DISCLAIMER: All a figment of my imagination.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to my beta Erica!

By MBInc


'Chicken,' echoes through my room.

Here I am, sitting on my brown worn-down though still comfortable couch in my dorm room.


I'm the only person in the room, but still I hear it loud and clear. Whispered, but clear.

Suddenly my eyes focus on my hands. One is holding my new cell phone –finally one you can slide open… You can take pictures with it, short vids, send text messages. Oh, right, you can also use it to actually call someone.

Ok, I'm going off track here.

Then I look at my other hand.

In it is a folded piece of paper. A pretty, yellow post-it. I can feel it stick to my sweaty hand.

Sweaty hand? I question myself.

'Chicken.' I heard it again.

I opened the yellow paper and immediately remember why my hands are sweating like a pig…And why this annoying voice keeps bothering me.

'Chicken.' –See, there it is again.

A nervous smile finds its way onto my face.

My first number.

I keep on staring at the crumpled paper with phone number written on it.

I should frame it. Frantically my clammy fingers try to smooth the small piece of paper.

I'm still amazed about the fact that someone would give me their phone number.

Yesterday it all had happened.

I was sitting on the couch in the park, enjoying the sun while I did my best to –for the umpteenth time- read this book for my lit class.

After spending forty-five minutes on reading merely ten pages, my concentration was shifted from the book to the brunette who sat down next to me, catching her breath.

"It's way too hot to exercise like that," I said to this –at that point still completely unfamiliar- beauty.

"What about you?" she puffed, pointing to the book in my hands. "I see you haven't made much progress in the last half hour," she added grinningly.

How does she know? Shoots through my mind. Do I know her? Is she following me? A Stalker?

Then she reaches out her hand. "I'm Amy."

The accompanying smile made all the thoughts of potentially evil intentions of this brunette vanish completely.

"Nice to meet you, Amy," I said as I shook her hand –wow, how soft! "I'm Jane." (Guess who's my mom's favorite author…Right.)

That was the start of a very pleasant conversation, and in a short period of time we came to know a lot about one another.

She's 23 –I'm 21. She's in med school (Wow, beauty and brains, I thought while I flashed her a smile) –I'm majoring in English. And we found out we live only a few blocks away from each other.

"Sorry," she said after about an hour. "I have to go. I'm meeting a friend."

Where is this bitter taste coming from? Why is my stomach acting so weird? Is this…Jealousy? Now already? Hmm, that's new to me.

But as she magically takes a post-it block out of her sweat pants the green-eyed monster is long gone.

Only for a minute I think about the fact that Amy takes a post-it block along on her jogging trips. Just a minute. Not a second longer.

Because then her soft hand places the paper in mine.

"I'd love to get together some time," she said as she stood to leave.

After she has taken a few steps she turned around once more. "Call, huh?" she said, throwing me a beautiful smile –I could only nod.

And that's how I, for the very first time, got a girl's phone number.

So here I am. Still sweaty paws and…


…Still that annoying little voice.


"Enough!" I yell to an empty room.

With trembling hands and fingers I dial the number. Breath hitches in my throat as I hear her voice, but…

Shit. Answering machine

I quickly end the call without leaving a message.

'Chicken,' I hear again.

"What? I called, didn't I?" I say out loud.


"I'll try again later," I answer frustrated.

I wait…

It stays quiet. "Maybe," I quickly add.


The End

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