Sometimes the script already knows who’s meant to find who.

The flyer for the drama club was a crinkled mess, pinned haphazardly to the chaos of the main hallway bulletin board.

Ryan stood a safe distance away, using the excuse of retying his shoe to study it from afar.

His internal monologue, as always, was a frantic debate between two warring factions.

They want you to be more outgoing, his father’s gentle voice echoed in one part of his brain. It would be good for you.

But Ryan knew 'outgoing' was just a family code word for 'fixed.' Lately, the pressure had been subtle but constant. His parents had been gently nudging him to 'reconnect' with certain relatives—the ones who still looked at him like a problem to be solved. Ryan kept promising he would call his uncle back. He never did.

The other, louder part of his brain was just a string of panicked, single-word expletives: People. Talking. Being looked at.

But then his eyes caught a line of text at the bottom of the flyer—a short synopsis of the fall play.

 “A coming-of-age story about Ethan, a quiet Sophomore struggling with social anxiety…”

Ryan’s head tilted.

Well, he thought, a spark of morbid curiosity cutting through the fear, I could probably play that role without any research.

The thought was meant to be sarcastic, but a sliver of it felt like an opportunity. Acting wasn’t real life—it was a shield. A script. A camouflage. Maybe this was a different, safer way to be seen.

Across campus, Jude was having a completely different kind of debate.

He was sprawled on the grass with a small group of friends, his guitar case serving as a makeshift pillow.

“Come on, it’ll be hilarious,” Leo said, waving a copy of the same flyer. “All of us trying to act? We’d be a disaster.”

Jude just grinned. “What, you don’t think I have the dramatic range?”

He wasn’t looking for a life-changing experience; he was just scanning the social horizon for the next fun thing. The idea sounded amusing—a low-stakes way to kill a few afternoons.

He had his music, sure, but trying something new was always on the table.

“Alright, fine. I’m in,” he said, mostly to see the look on Leo’s face.

The school auditorium buzzed with a specific kind of high-frequency energy that was Ryan’s personal hell.

Loud, confident theater kids were doing vocal warm-ups, their voices echoing in the cavernous space. Others paced, muttering lines with dramatic intensity.

Ryan immediately retreated, finding a single unoccupied seat in the darkest, uppermost row.

He pulled out a notebook and a pencil—his shield—and began to sketch, creating a small, safe bubble of graphite and paper.

The chaos below faded into a manageable hum.

Jude, on the other hand, thrived in the hum.

He was down near the stage, laughing easily with a few people he knew, his presence a warm, stabilizing force.

His eyes drifted upward and caught a figure in the shadows of the back row—a quiet island in a sea of noise.

The boy was completely absorbed in his notebook, head bent in intense concentration.

Then a heavy piece of stage rigging slipped and crashed to the ground, making half the kids in the room jump.

The boy in the back didn’t even flinch.

Jude’s brow furrowed in a flicker of intrigue.

Huh. Who’s that?

“Asher Hayes and Gary Miller,” the drama teacher, Ms. Davison, called out.

Ryan’s head shot up.

Jude—or Gary, apparently—made his way to the stage with a relaxed, easy stride.

Ryan’s heart started playing a frantic drum solo against his ribs.

He walked down the steps, his stride stiff and self-conscious, feeling a hundred pairs of eyes on him.

Ms. Davison handed them each a script. “Okay, let’s hear the park bench scene. Asher, you’re Ethan. Gary, you’re his friend, Marco.”

Ryan’s hands were shaking as he looked at the page. His first line: I just… I don’t think I can go in there.

A wave of dizziness hit. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Hey,” a low, gentle voice said from beside him. Jude.

He wasn’t looking at the script—he was looking at Ryan.

“It’s cool. Take a breath.”

Jude’s voice was like an anchor.

Ryan took a shaky breath, nodded, and looked back at the page.

He spoke the line, his voice a quiet, trembling thing—but it was there.

“I just… I don’t think I can go in there.”

Jude smiled. Not the flirty, confident kind from before—a kind, encouraging one meant only for him.

“Sure you can,” he said, reading his line. “I’ll be right here. You won’t be alone.”

Something clicked.

The air between them shifted.

Suddenly, it wasn’t an audition anymore.

Ryan wasn’t just a nervous kid; he was Ethan.

Jude wasn’t just some charming stranger; he was the hype friend.

They ran through the rest of the scene

. When Jude leaned in for a line, Ryan forgot to exhale. When Ryan stammered a reply, Jude’s eyes tracked his lips, his own smile faltering for a split second. The air between them felt heavy, charged with static, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

Ms. Davison didn’t say “good acting.” She just took off her glasses and stared at them.

The next day, the cast list was up.

A huge crowd was gathered around the bulletin board—a swarm of hopefuls and gossips.

Ryan couldn’t push through. Too many people.

He hung back by his locker, pretending to look for a book he didn’t need.

He saw Jude walk up to the board, casual and confident.

Jude found his name in seconds, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

As he turned to leave, his eyes swept the hallway and locked with Ryan’s.

For a split second, the crowd disappeared.

Jude gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod—a shared secret, a quiet acknowledgment—before vanishing into the flow of hallway traffic.

Ryan took a deep breath and finally made his way to the list.

His fingers traced the names, his heart pounding. Then he saw it:

 Ethan — Asher Ryan Hayes

Marco — Gary Jude Miller

He’d done it.

He was in.

And his character’s hype friend was the intriguing boy with the kind eyes and the easy smile.

A slow, unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest.

It was the same warmth he’d felt in the auditorium—something new.

Something that hummed just below awareness.

Chapter Word

Frequency (n.):

The unseen wavelength upon which two people operate.

A rare and immediate sense of recognition; the feeling of hearing a familiar song in a room full of strangers.

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A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR (R15BLUE):

Hey everyone! Thank you so much for starting this journey with me.

First things first, so you don't have to worry: This story is 100% complete. I have all six volumes written, and I am so excited to share Ryan and Jude's entire story with you from beginning to end. I will not be ghosting you, I promise!

New chapters will be posted every Tuesday Friday and Sunday until the story is finished.

This book, and these characters, mean the world to me. They are my heart. Seeing your comments and knowing that you're connecting with them is the fuel that keeps this whole thing going. Comments are my granola bars, basically. 🥣

Okay, that's it! Thank you for reading. See you on Sunday for the next chapter!