A lesser peril of social interaction.

So you’re at a dance, but you’re winded from the last number, so as the new tune starts up you weave your way through the dancers and shed your jacket and find some empty seats along the wall. A few faces catch your eye—it’s some of Percy’s friends, from that theatre troupe! The girl’s name you’re pretty sure is Marisa, and the guy’s either Ryan or Dylan. They’re having some sort of animated discussion. If you can manage to win their good graces, that’s a step in the right direction, and maybe in a month or two after you’ve wormed your way into their social circle you’ll finally stand a chance asking Percy out.

You sit down next to Marisa, who is listening to Ryan or Dylan with rapt attention, and you do the same.

“—and that’s when I was able to pick up the sash, literally like one eight before the button,” he concludes.

“Wow,” you interject, with no idea what any of this means, “that’s awesome!”

Marisa’s smile breaks into a wide laugh and she starts clapping. “That,” she says, “is classic you. Omigod, I have to tell you about Pennies from Heaven.”

“Omigod,” says Ryan or Dylan without missing a beat, “tell me, tell me!”

You widen your smile in anticipation.

“So there’s this scene in the second act, I think it was Matt and Caroline, they’re at like a café, and it’s a serious scene, very emotional, like, they have to get this right, otherwise the show falls apart.”

“Uh huh,” says Ryan or Dylan. You say the same thing, to indicate that you are also involved in the storytelling.

“And it’s the beginning of the scene, and someone from the audience starts laughing, and soon everyone’s laughing, and we’re backstage and we’re like, oh god, this isn’t supposed to be a funny scene, why are they laughing? And turns out that whoever brought the old jukebox prop onstage put it on backwards, and it’s hollow in the back, so the whole audience is just seeing the hollow insides of it.”

“Omigod,” Ryan or Dylan mutters.

“Oh wow,” you mutter too.

“And we’re all like, shit, what do we do? We’re like, pretty sure Matt and Caroline both know, but they can’t break character. And I’m an extra in costume and there’s a stage broom leaning on the wall by the props table and Jared from crew’s like, hey Marisa, what if you, like, pretend to sweep the café floor as an employee and try to turn the jukebox around and save the scene?”

“Fucking Jared!” chuckles Ryan or Dylan.

You chuckle too.

“And it’s still early on enough in the scene that I’m like, you know what, fuck it, I’m doing this.” Marisa mimes walking on stage with an air-broom. “And so now lighting’s like, what the fuck, their spots quiver a little, and Julianne’s probably losing her shit backstage, she was SM-ing that show, but I had one mission. Turn that fucking jukebox around. And, of course, be part of the background. Two missions then.”

You manage another laugh. Hey, that was kind of a joke, right? But Marisa continues:

“So I just sweep for a bit, but Matt’s raising his voice, Caroline’s crying, I know they’re getting close to the good parts, so I make my way over to the jukebox. I kind of bump into it at first, hoping, like, it might just magically rotate into place, but god that thing was heavy! So eventually I set the broom down and pick the jukebox up and rotate it, right side forward—”

Marisa pauses a bit for dramatic effect. “Yeah?” says Ryan or Dylan, and also says you.

“—and everyone starts fucking clapping! Like, woot-woot! Whistling, all that shit. And I’m, like, mortified, so I just continue sweeping and then get myself off stage as soon as possible. Clearly I’ve failed being part of the background, but yeah, the scene was ruined, that’s all anyone paid attention to that night.”

“Omigod,” says Ryan or Dylan, “that is, like, classic you! Did Julianne say anything?”

“No! She never mentioned it, I thought she was mad about it for the longest time, but then at the cast party she bought me a little jukebox prop and we all just started laughing.”

“Wow,” says Ryan or Dylan, “omigod I love that.”

“Classic!” you add.

The DJ spins a new tune, and Marisa says to Ryan or Dylan, “Hey, you wanna dance the next one?”

“Yes please!” he says, and soon they’ve whisked themselves away across the dance floor, and you’re sitting there on that seat, jacket hanging limply over your purse arm, wondering if they actually even noticed you were there. You’re so silly, aren’t you.