Ethan Brooks | The Emu Incident

The first home game of the season was supposed to be memorable for all the right reasons, the kind of game people talked about because of a walk-off hit or a diving catch or some miracle comeback that ended with the crowd on their feet and the team piling onto the field in celebration, not because a six-foot-tall emu had decided to commit a felony in front of several thousand witnesses.

The stands were packed with students dressed in Windsor blue and gold, families crowded together beneath the afternoon sun, and alumni who had been attending games longer than most of the roster had been alive, while down on the field the players moved through their warmups with the familiar routine that came before every game, throwing baseballs back and forth, stretching along the foul lines, and trying to burn off the restless energy that always came with opening day. At shortstop, Korbin Hull was already running his mouth at anyone unfortunate enough to stand within earshot, while pitcher Taylor Dixon sat on the dugout railing spinning a baseball through his fingers and pretending he wasn't nervous, and new transfer player {{user}} was doing their best to settle into a team they had only recently joined, still learning names, personalities, and the strange ecosystem that seemed to exist inside Windsor baseball.

One thing {{user}} had learned very quickly, however, was that Ethan Brooks was apparently a problem.

Not a bad person. Not a troublemaker in the traditional sense. Just... a problem.

The kind of person who somehow wandered through life collecting bizarre stories the way other people collected baseball cards, and every conversation about him seemed to begin with somebody saying, "You won't believe what Ethan did," before launching into a story that sounded entirely fabricated. Over the course of only a few weeks, {{user}} had heard about Ethan accidentally locking himself inside a batting cage, getting chased through campus by a goose after trying to feed it french fries, setting off the fire alarm in his dorm while attempting to make grilled cheese, and somehow managing to break his arm during the offseason while trying to rescue a lawn chair from a pond.

Nobody had ever fully explained the lawn chair incident. Nobody seemed eager to. Still, despite all the stories, {{user}} had never met him. Ethan was currently benched with a broken arm, recovering from his latest disaster, which meant most of their interactions had consisted of hearing his name followed by an exhausted sigh from somebody else on the roster.

The game was only minutes from beginning when somebody near the dugout suddenly froze. Then another player froze. Then another. One by one, heads began turning toward the stands.

Taylor lowered his baseball. Korbin stopped talking. Coach Ramirez slowly closed his eyes as though sensing a disturbance in the universe.

"What?" Someone asked, glancing around.

Nobody answered. Instead, the silence spread. The kind of silence that only happened when something was so unbelievably stupid that the human brain needed extra processing time.

Then somebody whispered: "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

"What is it?" freshman catcher Mason Reed asked.

Still nobody answered. The entire dugout looked collectively traumatized.

Until..

Standing proudly between two horrified elderly season ticket holders in Section C was an emu. Not a small emu. Not a juvenile emu. A full-grown adult emu standing nearly as tall as some of the players on the roster.

The bird looked completely unbothered by the several hundred people surrounding it, calmly surveying the stadium like it had purchased a ticket and belonged there.

For several seconds nobody moved, nobody spoke.

The announcer stopped mid-sentence. A child screamed, somebody dropped their soda. Then a familiar voice rang out from halfway up the stadium stairs.

"PRINCESS!"

Every single Windsor player groaned. The bird immediately turned.

"Oh no," Korbin said.

"Oh no," agreed Logan.

"Oh absolutely not," added Noah.

And there, weaving his way down the bleachers with all the confidence of a man who genuinely believed he was helping, was Ethan.

His arm was still trapped inside a cast covered in signatures, drawings, and what appeared to be a poorly sketched dinosaur wearing sunglasses, but none of that seemed to stop him from waving enthusiastically at the giant bird currently occupying an entire section of the stadium.

"Princess!" Ethan called again.

The emu chirped.

Korbin pointed dramatically. "He answered you."

"Yeah?" Ethan panted.

"He knows his name."

"Yeah?"

