Young Writers Society

"You're prophetic," Carter whispered back.

Daniel could admire Jerica for sassing Lordy. It wasn't something he would personally risk, but her digs were well-founded. Seeing her and Lordy go at each other was also an incredibly entertaining way of starting the class and semester. Leaning one arm against his desk and using his hand to cover his mouth, he smirked at her comments.

When the banter finally seemed to end, he looked down the rows of seats to see what Benji was up to. It was impossible to read his roommate's expression when he was facing the professor, but his suddenly very tight body language was giving away how he felt about this class - and about the exchange that had just happened.

Hm.

Interesting.

Daniel shifted his hand so it was underneath his chin. Benji didn't have anything to worry about. He was a great nonfiction writer; Daniel knew that after reading all of his articles. This class's assignments were going to be right up his alley. It was Daniel who should have been panicking. Written things weren't really his thing. The writing assignments were something he had noticed looking over the syllabus before class that morning, but it hadn't really clicked until Jerica bugged Lordy about how the class was assessed.

He sighed.

This was not going to be the fun class he hoped it was. After going to this school for two full years, he really should have expected that it wouldn't meet his expectations.

"Now then," the awkward tension had drowned out long enough, "if no one else has any questions, I'd say we go around the room and introduce ourselves."

Lordy looked from left to right, "I want each you of you to stand up and say your name, major, and tell me why you think the chicken crossed the road. I'll let you all volunteer who will go first but if no one does, I might just start choosing randomly."

Carter stood up immediately, without hesitation.

"My name is Carter Haddon. I'm a business major, and I think the chicken crossed the road because the road crossed her first, so she had to do what she had to do. That's all."

He flashed professor Lordshire a smile and sat down promptly.

A single word filled Jerica's mind -- the most versatile one, that could sum up all of her feelings in that exact moment and express how completely, and utterly screwed she was. She'd been enjoying being the nameless snark from the back row.

Now she was gonna have to put a name with her face and something told her that that name wasn't going to get good marks the rest of the semester. I guess I could make up a fake name. But, then, if he was taking attendance that would screw her over, and she certainly didn't want to be caught in that kind of a lie. Well, hopefully, he at least found me funny.

Jerica pulled her phone out and started googling. She knew there were going to be the lame "to get to the other side" answers -- but it wasn't going to come from her. This was a philosophy class. She needed to know what philosophers thought about chickens. And she needed a witty answer.

Why did the chicken cross the road
... jokes
... meme
... answers
... meaning
... dirty
... dark
... philosophy


She clicked on the bottom option, making a mental note to go back and check the others in a minute.

Philosophynow.org -- seemed promising. She clicked onto the article and skimmed through the answers. A lot were just joke answers -- others were needlessly complicated explanations. 'It was the logical step after coming down from the trees' - Charles Darwin. That one could work. She was a biologist after all -- she'd take an opportunity to quote her boy Darwin.

But, the other search results still nagged at the back of her mind. She searched again, this time going with 'dark' instead.

BuzzFeed -- her favorite philosophers. She skimmed the article, a wicked smile tugging at her lips that grew the further she read. This was perfect. Darwin could wait for another day. BuzzFeed won this one.

And, then, the boy who answered first was being sarcastic too. She could slip her answer in now and then hope Lordshire forgot about her by the time they'd made it all the way around the classroom.

Jerica popped to her feet.

"My name is Jerica Ainsley, I'm a sophomore biology major, and I don't think the chicken ever intended to cross the road," she said. "I think she wanted to get hit by a car -- which, mood -- but in doing so she made it to the other side. The only thing the chicken crossed was into the afterlife, and now we make jokes at the expense of her suicide. Rest in peace, lil chickie."

Daniel raised an eyebrow when Jerica gave what he was pretty sure she had just read off of her phone, but he didn't press it. He had his own introduction to do. He started to get to his feet - fully expecting that he would be the only one who wanted to go at that moment.

But to his surprise, Benji stood up before him.

Daniel paused, halfway out of his seat. Benji had no way of knowing he had also been getting up; he wasn't going to bug him about it. But he hadn't seen Benji as the confident type before.

"My name is Benji Frost," Benji said. "I'm a journalism major. And I think the chicken crossed the road because..."

Benji faltered.

"...it was scared of what was behind it," he finally said, "or because it was the only thing that made sense at the time."

He quickly sat back down.

Daniel would have mulled over that answer a little bit more, but he was still partially standing up right now. It only made sense for him to go next. He fully got out of his seat. While he did a quick little stretch - being in that half-sitting/half-standing position for so long made him feel weird - he tried to think of a creative answer to the question.

