Young Writers Society

All of you are students at High Point University studying for the degree of your choice. As far as you know, life has always been like this. You've always lived on earth, where things are what you call normal, by normal standards. Life isn't without it's flaws, but for the most part, life is easy-going. Compared to what? Well, you couldn't say. Family life is smooth-sailing, school is school, and you haven't flunked out yet. You're making friends, and enjoying these four years you have living on-campus in the dorms for the full college experience.

On occasion, something feels a little off. Maybe, in the middle of typing your paper, you feel like you've never even touched a computer before, or you don't quite recognize yourself in the mirror. You think it's something like deja-vu or the stress of school getting to you. And maybe that's all it is. It's easy to shake off. Easy to explain away. And you keep going about your day.

Business as usual. Everything's fine. You're at High Point University! With every sense of irony, you ought to be at the high point of your life, right? Enjoy it. It's a unique part of your life, and things will never be quite the same again!

Jerica Ainsley

Jerica strode down the sidewalk with her shoulders pulled back and chin up. It was a glorious day, filled with sunlight and the eager bustling of a new semester. She relished it. Her community college last year had been fine, but there were no sports teams, no good parties, no social life at all, really.

Jerica was going to be on sports teams. All of them. Or, at least the ones that seemed fun. She was on her way to audition for the football team now. She expected she was going to get some pushback when she tried to join, but she'd checked the legality of it -- and there was no way that they could prevent her if they wanted to. She straightened the paperwork that she'd printed out and walked into the stadium.

It was incredible. She imagined herself in the center of the field on the first night of a game -- thousands of fans watching, cheering, waiting to see all the incredible plays she and her teammates would run. It'd be amazing.

She dropped her bag and water bottle on the edge of the field where she saw everyone else had piled theirs and walked to the center of the field. There was a throne of boys wearing jerseys -- clearly the upperclassmen already on the team. Then there were a handful of boys in normal gym clothes with a nervous energy buzzing between them. And then the coaches.

The head coach raised his eyebrows when he saw her. "What do you want?"

"To try out," she answered. This was it.

"Flag football's in the gym, sweetheart," he said dismissively, turning away from her.

"Great!" She stepped forward so that she was standing next to the others who were there for try outs. They went silent, an awkward tension filling the space.

"This is the men's team," the coach said irritably. "You can apply to be equipment manager if you're that desperate to get close to the boys."

Snickering spread across the jocks like a wave.

"Could you point me to the women's intercollegiate football team, then?" Jerica asked crisply.

The mood turned hostile quickly.

"I did some research, and technically there's a men's basketball team and a women's basketball team, but just one football team that's not specified." She pressed her wad of papers into the coach's hand. "And university bylaws say that discrimination based on sex or gender isn't allowed in athletics. In fact, the law requires that you let me try out for the team."

"Well I can let you know right now, you're not making the cut," he spat, ripping the papers and throwing them on the ground without looking at them.

"Fascinating to hear that!" Jerica said. "Considering all tryouts are filmed, I would think you'd actually want to see whether I'm good before you admit to discriminating against me."

"Are you threatening me?" he glowered at her.

"Wouldn't dream of it, coach!" she answered brightly. "I'm sure you're not planning to do anything illegal, so why would video evidence be a threat to you?"

The coach was seething.

"Look, take a hint," one of the boys on the team spat. "We don't want you here."

"We'll see," Jerica said simply, stretching her arms.

The coach exchanged a look with his assistant coach, then looked back towards Jerica. "Fine. We'll show you why girls aren't on the team, if you're so desperate to get beat. But I'm going to treat you exactly like one of the boys. You sure you want that?"

Now who's threatening who? "That's all I ask."

"Alright." He looked at the rest of the boys and gestured at the sidelines. "Line up!"

Jerica jogged over and took her place on the sideline along with the row of the other new recruits, ignoring the disgust and anger that filled the air.

The coach went down the line assigning people either a "1" or a "2" and barking at them to group together. She was with the 2's over to the right.

"We're gonna do a scrimmage to start!" The coach shouted. "Shirts and skins." He glanced around until his gaze landed on Jerica, and he looked at her challengingly. "1 is shirts, 2 is skins."

Why am I not surprised? He was sorely mistaken if he thought Jerica's stubbornness was so easy to thwart.

She pulled her shirt off.