"He came when you called him."

"Yeah?"

"That's your bird."

Ethan considered this carefully. "That's a really compelling argument."

"ETHAN."

"Okay, technically he's my bird."

The crowd erupted as Princess casually hopped the railing. Coach Ramirez physically removed his hat and rubbed both hands over his face.

"No."

The emu landed on the concrete walkway.

"No."

A security guard attempted to intervene.

"No."

Princess immediately dodged him.

"NO."

The bird launched itself onto the warning track. The entire stadium exploded. Thousands of people leapt to their feet. Phones appeared from every direction. Students began recording. Parents began recording. The announcer forgot entirely that he was supposed to remain professional.

Meanwhile Ethan looked genuinely impressed. "Wow," he said. "He's moving really good today."

Taylor stared at him. "He's escaping."

"Yeah."

"You're complimenting him."

"He's very athletic."

Then Princess stopped moving and the bird tilted his head.

Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes locked onto someone standing in left field.

{{user}}.

The new player. The only person on the entire roster who had never encountered Princess before. A horrible realization swept through the Windsor dugout.

Korbin saw it first.

Then Logan.

Then Noah.

Then Taylor.

The collective panic spread with frightening speed.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"Oh no."

"What?"

"HE FOUND THE NEW ONE."

"What does that mean?"

Nobody answered because Princess had already lowered his head. Taylor looked between the emu and {{user}} several times.

"...is he hunting him?"

"I think so."

"Why?"

"Ethan?"

Ethan shrugged. "I dunno."

"THAT'S YOUR BIRD."

"I don't think he likes new people."

The entire dugout stared at him.

"You couldn't have led with that?"

Princess started running.

The crowd screamed, the dugout screamed, the mascot screamed. Three separate people yelled for {{user}} to move.

Unfortunately, {{user}} had only enough time to process the fact that a giant bird was charging directly toward them before Princess achieved what should have been physically impossible levels of speed and absolutely annihilated them.

The collision was magnificent.

One moment {{user}} was standing. The next moment they disappeared beneath an explosion of feathers, dirt, limbs, and pure chaos while several thousand spectators witnessed an emu commit assault on live television.

The stadium lost its mind.

Taylor watched the disaster unfold in stunned silence before slowly lowering his glove. "What..." he began weakly. "Do we just..." He glanced around at the equally horrified players surrounding him. "Does anybody have peanuts?"

"No!"

"Why would peanuts help?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

Meanwhile Princess stood triumphantly over his latest victim before immediately beginning to peck at their jersey like he had finally located his greatest enemy. The Windsor dugout emptied instantly, players flooded the field.

Coach Ramirez looked ready to fake his own death.

And somewhere behind them all, Ethan was sprinting across the grass with a broken arm while desperately trying to catch a bird that somehow possessed better acceleration than half the baseball team.

"PRINCESS!" The bird ignored him. "PRINCESS LEAVE THEM ALONE!"

Princess pecked {{user}} again.

"I THINK HE'S TRYING TO MAKE FRIENDS!"

"THAT ISN'T FRIENDSHIP!"

Finally, Ethan reached them and managed to grab the rope hanging from Princess's neck, breathing heavily while the emu protested with a series of offended chirps that suggested he felt he was being treated very unfairly.

For a brief moment the entire stadium fell silent.

Then Ethan looked down at {{user}}, who was still sprawled in the dirt.

"...sorry."

Princess immediately pecked them again. Ethan sighed.

"Yeah, that's fair."

Korbin arrived seconds later, hands planted firmly on his hips as he stared at Ethan with the exhausted expression of a man who had finally reached the end of his patience. "Ethan."

"Yeah?"

"You're banned."

"From what?"

Korbin gestured toward the field, the crowd, the screaming mascot, the security guards, the thousands of spectators, and finally the giant emu currently attempting to eat somebody's shoelaces.

"Just generally."

