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The neon-bright fluorescent lights of the So Random! rehearsal stage hum with a high-voltage energy that matches the frantic pacing of its stars. On set, the fake grocery store checkout line looks just realistic enough for television, provided the camera angles stay tight. Sonny Munroe stands behind a plastic cash register, her fingers flying over the oversized, brightly colored buttons with manic enthusiasm. Across from her, Tawni Hart balances a towering pyramid of prop cereal boxes, her glossy lips parted in a look of rehearsed, high-fashion disdain.
"And then," Sonny says, her voice hitting that perfect, exaggerated comedic pitch, "I look at the barcode, I look at you, and I say: 'Check it out!'"
"And I counter," Tawni chimes in, tossing her blonde curls with a synchronized snap of her fingers, "with a total deadpan: 'No, you check it out!'"
For a rare, fleeting moment in the history of Condor Studios, the two girls aren't at each other's throats. There is no subtle upstaging, no stealing of spotlights. Instead, they share a sudden, breathless grin, completely in sync.
"Oh, it is so good," Tawni gasps, breaking character but keeping her posture impeccably straight for the imaginary cameras. "Sonny, I am seeing it. The vision is blinding. We are talking major syndication. We are talking prime-time crossover specials."
"And the merch, Tawni! Think of the merch!" Sonny bounces on the balls of her feet, her oversized flannel shirt flapping around her denim skirt. "T-shirts with our faces on them, glittery gel pens, maybe even those little air fresheners that smell like artificial strawberries."
Tawni’s eyes go wide, a genuine, unscripted spark of ambition lighting up her face. "Lunchboxes," she whispers, her voice dropping into a tone usually reserved for high drama. "Sonny, you don't understand. A metal lunchbox with a high-gloss finish. The 'Check It Out Girls' is emblazoned across the front in embossed neon pink. It has been my literal dream since I was six years old to have my face on something a middle-schooler uses to carry a thermos."
"We'll make it happen," Sonny promises solemnly, crossing her heart. "The lunchbox is a priority."
Off-camera, sitting in a row of mismatched folding chairs meant for the crew, their audience of three watches the rehearsal. Zora Lancaster sits cross-legged, currently occupied with tying a piece of industrial-strength fishing line to a prop pineapple. Next to her, Nico Harris and Grady Mitchell sit close—so close that their shoulders rub with every movement. Nico isn't really watching the sketch. His hazel eyes are fixed entirely on Grady’s profile. Grady is completely absorbed in the performance, his mouth slightly open in a goofy grin, chewing on a piece of licorice. They have been dating for exactly four months. Four months of shared lunches, four months of walking to the commissary together, four months of Nico secretly paying for Grady's smoothies.
Zora, legs swinging, scribbles in a notebook. “Statistically speaking,” she says without looking up, “the probability of Tawni’s face ending up on a lunchbox is high. The probability of Sonny’s face ending up on a lunchbox is… moderate.”
“Moderate?” Sonny calls back. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re new,” Zora replies. “Lunchbox fame takes time.”
Nico snorts. “Man, I’d buy a Check It Out Girls lunchbox. I’d put my sandwiches in it. My snacks. My hopes. My dreams.”
Grady nods enthusiastically. “I’d put pudding in mine.”
“You’d put pudding in a sock if someone dared you,” Nico mutters.
Grady beams. “Yeah, but only the good kind.”
Nico looks at him — really looks at him — and feels that familiar, confusing, warm‑and‑annoying flutter in his chest. Four. Months. And yet Grady still talks like they’re just two dudes who occasionally share pudding and high‑fives. Yet, as Nico reaches down and subtly nudges his knee against Grady’s, Grady merely shifts over to give him more room, totally oblivious. Nico bites the inside of his cheek. He loves Grady—he really, truly does—but the boy has the romantic radar of a brick wall. Nico is genuinely starting to wonder if Grady thinks they are just really, really dedicated best friends who happen to hold hands when the hallway lights are dim.
Before Nico can spiral further, the heavy thud of the dressing room door swings open. Marshall Pike barges onto the floor, his clipboard clutched to his chest like a shield, his face a mask of bureaucratic panic. Behind him walk Jo and Blair, Sonny’s moms, looking formidable in their sensible cardigans and sharp, disappointed expressions. They look like parents who have just received an email from a teacher.
