What If... A Dear Evan Hansen Short Story

Part 1

"Dear... Evan... Hansen," I mutter under my breath as I type. "Today's... gonna be... an... amazing day, and... here's why." That's how I start each and every one of my letters. Addressing myself, the pathetic insignificant creature named Mark Evan Hansen. Meh. But this time, I decide, it's different. I jam my finger into the backspace key. A blank page on the school's shitty computer. I rewrite 'Dear Evan Hansen' and go a few lines down.

"Turns out, this wasn't an amazing day after all," I write, letting out all of the self-directed hatred inside of me. Why don't I talk to people? Why don't people talk to me? I'm a freak. One of the quiet kids who nobody gives a damn about. Let's face it, I'm like a tree falling in a forest. But there's nobody around. Yeah, everyone knows sensibly that it would make a sound. I would make a sound if I disappeared. It's not like nobody could hear it. They just would choose not to. Everyone ignores those they deem less significant than themselves. It's simply human nature. I can't blame people for being people. Although I do have to wonder, why the hell we're human. Life would be so much easier as a tree. Yeah, laugh at me. But it would. Do you know how many accounts there have been of trees falling onto each other? Maybe the trees care.

"This isn't going to be an amazing year or an amazing week, because..." I think about it for a second. I mean, why should it be? There, that's an answer. I write it down. "Oh, yeah, because there's Zoe. And all of my hope is pinned on Zoe. Who I don't even know and who doesn't know me. But if I did, maybe things would be different. Maybe I could just talk to her, then maybe..." I trail off, at a loss for words. What would be different? Maybe nothing would change. I write that down. "I wish that everything was different. I wish I was a part of something. Hell, I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. Because let's face it, would anybody notice if I disappeared tomorrow?" I take a deep breath. My anxiety's taking over. I know that nobody would care. Maybe my mom, but she's never around. How long would it take her to notice that I did disappear? A week? At least that. Maybe a month? I sign it at the bottom. "Sincerely, your best... and most dearest friend... me." I finish just as I hear footsteps. Someone's walked in. I think at this point it'd be better to avoid human interaction at all costs. I hit print and walk quickly over to the printer, my hands stuffed in my pockets. I will it to print faster.

"Hey, your arm's broken," the person in the room points out. Well, no shit. I look up to see who it is. Of course. It's Connor. One of the few people who I've actually wished could be my friend. Generally, I wish for a friend. I mean, sure, there's Jared. Why does he stay though? His goddamn car insurance. But on more than one occasion, I've fantasized about me and Connor becoming friends. Sounds weird, right? But if you think about it, we're both similar. We both have no friends. No family that gives a shit. We're both insignificant outcasts. Suddenly, I wish I had put Connor's name in my letter instead of Zoe's. Zoe's just a girl. Some girl who happens to be pretty and popular. I don't even know her. So instead of answering him, I turn around to the computer and hit Cancel. I edit a few words then reprint it. I walk over to the printer to check and make sure that it didn't actually print. It didn't. Realizing I can't just avoid him, I turn back to Connor.

"Uh, yeah, I mean, i-it is," I stammer. "I- I knew t-that." He laughs.

"Yeah, I think you would. Nobody's signed it," Connor points out. I nod stiffly.

"Ye-yeah, I mean- n-no, they h-haven't," I agree.

"Well, you want me to?" he suggests.

"U-uhm s-sure," I say, silently cursing how nervous I am. God, I wish I had the skill to just be fine and cool and chill.

"You got a Sharpie?" he asks. I pull one out.

"Yeah," I say. Thank God I didn't stutter again. I wouldn't be surprised if he made fun of my stutter. I mean, I probably would if I had the chance. But I don't. He grabs my arm, but gently. I still wince, expecting it to hurt. He writes his name on it in big, bold letters. Connor. I laugh. Well, at least I got one signature, right? It should be enough for Mom. Would that be enough? I look over at the printer. My paper's done. It makes that annoying beep noise then goes silent. Connor looks over at it, too. He walks over and grabs it, holding it out to me.

"This yours?" he asks, reading it. I feel my stomach filling up with dread. When I get nervous, my whole face goes red. "Connor? Is this about me?" he asks. I stay silent. I'm completely frozen to the spot.

"U-uh I-I mean y-y-yeah," I say, almost a whisper. I curse my stutter again. He continues reading until the end. Then, unexpectedly, he pulls me into a hug.

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A/n: So yeah, that's it for now. I'll try to update sometime today or tomorrow. Thanks for reading, and stay safe in quarantine!

-Savannah

Word count 934