants us to be there.”
“It says students only,” says Sam, frowning. “I guess–you’ll have to go, with Dylan. And take a camera.”
“Maybe you can sneak in,” says Peter quickly. “Let’s not rule anything out.”
Sam looks at him. “Dude, I trust you to do this. You invented this. This is the whole reason why we kept the fake boyfriends thing going in the first place.”
“I guess,” says Peter uncomfortably.
“Well, you’re going to have to be fine,” says Sam. “We only have two days. Let’s consolidate our list of suspects, then you can keep an eye on them when you’re at the dance. We’re so close to finishing this thing, Peter.”
“Yeah,” says Peter, feeling weirdly hollow. “We are.”
[Dark screen, muffled noises. Suddenly brightness: the camera is running. Sam’s face looms into it as he checks that it’s working, then he puts it in Peter’s suit pocket.]
SAM: Ready, Bond?
PETER: What does that make you, Q?
SAM: Probably. What time is Dylan getting here?
PETER: Half hour. What do you think?
SAM: You look like you’re going to your first bar mitzvah.
PETER: Thanks.
Peter turns to look in the mirror. The camera is slightly jostled as he ties his tie. He makes a sound of annoyance, and switches it off .
(American Vandal: Uncut)
“You sure you’re okay?” asks Sam, watching him. “You seem...stressed.”
“Why would I be stressed?” asks Peter, pulling his tie tight enough to choke. He makes another sound of annoyance, and unravels it again.
Sam shrugs. “I don’t know.” He sits down. “Hey, I should tell you something.”
Peter turns. “What?”
“You remember I said that Dylan messaged me about this, way back at the start of everything?”
“Yeah,” Peter says cautiously.
“Well, he didn't,” Sam says. “I messaged him.”
“What?”
“I thought you’d be more likely to help.”
Peter opens his mouth, and then closes it again. “But why?” He tries to sound more curious than accusatory. “And why–you never needed me for this, you know that? Why involve me at all?
“I don’t know,” says Sam again. “I just wanted you to be part of it. It felt fitting, I guess. Don’t–okay, I can tell you just wondered if I’m the Ghoul. I’m not.”
“I didn’t think that,” says Peter, guiltily.
“It’s cool, dude.”
Silence falls as Peter turns back to the mirror and finishes tying his tie.
“You wanna know what I think?” he says abruptly. “Yeah, this is about the Ghoul. And about Dylan. But I think that more than anything, it's about me.”
“You're so fucking vain,” says Sam, which isn't a denial, and then he says, “What's up with you and Dylan, anyway? You guys seem pretty close nowadays.”
“You and your dick seem pretty close nowadays,” says Peter.
Not just a river in Europe, he thinks.
Dylan looks good, dressed up. He keeps introducing Peter to people as his boyfriend, which makes Peter feel all kinds of weird, even though it was literally his own idea.
“Yo, Jeremy,” he says affably. “You've met my boyfriend, right?”
Jeremy scowls, and scurries off.
People don't really seem to know what to make of Dylan. Some people glare, but most of them just look confused. Peter is keeping an eye on the glarers.
“Wanna dance?” asks Dylan. “For, like, the cover.”
Peter gives in. “Sure.”
Neither of them are very good dancers, and the song that's playing is Low by Flo Rida, so it's not exactly like it is in the movies. But it's still weirdly nice anyway, just to be awkwardly bopping up and down in tandem. To be part of a couple, sharing space and moving in sync.
“Pete,” says Dylan, earnestly. “You're a legend.”
“Thanks, man,” says Peter, genuinely touched.
Typically, this is when the Dean appears. “Dylan, you're looking very smart tonight. And who's this?”
“My boyfriend,” says Dylan confidently. “Peter.”
The Dean's eyes narrow, and Peter remembers too late that he'd watched the first two seasons of Vandal –had recruited Dylan to the school based on it. But in the slim chase that the Ghoul is the Dean... “Peter, as in–Maldo-”
But the rest of Peter's name is cut off, as Peter, panicking, pulls Dylan down by his tie and kisses him.
“I'll leave you boys alone,” says the Dean, tactfully.
Peter breaks away, loosening his grip on Dylan's tie. His lips are warm. Dylan stays where he is, looking shell-shocked down at Peter. “Dude–”
“Sorry, sorry,” says Peter, and Dylan shakes his head, but then it doesn't matter, because the Ghoul finally appears.
[Smoke fills the room. The camera jolts as Peter plunges into its midst, his arms flailing as he tries to reach for the Ghoul. It goes dark for a few seconds, but eventually he comes out through the other side–empty-handed.]
PETER: Fuck. Dylan?
DYLAN: [distantly] Peter?