They all gaped. Every last one of them froze in place, eyes going wide and jaw dropping. A snigger ran through the group, some of the boys jeering, others blushing, others still stunned that she'd actually done that. She threw the shirt to the sidelines along with everyone else's shirt, then slid her thumbs under the straps of her sports bra. "This okay, Coach? I don't think people will get confused who I am?"

"Get on the field!" the coach snarled, muttering insults under his breath towards Jerica.

A few minutes later they were all organized in place. She bit back a sigh as the coach put her in place as an offensive tackle. He knew exactly what he was doing. She was quick and agile -- she should be being tried as a running back or receiver. He just wanted to get her hit by the biggest, burliest men on the team, since that's who played guard positions.

Oh well. They weren't wearing gear, so they wouldn't be able to hurt her. Even though that's exactly what they were going to try to do.

"Make sure you give her a proper welcome, boys," the coach snarled.

Jerica cracked her back, getting set in her position, as two men directly in front of her grinned cruelly. They were both coming for her. And from the looks of the men next to her, it looked like he planned to let them. Fine.

As soon as the whistle blew, Jerica lunged forward, straightening her legs and locking her knees as she got herself at the right angle. The tackle directly in front of her crashed into her like a ton of bricks, making her entire torso throb, but she'd steadied herself and he didn't push her over. He shoved harder.

The man to her left fought off the man on her side who was supposed to be blocking him, and he dropped his head as he came towards Jerica, planning to plow both her and the tackle she was engaged with over. Completely ignoring the quarterback -- his JOB -- just to try to hurt her. Boys.

She spun at the last moment. The man who had been pushing against her was taken off guard at how quickly she moved and stumbled forward. She ducked as the second man lunged towards her, then sprang back up as he missed, and jumped on top of him to drive him to the ground. The first man recovered and dove on top of her, plowing his shoulder into her gut.

The whistle blew again.

She popped to her feet. The coach looked towards her, glaring, and reset the line. They played set after set after set. Most of the men were getting cycled through various guarding or tackling or running or receiving positions. He just kept having her get tackled. And seeming to get increasingly infuriated the longer she survived without getting hurt.

There was a dark bruise forming on her collarbone by the time the coach finally put her on running back position, so he could see some of the bigger men -- who actually belonged as guards -- in action. The quarterback pretended to pass her the ball. She darted forward, pretending to have it, and got clobbered by four of the guards on the other team. Distracting them enough to let the other running back get through and get their first guard, before they could tackle him. Rinse and repeat.

Jerica was getting tired.

She knew they were going to do this at first, but she thought they'd at least be fair with a single play so that she could show her skill. But, apparently, that was too much to ask for a misogynistic old man and his crew of jocks.

They got set for the next play. To Jerica's surprise, the quarterback shoved the ball into her arms. Her heart leapt for joy. She instantly wrapped her arms it, securing it, and darted forward. She slipped past the first guard, then suddenly reversed her directions as a second one lunged towards her. A third one dove for her legs. She jumped over him and sprinted down the field as fast as she could.

Once she got in the clear, they didn't have a chance of catching her. They were much bigger and stronger than she was, but she was speedy. She sprinted until she got to the in zone, then slowed as she turned around. The nearest "shirt" to her was a solid ten yards away. He slowed too.

The team looked at her in dumbfounded disbelief once again.

"Get over here!" The coach snapped.

She jogged towards him and held the ball out when he reached for it.

He looked her over a long moment. "What'd you say your name was?"

"Jerica Ainsley, sir!" she answered breathlessly.

"Let me see you do that again, Ainsley."

"Yes, Coach!"

LORD LORDY LORDSHIRE

The sun shone through the small window just enough to hit Lordy's face at the right angle to wake him up from his deep slumber. He felt the chill of a breeze that came through his window. The scent of stale vomit pierced his nostrils as he thought back to the antics off the night before, or at least what he remembered of it.

"Ughhh," He groaned as he sat up in bed, his head throbbing.

He kicked through the stray bottles that littered the floor as he made his way to the bathroom. It was the first day of classes and he was already dreading having to go back.

"It'll be alright," he told himself, looking into the bathroom mirror, "You're gonna show up, spew out words, and they're gonna love you. Just like every year."

He dry heaved at the thought of a fresh class of mouth-breathers. No one actually cared about his class, they just took it because it was a requirement, and nothing was worse than trying to teach a bunch of numbskulls about a deep and cultured art like Philosophy.

He washed his face and stepped back into his room, where his pounded even more seeing how bright it was outside.