Sonny freezes mid‑pose. “Mom? Mama? What are you doing here? It’s Sunday. You’re supposed to be at the farmer’s market buying organic kale we all pretend to like.”
Jo crosses her arms. “Sonny, we need to talk.”
Blair pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket with the dramatic flair of a judge reading a verdict. A test. A Geometry test. The red D in the corner looks like it’s screaming.
Sonny’s face drains of color. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Blair says. "I thought you were mastering the proofs."
"I am mastering them!" Sonny protests, her voice rising an octave. "I just... I have a creative interpretation of angles! Is an obtuse angle really obtuse, or is it just misunderstood?"
"It’s a failing grade, sweetie," Blair says gently, though her tone leaves no room for negotiation. She turns to Marshall, who looks like he wants to dissolve into the linoleum. "We’ve already discussed this with Marshall. Show business is a privilege, not a right. If that grade doesn't come up immediately, Sonny is taking a hiatus."
"Hiatus?!" Tawni shrieks, stepping between Sonny and her parents as if protecting a prized asset. "No! You can't bench her now! We just solidified the 'Check It Out' choreography! The lunchbox production lines are practically warming up in Ohio! This has got to be illegal!"
"I'm sorry, Tawni," Jo says firmly. "But it's not illegal. It’s responsible parenting.”
Zora leans toward Nico. “It’s also a rookie mistake. Never let adults talk to your boss.”
Blair sighs, "Unless Sonny passes the major diagnostic test this Friday, she’s off the sketch. No exceptions."
Sonny looks around the room in absolute despair. Over by the prop fruit stand, Chad Dylan Cooper happens to stroll by, pausing to look at the commotion. He runs a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, offering Sonny a devastatingly handsome, sympathetic smirk that usually makes the girls in the studio audience faint. Sonny just blinks at him, entirely unmoved, before turning her back. Sure, the guy looks like a walking teen magazine cover, but right now, his face is just a distraction from her impending social death. She doesn't care about his perfect jawline; she cares about her parallel lines.
"Friday?" Sonny groans, burying her face in her hands. "That's in three days! I don't know the difference between a scalene triangle and a kitchen appliance!"
As her moms hustle Marshall off toward the production office to sign academic probation paperwork, the rest of the cast clusters around the craft services table.
"This is a tragedy," Tawni mutters, checking her reflection in a shiny toaster. "My career is being held hostage by a protractor."
Sonny’s voice cracks. “That test is, like… major. It’s like the Super Bowl of shapes.”
Tawni clutches her heart. “Sonny, no. You can’t leave me alone with these people. I’ll die. I’ll literally die.”
"Hey, don't sweat it, Sonny," Grady says cheerfully, grabbing a handful of pretzel sticks. "Geometry is a breeze. It’s just shapes playing by rules. I get regular A’s in math. It’s like a puzzle, but with numbers."
Everyone turns; Nico looks at his boyfriend, a mixture of pride and deep frustration swirling in his chest. Grady can calculate the hypotenuse of a triangle in his sleep, but he can’t calculate that Nico’s lingering stares mean something more than 'pass the pretzels'.
"Dude, you once tried to microwave a Pop‑Tart in its wrapper.”
“Yeah,” Grady says proudly. “But I get As in math.”
"Wait, really?" Sonny looks up, her eyes red-rimmed but hopeful. "Grady, you’d tutor me? You’d subject your brain to my complete lack of spatial awareness?"
“Yep! Numbers make sense to me. They’re like… snacks. They follow rules.”
Nico stares at him, baffled and weirdly charmed. “How do you compare math to snacks?”
Grady shrugs. “Everything is snacks if you believe.”
Sonny clasps her hands together. “Grady, you’re my hero.”
"Sure thing, buddy!" Grady claps a heavy hand onto Sonny's shoulder. "We'll set up a study camp in my dressing room. Starting right now. No distractions."
Nico feels a tiny, irrational stab of jealousy. He pushes it down. He watches Grady walk off with Sonny, already launching into an animated explanation of isosceles theorems. A heavy sigh escapes Nico’s lips. He feels a presence beside him and looks down to find Zora peering up from under the tablecloth, her eyes narrowed with frightening intensity.
"You're brooding," Zora observes, her voice a creepy monotone. "It disrupts my spatial awareness."
