Orange Juice and First Looks
A spilled orange juice carton in a crowded university cafeteria leads to an unexpected, awkward, and surprisingly intriguing first meeting between two students, Caleb and Noah, sparking an unforeseen connection.
INT. UNIVERSITY CAFETERIA - DAY
SOUND of a DEAFENING ROAR -- hundreds of student voices, the clatter of trays, the scrape of chairs -- all echoing off high, institutional ceilings.
The air is thick with late-August heat and the smell of fried food. A sea of bodies mills between a labyrinth of tables.
CALEB (19), introverted and anxious, clutches a plastic tray. On it sits a sad-looking chicken wrap and a carton of orange juice. He navigates the chaos with focused desperation, his eyes scanning for a quiet corner.
He spots it: an empty two-top by a large window overlooking a patch of parched grass. Almost there.
He sidesteps a group of loud freshmen. He dodges a professor gesticulating wildly over a bowl of chili.
A student ahead of him turns abruptly. A backpack strap swings out.
Caleb swerves. A reflex. But it's not enough.
His elbow snags the strap.
IN SLOW MOTION--
The orange juice carton tips. It slips from Caleb's fingers. It arcs through the air, a bright orange projectile.
It hits the denim-clad hip of a guy standing nearby.
The carton BURSTS. A silent, sticky explosion.
BACK TO REAL TIME.
Orange liquid fans out, splattering across a worn canvas tote bag, a pale blue button-down shirt, and the exposed skin of an arm.
A collective GASP from those nearby, followed by a sudden, localized HUSH.
Caleb's face flushes hot. His own wrap is, miraculously, still in his grip. He looks up, mouth open, ready to unleash a torrent of mortified apologies.
He freezes.
He's staring into the calm, deep-set eyes of NOAH (20), who is slightly taller, with dark, tousled hair falling across a sharp jawline. A smudge of ink is on his cheek.
Noah holds a half-eaten bagel and a small, worn paperback book, now speckled with orange pulp. He looks down at his shirt, then back at Caleb. Not with anger. Not even annoyance.
But with a flicker of dawning amusement.
CALEB
> Oh my god. I am so, so sorry. I didn't-- I wasn't looking--
He gestures helplessly at the growing orange stain blooming across Noah's chest like a terrible, edible bruise.
NOAH
> (Voice low, a little rough)
> It's, uh, fine.
He peers down at the mess again, as if studying a strange new species of flora.
NOAH
> Just... juice.
This quiet acceptance makes Caleb feel ten times worse.
CALEB
> No, it's not fine! Your shirt, your bag... your book!
Caleb fumbles for a napkin dispenser on a nearby pillar, pulling out a handful of thin, useless squares. He extends them, a pitiful offering.
Noah lets out a low CHUCKLE. It surprises Caleb.
NOAH
> Another shirt might be overkill.
He takes a couple of napkins. His fingers are long and lean, a small, faded scar just above the knuckles. He gently dabs at his soaked tote bag.
NOAH
> But, uh, thanks.
He meets Caleb's gaze again. The amusement in his eyes is clearer now.
NOAH
> I'm Noah, by the way.
CALEB
> (Too quickly)
> Caleb. It's really good to meet you, Noah. Under... different circumstances.
He tries a smile. It wobbles. Noah returns it, a small, genuine smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.
NOAH
> Yeah, well. Could be worse. At least it wasn't mustard.
He dabs at his shirt. A losing battle.
NOAH
> I was just heading out anyway. This place gets a little... much.
He gestures with his bagel at the crowded room.
CALEB
> Tell me about it. My dorm fridge is on the fritz. Listen, seriously, let me buy you a new shirt. Or at least lunch. I owe you.
Noah hesitates, chewing thoughtfully on his bagel. His eyes scan the room, then return to Caleb.
NOAH
> You don't owe me anything, it was an accident. But... another bagel wouldn't hurt. And maybe a coffee. This one's, uh, ruined.
