The scene is familiar. On a bench, a girl with red lipstick, hair looped back over one ear, smokes a cigarette while her boyfriend spins a skateboard at his feet.
Several students wearing turtleneck sweaters talk to girls decked out all in black.
Fred Flatow, an elderly gentleman with a heavy bookbag slung over his right shoulder, makes his way to Rollberg's cinema class. Except for his white hair, Flatow, dressed in a flannel shirt and faded jeans, fits right in. She passes students waiting for the elevator, grabs a copy of The Hatchet and climbs the stairs. In the classroom, Weaver sits in the front row. I mean, you expect fraternity types and stuff, but this was someone's grandmother.