It had been a while since Walker stepped foot on that creaky little stage.

The auditorium still smelled the same — paint, dust, and the faint scent of costume glue. It looked the same too: peeling curtains, plastic chairs, bad acoustics, and a too-bright spotlight that always hit you right in the eyes. But God, he missed it.

He wasn’t supposed to be there. Not really.

After months of filming and press and red carpets and international premieres, he’d finally wrapped. Just in time to sneak back into school before summer. His schedule had finally opened up, and the school year had a couple months left. Enough time to feel like a normal teenager again. Sort of.

Everyone was shocked when he showed up at callbacks for Mamma Mia. Some of the drama kids stared like they couldn’t believe their favorite childhood movie was auditioning for Sky’s Dad #2. But he didn’t care. He didn’t want the spotlight. He just wanted to be part of it again.

He was reading for Sam Carmichael — a.k.a. one of Donna’s old flames. He figured it’d be chill. Fun. Easy lines. A couple of numbers. Nothing too crazy.

Until she walked in.

You, auditioning for Donna.

And suddenly, he was very aware of how not chill this was going to be.

You were the new It Girl of the theater program. Funny. Loud. Absolutely unhinged in the best way. Everyone knew you from YouTube — spontaneous vlogs, dressing up as memes in public, doing chaotic Target hauls, yelling at seagulls. You weren’t afraid to look like shit in front of the camera. That’s what made people love you.

Walker had definitely seen your TikToks. Might’ve even sent one to Aryan once. (“She’s actually hilarious, bro.”)

But seeing you walk on stage in person — crop top, messy bun, iced coffee in hand, singing The Winner Takes It All like your life depended on it? Yeah, he was doomed.

The scene partner reads were first. You didn’t even know you’d be reading with that Walker Scobell until you turned and there he was, script in hand, smiling like he wasn’t literally famous.

“Hi,” he said, soft and a little sheepish. “I’ve seen your stuff. You’re really funny.”

And you nearly short-circuited. “Wait what— like actually??”

He shrugged, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. You told a lady at Starbucks her outfit looked like the inside of a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You blinked. “Okay, wow. That’s— weirdly flattering.”

He chuckled. “In a good way.”

Then you read together. And it was good. Like, chemistry that made the drama teacher drop her pen good.

The next week, cast list went up. And, no surprise:

Donna — {{user}} Sam — Walker Scobell

Rehearsals were chaos in the best way. You and Walker made a dangerous duo — improv moments in serious scenes, giggling during choreography, secretly rewriting lines with inside jokes.

He called you Donna, babe in a fake British accent. You made him TikTok dance during water breaks. One time he brought you an iced matcha “because you looked like you needed to spiritually align your chakras.” You called him “Mr. Hollywood” every time he forgot a line.

Your little brother LOVED him. Called him “Walkie Talkie” and declared him his best friend. Walker pretended to be annoyed but carried him on his shoulders during set building. Your mom made lemon bars “just in case that sweet boy Walker comes over again.”