He holds up the fantasy novel. The cover art, a shadowy horned creature, is bleeding and warped.
Relief floods Caleb's face. A plan.
CALEB
> Great! Okay, great. There's a bookstore on campus, right? And the coffee shop across the quad?
NOAH
> Yeah. Or... I could just change. My dorm's a five-minute walk. Willow Hall.
CALEB
> Right, yeah, that makes sense. I can wait.
Noah gives a slow nod, a faint smile playing on his lips.
NOAH
> Okay. Come on, then.
He starts to move, unhurried, picking his way through the tables, completely unbothered by the giant orange blotch on his chest. Caleb, still clutching his chicken wrap, hurries to catch up.
EXT. UNIVERSITY QUAD - CONTINUOUS
They step out of the cafeteria into the glaring midday sun. The air is thick, shimmering above the asphalt walkways.
SOUND of distant traffic and the buzz of cicadas.
The camera becomes more stable, the light warmer, golden.
CALEB
> So, what are you studying?
NOAH
> (A half-smile)
> Mostly trying to figure that out. But... creative writing, maybe. And you?
CALEB
> (A little sheepish)
> Business. My parents think it's... practical.
NOAH
> Practical's good. Someone's gotta keep the world running. Besides, you can do cool stuff with business. Like... invent a better juice carton. One that doesn't explode on contact.
He gives Caleb a quick, easy WINK.
Caleb lets out a genuine, unforced LAUGH. The tension visibly eases from his shoulders.
CALEB
> Okay, fair point.
They walk in comfortable silence. Caleb steals a glance at Noah, at the way the sunlight catches the dark strands of his hair.
INT. WILLOW HALL - DAY
They enter an older brick building, the lobby cool and smelling of old wood and cleaning supplies.
INT. WILLOW HALL ELEVATOR - CONTINUOUS
The elevator doors close, encasing them in a small, creaky metal box. The silence feels louder here.
Caleb nervously adjusts his grip on his chicken wrap.
IN THE REFLECTIVE METAL WALL, Caleb catches Noah watching him. Noah quickly looks away, but not before a small, almost shy smile touches his lips.
The elevator DINGS.
INT. NOAH'S DORM ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Noah unlocks a door at the end of a long hallway.
He pushes it open to reveal a room that is thoroughly lived-in. Posters of obscure bands and movie stills cover the walls. A guitar leans against a cluttered desk. Clothes are draped over a chair.
NOAH
> Sorry about the mess. Didn't exactly prepare for visitors.
He tosses his keys onto the desk, where they land with a clatter next to a pile of books. He disappears into a small closet.
Caleb stands awkwardly in the doorway. He sets his chicken wrap down on an empty patch of desk. His eyes land on a framed photo. In it, a younger Noah, maybe middle school, is laughing, wide and uninhibited, on a porch swing.
Noah reappears, pulling a fresh, plain grey t-shirt over his head. His hair is slightly damp. He runs a hand through it.
He picks up his juice-soaked blue shirt, wrinkling his nose.
NOAH
> Alright, where were we?
He picks up the ruined fantasy novel from his desk.
NOAH
> Ah, yes. Food and books. This one's "The Serpent's Coil."
CALEB
> The Serpent's Coil. So, bookstore first, or lunch?
Noah leans against his desk, crossing his arms. The movement pulls the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders. He looks at Caleb, holding his gaze for a beat longer than before.
NOAH
> (Voice soft)
> Let's get lunch first. I'm actually starving. And... I know a pretty good spot, just off campus. They do these really solid burritos. You up for a short walk?
He watches Caleb, a clear, open curiosity in his eyes. The question is no longer about repayment. It's an invitation.
A wide, genuine smile breaks free on Caleb's face, erasing all traces of his earlier anxiety.
CALEB
> Yeah. Yeah, I'm definitely up for a walk. And burritos sound... perfect.
Noah smiles back, a slow, warm smile that reaches his eyes.
