Noelle's POV:

  I've been glaring at this stupid emergency contact box for five minutes straight. My mother's number sits in my head like a threat. "Yes, hello, please call this woman so she can identify the body and critique my corpse's posture.

  "Still working on that form?" Amelia asks, already halfway through her stack.

  "Just weighing the pros and cons of just writing 'local hospital' as my emergency contact," I mutter. I finally scribble my mom's name and number.

  From the front of the room, a voice breaks through the monotony of pen scratches.

  "I didn't realize I'd need a checkbook today."

  "You didn't bring a check?" The administrator's voice could freeze hellfire. "It was clearly in the orientation materials."

  Without looking up, I let out a low snort for my friends. "For real, how hard is it to read the email? It was literally number three on the list."

  "I know. I'm sorry. I must have missed it."

  Something about the genuine embarrassment in his voice makes me look up.

  If you remember the videos where people get Lasik and see clearly for the first time, that's me right now. Except, what I'm seeing is a man who look like he was carved by a sculptor with a very specific vendetta against my ovaries.

  He's tall with warm, tan skin. His broach shoulders make his button-down look like it's fighting for its life, and he has the kind of jawline that should come with a license to carry. His dark eyes flash with embarrassment.

  My pen slips and draws a jagged line across my form.

  "I'd let him forget more than his checkbook," Harlowe whispers as she looks at him, too. "Preferably his pants in my apartment. Repeatedly."

  Amelia chokes as she drinks from her water bottle.

  "Jesus, Harlowe," I reply, but I can't look away as he walks back to his seat.

  "What?" Harlowe asks with a wicked grin. "I bet he knows exactly where to put things...like his tongue."

  "Hey, can you stop objectifying the poor guy for two seconds and help me with this insurance form?" Amelia asks as she slides her papers toward us. "What the hell is a beneficiary again?"

  "The person who gets your money when you die," I say, grateful to talk about something that doesn't make heat spread up my neck.

  "You should put my name down," I tell her as I bat my eyelashes. "I promise to use your life insurance money to fund a one-woman show as a tribute to your tragic demise?"

  Amelia pretends to consider it. "Will you wear all black and collapse mid-monologue?"

  "I'm committed. There will be at least three mascara tears."

  "Deal."

  I steal another glance at the check guy. He's hunched over his form. But as I watch, Danny leans over to say something, and the guy's whole face transforms with a smile that does illegal things to my nervous system.

  I quickly look away and pretend to be fascinated by the form in front of me. I fill it out in record time as I try to escape this room where the air feels laced with static electricity.

  When I finish, I stand and gather my things. I nod to Amelia and Harlowe. "I'll meet you guys outside."

  I walk to the front desk to turn in my forms, hyperaware of each step. As I head for the door, I get that sixth sense; the one that prickles at the back of your neck when you're being watched. It kicks in hard.

  I turn, just slightly, and our eyes lock.

  It's not like in movies where time stops. It's worse. Time keeps going, but every nerve ending in my body decides to work overtime. His dark eyes widen, and there's a flash of something new. Recognition? Interest? It makes my stomach tumble like I'm in freefall.

  The corner of his mouth lifts, not quite a full smile. It's more of an acknowledgement, but I swear I feel it like a physical touch.

  I push through the door on wobbly legs and lean against the wall outside, hoping my heart stops performing its drum solo.

  Breath, Noelle. It's just a guy.

  But my body isn't listening to reason. And that's a problem. I didn't come here for... whatever that was. I came here to focus, to act. Definitely not to lose my mind over three seconds of eye contact with a contact.

  No matter how much those three seconds felt like touching a live wire.

  I'm still thinking about it an hour later as I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor of a rehearsal room with a mediocre turkey sandwich in my hands. Our orientation packets says we'd have 'ample time to explore campus dining options," which actually translates to "find food somewhere or starve."

  "So, according to one of the seconds years, there's a decent coffee place three blocks south," Amelia says as she stabs her salad. "Apparently, where we went is where taste buds go to die."

  "Wish I would've known that before I spent nine dollars on this," I grumble and poke at my sad lunch.

  The rehearsal room hums with conversion with everyone clustered in little islands. I spot Danny with a group of boys, including Check Guy, whose name I don't know. Not that I care. Not that I've spent the last twenty minutes trying not to look in his direction."