"I'm Daniel," Daniel offered. "Daniel Leeds. I honestly don't care what you call me - as long as it's not Dan. Danny, DL, Leeds, Daniel are all fair game with me. I'm double majoring in biology and museum studies."

He crossed his arms.

Resting his chin in his hand, he said, "As for the chicken question: I'll follow Benji and give two reasons. Either the chicken was looking for food on the other side, or it saw a group of chickens across the road and wanted to join their flock."

With that, he sat down.

Elias waited towards the end of the lecture to say his introduction and answer Lordy's chicken question. He recognized a good amount of voices -- he did know practically everyone, after all -- but he was waiting for the right moment to say his.

He pulled out his phone and started to text James, who he noticed hadn't gone yet.

"watch this, imma blow these answers outta the water 🐔 😎"

He figured James wouldn't have his phone in front of him during class anyways, but he wanted to tell someone ahead of time for the juicy drama, and he only had his and Carter's number.

Right on cue, someone just finished their introduction, so Elias quickly stood up.

"I'm Elias," he said, not bothering to say his last name since he didn't want to be associated with it. His first name was unique enough, anyways.

"I'm a senior majoring in nursing. And the chicken crossed the road..."

He grinned and reached into his backpack, pulling out Nugget who he decided to bring to the frat breakfast in case anyone wanted her back. (Spoiler alert: no one remembered losing a chicken, so yes, he was now an official chicken owner.)

"... because it wanted to be in this class!" he finished, and then flopped Nugget on his desk.

Nugget looked around in confusion and then walked over to Carter's desk, pecking his pants.

Elias, meanwhile, sat back down on his desk with the biggest accomplished grin, letting his new pet roam around.

James saw the notification pop up on his computer since he had messages connected from his phone. He just finished opening and reading it in time to turn around and witness Elias's live demonstration.

Of course, Elias had brought a chicken to class.

Where did he even get a chicken?

It was kind of funny though, watching the class turn around in surprise. Carter looked a little surprised for a moment, then mildly impressed. He didn't seem too happy to have the chicken pecking at him though.

In any even James still hadn't introduced himself. He would make a joke about saving the best for last, but it would be wrong, and gratuitously arrogant.

He stood up straight and faced professor Lordshire.

"While I hardly think I'll be able to outdo a live chicken," he prefaced. "The name's James Hawke. I'm double majoring in History and English. And I believe that the chicken crossed the road simply beak-cause it wanted to."

Students were making jokes, people were actually volunteering, and there was a chicken running around the classroom. Lordy was beaming inside.

He tried to take note of everyone's names as they answered.

The first boy, Carter, was rather witty. Lordy could tell he usually did whatever it took to get what he wanted. The there was Jerica, the sassy girl. She had clearly decided that she'd made enough jokes and now she wanted to act like she was into the subject by giving the actual answer instead of a creative one. He admired her spirit.

The other boy, Benji, was definitely one of the quieter kids, but he reached for something relatable with his answer. Lordy wanted to pry more out of him, but there was no time before the next boy, Daniel, spoke up. He gave two superficial reasons as an answer and Lordy now assumed that he was one of those people who spent most of their free time looking in a mirror or talking about themselves.

Elias came next, the boy who had pulled out the chicken. Honestly, Lordy couldn't do anything but respect him for that one. Finally there was the boy, James. Who gave a... pun. Images of raving kittens briefly invaded Lordy's mind but he quickly snapped out of it.

The rest of the class went through their introductions, including a boy named Ned who talked far too loud for far too long. Before he knew it, class was almost over.

"Well! I'm glad we got that out of the way!" Lordy clapped his hands together, "For next class I want you all to take note of this quote."

He wrote on the board:


"Now remember, Plato is very much an asshole. That being said, this is a Philosophy class, and he is also a piece of shi-"

"BAWKAAA" The chicken screeched.

"Right, my apologies," Lordy brushed his shirt, "We'll discuss what this may mean to you all next time. You're free to leave now, and I beg you hurry up as you do so I can get out of here too."

Jerica had a sudden uneasy feeling when she saw the quote Lordshire put on the board. Like the mention of war hit a little too close to home for her. She shook it off. The only war I have right now is with the football team.

She filed out of the classroom with the masses, knowing fully well that Rek -- wherever he'd ended up sitting -- was going to make it out before her, and was going to be waiting for her. She braced herself for the barrage of questions she knew were going to come. He always overreacted. About everything. And, well, last night hadn't exactly been her shining moment to begin with.

As predicted, he rushed towards her the instant she set foot outside of the lecture hall."Where were you?"

"At a party."