[Peter turns and heads back into the smoke–towards a vaguely glowing humanoid shape. The closer he gets, the clearer it becomes. It looks like it's draped in fairy lights, with a can in its hands - Hot Janitor’s aerosol. It’s wearing an old lady nightgown and has a stocking pulled over its face. Peter lunges one last time, and catches it by the shoulder]
GHOUL: Ow, fuck.
[Peter pulls off the stocking triumphantly]
JEREMY: Sadie?
[Peter turns and looks at Jeremy, looking dishevelled and pale. Then he turns again and looks at the Ghoul - at Sadie Anderson, Jeremy's theatrical cousin.]
SADIE: [irritable] Oh, fuck off, Jeremy.
DYLAN:You're the Ghoul? Who even are you?
DEAN: [Emerging from crowd] What exactly is happening here?
SADIE: Ask him. Ask Dylan Maxwell. He doesn't even know who I fucking am.
DEAN: Excuse me, language.
SADIE: He is a petty criminal and a cruel bully. He gets away with fucking murder. And I'm the one in trouble? He committed a crime and was welcomed with open arms. Erin Shapiro is my aunt, you absolute piece of shit.
[Peter turns to look at Jeremy again, who raises his hands]
JEREMY: Not on our side of the family.
SADIE: She was driven out of town because of your fucking fans, and you're just here painting sets like you deserve to be here. And you! [points at Peter] That pen should've exploded in your face. It couldn't have made it any uglier.
DEAN: Now, really.
SADIE: Everyone thought it. Nobody but me was brave enough to do anything about it.
DEAN: Young lady, I think you'd better leave. We'll talk about this tomorrow in my office, first thing.
PETER: You really should've just let the Ghoul die, you know.
SADIE: I don't care. I want people to know–to remember. This will have counted for something.
DYLAN: Wait. Everyone shut the fuck up.
PETER: Dylan -
DYLAN: Sadie? I don't know what your fucking problem is. But like, it sucks that you feel so bad about Ms. Shapiro. You don't deserve to go to jail.
SADIE: What?
DYLAN: Dude, I've been there. It's scary. I won't, like, press charges or whatever. Look, this place is for fuck-ups. It's fine to fuck up here. You just gotta–learn.
PETER: Are you sure, Dylan?
DYLAN: [shrugs] It's like, good publicity, right? Maybe it really was a ghost the whole time.
[The Dean looks delighted]
JEREMY: Does this mean you didn't actually stop smoking? I'm telling your mom.
(American Vandal: Uncut)
Once Sadie leaves and the crowd disperses, it's just Peter and Dylan.
“That was nice of you,” Peter says.
“Been there, done that, you know,” he says. “She's obviously–I don't know. She's got her issues, whatever. Shouldn't fuck up her life.”
“It didn't fuck up yours,” says Peter. “Not in the end.”
“No,” agrees Dylan.
Now the excitement is all over, Peter can feel his lips still tingling. Something unfamiliar swoops inside his stomach.
There's always stuff that doesn't make it on to the doc, but Peter has always tried to get as much in as possible. It's about the truth, after all; about telling a story that both has a coherent narrative and that says something real, something that gets across how weird and complicated and incoherent actual life actually is. Peter doesn't know how to make sense of being in the world any other way. He even monologues in his own head.
But there's some things that just don't translate. It was true from the very first season of Vandal . You can watch the doc all you want, you can feel like you know something about the people in it. People did, and that kept the doc going. But it could never get at the core of what everyone in it actually felt. It would have been too much to even try. Then, and now, there's always something that lives in the present moment that's heavy and real, something that not even the best camera in the world is sharp enough to fully capture.
In the doc, this–whatever it is–doesn't make any sense. Peter and Dylan are polar opposites. They don't really get each other. They've never really talked that much about their lives or priorities or values and Peter knows that they don't match up. It doesn't bode well for the future.
But right now, in this moment, slipping in between the scriptable moments that the footage so faithfully captures, there's the warmth of Dylan, his tall body inarguably there, right next to Peter. There's the way he looks at Peter sometimes, steady, looking to see what Peter's reaction will be. Peter's not great at the physical: he'd always rather be the one out of frame, where all that matters is the way you think, not the way you look or act. But you can't get away from the fact of your body, and the feeling of proximity is something the camera can only gesture to. The thing itself, the way it flares something in you up, is too big and too momentary to exist anywhere but in real life. The future may as well be a different planet.
Dylan is looking at him.
“You want a beer?” he asks.
Peter thinks for a second, and then flicks off the tie camera.
“Yeah,” he decides. “Yes.”
A special, limited-edition DVD of American Vandal was released in September 2027 to mark the 10-year anniversary of the short-lived, beloved cult classic. It featured unreleased material, behind-the-scenes footage, and director’s commentary. An extremely rare, limited version also had a 90-minute movie set after the ending of Vandal season 2. Despite the severe drop in quality between the series and the movie, this movie - ‘American Vandal: Uncut’ - has become something of a Holy Grail for fans.