"Well," he said, rubbing his head, "I guess I'll start getting ready soo- oh what the hell class started an hour ago."

James rolled his suitcase into his room and let out a long, deep sigh. He was glad the elevator was working again, so he didn't have to heave it up the steps like he did at the beginning of last semester.

He paused for a moment to look at his simple little room. Out of four bedrooms in the apartment, he had the smallest one. It had a wide south-facing window right above his bed, and the blinds were open, letting in the midday sun. The only thing he had hanging up on the walls was a giant, stereotypical world map poster that hung over the side of his bed. It had been a gift from Carter, and while James didn't mind it, he felt obligated to put it up. Carter said his space looked like it was "sad" and "lacking personality," but James just didn't want to have a million things to pack up when all was said and done.

Carter always said James practically lived out of a suitcase - as if, at any given time, he was ready to run.

Which seemed a little extreme. Especially when Carter was the complete opposite.

James had only glanced in all of the other rooms, but each room was fully furnished. Two of the bedrooms were essentially man-caves. One had couches and beanbags arranged around an Xbox with a string of colorful lights lining the ceiling. One had a similar setup oriented around a Wii with bookshelves on one wall that James was convinced were sorely decorative because James had never seen Carter read one of those books ever.

As for Carter's actual bedroom (which was the master) James really only glanced in there, but he saw a massive bed, and a million pictures and posters covering the walls, so Carter was not lacking in decor.

The entire apartment looked moved into, actually. The main living room space had a giant L-shaped couch that lined the wall and faced the screen doors that led out to the porch, which faced the street. There was a large TV mounted on the wall, and bar stools lined up against the open "window" to the kitchen, where there was a strip of counter space. Everything looked almost straight out of a catalog, but perhaps just a little stripped down and simplified because James knew, historically, the amount of foot traffic that their apartment saw was always going to be heavy. Better to not have too many little breakable decorations. Carter learned that the hard way last year with some shattered glass.

As for James's room, he only brought a few pictures of his family that he put on the top of his dresser. One of him and his little sister, a recent one with his whole family, and one when they were little - his father holding Larrel as a baby, and him sitting in his mother's lap.

As he set the last framed photo down, he heard his door creak open.

Carter poked his head in.

"You're finally here," Carter said.

"I didn't know you were home."

"I was on the toilet," Carter informed.

"Did you flush?"

Carter folded his arms. "Yes, mother."

James hummed and rolled his eyes as he turned around to his open suitcase on the floor and started pulling out clothes, sorting through them to put them in his dresser. Carter stayed in the doorway, but James didn't acknowledge him as he silently kept organizing.

"Did you bring more than one pair of shoes this time?" Carter asked, trying to dig at him with a joke.

"Not everyone enjoys living in lavish excess like you," James replied simply, as he pulled out two pairs of shoes. One of them was a pair of heavy work boots, stained and scuffed from constant wear. The others were a pristine pair of everyday walking shoes.

"Touché," Carter mumbled.

"So I checked our schedules," Carter said.

James already didn't like where this was going.

"It looks like we'll be seeing each other more this year. You know that class with Professor Lordy you avoided first year?"

James sighed deeply as he looked into his suitcase.

"Oh, and we have Morri's English class."

"How exciting," James replied dryly, pulling out a few pairs of pants and setting them on his bed.

"At least it'll make it easier for me to know if you're still alive," Carter said. "Since you're like, hardly ever home, anyways."

"Carter, you and I both know you keep more than enough company to compensate for my constant absence."

Carter made a noise that almost sounded like a scoff, but James wasn't looking.

"Was that all?" James asked.

"I got us pizza."

"Thoughtful," James clipped.

"It's getting cold."

James paused, and looked down at his still-to-be-unpacked suitcase. He glanced back at Carter, giving him and the messy man-bun atop his head one long look before he shook his head and stood up straight.

"Okay, fine," he said, following Carter into the kitchen.

Professor Morrigan

Morrigan sat under a tree with his legs crossed staring into the campus parking lot. The school seemed calm, a perfectly deceptive atmosphere compared to what it would be like tomorrow. He watch a familiar black car pull up nearby as a not so friendly face jumped out of the drivers seat.

"Lordy!" Morrigan shouted at the man.

"Not now I'm late for class!" Lordy shouted back at him.

Morrigan scrunched his eyebrows, "Classes don't start until tomorrow."