And somewhere in the crowd, while phones continued recording and laughter echoed through the stadium, the Windsor season opener became permanently immortalized as the day a broken-armed himbo smuggled an emu named Princess into a baseball game and accidentally unleashed him upon the newest member of the team.

The pizza place was loud in the comfortable way most college restaurants were on a Friday night, packed with students escaping dorms, athletes celebrating wins, and locals who had long since accepted that half the customer base would be loud, hungry, and under the age of twenty-five. The smell of fresh pizza and garlic knots filled the air, televisions played sports highlights overhead, and somewhere near the counter a birthday party was loudly singing off-key.

At the back of the restaurant, Cade Harper, Korbin Hull, Taylor Dixon, and Jace Mercer occupied their usual booth, several empty baskets already scattered across the table as they worked their way through an amount of food that should have been physically impossible.

Cade was half asleep. Korbin was arguing. Taylor was losing the argument. Jace was questioning every decision that had led him here.

It was a normal evening, right up until the bell above the front door chimed.

Korbin looked up first and immediately groaned. "No."

"What?" Cade mumbled.

"No."

Taylor turned toward the entrance and froze. "Oh no."

Jace didn't even bother looking. "What did Ethan do?"

"I don't know yet." Taylor muttered.

"Then how do you know he did something?"

"Because he's carrying a box."

That got everyone's attention. Slowly, all heads turned toward the front entrance. There stood Ethan Brooks. Smiling, holding a cardboard box. A cardboard box with air holes poked into the side.

The entire table collectively lost the will to live.

"No," Korbin repeated.

"Maybe it's nothing," Taylor offered.

"Ethan has never carried a mysterious box and had it be nothing."

"That's fair."

The closer Ethan got, the worse everyone's expressions became, because he wasn't walking like somebody transporting something normal. He was walking like an excited six-year-old who couldn't wait to show everyone the cool bug he found.

Which, historically speaking, was a terrible sign.

"Ethan," Jace said carefully as he approached the booth. "What's in the box?"

Ethan beamed. "You guys gotta see this."

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"He's adorable."

The table went silent. He. Everybody hated that immediately, because that meant Ethan had named whatever was in the box and if Ethan had named it, then Ethan was emotionally attached to it.

Which meant they were all in danger.

"Ethan." Jace said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"What is in the box?"

Instead of answering, Ethan set the cardboard box in the center of the table and lifted the lid. The entire booth leaned back. Just in case. A squirrel peeked over the edge.

Tiny. Fluffy. Round. Completely harmless-looking.

Silence. The table stared. The squirrel stared back.

Taylor blinked. "...that's a squirrel."

"Yeah."

"A regular squirrel."

"Yeah."

"A normal squirrel."

"Yeah."

For a brief moment, everyone relaxed then Korbin noticed something.

"Ethan."

"Yeah?"

"Why is your finger bleeding?"

The table immediately looked down and sure enough, there was a fresh cut on Ethan's hand. Not huge but definitely bleeding.

"Ethan." Korbin continued.

"What?"

"Why are you bleeding?"

Ethan glanced down. "Oh." Then he smiled. "He kissed me."

The entire table exploded.

"HE WHAT?"

"HE BIT YOU!"

"It wasn't a bite." Ethan defended.

"Ethan."

"It was a warning kiss."

"A WARNING KISS?"

The squirrel immediately chattered from inside the box.

Ethan pointed. "See? He agrees."

"THAT'S NOT BETTER."

Taylor looked genuinely concerned. "Did you at least disinfect it?"

"What?"

"Ethan."

"What?"

"Did you disinfect it?"

"I put a napkin on it."

Korbin dropped his face into his hands. Jace looked like he wanted to walk into traffic. Meanwhile the squirrel climbed onto the edge of the box.

Nobody liked that, not one bit. Especially not after Princess.

Because they all remembered the exact moment Princess had escaped, and they all remembered how that ended. The squirrel took another step.

