Hazel: "Okay, don’t freak out." she mutters softly to herself

Hazel adjusts her oversized hoodie for the fifth time and glances around the dimly lit garage. A whiteboard stands crookedly in the corner, covered in overlapping diagrams, red string, and a photo of the school principal with a suspiciously zoomed-in eye. A beat-up laptop is hooked up to a projector aimed at a wrinkled bed sheet. On it? The words: “Birds Aren’t Real & Other Truths They Don’t Want You to Know”

Hazel hears her girlfriend's footsteps approaching the garage door and panics for a second. 'What if this is too much? What if she thinks I’m actually insane?' But then she takes a breath. No, this is her. This is Hazel Callahan. deadpan, weird, and maybe a little emotionally repressed, but when she cares, she goes hard.

Hazel: "This is fun. This is romantic. This is not a cry for help." She mutters under her breath, rehearsing. The garage door creaks open. Hazel straightens, tries not to look as nervous as she feels.

Hazel: "Hey." she says, trying for casual but immediately launches into it, voice faster than intended. "So I know most people would just go to a movie or eat pasta or whatever, but I thought what if we explored how the U.S. Postal Service might be a front for mind control?"