"Morri you bafoo-" Lordy stopped in his tracks, "You're joking."

"I'm nothing if not honest, my friend." Morrigan waved for Lordy to sit next to him.

Rubbing his head, Lordy made his way over and sat on the grass across from Morrigan. He sighed heavily before he looked up at his friend, who was smiling an obnoxiously large smile at him.

"What." Lordy said, annoyed.

"I should be asking you that, Lordy." Morrigan smiled even bigger, "What's bothering you?"

Lordy turned away and shook his head, "Nothing."

"Ah, a silent storm is just as deadly as a noisy one my friend."

"Oh stuff it you featherless biped," Lordy looked at him, "I'm never drinking with you again."

Morrigan laughed, "You can hide your emotions behind this moat of alcohol that you've built, but one day you will realize that there is a flood is waiting on your doorstep that you can not run away from."

Lordy put his hands on his knees and stood up, "Save the lectures for tomorrow, Morri. I'll see you then."

Benjamin "Benji" Frost

It was moving in day and Benji had absolutely no idea what to expect.

It was a short drive to West Virginia University last year; he had never once considered living on campus. Working for the school newspaper for the first semester gave him some idea. But he felt so nervous as he stopped in front of his new room and checked the number on his phone for the hundredth time. He had switched rooms last minute, so he only knew his roommate's name: Daniel Leeds.

The door to the room swung open.

The person who opened it was tall. Benji had always been one of the taller people in a room, but this man easily towered over him. He was wearing a faded t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans with mysterious stains. Benji wasn't going to question where the stains they came from. He didn't want to question where they came from.

And he was going to hope that this man wasn't-

"Are you Benjamin?" the man asked.

Oh no, Benji thought.

"I'm Benji," he confirmed, giving a strained smile.

"I'm Daniel," the man said, making his worst nightmare into a reality. He stepped back and held the door open for him. "You're a journalism major, right? Have you ever thought of joining the English club?"

Benji blinked.

"...I just came here," Benji managed to get out. As Daniel shut the door behind him, he scanned the room for anyone else. Part of him was hoping they had a surprise third roommate - it was a four-person suite normally, after all. "I haven't even looked at the clubs yet."

Daniel faltered.

"Huh," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. "I could have sworn the RA said you were a sophomore."

"I transferred," Benji replied. He started heading down the narrow hallway that led towards the suite's bedrooms. The first room was already claimed; he could see Daniel's stuff littering the room. The second room, to his surprise, was also claimed. It looked like some kind of office space, but it was filled with papers, books, and an ominous, already-covered cork board in the very back of the room.

He glanced back towards the doorway, expecting to see Daniel standing there. He jumped when he found Daniel right behind him instead. Why hadn't he heard him following?

Benji took a deep breath.

"I thought it was just the two of us," he said.

"Oh, it is," Daniel confirmed. "We have two extra rooms, so I thought I'd use one for my desk and work things. You could use the other spare room for whatever you want."

Benji peeked into the room again.

"...What's on the cork board?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Research," Daniel vaguely said. He reached around Benji's shoulder and closed the door. "I'm a visual learner. Speaking of learning: want a tour of campus after you unpack? I know it like the back of my hand at this point."

Benji glanced at the closed door.

Then he gave Daniel another strained smile.

"I'm good," he said.

It was 801 Day.

Or, at least, the day after, since it was a Sunday and the day before class. The fraternities and sororities had finished rushing, and they could intermingle with each other past 8AM on the Saturday before class. Hence, 8:01am. 801 Day.

Okay, so that was yesterday, but Elias was too busy because Mel kept giving him the adorable puppy dog face to him, saying she wanted him to tag along to some random pageant. Well, it wasn't so random. She was in charge of a lot of the contestants' hair and makeup and outfits and stuff.

"But Meeeeel," he whined back then. "Parties..."

And then the puppy dog face. "But don't you want to support your girl?"

He couldn't say no to THAT. It was fine, though, because then she brought all her coworkers and friends—plus Elias—along to some drag show that night. It was actually pretty sick. Ten out of ten, would go again, especially with a bunch of cute girls.

But then the next day rolled around—today—and he was hungover as hell. But it wasn't anything a good old cup o' joe couldn't fix. So Elias did his thing, dartied with the Sigma Chi boys, drunkenly sat on top of their shed's roof with their matching white socks, and threw beer cans at the cops when they arrived.

They all ran away after that, of course, and Elias had to grab the most important thing there: nugget.

