Chicken Tender Boy (Jem Finch x Cecil Jacobs)

Chicken Tender Boy (To Kill a Mockingbird)

By kelsie *me* and sophia ( @Fandoms_Ruin_Me ) 

((Jem Finch x Cecil Jacobs))

* * *  

 Jecil

By Kelsie & Sophia

I didn't expect to fall in love. I was twelve years old at the time, going on thirteen. My liking for the boy wasn't sudden, it grew, much like the flowers Maycomb was known for. I remember when life was simpler, and we were just schoolmates. But, like at every point in one's life, that all stops. My existence was immediately at it's climax as soon as he slammed my head into the dirt.

"You gonna cry, Jem Finch?!" He shrieked.

I was close to tears as he pounded his fist into the back of my skull, my cheek pressed against the dry, sandy dirt. Bruises littered my skin from yesterday, and fresh ones were now forming.

"You wish," I spat. Some droplets of blood scattered on the dust below me.

"You bet I do, Finch. You wanna know why?" I could feel his hot breath in my ear. I wanted to cringe into the dirt. But for some reason, there was a small feeling inside of me, one so small it could be dismissed as a simple spark of anger, when really, it went so much deeper. I didn't know what that feeling meant then. But now, I could label it before the snap of your fingers.

Lust.

Being just a kid, I had no idea how to react to this, so I did the only thing I knew how to do; throw punches and snap insults. I bent my neck towards the sound of his voice, so that my right ear was facing the sky. I attempted to speak, only resulting in a low grumble in the back of my throat. I simply turned my head back and nodded into the earth.

"Because chicken tenders are very cool," he gasped; he knew I swore I would never bring that up again. I struggled beneath him and managed to pull an arm free from his crushing weight. I pushed him off me, choking with dust and tearing up.

I fought the urge to jump at his chest, which was rather defined, might I add, for a mere twelve year old boy. I turned away, but not without a final look back at his chiseled jawline.

He only smirks before turning on his heel and strutting back towards his posse. I pushed my tousled, dirty hair off my face and picked myself off before falling back limply on the ground. His arrogant comportment irritated me, who does he think he is? With his stupid laugh and his crooked smile and his golden hair and freckled cheeks...

Wait, what am I saying? Nevermind, I need to get back to class before headmaster sets me in the corner again. Atticus would throw a fit if he found out that's where I've been spending my classroom time, on a stool with a dunce cap on. My peers flooded into the confined walls of the old room and spent their last moments before the lesson talking and laughing with one another over menial things. I, of course, still couldn't figure out why that boy was plaguing my thoughts so often. He was the school bully, after all, so what would a wimp like me have anything to do with him? I dismissed my ideas when headmaster rung the bell, signalling the start of another two hours of boredom.

_ _ _

It was later that night when I came to terms with what I was feeling. I had been sorting through my school papers on my bed to get ready for the next day. I fell back on my bed, exhausted from examining all the words that almost seemed to float off the page. Beyond tired, I let my eyelids droop and close, and soon I was in a deep slumber.

I was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking my body. They were gentle, but it still frightened me. I expected to see my little sister, Scout, to be the culprit, so I groaned and swatted away the antagonizer.

"Scout, leave me alone I'm trying to sleep," I said, crushing my face into the pillow and pulling the covers over my head. Again, I feel a gentle tap on the back of my neck through the starchy sheets, affirming the presence of the annoyance I call a sister bothering me.

"Go away, Scout!" I tossed in my bed once more.

"Scout? No, I don't think that's me."

I froze. Slowly, I pushed down the covers off of my face to assess the origin of the voice, which was definitely not my sister's. Alternatively, it was the mysterious boy I knew all too well. Freckles scattered his petite nose, and he spoke with a smooth, even voice- much dissimilar to the irate one I've grown so accustomed to residing in my sister's vocal chords.

"Cecil? Why are you in my bedroom?" I sat up.

"Don't ask stupid questions, sweetheart." He smirked and plopped himself down on the foot of my checkered bedsheet. He kicked his feet up and sat crisscrossed by my shins. He stared down at me, almost observing me, like he'd been planning something.

"Wha-" He jumped across the bed and landed very close to my face, and began to sing.

"I'm a little teapot," he slowly started the tune.

I sat up a bit straighter, concerned, yet slightly intrigued.

"Short and stout," he smirks.

"Cecil," I began again, inching backwards ever so slightly. A blush creeped up my neck.

"I told you not to ask questions." He sounded angry now, but his face was passive. I was confused. If Atticus knew he was in here, he would pitch a fit. At that moment in time, I couldn't muster an excuse for Cecil's arbitrary presence, nor his attitude. I wanted nothing more than to leap out of my bed and run down the hall, but my feet betrayed me.

My voice cracked as I whispered, "here is my handle," ever so hesitantly.

Cecil's vexed expression slowly converted into a small smile, and his eyes brightened, similar to a child's on the dawn of a Christmas day. I couldn't resist inching forward. After straightening his posture, he lowers his chin and bites his bottom lip, inviting me to continue the rhyme.

"But it's your turn," I dared to smirk, and thankfully, he didn't challenge me. In fact, he let out an incited titter, making my insides flutter.

"Alright, sweetie." He leans towards me, giving me the first opportunity to inspect his mesmerizing eyes.

"Here is my spout."

And with that I felt the presence of the sweetest lips grace mine. It was pure and innocent, but exciting. It was racing through a field with soft grass lacing through exposed toes, taking a bite out of a fresh, crimson apple in an abandoned garden. The echoing of laughter in a starlit forest in the dead of night. It was something so beautiful and new, and it felt like a dream.

I jolted awake, a rosy blush blooming across my cheeks and a sheen of moisture glazing my forehead. Was I dreaming of Cecil? I pressed my palm to my face, hoping I'd contracted a fever or sickness of some sort so I could blame the strange dream on that. Despite my reddening complexion, I was a perfectly normal temperature. Down to my last resort, I pinched myself as a final assurance that this was in fact real life, and I just dreamt of kissing my supposed worst enemy. My bedframe knocked against the wall after I layed back rather roughly. A deep sigh pushed through my lips, and I slammed my pillow into my head.

I had a crush on chicken tender boy.