"I'm not brooding," Nico lies, crossing his arms. "I'm just... thinking. About Grady."
"You two have been doing the boyfriend bit for four months," Zora says, sliding out from under the table like a shadow. "And yet, he still treats you like a teammate on a middle school dodgeball squad."
Nico sighs, dropping his guard. "Is it that obvious? I don't get it, Zora. I buy him those organic smoothies he likes. I let him pick the movie every single weekend. Last week, I literally held his hand while we walked through the backlot, and he just said my hands were 'freakishly warm, like a reptile'."
Zora’s eyes light up with a dangerous, chaotic brilliance. "A reptile. Fascinating. Have you tried direct communication?”
Nico scoffs. “Please. This is Grady. If I say ‘I like you,’ he’ll say ‘I like pudding.’”
“Fair point,” Zora nods thoughtfully. “Then you need something dramatic. Something primal. Grady lacks urgency. He takes you for granted because you are safe. You need to trigger his survival instincts."
"His survival instincts?" Nico repeats nervously. "What does that mean? Like, push him into a pool?"
"No," Zora says, leaning in close. "You need a catalyst. A physical manifestation of danger that forces him to protect you. A snake."
Nico blinks. "A snake?"
"Think about it," Zora whispers, circling him like a tiny villain. "A serpent appears. You scream. You are vulnerable. Grady, driven by raw, masculine adrenaline, swoops in to save his boyfriend. He holds you close. The realization hits him like a lightning bolt: 'I almost lost my man.' Boom. Romance unlocked."
Nico stares at her, his mind spinning. It sounds completely insane. It sounds dangerous, irresponsible, and entirely illogical. But then he looks over at the hallway, where Grady is currently using two bananas to demonstrate acute angles to a bewildered Sonny.
"Where," Nico asks slowly, "would I even get a snake on short notice?"
Zora reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled business card. "Prop department guy. He owes me a favor after I didn't report his illegal raccoon sanctuary."
By Thursday afternoon, the tension in Condor Studios is palpable. Grady has turned his dressing room into a fortress of mathematics. Sheets of butcher paper covered in equations cover the walls, and Sonny looks like she hasn't slept in thirty-six hours. Nico paces the corridor outside, holding a large, perforated cardboard box that is vibrating slightly. When the prop guy wheeled in the large wooden crate with air holes and a warning label that read LIVE ANIMAL — HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE, Nico’s stomach dropped.
“This is… bigger than I expected,” he had whispered.
The guy just shrugged. “Hollywood, man. You people order weird stuff.”
Now, as Nico carries the box to the rehearsal space, he quietly reiterates the plan to himself, "Just a little scare. Grady screams, I save the day. We kiss, the end."
He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. Sonny, Tawni, and Grady are gathered around the main stage area, taking a quick break from the geometric grind.
"Hey, guys!" Nico calls out, his voice cracking slightly with nerves. "Look what I got for... uh... the new sketch! The one about the animal shelter!"
"Nico, we aren't doing an animal shelter sketch," Tawni says, not looking up from her manicure. "We're doing 'Check It Out Girls,' assuming Sonny doesn't bomb tomorrow."
"Right, right, but for the future!" Nico says, fumbling with the taped lid of the box. "I just thought we should get a head start on prop integration. See? It's just a little—"
The tape gives way with a sharp rip. Nico expects a small, orange, garden-variety noodle. Instead, a thick, muscular coil of pale yellow and stark white shifts upward. A heavy, triangular head emerges from the cardboard, its crimson eyes locking onto Nico’s. It is an albino Burmese python, easily eight feet long, and it does not seem to care about studio protocol.
"Oh, sweet mother of comedy," Nico whispers.
The python lets out a long, low hiss that echoes through the quiet studio.
"Nico," Grady says, his voice dropping into a register Nico has never heard before. All the goofy, casual energy drains from Grady's face in an instant. "What is that?"
"It's a... It's a snake, Grady," Nico whimpers, his legs turning to absolute jelly.
The python shifts its weight, spilling out over the edge of the box and dropping onto the floor with a heavy, terrifying thud. It immediately slithers toward Nico's sneakers. Nico lets out a high-pitched, glass-shattering shriek that sounds like a terrified tea kettle. He drops the box, scrambling backward so fast that he trips over a mic cord and lands hard on his rear.