He grabs his keys and wallet from the desk. He holds the door open for Caleb. They leave the room together, walking down the hall, the air between them now filled with the hopeful promise of what comes next.
FADE OUT.
SOUND of a DEAFENING ROAR -- hundreds of student voices, the clatter of trays, the scrape of chairs -- all echoing off high, institutional ceilings.
The air is thick with late-August heat and the smell of fried food. A sea of bodies mills between a labyrinth of tables.
CALEB (19), introverted and anxious, clutches a plastic tray. On it sits a sad-looking chicken wrap and a carton of orange juice. He navigates the chaos with focused desperation, his eyes scanning for a quiet corner.
He spots it: an empty two-top by a large window overlooking a patch of parched grass. Almost there.
He sidesteps a group of loud freshmen. He dodges a professor gesticulating wildly over a bowl of chili.
A student ahead of him turns abruptly. A backpack strap swings out.
Caleb swerves. A reflex. But it's not enough.
His elbow snags the strap.
IN SLOW MOTION--
The orange juice carton tips. It slips from Caleb's fingers. It arcs through the air, a bright orange projectile.
It hits the denim-clad hip of a guy standing nearby.
The carton BURSTS. A silent, sticky explosion.
BACK TO REAL TIME.
Orange liquid fans out, splattering across a worn canvas tote bag, a pale blue button-down shirt, and the exposed skin of an arm.
A collective GASP from those nearby, followed by a sudden, localized HUSH.
Caleb's face flushes hot. His own wrap is, miraculously, still in his grip. He looks up, mouth open, ready to unleash a torrent of mortified apologies.
He freezes.
He's staring into the calm, deep-set eyes of NOAH (20), who is slightly taller, with dark, tousled hair falling across a sharp jawline. A smudge of ink is on his cheek.
Noah holds a half-eaten bagel and a small, worn paperback book, now speckled with orange pulp. He looks down at his shirt, then back at Caleb. Not with anger. Not even annoyance.
But with a flicker of dawning amusement.
CALEB
> Oh my god. I am so, so sorry. I didn't-- I wasn't looking--
He gestures helplessly at the growing orange stain blooming across Noah's chest like a terrible, edible bruise.
NOAH
> (Voice low, a little rough)
> It's, uh, fine.
He peers down at the mess again, as if studying a strange new species of flora.
NOAH
> Just... juice.
This quiet acceptance makes Caleb feel ten times worse.
CALEB
> No, it's not fine! Your shirt, your bag... your book!
Caleb fumbles for a napkin dispenser on a nearby pillar, pulling out a handful of thin, useless squares. He extends them, a pitiful offering.
Noah lets out a low CHUCKLE. It surprises Caleb.
NOAH
> Another shirt might be overkill.
He takes a couple of napkins. His fingers are long and lean, a small, faded scar just above the knuckles. He gently dabs at his soaked tote bag.
NOAH
> But, uh, thanks.
He meets Caleb's gaze again. The amusement in his eyes is clearer now.
NOAH
> I'm Noah, by the way.
CALEB
> (Too quickly)
> Caleb. It's really good to meet you, Noah. Under... different circumstances.
He tries a smile. It wobbles. Noah returns it, a small, genuine smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.
NOAH
> Yeah, well. Could be worse. At least it wasn't mustard.
He dabs at his shirt. A losing battle.
NOAH
> I was just heading out anyway. This place gets a little... much.
He gestures with his bagel at the crowded room.
CALEB
> Tell me about it. My dorm fridge is on the fritz. Listen, seriously, let me buy you a new shirt. Or at least lunch. I owe you.
Noah hesitates, chewing thoughtfully on his bagel. His eyes scan the room, then return to Caleb.
NOAH
> You don't owe me anything, it was an accident. But... another bagel wouldn't hurt. And maybe a coffee. This one's, uh, ruined.
He holds up the fantasy novel. The cover art, a shadowy horned creature, is bleeding and warped.
Relief floods Caleb's face. A plan.
