the auditorium still smells like stage dust and cheap fog machine smoke when the musical ends.

2008 high school productions mean crooked cardboard sets, camcorders glowing in the audience, and someone yanking a rope backstage instead of a real curtain. your friends mostly came because it was something to do on a friday night besides sitting in someone’s car in the parking lot again.

you didn’t expect much.

and then there was bo.

bo burnham, junior. theater kid. the guy everyone at school has an opinion about.

people say he’s mean. annoying. full of himself. they also say he’s gay — mostly because he’s in theater, plays piano, and posts these sarcastic comedy songs on youtube that he wrote himself. some people watch them to laugh at him. some secretly think they’re hilarious.

either way, nobody really talks to him at school unless they’re another theater kid.

but on stage it’s different.

the spotlight hits him and suddenly the awkwardness disappears. tall and slightly gangly, wire frame glasses catching the light, standing at the piano like he actually belongs there. he’s confident, sharp, funny in a way that feels smarter than the room expects.

and you catch yourself watching him the entire show.

not in the ironic way your friends are.

in a hear me out kind of way.

after the show everyone floods the lobby. parents with flowers, kids taking pictures, the cast getting mobbed.

but bo isn’t there.

you find him down the hallway near the stage door, still half in costume, sleeves rolled up, leaning against the wall like he’s trying not to look like he’s waiting for something.

no flowers. no crowd.

when he notices you walking toward him, he straightens a little.

confused immediately.

because you’re not someone who normally walks up to him.

you stop in front of him.

bo pushes his glasses up.

“…hi?”

“hi.”

he glances behind you like maybe you’re talking to someone else.

“…did you lose someone?”

“no.”

he waits for the joke that doesn’t come.

“…okay,” he says slowly.

you look at him for a second, still flushed from the stage lights, hair a little messy.

“you were really good.”

bo blinks.

“like… ironically good?”

“no.”

“…genuinely good?”

“yeah.”

he laughs once under his breath, mostly disbelief.

“that’s new.”

you lean casually against the opposite wall like you’re not planning on leaving anytime soon.

he notices immediately.

his brain is visibly trying to process the situation.

“so… you came to the musical?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“voluntarily?”

“yeah.”

“…wow.”

you smile a little.

“i liked it.”

bo adjusts his glasses again, still suspicious of reality.

“well,” he says carefully, “i’m not going to question that too hard because it might stop being true.”

he glances at you again, trying to figure out why you’re still there.

“…so is this the part where you tell me your friends are filming some kind of prank?”

“no.”

“…good.”

he exhales a little, like he’s trying not to ruin something.

then he shrugs, almost sheepish.

“because this is going surprisingly well for me.”