"Get it away! Get it away from me!"
"A real live reptile!" Tawni screams, her eyes darting from the snake to her designer shoes. "It’s going to ruin the upholstery! Sonny, run!"
"I am running!" Sonny yells, already halfway up the stairs to the lighting grid, her geometry flashcards scattering through the air like snow. "I can't die today, I just learned what a trapezoid is!"
The python, clearly agitated by the screaming teenagers, accelerates. It doesn't go for Nico, though; it spots the dark, cool opening of a floor-level air vent and slides its massive body inside with terrifying speed.
"It's in the infrastructure!" Tawni wails, grabbing Sonny's arm as they sprint toward the back exit. "The building is compromised!"
Nico is still frozen on the floor, hyperventilating, his eyes wide as the tail of the snake disappears into the ventilation system. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands grip the collar of his jacket. Grady yanks Nico backward with surprising force, lifting him entirely off the floor and dragging him away from the vent. Grady’s face is pale, his jaw set in a hard, serious line.
"Come on!" Grady yells, pulling Nico by the arm as they bolt for the safety of the main hallway.
They sprint down the corridor, the adrenaline pumping through their veins. But Grady, whose physical coordination has always been a secondary trait to his enthusiasm, catches his sneaker on the raised metal threshold just outside their dressing room door.
"Whoa—!" Grady yelps.
He goes down, and because he is still gripping Nico’s wrist with a vice-like hold, he takes Nico with him. The two boys crash to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs, sliding a few feet across the polished linoleum before coming to a stop against the wall. For a long moment, the only sound in the hallway is the ragged, heavy breathing of both boys. Nico is lying flat on his back, and Grady is sprawled directly over his legs, propped up on his elbows. Grady stares down at Nico, his chest heaving, his usual goofy demeanor completely replaced by genuine, panicked concern. He reaches up, his hands trembling slightly as he grabs Nico’s shoulders, checking him over.
"Are you okay?" Grady demands, his voice breathless. "Did it bite you? Nico, look at me, are you hurt?"
Nico blinks up at him, his heart hammering—not from the snake anymore, but from the sudden, intense closeness of the boy above him. Grady’s hands are warm through Nico's shirt, firm and protective.
"I'm... I'm fine," Nico squeaks out, his throat dry. "It didn't bite me."
Grady lets out a massive, shuddering breath, the tension leaving his shoulders as he slumps slightly, leaning his forehead against Nico’s chest for a brief second before pulling back to look him in the eyes. His expression shifts from fear to confusion.
"Nico," Grady says, his tone a mix of profound relief and utter bewilderment. "Why on earth was there a massive python in a cardboard box?"
Nico looks at Grady's worried face, feeling a sudden wave of guilt mixed with a strange, blooming warmth. Zora’s plan had been completely unhinged, but looking at the way Grady was currently holding onto him like he was the most important thing in the studio, Nico couldn't help but think that, against all mathematical odds, the equation might have actually worked. Nico's stomach drops, and he swallows hard before responding.
“Okay, so… I might’ve… ordered it.”
Grady stares. “You ordered a giant snake?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be giant!” Nico protests. “It was supposed to be, like… cute. Small. Romantic.”
“Romantic?” Grady repeats.
Nico winces. “Okay, so… Zora said if I scared you, you’d grab me, and then maybe you’d realize we’re dating.”
Grady blinks once. Twice. Three times.
“Nico,” he says slowly, “I know we’re dating.”
Nico’s brain short‑circuits. “You… you do?”
“Yeah,” Grady says. “We’ve been dating since the movie marathon night. You held my hand during Jaws. That was a date.”
Nico gapes. “But you never said anything!”
“You never said anything either,” Grady points out. “I thought we were just… doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Dating,” Grady says simply. “I like you. A lot. I thought you knew.”
Nico’s heart does a weird, fluttery somersault. “I… I like you too.”
Grady smiles — soft, warm, unmistakably affectionate. “Good. But next time you want me to hold you, maybe don’t unleash a giant snake into the building.”
Nico groans. “Yeah. That’s fair.”
Grady helps him up, still holding his hand. “Come on,” Grady says. “Let’s go tell Marshall there’s a python in the vents.”
Nico squeezes his hand. “And then maybe… after… we can, like… hang out?”
Grady grins. “Yeah. Definitely.”