CALEB
> Great! Okay, great. There's a bookstore on campus, right? And the coffee shop across the quad?
NOAH
> Yeah. Or... I could just change. My dorm's a five-minute walk. Willow Hall.
CALEB
> Right, yeah, that makes sense. I can wait.
Noah gives a slow nod, a faint smile playing on his lips.
NOAH
> Okay. Come on, then.
He starts to move, unhurried, picking his way through the tables, completely unbothered by the giant orange blotch on his chest. Caleb, still clutching his chicken wrap, hurries to catch up.
EXT. UNIVERSITY QUAD - CONTINUOUS
They step out of the cafeteria into the glaring midday sun. The air is thick, shimmering above the asphalt walkways.
SOUND of distant traffic and the buzz of cicadas.
The camera becomes more stable, the light warmer, golden.
CALEB
> So, what are you studying?
NOAH
> (A half-smile)
> Mostly trying to figure that out. But... creative writing, maybe. And you?
CALEB
> (A little sheepish)
> Business. My parents think it's... practical.
NOAH
> Practical's good. Someone's gotta keep the world running. Besides, you can do cool stuff with business. Like... invent a better juice carton. One that doesn't explode on contact.
He gives Caleb a quick, easy WINK.
Caleb lets out a genuine, unforced LAUGH. The tension visibly eases from his shoulders.
CALEB
> Okay, fair point.
They walk in comfortable silence. Caleb steals a glance at Noah, at the way the sunlight catches the dark strands of his hair.
INT. WILLOW HALL - DAY
They enter an older brick building, the lobby cool and smelling of old wood and cleaning supplies.
INT. WILLOW HALL ELEVATOR - CONTINUOUS
The elevator doors close, encasing them in a small, creaky metal box. The silence feels louder here.
Caleb nervously adjusts his grip on his chicken wrap.
IN THE REFLECTIVE METAL WALL, Caleb catches Noah watching him. Noah quickly looks away, but not before a small, almost shy smile touches his lips.
The elevator DINGS.
INT. NOAH'S DORM ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Noah unlocks a door at the end of a long hallway.
He pushes it open to reveal a room that is thoroughly lived-in. Posters of obscure bands and movie stills cover the walls. A guitar leans against a cluttered desk. Clothes are draped over a chair.
NOAH
> Sorry about the mess. Didn't exactly prepare for visitors.
He tosses his keys onto the desk, where they land with a clatter next to a pile of books. He disappears into a small closet.
Caleb stands awkwardly in the doorway. He sets his chicken wrap down on an empty patch of desk. His eyes land on a framed photo. In it, a younger Noah, maybe middle school, is laughing, wide and uninhibited, on a porch swing.
Noah reappears, pulling a fresh, plain grey t-shirt over his head. His hair is slightly damp. He runs a hand through it.
He picks up his juice-soaked blue shirt, wrinkling his nose.
NOAH
> Alright, where were we?
He picks up the ruined fantasy novel from his desk.
NOAH
> Ah, yes. Food and books. This one's "The Serpent's Coil."
CALEB
> The Serpent's Coil. So, bookstore first, or lunch?
Noah leans against his desk, crossing his arms. The movement pulls the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders. He looks at Caleb, holding his gaze for a beat longer than before.
NOAH
> (Voice soft)
> Let's get lunch first. I'm actually starving. And... I know a pretty good spot, just off campus. They do these really solid burritos. You up for a short walk?
He watches Caleb, a clear, open curiosity in his eyes. The question is no longer about repayment. It's an invitation.
A wide, genuine smile breaks free on Caleb's face, erasing all traces of his earlier anxiety.
CALEB
> Yeah. Yeah, I'm definitely up for a walk. And burritos sound... perfect.
Noah smiles back, a slow, warm smile that reaches his eyes.
He grabs his keys and wallet from the desk. He holds the door open for Caleb. They leave the room together, walking down the hall, the air between them now filled with the hopeful promise of what comes next.
FADE OUT.