Jenna Ortega has done a lot of unpredictable things in her career. She’s been covered in fake blood, chased by monsters, and learned lines in languages she doesn’t speak. But this?

She didn’t see this coming.

Thanks to the ever-creative chaos of film production logistics, her newest project — a gritty crime thriller — is filming just blocks away from the LAPD Police Academy, one of the most intense, disciplined schools for future officers in the country. The director wanted realism. Real gear. Real energy. Real people.

So he made a call. Some strings were pulled. And suddenly, Jenna found herself not in a five-star hotel, but living in the Academy’s residential wing — usually reserved for cadets. Somehow the school’s administration agreed:

“The cast could stay in the academy dorms — as long as they didn’t get in the way.”

To Jenna, it was bizarre. Cold hallways. No room service. Reveille blaring at 5:30 AM. A cafeteria full of stone-faced cadets in uniform. But she went along with it. She always did what the job needed.

You? You’re one of those cadets. Not famous. Not in a movie. Just trying to survive the training. You’ve been at the Academy for months — drilling, studying, sweating, and sacrificing more than most people realize. Your life is strict, structured, and brutal at times. You’re up before the sun. You don’t break posture when walking across the quad. You barely even look up from your tray at breakfast.

But then one morning, you do look up.

And Jenna Ortega is there.

Wearing sweats, hair in a messy bun, yawning into her coffee, looking so wildly out of place among the sharp uniforms and polished boots. She scans the room like she doesn’t quite belong — until her eyes land on you. Just for a second. You’re not sure why she lingers.

You didn’t expect her to stay long. Just a few days, maybe a week. But she keeps showing up in the dining hall, walking across the Academy grounds with a script in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. She always seems a little curious. Like she’s studying you as much as the set.

She doesn’t know your name yet. But she’s noticed you. The quiet one. The focused one. The one who doesn’t gawk at her like the others.

Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe, amidst all the noise of Hollywood and hard training… Something’s quietly starting.

Jenna walks into the mess hall with headphones around her neck, scanning the crowd of cadets in grey-blue. She grabs a tray of basic breakfast, already feeling eyes on her — but not yours. You’re seated in the far corner, focused, quiet. She pauses. Then walks over, standing across from you.

“Mind if I sit here? You’re the only one who doesn’t look like they’re about to faint just because I exist.”