  "God, there he is again," Harlow sighs as she follows my gaze. "Those muscles should be illegal. I had a dream about a guy with muscles like that last night, except they were pinning me against–"

  "Harlowe!" Amelia cuts her off and glances around. "We're in public."

  "Nobody's listening. And I don't see you getting onto Noelle, who's been eyes-fucking him across the room. At least I'm honest about wanting to climb him like a tree."

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  I have not been–" I start, then realize I'm almost shouting and lower my voice. "I've looked once. Maybe twice."

  "You've looked at him seventeen times since we sat down," Amelia counters. "And that's just when I was paying attention."

  A second-year student walks to the middle of the room and claps her hands. "Alright everyone, lunch break's over. We will now form orientation groups."

  People start gathering their things and throwing away lunch garbage. I feel the fuzz of anticipation in my stomach that I'm choosing to blame on the questionable turkey.

  "Wonder what fresh hell this'll be," Krist says from nearby. She's been sitting with Jason just outside our circle. They talked with us first until Jason launched into an elaborate story about an understudy disaster.

  "I bet it's bonding exercises," Jason says. "It'll be amazing."

  The second years start reading from a clipboard and eventually get to: "Group Three with Jessie and Raj by the window. Amelia, Harlowe, Sammy..."

  I'm not called for their group. Amelia and Harlowe look relieved that they're together, but they also give me a look of sympathy.

  "Group Four with Tyler and Mina near the piano: Alex, Jason, Noelle, Kristi..."

  And a few others are called after I register my name.

  I grab my stuff and trudge over to the piano. Jason is already bouncing on his toes. "This is going to be so good," he says as I approach. "I did this incredible team-building workshop last year where we–"

  "Jason, breathe" Kristi interrupts. "Save some words for the rest of the afternoon."

  He stops mid-sentence. "Right. Sorry. I get excited."

  There's something about him that reminds me of watching a golden retriever discover snow for the first time.

  The rest of our group gradually assembles. It's a mix of people I vaguely recognize from this morning but couldn't name if my life depended on it. Our orientation leaders arrive: a guy with an aggressive man-bun and a girl with glasses the size of half her face.

  "Hey Group Four," Glasses Girl says with cheer. "I'm Mina, and this is Tyler. We'll be your orientation leaders for today and tomorrow.

  "What's up," Tyler adds.

  "So what exactly are we doing," a tall girl with a septum piercing asks.

  "We'll start with a campus tour, then some ice-breaker games, then you'll create a skit to perform at the end of orientation," Tyler says.

  Jason's hand shoots up.

  "Yes...Jason, right?" Mina says.

  "Yup. What kind of skit is it. Are we getting a prompt or is all from scratch?"

  "Slow down, eager beaver," Tyler interrupts. "We'll get to that. But before we go on the campus tour, let's go around and share fun fact about ourselves."

  Our collective enthusiasm could fit in a thimble.

  As people start sharing awkward "fun facts," I find my attention drifting. I catch a glimpse of Check Guy's group across the room. All of them are laughing at something Danny just said. They look comfortable together, like they skipped the awkward phase.

  Felix, a quiet guy, mumbles something about growing up in Norway.

  "Noelle?" Mina prompts. "Your turn."

  My mind completely blanks. "Uh...I can name all 197 NATO-recognized countries?"

  "That's...specific." Mina says, kindly.

  Jason's fun fact turns out to be that he performed in a production of Hamlet where he played six different roles due to a mono outbreak.

  "–and that's how I ended up playing both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in the same scene." He finishes breathlessly.

  "That's actually impressive," Kristi says.

  "What about you Kristi?" Tyler asks.

  She sighs like she's being asked to donate a kidney. "I was a competitive figure skater until I was sixteen."

  "Whoa, seriously," Jason's eyes widen. "That's why you have such good posture. Did you do jumps and spins and everything?"

  "No, I just stood there in a sparkly outfit," Kristi deadpans, but there's a hint of color on her cheeks that wasn't there before.

  "Alright, everyone," Tyler says when we finish the facts. "Let's get this tour a going."

  As we file towards the door, I make the mistake of looking back one last time. Check Guy is watching me. When our eyes meet, it's like a jolt. But this time, his mouth curves into a full smile that hits me in my gut–a direct line to places that haven't see action longer than I care to admit.

  I whip my head back around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. This is not happening. I am not developing a thing for someone I haven't even spoken to.

  No matter what certain parts of my anatomy might say.

