GREY

In the final twenty minutes of class, we were instructed to share our feedback, deconstructing all the essays we'd read from our groups and the notes we'd written in response to the questions on the board.

One look at Dash and Brayden was all it took to know we were thinking the same thing.

"Cody's got some stiff competition," Brayden whistled as he handed Jacquarious back his essay.

Jacquarious tilted his head. "Sorry?"

"Nah, it's nothing," Brayden chuckled. "Well, actually, it's gonna be freaking hilarious when he gets back."

"...What do you mean?"

I laughed along with Brayden. "He means that you might be the best writer we've ever seen."

Jacquarious gulped. "Oh...um, thank you."

Dash patted him on the shoulder. "Our bud Cody's a bit...confident, I'd say. Everything he writes is a masterpiece, and he's not exactly shy about letting everybody know it. But you...you've got a real gift too, man."

"Pretty crazy you're good at English and basketball," Brayden teased. "Any other hidden talents you got knockin' around?"

Jacquarious gave a low laugh as he shook his head. "I wish. English and sports are pretty much it. PreCal's wiping the floor with me right now, and history's not much better."

"Well, hey," I cut in. "History's my bread and butter, bro. And Dash's so good at math he got skipped to calculus already."

Jacquarious sighed. "Must be nice."

Dash slid an arm around his shoulder, chuckling as she shot me a look. "What I think Grey's trying to say is that we've got your back. If you need any help with PreCal, just give me a shout."

"Same with history," I added with a toothy grin. "Just uh...maybe you could help us out with our essays this semester. Doesn't seem like Mrs. Cabot'll be easing up anytime soon."

"Sure—it's a deal," Jacquarious said, Dash's grip tightening around his shoulder.

"Awesome, man," Dash affirmed.

"So..." Brayden said with a bashful look, blond-fringed bangs dancing just above his eyes. "What'd you think? About our essays. I mean...yours is pure gold, but...what about the rest of us?"

"Oh," Jacquarious's eyebrows shot up. "Right." He turned to Brayden first. "Well, your intro about that guy from MasterChef was really strong. I never would've guessed a box of gourmet chocolates could make somebody move halfway across the country. It's just that...well, the writing kind of falls off after that."

Brayden's eyes dropped; Jacquarious winced.

"Not that it's bad, just...you start with this inspiring story about a man who found true love in culinary school, then spend two paragraphs talking about how to sharpen a steak knife." He rested the pages on top of his desk. "I'm guessing you're really into cooking, huh?"

Brayden chuckled. "Guilty."

"Well, you don't have to cut it all—no pun intended. Just...try to clarify why it's important. The part at the end about how he carved his wedding proposal into a steak was a nice callback. But the buildup to get there felt a little long." He handed Brayden back his essay. "I added a few notes in the margins about stuff you might want to change. Uh...let me know if it all makes sense."

Brayden nodded as Jacquarious picked up Dash's essay next. "Thanks, man."

"Wait, that's it?" I joked. "Seriously? No snarky one-liners about his misplaced participles or whatever? Dang, dude. Cody's got nothing on you."

Dash gave me a playful punch in the arm before turning to Jacquarious. "So what's the damage, bro?" he asked with a flicker of reticence.

"Really nice conclusion," Jacquarious offered. "And the way you chronicle the details feels very deliberate. It really helps me get a sense of how the guy in your story reacted when he met Mark Hendrickson...and how it made him want to keep pursuing basketball."

Dash hesitated. "...But?"

"Well, the start of the essay never really establishes why it's so meaningful. I get the implication that it's a special journey when you meet your heroes and actually enjoy the experience, but there's not a lot to connect the main drive outside of that. It's almost like a trail of unconnected coincidences that you want the reader to think are special—and they are special, but you need to make sure your audience understands why. Without that, it's kind of just a Wikipedia article with great punctuation."

Dash chuckled. "Right. Guess that makes sense." He took back his essay and gave Jacquarious a warm nod.

"Seriously, dude," I mused. "Where'd you come from? You're gonna give Cody a complex if you keep this up." I reached over to retrieve my essay from Jacquarious's desk.

"Yours was...really good, man," Jacquarious said as I gripped the pages. "Fantastic opening, stellar paragraph flow. I could tell it wasn't a first draft."

I gulped. "Uh...thanks. I...put a lot of work into it." Dash and Brayden sniggered at me as Jacquarious stared earnestly forward:

"Only real issue I saw was you sometimes get way too formal with how you phrase things. Like the opener for the third paragraph—it's a bit gaudy, man. Not hating on your style or anything, but...maybe tone it down a little."

"Aw, come on, dude. That line's gold." I scanned the page and began to read aloud. "Yet contrastingly, Amaretto's central conceit was his view of Lincoln as a reluctant yet reliable hero, a recalcitrant adherence to truistic fundamentalism belying the dually pragmatic and prejudicial nature of such an agathokakological floc...fluxin...flacci.." I practically choked over that last word. "I mean...um..."

Brayden burst out laughing, Dash barely managing to keep it together himself.

"Shut up, you guys!"

"Oh," Jacquarious said, his eyebrows sinking. "You didn't write this, did you?"

My gaze plummeted to the floor, a flush of heat burning across my cheeks.

Jacquarious gave me a small smile. "Well, in case anyone asks, the word's pronounced 'floccinaucinihilipilification.'"

I met his eyes bashfully. "Yeah...thanks. Guess I should just axe that part."

"You don't have to; maybe just soften it a bit." He smiled. "And don't worry. I'm not gonna snitch. But next time you want help, I'm here for you." He scratched the side of his neck. "I uh...I appreciate how you brought me into you guys' group today."

I smiled in unison with Dash and Brayden, the bell ringing aloud just beyond the classroom walls. "We're glad too, man."

The four of us stood, Jacquarious slinging his backpack over his shoulder and turning for the door—right before a crumpled page printed in bright orange tones fell from his bag and skittered across the floor.

"Whoa, wait...is that one of the flyers for tryouts?" My eyes widened as I stared up at Jacquarious.

"You thinking about joining the team, man?" Brayden asked.

"I...I uh...Coach visited me last week. I don't think I'll join—"

"Oh, yeah?" Dash countered, stepping closer and wearing a knowing grin. "Then why're you still carrying around the flyer?"

Jacquarious glanced off. "I—I mean..."

Dash chuckled, bending to retrieve and uncrumple the sheet, then pressing it flat against Jacquarious's chest. "Give it a chance, bro. We could really use a guy like you. And hey—" He grabbed a sharpie from his own backpack and scribbled ten digits across the top of the page. "Feel free to reach out, alright? I mean it. PreCal, basketball, anything."

Jacquarious winced, trying his best to smile.

"Whatever you decide, you're one of us now, man."