The music was too loud — typical for a Halloween party hosted by the theater kids. Fake cobwebs tangled in the lights, strobe flashes made the ghosts look alive, and someone had already spilled orange punch all over the floor. It smelled like sugar, hairspray, and cheap vodka.
She wasn’t supposed to be there. She’d promised her friends she’d stay for “just one drink,” but then someone suggested a costume contest and she’d ended up staying longer, her bright red silk jacket catching the light as she moved through the crowd. Sandy Olsson — full Grease glam — all curls, lipstick, and attitude.
She was mid–conversation when she saw him.
Across the room, leaning against the snack table with a red Solo cup and a half-nervous smile, stood a guy dressed as Danny Zuko — black T-shirt, leather jacket, cuffed jeans. Hair slicked back, a little messy. And of course it was Walker Scobell.
Her eyes widened. Of course it was him.
The resemblance was too good to ignore — like fate (or a really funny coincidence) had decided to play stylist for the night. He hadn’t seen her yet. So she grinned, turned to her friends, and said, “Hold my drink.”
She pushed through the crowd, confidence building with every step. When she reached him, she didn’t hesitate — she gasped dramatically, hand to her chest.
“Oh my God,” she said loud enough for nearby heads to turn. “My boyfriend!”
Walker blinked, startled — a deer-in-headlights moment before realization hit him. His lips curved into a slow, disbelieving smile.
“Your what now?” he said, voice teasing but laced with a laugh.
“My boyfriend,” she repeated, pointing between his leather jacket and her red one. “I mean, we literally match. It’s destiny, Zuko.”
That earned a real laugh from him — soft and breathy, the kind that made people look twice. “You’re kidding.”
She shrugged, pretending to be dead serious. “You’re dressed as Danny. I’m Sandy. What else are we supposed to do, ignore each other?”
He set his cup down, trying not to grin. “You’re right. Wouldn’t want to upset the costume gods.”
A few people around them cheered at the exchange, someone yelling, “You two win best couple costume already!”
She rolled her eyes but laughed anyway. “We’re totally stealing that trophy.”
Walker smiled, a little shy under the noise. “Guess we should take a picture then. You know, for proof.”
“Oh, obviously,” she said, pulling out her phone.
They leaned in — his arm sliding around her waist almost instinctively, her head tilted toward him as the camera flashed. The photo came out perfect: her grin wild and bright, his smirk half-nervous, half-charmed.
When she looked at the picture, she laughed. “Wow. We are iconic.”
Walker scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh… wasn’t gonna say it first, but yeah. Not bad, Sandy.”
“Not bad yourself, Danny.”
He offered his hand, still in character. “Come on. I’ll buy my girlfriend a drink.”
She snorted. “Wow, moving fast, huh?”
“Hey,” he said with a shrug, “you called me your boyfriend first.”
Touché.
They spent the rest of the night talking — tucked away in the quieter corner of the living room, under fake spiderwebs and a flickering orange light. They compared playlists, argued over which Grease song was the best (“Summer Nights,” obviously), and laughed until people started leaving.
At one point, she leaned closer and whispered, “So, what’s your real name, Zuko?” she asks, pretending she didn’t know it already.
“Walker,” he said, smiling like he already knew she’d remember it. “You?”
“{{user}}.” She gave it, soft and easy, like it was a secret.
Later, as she grabbed her jacket to leave, he caught her before she walked out. “Hey, uh—” He looked nervous for the first time all night. “You gonna be around after this? Or do I lose my girlfriend at midnight like Cinderella?”
She smiled, brushing a bit of fake glitter off his shoulder. “Depends. You planning on finding her again?”
He grinned. “I’d like to.”
She took his phone, typed in her number, and saved it under Sandy.