  The campus tour is exactly as thrilling as you'd expect. Here's a building, here's another building, here's where people had sex in the 70s, and now it's haunted. I'm half-listening as Tyler drones on about the legacy of Deer Lake while Mina occasionally jumps in with useful information like where to find the best coffee and which bathrooms smell like ass.

  Jason, meanwhile, is taking notes. Literal notes. He has a small spiral notebook that he pulled from his back pocket.

  "Are you seriously writing this down?" Krisit asks as she peers over his shoulder.

  "Of course," Jason says without a hint of irony. "This is valuable institutional knowledge."

  "That the east stairwell smells like feet?"

  "You never know when you'll need to set a skin there," he replies, still scribbling. "Authenticity matters."

  We trudge across the quad, past buildings that are identical except for the pretentious names carved above their doors. My feet ache, and I'm still digesting that questionable sandwich. It feels like the French Revolution in my stomach.

  "And finally, we're circling back to where most of your classes will be held," Tyler announces as we approach the building we were in this morning.

  After what feels like an eternity of Tyle showing us the classrooms and rehearsal spaces, we finally make it back to the original rehearsal room.

  "Alright, circle up!" Mina announces and claps her hands. "Time to plan your skit."

  Jason perks up like someone just called "places" on opening night. "I was thinking–"

  "We should probably brainstorm as a group first," I cut in gently, saving everyone from what would become a twenty-minute monologue.

  Jason blinks, then nods earnestly, "Right, yeah. Collaborative process." He flips to a fresh page in his notebook and writes "COLLABORATIVE PROCESS" at the top.

  "What are the requirements again?" A mousy girl asks.

  "Five minutes max, it has to reference the school somehow, and clean enough that the dean doesn't have an aneurysm...again." Tyler replies.

  "Any idea?" Mina prompts as she looks around our circle.

  There's that awkward silence where everyone waits for someone else to speak first. I hate this part of group work–waiting for someone to take the lead.

  "What about something about expectations versus reality?" Feliz suggests after the silence stretches too long. "Like, what we thought acting school would be versus what it actually is."

  "I like that," Sammy says. "Everyone's got certain fantasies."

  "We could do parallel scenes," the mousy girl adds. "Dream and reality side-by-side."

  "Yes!" Jason jumps in. "Like a split scene. We see the sweaty rehearsals next to the glamorous performances."

  The idea catches fire. Everyone starts to pitch scenarios.

  "This is actually a good idea," Tyeler admits. "Most first-year skits are a dumpster fire."

  "We could call it 'Deer in Headlights" I suggest.

  The group actually laughs, not politely, but genuinely. I feel a flutter of accomplishment.

  "Okay, let's assign roles," Jason says. " Who wants what part?"

  "Noelle should do the reality version," Sammy suggests. "She's got the dry delivery."

  Before I can protest, several people nod in agreement.

  "And Jason should be the dream version," I counter. "He's got the enthusiasm."

  "Definitely," Kristi confirms, and I catch a hint of warmth in her tone.

  We spend the next forty-five minutes writing scenes and rough-blocking the sequences. Despite my initial reluctance, I find myself caught up in the creative process. I suggest a few bits that get laughs. For a moment, I forget to worry about how I'm coming across.

  "Let's run the first bit before we wrap up," Mina suggests after checking the clock.

  We take out positions. Jason stands in a spotlight created by a phone flashlight. He strikes a dramatic pose.

  "Deer Lake Conservatory," he says with ridiculous gravitas, "where artists are BORN."

  I step forward from the shadows, wearing my most unimpressed expression.

  "Deer Lake Conservatory," I deadpan, "where your student loans groan and your ego shrinks."

  The group bursts out laughing. Jason and I share a smile as others do their opening lines.

  As we gather our things to leave, a strange feeling settles over me. Something like contentment. For the first time today, I wasn't thinking about impressing anyone or measuring my words. I was just...present.

  As we file out of the rehearsal room, I find myself walking beside Kristi.

  "Not as awful as expected, right?" I ask, gauging her opinion.

  "No, she concedes. "But the bar was underground."

  "Progress is progress."

  She almost smiles. "I suppose."

  We part ways in the hallway, and I head toward where Amelia and Harlowe ended up. My phone buzzes with a text from Amelia asking where I am.

  I found my people. Or at least people who don't want to make me fake my death.

  It's a start.