𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 [a rini au]

TEN

The lunch scene was a little nerve-racking for Ricky, to say the least. The dining hall was mobbed with students that had the first lunch period, and Ricky could barely find a table that was empty. As he made his way through the lunch line, resorting to an apple and granola bar for food, he spotted some familiar faces. Well, familiar to him. There was no chance they would recognize him.

Some of the Leopard Leaders from orientation were gathered at a high table, laughing obnoxiously and catching the desperate attention of anyone that walked by. Although he couldn't remember too many names, he was able to pinpoint Sebastian, the tall brunette that dances, Charles Kingston, and ironically, Nina. However, what he noticed as he chose to take his lunch outside was Charles' arm latched around Nina's waist. Ricky almost crashed into the exit doors as he tried to analyze the scene, but if he stared any longer he would've been called out for it.

The boy enjoyed his food on a bench outside of Davidson Hall. His next class, Creative Writing, was there anyway. I'm not being antisocial, he convinced himself as he munched away on his granola bar, crumbs dropping onto his songwriting pocket journal that rested on his lap. I'm being proactive.

By the end of the school day, Ricky was surprisingly pleased. Although it was the first day, he didn't have any complaints about his classes thus far. But, as he wasted the rest of the day away in his now completely set up dorm room, he couldn't stop pondering over his Creative Writing class. The teacher was a strange, shorter man with shoes that made his feet look like clown ones. His hair looked like he rubbed a balloon over it, for it stuck out in obscure directions as if the man was electrocuted. But, despite his oddities, he gave Ricky a first semester assignment that made the gears crank in his brain.

"It's the first day, I know, but no good writer got anywhere by playing it safe," the man, Mr. Oliver, sat on his desk as he gave the directions, little legs swaying like a child's on a swing. "I'm giving you all your first assignment right now, but it's due by the end of the semester. It'll essentially be your midterm, so I would give this a lot of thought.

"We often think that creative writing is all about fiction, but it extends far beyond pure fantasy. Erasing that preconception is crucial for beginning creative writers. The goal here is to dive into the depths of your mind, into every nook and cranny that you can. I don't care how you do this. Keep a diary, write little notes in those cell phones of yours, whatever works, but I want you to give me your mind on a silver, MLA platter by the end of this assignment. You're all seniors, so I bet there are tons of things rushing through those big brains. Creative writers are detailed and obsessive, so take intricate notes of everything important that you experience and feel, as well as the people you meet and the places you go throughout the semester. Introduce me to your world as uniquely as you can. I can guarantee that you'll learn more about yourself than you could ever imagine once you're through with this."

As a stranger in an unfamiliar place, Ricky was truly stumped. He knew he had time to get started on the vague yet comprehensive assignment, but he feared that the inspiration would never come. He wasn't good at getting in touch with his emotions, never mind his environment when he was in some place entirely new. Songwriting was the only way he tried to channel his thoughts, but he couldn't turn in a goofy tune about sadness for a midterm grade. What is it with this place and learning about yourself in weird ways? he kept asking himself.

Ricky stared blankly at an empty notebook for a while that afternoon. Going between the bare pages and his current fiction read got exhausting, so he was almost relieved when his phone lit up with a text from Big Red. The boy asked Ricky if he wanted to grab dinner with some kids he met today, and Ricky accepted the invitation despite wanting to force some beginning ideas out of himself all evening. At around six, a knock on his door announced Big Red's presence, so Ricky packed his notebook away and gave up for the night with zero progress whatsoever.