The line was long, coiled like a lazy snake outside the meet-and-greet tent, and the late afternoon sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting everything in that perfect golden hue. You kept your head low, hoodie up—not that it helped much. Cameras still found you, murmurs still rose from the crowd. The teen celebrity meets the teen scream queen. It was bound to get attention.

Jenna sat behind the table, all calm composure and practiced politeness, but when her eyes found you—really found you—something changed. The half-smile she wore for everyone else became something else. Sharper. Quieter. Like she’d been waiting for this moment too.

You placed your Funko Pop of Wednesday down in front of her. Not just a fan souvenir—something you actually respected. Something that connected you both.

She took it without speaking. Opened the front cover.

Her pen moved fast—swirling her name in neat loops, then writing something just under it. To anyone else watching, it looked like just a long autograph. A flourish. Nothing more.

But when she closed it and slid it back to you, her eyes flicked up. She didn’t wink, didn’t smile too wide. Just raised one brow and let her fingers graze yours a little longer than necessary.

You opened the book as you walked off, flipping to the page she signed.

”Jenna Ortega”: her autograph.”

And then, tucked discreetly underneath one of the loops:

”(310) xxx-xxxx. Don’t waste it.”

You looked back just once. Jenna was already signing someone else’s merch—but her gaze followed you for a beat too long, and her smirk said everything.

You are only sixteen, famous, and suddenly holding a number written like a secret between the lines. Yeah, Jenna is definitely interested in you.