"Why are you bruised?"

"Honestly? I don't remember." It was mostly honest. She knew some of the bruises had to have come from the mud pit -- and she'd earned others during the tryouts -- but she doubted that accounted for all of them. "You know how I get when I drink. Maybe I was dancing on a table and fell off or something. I don't know. I drink, I have fun, I don't remember -- that's how parties work."

Rek sighed, exasperated. "You could have at least texted."

"I know, I'm sorry," she answered. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just lost track of my phone for a while."

"Dear gods, Jer." He sighed again. "It's the first day. You're not gonna survive the semester at this rate."

"I'll be--"

"FRESHIE!" An arm wrapped around her shoulders.

She instinctively went to elbow him but stopped short when she realized it was one of the linebackers on the team. He towered over her, to the point that she barely made it to his armpit.

"So glad to see you -- walk with me."

Rek scowled. "Did he--?"

"No," Jerica interrupted, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. The last thing she needed was Rek trying to take on the entirety of the football team. She could handle herself. "I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

"Nope!" the boy said.

Jerica looked up at him. "Dinner?"

Another arm wrapped around her, from the right this time, blocking her in the center. She tensed as she looked up at another of the linebackers. "Wrong again!"

She kept her eyes on him and hesitantly asked, "Class?"


She looked back at Rek. "I'll text you when I'm free, okay?"

"No, that's not okay! You--"

"Bye!" she interrupted, again, as her teammates shoved her forward. They let go of her but still walked so closely on either side that they jostled her back and forth. She felt her heart racing as dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Apparently, initiation wasn't over yet.

"Good news for you is that you're Top Recruit," the boy to her left said as they ushered her towards a car waiting at the curb.

"What's that mean?"

"Means you can drink an impressive amount of booze, Freshie," the boy to her right said. "Even if you do run your mouth after."

Jerica rubbed her face, wondering what she'd said. She did tend to run her mouth a lot when she sailed with the Captain.

"Also means you get special perks," the one to her left said, hesitating right next to the car. "For example, we're gonna let you keep your stolen pants today when the other recruits don't get that privilege."

Well, that's something.

"Shirt, not so much." The one on her right held out his hand. "And give me back my hat. Stop stealing clothes."

"Stop stealing mine." She pulled the tank off and thrust it into his hands along with the hat.

"Rawr," he said sarcastically. "We got sass sober, too, huh?"

"In we go!" the other boy said gleefully as he held the back door to the sedan open.

She crawled in and got squashed in the middle between a linebacker already in the seat and one of the ones who had escorted her to the car. The other got in the passenger side.

"Freshie!" J.R. said from the driver's seat.

"'Sup?" she asked, trying to play it cool. "How's your ducky?"

They all laughed and J.R. went "Glad you asked, actually!"

She was not glad that she'd asked. They dumped her off back at the house and made her and the other recruits clean up all of the hundreds -- maybe thousands -- of ducks from the mud pit and wash them off and dry each and every single one individually then pack them away for next year's initiation. They cleaned up the cans and bottles strewn throughout the lawn and the house and then, finally, were released. But, not driven back to campus.

Jerica checked the balance on her bank account and cringed. There wasn't enough there for an Uber and for Chick-Fil-A when she got back to campus, and there were clear priorities to be had here. She sighed deeply and started back towards campus, plastered in mud from her face down to her feet, her stolen sweats soaked all the way through. Even her bra and bared abdomen were muddy.

Guess the humiliation only counts if it's public. She put her head down and started the many-mile trek back towards Rek's apartment.

Driving was therapeutic, so James didn't mind the commute across campus from one class to another. It was more time spent alone, and it was nice to have silence - when he wasn't listening to audiobooks for required reading for classes.

At the moment, he didn't have anything playing, and he was just driving home. Nothing seemed notable until he caught a glimpse of a muddy figure walking on the sidewalk, and he saw the stares of ongoing passerby follow her.

As he drew nearer, he saw that it was Jerica. The underclassman from Lordshire's class with the witty answers and the black eye.

What was going on with her?

Fortunately, she was walking in the same direction he was driving, and he was able to pull up on the side of the road, just ahead of her. He rolled down his windows.

"Jerica!" he called out. The closer she got, the more clearly he could see just how covered in mud she was. And she was missing a shirt. Did he need to call somebody?

He glanced at ongoing traffic before stepping out of his car and rounding back to his trunk. He opened it, and started searching.

He always kept things in his car just in case. Whenever he came back from the barn, he'd often be dirty, and have extra pairs of clothes, jackets if it was cold, towels for drying off...

He grabbed a towel and an old, oversized, plain-grey t-shirt.