No, wait, Nugget. Nugget wasn't a nugget. Yet.

Still on a nice beer buzz, Elias whistled as he unlocked the door of his apartment and stepped in to the smell of cookies baking.

"Sup, Bo!" he greeted, slipping his shoes off while casually holding a chicken in his arms. Nugget the chicken turned her head to look at Bo with the biggest eyes, like it was saying 'please, save me from this man.'

"You catch that guy crossing the road?" Bo asked, looking up from a book where he sat on the couch.

"Nah, the police did. Caught her before she can get cooked, though," Elias casually said back, plopping Nugget on the table in front of him.

He put his hands on his hips and watched as Nugget began to peck at Bo's socks propped up on the table. "How long does it take to cook a chicken, anyways?" he asked.

"Well, with a live one, you have to butcher it first," Bo said, meeting Elias's eyes with a meaningful glance. "And depends if you're cooking the whole chicken or only part of the chicken. And how you're cooking the chicken. There are options."

Elias stared at Bo now, nose scrunched up the more he talked.

"Ew," he said simply, then turned to walk away.

Bo snorted.

"Anyways, hope you don't mind we have a pet now," he called down the hallway.

"Are you going to pay the security deposit?" Bo called back.

"Nope!" he said as he started to go through his suitcase and throw clothes out into the hallway. To wash, of course. Why have a hamper if he could just pile it on his hands and smash it down the washer?

"What's its name?" Bo shouted down the hall.

"Nugget," Elias answered.

"Nugget is eating your homework," Bo announced.

Elias smirked. "Oh good. 'A chicken ate my homework' is more original than the 'dog ate my homework.'" But then he realized: aw shit, he had homework? But school hasn't started yet?!

Oh well. He'll catch up later. Maybe. When he figured out what this 'homework' was.

He finished piling the clothes on the floor and then scooped it up in his arms, accidentally dropping some socks. He bent down to pick the socks up, but then kept dropping more clothes, so then he gave up and quickly went down the hall to push the clothes down.

"I'll go to the grocery store later today," he announced to Bo as he picked up the lost clothes on the hallway. "Want anything in particular?"

Bo had gone back to reading his book, but the way he flipped the pages quickly made it look like he wasn't actually reading.

"Chicken feed," Bo said.

Elias gave him the strangest look. "You want to eat chicken food?" he asked in disbelief.

Bo laughed. "Nugget and I will share," he said with a goofy grin and laughter still in his voice.

Elias pursed his lips in thought, putting detergent in the washer and then pressing the button to start.

"You eat some weird stuff," he said, and then went back to his room to change into something that smelled a little less like sweat and chicken feathers.

Benji didn't like him.

Daniel could deal with that. He told himself that as he bumped into Benji in the hallway outside of their rooms and Benji quickly went past him. He reminded himself that there was a reason he was a junior and didn't have a friend as a roommate when Benji continued to turn down his idea of a tour. And he hurried back into his little workspace when Benji said no to getting a bite to eat with him.

It was fine.

This was totally, 100% fine-

At least, that was what Daniel thought until they ran into each other at the food court. He was in the middle of calling Rob about something he had found when digging around the darkest depths of the internet the night before when he suddenly walked right into the person in front of him as the line moved up. Their all-too-familiar oversized hoodie's hood fell back, revealing neat black hair that also looked familiar.

Despite Benji stubbornly keeping that hood on the entire time he was in their dorm.

Daniel gaped.

Benji looked back. He stared at Daniel for a second with rich, dark brown eyes that made Daniel's melt and race simultaneously. Then he turned back around, started to head for the counter-

-Daniel's hand shot out. Rob was questioning why he had suddenly gone silent; Daniel just quickly promised to call him later, immediately ending the call afterwards.

"We should eat lunch together," he blurted.

Benji gave a strained smile. "I like to eat alone."

That was admittedly a mood, but Daniel was determined to eat lunch with Benji at least once. He let Benji get his food and quickly followed him, mulling over exactly how to win Benji over as he absentmindedly ate one of his chicken tenders. Thankfully, the universe seemed to be on his side today. The dining hall was absolutely packed - the only open table that Daniel could make out was in the very far corner of the room. There were a few open seats here and there, but they were obviously been saved for other people.

Benji gave a slow look back at him.

Daniel did his best not to grin.

(He failed miserably.)

