It's prom, and high school senior Sawyer has been in the bathroom for a long time. His best friend Jake goes in to see what's taking so long.

(Warning: Using this monologue without permission is illegal, as is reproducing it on a website or in print in any way.)

(A high school bathroom. Several stalls. The bathroom door swings open. Enter JAKE, a senior wearing some version of a tux. Music streams in through the open door. Beat.)

JAKE: Sawyer?

(SAWYER, same age, calls out from inside one of the stalls. We probably see his ankles, but that's about it.)

SAWYER: In here.

JAKE: Are you OK?

SAWYER: I guess. Did Mara send you?

JAKE: Nah. She's finger painting slash dancing with the cheerleaders. I told her Nick spiked the punch, and now she thinks she's drunk.

SAWYER: Nick didn't spike the punch?

JAKE: McGovern.

SAWYER: Mr. McGovern caught him?

JAKE: They had "the moment."

SAWYER: (Doing Mr. McGovern:) "I know you're going to be one of the good ones."

JAKE: Nick cracked like a nacho.

SAWYER: It won't last.

JAKE: Just long enough for the punch bowl to stay virgin for one night.

(Beat.)

I think it's, like, mass suggestion, 'cause everybody's dancing sloppy drunk and rubbing themselves with paint and I know pretty much for a fact they're all stone-cold sober.

(Beat.)

You should come see it.

SAWYER: Is Tulip finger paint dancing?

JAKE: Yeah. She was with Mara when I left. Supposedly it washes out.

SAWYER: Never saw this trend coming.

JAKE: Me neither, and to think it started at our school.

(Beat.)

So are you like...like, what's up?

SAWYER: What do you mean?

JAKE: It's been 20 minutes.

SAWYER: Really?

JAKE: (Checking his phone:) Actually, 21 now. So what's up?

SAWYER: (A question:) It's been 21 minutes—for real.

JAKE: Yes.

SAWYER: (A question:) You're timing me.

JAKE: You know I can't help it. But yeah.

SAWYER: Doesn't that make you nuts to look at something once and know it's gonna be stuck in your head for months?

JAKE: Don't change the subject.

SAWYER: But doesn't it?

JAKE: Yes, but seriously, are you sick or something?

SAWYER: I'm good.

JAKE: Then please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing.

SAWYER: Ugh. No. How could you think I'm—

JAKE: You're alone in a stall for 21 minutes—you are alone, right?

SAWYER: Oh my god, Jake!

JAKE: OK. Sorry.

(Beat.)

Are you stuck?

SAWYER: People don't get stuck to toilets.

JAKE: Sam's got over five million views.

(Beat.)

SAWYER: I'm not stuck. I'm just...contemplating my life.

JAKE: Are you dying?

SAWYER: Why would you think I'm dying?

JAKE: People don't contemplate their lives at prom.

(Beat.)

SAWYER: I'm not into Mara.

JAKE: OK. Well, it's just a prom date.

SAWYER: No. Like, I'm not into Mara's type.

(Beat.)

As in the female type.

JAKE: ... Oh.

SAWYER: Contemplating.

JAKE: You can't tell her tonight.

SAWYER: Of course not.

(Beat.)

I think I've known since that time in seventh grade when my mom completely spaced on picking me up after soccer and you and your mom gave me a ride home and I was crying, which was totally embarrassing, and you squeezed my shoulder and I jumped and spilled my Coke on your sweats.

(Sawyer, also wearing some version of a tux, steps out of the stall. Beat.)

JAKE: Crap.

(Jake goes into another stall.)

SAWYER: Jake?

(Beat.)

JAKE: This is like the world's biggest coincidence. I too have been contemplating.

(Beat.)

SAWYER: I thought you and Tulip were serious.

JAKE: I guess not.

SAWYER: You can't tell her tonight.

JAKE: Of course not.

(Beat.)

SAWYER: Wait—when you said— Wait.

(Sawyer goes back into his original stall.)

When you said you were contemplating, were you contemplating someone in particular?

JAKE: Were you?

(Beat. Both stall doors open. Jake and Sawyer face each other. Beat.)

SAWYER: What do we do?

JAKE: I'm gonna wash my hands. That stall is gross.

(The lights go down on the bathroom...)