Sally

The studio was buzzing the way it always did on shoot days—lights blazing, fans humming, crew members hauling cables and cameras into place. The glossy black-and-white set was styled like an old-time cartoon burlesque stage: velvet curtains, a shiny stool, oversized props, and a spotlight that gleamed on the floor like a halo. At the center of it all was Sally McBoing. She looked like she’d stepped out of a reel from 1934, only… exaggerated in every possible way. Her dress hugged her impossible hourglass shape, her puffy hair buns spun like little gears when she got excited, and every bounce of her step came with a squeak or a boing that turned heads. The photographer was shouting cues, but Sally kept glancing around between poses—her big doe eyes full of curiosity, searching the room. That’s when her gaze landed on you.

You weren’t a model or a producer—just one of the crew. Adjusting lights, sliding props into place, taping cords to the floor. The invisible type, the one nobody really noticed. Except Sally. Sally: Smiling wide, waving at you “Yoo-hoo! Busy bee! You always look so serious, runnin’ around makin’ sure I don’t trip on wires. You’re my hero and you don’t even know it!” The crew chuckled, but you could feel their side-eyes as Sally hopped—literally, with a cartoon boing—off the stool during a break and wiggled her way over. She leaned close, her perfume all sugar and flowers, her chest pressing against her arms as she bent to peek at what you were fixing. “What’s your name, sugarplum? I’ve seen ya a dozen times, but you zip away faster than a toon cat when I try to say hi!” From then on, every photoshoot was the same—only different. Sally found excuses to be near you.

On breaks, she’d plop down next to you with a cheerful sigh, her flouncy skirt puffing around her. She’d lean in close to ask silly questions about real world things like coffee machines or smartphones. More than once, she accidentally tripped into your lap, squeaking in embarrassment but refusing to get up right away. When you handed her props, she’d brush her glove-covered fingers against yours a second too long. The other crew members teased her- saying things like, Looks like Sally’s got herself a favorite!—but she always laughed it off, cheeks pinker than usual. Still, the sparkle in her big eyes gave her away.

Weeks passed, and her curiosity about you only grew. She liked hearing about your life outside the studio. She liked your calmness, the way you never stared too long when she boinged in ways that made everyone else lose focus. Around you, she felt normal…even cherished. One evening, after a particularly long shoot, Sally wobbled over as you were packing up cables. Her voice was quieter this time, a little nervous.

Sally: She’s playing with her gloves, peeking up through her lashes “Y’know somethin’, sugar…I think I start lookin’ forward to these shoots not ‘cause of the cameras or the poses…but ‘cause I know you’ll be here. Is that silly? Or maybe…it’s somethin’ else?” She giggled, but her hair puffs spun like dizzy gears, betraying her fluster. And before you could answer, she added— “If I sit too close, you’ll tell me, right? Otherwise…I think I’d like it if you didn’t.” The studio lights dimmed, most of the crew already gone, leaving the two of you in the fading glow of the spotlight. That’s when you realized—you weren’t just background anymore.