Success! Benji had to eat with him after all. As the two of them sat down, Daniel couldn't help but thank his luck. Sure, Benji didn't like him that much yet. He also seemed a little bit afraid of him; that wasn't a surprising reaction. But not only was he able to bond with his roommate a bit - he was able to bond with a roommate who happened to be one of the newest contributors for The Skeptic.

Benji F., the one that Daniel had been crushing on for months.

He hadn't put two-and-two together before, but the resemblance was undeniable now.

He let out a sigh as he took another bite of his chicken tender, ignoring the funny look Benji gave him before staring back at his own meal. This was going to be the best semester yet.

He was sure of it.

James had a sandwich and a salad on his tray, and he planned on eating quickly. The cafeteria was crowded and loud, and the only reason he ever stayed to eat in there was that some of the meals weren't made to be to-go friendly. He weaved quietly through the packed tables, spotting the only near-empty in the far corner.

He didn't recognize the two men sitting at it, but they looked like underclassmen. Making brief eye contact, he gave them a nod, and sat down at the far end of the table.

"You're not saving these seats, are you?" he asked.

Just as he asked the question, a very tall, very large man walked up with a big smile. It was Bo - whom James only knew through Elias, really.

"Oh, hey James!" Bo greeted. He looked over to the other two guys.

"Can I sit with you guys?" he asked. "My name's Bo."

Jerica was sore.

She'd decided to take a quick lap around the little lake on campus to stretch her muscles and think about the tryouts. She'd done well -- after she convinced the coach to stop beating her up and actually let her play a position she was good at. It was still clear that none of them seemed to particularly want her on the team. But the tone had definitely changed once she proved herself a good runner -- some of the boys seemed angrier, others just seemed confused about whether they should be offended or impressed by her skills.

The coach had assigned them each a time to come back to find out if they made the team or not. Her time slot was an hour and a half from the end of the scrimmage.

She really wasn't sure if she was going to get it or not.

It was their loss, really, if they rejected her. She wasn't overly concerned. If they wouldn't let her play football, there was always wrestling and rugby to fall back on. Or she could just wait for the winter season and join the hockey team -- she was probably going to go for that one, regardless.

Jerica made her way to the cafeteria and loaded down a tray. She was starving after all the hours they'd run her. It was brutal. The scrimmage -- conditioning -- drills. They put them through the wringer.

She threw a fistful of chicken tenders on her plate, dumped bbq sauce on top, then added some fries to the chaos. She grabbed a bowl of mac n' cheese and then looked around the cafeteria. It was packed. She sighed, wishing she'd chosen food that would be more conducive to walking off with.

There was a table off in the corner with two guys seated at it, and two that looked like they were asking if they could sit down. She walked up to them. It wasn't ideal to be at a table full of boys. But, at least she didn't recognize any from the tryouts, so that was something.

"Jerica." She pointed at herself, sitting down at the center of the table without asking. They could tell her to move if they didn't like it. "'Sup?"

This was a nightmare.

This was an absolute nightmare.

If Benji hadn't made the mistake of getting a dish of pasta, which involved having to sit down at a table, he could have avoided this whole thing. He could have just had dinner by himself in some nice, quiet corner of campus like he did when commuting to WVU. He could have even brought it back to his dorm room.

But then there was only one table.

And Daniel sat down at it.

And now other people were sitting down at it, too. He was convinced they were friends with Daniel at first, but it seemed like they were just as unfamiliar to him as they were to Benji.

"You can sit with us," Daniel said, grinning. He hadn't stopped grinning since they bumped into each other in line. It was...a little unnerving. Benji couldn't figure out why Daniel had that look on his face. "It's the only open table, anyways. I'm Daniel, and this-"

He slung his arm around Benji's shoulder. Benji immediately froze in response.

"-is Benji. We're roommates this semester."

James sat down, taking in all of the names. Bo sat down to the girl named Jerica, but James stayed at the far end of the table.

"Cool, cool," Bo said. "Nice to meet you guys. I know James isn't--"

James watched as Bo turned to him, pointing.

"Oh, by the way, that's James."

James barely acknowledged his introduction. At least Bo made it easy for him. James started eating, taking a bite of his salad.

"Are you guys all freshies? What year are ya'll? I'm fourth year."

Jerica shoved most of a chicken tender in her mouth and chewed it as she assessed the boys at her table.

Benji didn't look thrilled that they were all sitting together. She almost smirked. That roommate pairing was going to be a complete disaster. She could see it now. She kind of hoped she'd be around to see the impending explosion.

