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Quiet. Most of Benny's life, summed up, remained quiet. That's perhaps why he seemed rapt with attention, eyes focused on the stage rather than the individuals around him. Attention didn't bode well for a boy like him, in many ways than one. In this instance, attention would get him potential hurt or worse. He furrowed his brows, half-expecting the superintendent to laser focus in on him and his newly found acquaintances—people he knew prior, but didn't really know until not long ago. They shared one thing which could bring down the ire of an entire country down upon them.

"[color=9977bb]One cup of sugar, a tablespoon of vanilla extract, and a ton of butterfly kisses[/color]," he mumbled, reciting a memory to harden his skin and shake out the nerves. "[color=9977bb]A ton of butterfly kisses[/color]," he repeated, a quiet mantra on the huff of his breath.

Drowning out the words spoken on stage came easier, until finally the sounds just became muffled, underwater garbling. Benny closed his eyes, biting down on his lip and rolling forward to clutch at his knees. He didn't open his eyes until he felt a light jab at his side, not realizing his attention was required until he could see Jesse's lips moving, expression animated, yet toned to fit their situation. Even hushed Benny knew he'd garner at least a few stares. Benny's panicked flared without much budging, though his quiet mantras in his head calmed him down enough to simply place a hand on Jesse's knee and squeeze in an attempt to shut him up.

"[color=9977bb]The assembly's almost over[/color]," he said, leaning over so that the trio could hear his whispers, "[color=9977bb]There's a spot just outside of the theatre where some of the stoners hang out during lunch. People avoid it like the plague unless they're looking for a hit. If we leave soon, we can miss the early bird smokers[/color]." To punctuate the urgent situation, the people around them all stood in varying fashions, most exasperated and moody that this event couldn't have gone on longer. Benny almost drove his head into a student's chin with how abrupt he stood. He quickly apologized and squeezed himself through the still waking teenagers, avoiding armpit and B.O. magnets as he wove into the jam-packed hallways and toward the allotted destination.

Like most academically focused high schools, the arts department looked pretty much the equivalent of a life raft getting swept away by the larger boat of 'actual education'. Being more inclined toward creativity, Benny felt the under appreciated and under budget cuts the most, along with the future art students of America. That being said, the school didn't waste much money on the new theatre renovations, but at least it looked vaguely polished and relatively new. Less of an awful accident waiting to happen. It still smelled like overused dance shoes and acrylic paint, though, and some of the seats smelled like puke and pit stains.

Flying through the cramped back stage, Benny found his way toward the one set of double doors that never staid locked. Lo and behold, it wasn't, thank God and Benny quickly made his way to the little alcove in the corner where it smelled vaguely of pot brownies. He gritted his teeth and brought out his phone, mindlessly tapping away as he waited and hoped and quietly panicked.