Don't Look at Me Like That

The cafeteria is chaos, the usual midday circus of corn dogs, livestreams, and sarcastic banter. But when Louise Belcher-resident menace, queen of the deadpan glare, bunny ears permanently affixed to her head-is suddenly missing from her usual table, it sends a ripple through the lunchroom clique like a tremor before an emotional earthquake.

What starts as a casual search spirals into something else entirely when her friends stumble upon Louise in the gym-dancing. Not just dancing, but tearing the floor up like the beat owes her money. No hoodie. No walls. Just sweat, grace, and raw vulnerability.

She's been hiding a secret talent, a self-taught passion carved out in midnight basement rehearsals and YouTube tutorials, because being good at something you can't afford to chase feels too dangerous. But now the spotlight's found her-and the people who thought they knew her have to reckon with the girl behind the bunny ears.

Don't Look at Me Like That is a sharp, soulful coming-of-age snapshot about hidden passions, fear of being seen, and the quiet revolution of dancing anyway-even when no one claps, even when no one understands. It's emotional armor stripped away under fluorescent lights and a bassline.

Perfect for fans of The Breakfast Club energy with Euphoria-level emotional beats, and just enough Bob's Burgers flavor to make it weirdly iconic.