James didn't look much happier than Benji. He looked like the kind of kid that took school way too seriously. She doubted she'd see him again after this moment, because the instant school started he'd be one of the library goblins who only emerged to sit in the very front row of every single one of their classes. He already looked stressed and classes hadn't even started yet. Maybe he was stressed about the fact that there was nothing to be stressed about?

She decided to give Benji and Daniel a moment to sort their issues out and turned her attention on Bo when he started talking. He gave off a soothing vibe. She liked it. He was probably a counseling major. Or, maybe art. Definitely not science. All the science majors she'd met were so tightly wound it seemed like they'd snap in half. Spontaneous combustion. I mean, she understood. But it was still nice to be around someone who wasn't like that.

"Nah," she corrected, swallowing a mouthful of half-swallowed food. "Sophomore, but just transferred in."

She thought about making a guess at what sport he might play -- then thought about just asking if he lifted instead -- but settled on more neutral topics that might apply to others at the table too.

"Sports?" She glanced around. "Frats?"

Benji wiggled out from underneath Daniel's arm. Daniel awkwardly drew his arm back. It wasn't like Rob and co. had been all touchy-feely when he had finally met them in person last year, but still. He'd have to remember that Benji wasn't a big fan of close contact.

"I'm just here for my journalism major," Benji said, giving the same strained smile he had been giving Daniel all day before ducking his head back down.

"Frats aren't really my thing," Daniel said. Finishing off his chicken tender in one, big gulp, he grabbed onto the next one like he was a toddler first learning how to hold a fork. "I could do a sport, but none have really called out to me."

He pointed the tip of the tender at Bo.

"As for your questions, I'm a junior. Benji's a sophomore, but he just transferred."

Benji shifted beside him. He muttered, almost a little bitterly, "I can answer the question myself."

"You weren't saying anything," Daniel pointed out.

Benji froze, almost like he hadn't intended for Daniel to hear that. But even though the room was loud and Benji had talked pretty softly, they were sitting right next to each other. Why wouldn't he hear it?

Daniel shrugged and dipped his tender in ketchup.

Elias had just finished his afternoon shift at Brewed Awakening, the #1 local and hip coffee shop in town. At least, he liked to think so. That was the only reason why he had worked there for the last five years. That, and he had somehow managed to steal and freely give away so many coffees without anyone noticing.

It was evening now, and he was hungry. He still had to go to the grocery store, but you know what happens when you go to the grocery store hungry? Pizzas. You buy too many pizzas.

Sneaking out with an iced coffee, Elias walked over to the cafeteria in hopes to eat but also find someone random to chat with. Well, chances were they weren't random; he may be bad at memorizing numbers and facts, but he never forgot a person... and Elias knew a lot of people.

With a soup, salad, and coffee on his tray, Elias looked out into the sitting area and latched on to the first recognizable person he saw.

...which, admittedly, did not take long at all, because Bo was very hard to miss, even sitting down.

He sauntered on over and noticed two things: one, there was only one spot left on the table which was perfect, and two, he recognized all but one person sitting on the table, which was even more perfect.

"Hey, Bo!" he said as he put down his tray on the last spot, across from—

"And James!" he said, smiling across and sitting down. "Long time no see, buddy."

It had only been a summer since he last saw him, and even though he texted James a million memes, he had not responded to a single one. He decided to ignore that part though; clearly he was too busy doing summer homework to text him back.

He then peered down the table and nodded at Bo again. "I'll get the chicken feed after I eat, don't worry."

And then his eyes naturally flitted to the tough girl next to him.

"Oh, hey, I remember you," he continued on, not giving any time for anyone to react. "You beat my ass playing tennis last week. We should do a rematch. I've been practicing."

He had only been practicing on the Wii.

Since he had been addressing everyone around the table, Elias leaned forward to see who else he missed.

"Hey, you, I remember you too," he said, nodding at the man at the far end of the table. "Clicker question guy from biology! Thanks for sharing all the answers, man. That's the only part of my grade I got full points on."

He then looked at the guy next to him, who he didn't recognize, but then got distracted by his rumbling stomach and started to eat his salad before he could form a cohesive greeting.

Mouth full of veggies, he noticed James staring and just remembered something oh-so-important.

"Oh, I'm taking your favorite subject this semester: English," he said, then swallowed. "I think with Professor Gordy? Heard he was a fun guy."