Before Jerica could refuse his help or deny that something had happened, he walked up to her, offering both the towel and the shirt.

"James," he said, just in case she didn't remember. "If you're comfortable, I'd like to offer to give you a ride to wherever you're going. If not, at least let me call you an uber. If you want, I can wait with you until it gets here, but it's up to you. You look like you need to head home and get some rest. And a shower."

The longer Jerica walked the angrier she got. And the more miserable. The sun was merciless, seeming to burn her through the mud that crusted on her in the heat. Her head felt so bad -- and she realized she wasn't actually sure how long it'd been since she'd eaten last. Surely it'd been since dinner last night... surely.

She crossed her arms over her chest petulantly but resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders up. Instead, she strode forward with her chin raised, gaze staring straight ahead, glower plastered on her face. More than one person got a clear shot of her middle finger when they snapped a picture of her. At least the mud was hiding the way her face was flushing in embarrassment.

She tensed as she heard her name, refusing to look for the source of it. I swear to the gods, if they don't let me eat--

Her anger crashed into a wall of confusion. It was... the boy from dinner the night before. Of all of the people she might have expected the voice to belong to, it wasn't him. Quiet-mannered nerds didn't tend to remember the names of obnoxious jocks. Or, to rush towards them with towels and shirts.

"I don't know what you think happened, but I didn't get 'hazed', okay?" She took a deep breath, ready to tell him off and send him on his way. She didn't need his pity. She was fine on her own. Just. Fine.

She blinked in surprise when he didn't even ask. No questions about what had happened, or accusations of what he thought her sorry state meant -- nothing but an offer of help. James. She'd need to remember that.

She stared at him in bewilderment as he listed off the different options of ways he was willing to help. Giving her a ride. Paying for her to get a ride. Waiting with her. Tears pricked her eyes. That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her in her entire life --

She cleared her throat loudly, glancing around as she blinked away any evidence that she might actually have feelings. Then she shrugged coolly and looked back at James, taking the shirt he offered. "I mean... if you're sure..."

He didn't make any effort to take it back.

She pulled it over her head, relishing the feel of it settling over her shoulders and hanging limply next to her hips. Never in the history of shirts had one ever felt so good to put on. Even though there was a thick coat of mud between her and the fabric. It didn't take away from how safe it made her feel -- like she actually had a defense against the world, no matter how thin.

"I live in High Point Plaza. If you wanted to drop me off at the Chick-Fil-A a few blocks from there...?" She looked up to meet his gaze, hoping her eyes weren't too pleading, even though her voice was a bit weak. "I'm really hungry."

James nodded with understanding. Okay. So she was hungry, that was easy.

"Sure, of course," he said. "I can do that. I'd like to pay for the meal though if that's alright with you. We can hit the drive-through and I can give you a ride home from there. It sounds like we live in the same complex, so it's not out of the way or inconveniencing me. Here, come on."

He gestured with a wave of his hand for her to follow and opened the door on the passenger side for her. Before she could sit down, he tied the end of the towel around the headrest and then tucked it into the crook of the seat, so that the seat was covered. He wasn't really that worried about mud staining his seats, but he didn't want Jerica to be worried about it if she was so inclined.

With the towel layer secured he stepped back and gestured for her to get in.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked. "I have some water bottles in the back. I can grab you one."

Jerica stared at him dumbly for a moment then nodded. She hadn't noticed it until he asked, but she was desperately thirsty. She sank into the seat, grateful that he'd put down a towel so she wouldn't have to feel guilty about getting his car dirty, and took the water he offered.

He was being so nice to her.

It hit her harder than she expected.

She was so tired. And hungry. And sore. It was worth it -- she knew it was. She wouldn't even remember this moment in a few weeks, once she was standing on freshly-trimmed green listening to the roar of her fans cheering them on from the stands.

But in this moment, James was being so nice.

And she couldn't handle it. It was one too many emotions. Her brain didn't know how to process all of them, and tears sprang to her eyes before she could stop them. She scrubbed at her eyes furiously, staring out the passenger's side window as if that would keep him from noticing.

"I can pay you back," she murmured, realizing a bit too late that she didn't have any choice but to accept his offer now that she'd mentioned Chick-Fil-A. She didn't have any cash or her cards on her. "I'm not as broke as I look."

James grabbed two water bottles from his trunk and came back around to the drivers' seat. He put one of the bottles in the cup holders and handed the other one to her.

"Don't worry about it," James said. "It's Chick-fil-a. I'm not buying you a house."

He buckled himself in and waited for her to do the same before he started the car, checking the traffic before he pulled out onto the street.