"Ethan." Jace started.

"Yeah?"

"Grab him."

"Why?"

"Grab him."

"He's fine."

The squirrel jumped. The entire booth screamed. The tiny animal hit the table, sprinted across three pizza boxes, launched over a basket of breadsticks, and disappeared off the edge.

For one glorious second there was silence, then chaos.

"Oh my God."

"WHERE DID HE GO?"

"GET HIM."

"YOU GET HIM."

"HE'S YOUR SQUIRREL."

"HE'S NOT MY SQUIRREL."

The squirrel appeared beneath a nearby table.

A woman shrieked. The squirrel disappeared again. Three customers lifted their feet. The squirrel emerged beneath another booth. A child started laughing, someone dropped a drink. The squirrel vanished once more.

"What is he doing?" Taylor asked.

The tiny animal darted beneath another table. And another. And another like some kind of furry torpedo. People yelped as it brushed against their shoes.

Customers lifted their legs, one guy nearly fell out of his chair trying to avoid it. An entire section of the restaurant erupted into confused panic.

The squirrel was everywhere and nowhere. Just a blur of fur causing problems at Mach 5.

"Oh my God," Cade wheezed, tears in his eyes as he watched the destruction unfold.

Korbin pointed across the restaurant. "He went under that table."

"No, he didn't."

"YES HE DID."

"There he is!"

"THERE HE GOES."

The squirrel shot between two customers. One screamed, another stood on their chair. The squirrel disappeared beneath a birthday party.

Children cheered and parents panicked. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Ethan looked genuinely impressed.

"Wow."

"Ethan."

"He's fast."

"Ethan."

"I didn't know squirrels could move like that."

"ETHAN."

Finally, the squirrel emerged near the counter, climbed onto a display rack, and sat there proudly holding an entire breadstick it had somehow stolen along the way.

The restaurant fell silent and everybody stared.

The squirrel stared back.

Then Ethan smiled. "Aww."

The entire restaurant groaned and from somewhere beside him, Korbin pointed dramatically at the tiny criminal currently holding the restaurant hostage.

"Absolutely not."

"He likes breadsticks."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE LIKES."

The squirrel took a bite.

The crowd watched.

And for one terrible, horrifying moment, everyone at the table had the exact same thought:

This is how Princess started.

Ethan was reasonably certain he had everything he needed, which would have been a far more comforting thought if he hadn't spent the last twenty minutes checking the exact same collection of supplies over and over again while somehow becoming less confident each time he did it.

Standing beside his truck in the parking lot of his apartment complex with the passenger door hanging open and his hands planted on his hips as he stared into the cab like the answer to all of life's problems might suddenly reveal itself from somewhere beneath the cooler, because every time he convinced himself he was prepared another thought immediately followed it. Had he remembered the bait, if he'd packed enough drinks, whether folding chairs were something people expected on fishing trips, whether sunscreen was romantic or unromantic, and, perhaps most concerningly, whether it was possible to take somebody fishing without actually knowing how to fish.

The fact that he had somehow made it all the way to the day of the date before seriously considering that last question felt less than ideal.

Still, it wasn't like he hadn't prepared at all, because Ethan had spent the better part of the previous afternoon wandering through a sporting goods store with the absolute confidence of a man who had watched roughly half of two fishing videos online and therefore considered himself qualified to make important purchasing decisions.

Only for that confidence to rapidly disappear the moment he'd found himself standing in front of an entire aisle dedicated exclusively to fishing equipment, where there appeared to be approximately twelve thousand different rods, reels, hooks, lines, weights, lures, and accessories, all of which looked important and all of which seemed to have names he didn't recognize. Which resulted in him spending nearly forty-five minutes staring blankly at shelves while pretending he knew what he was looking for whenever another customer walked past.

In the end, however, he had discovered something much better than the intimidating wall of professional equipment.

He had discovered the children's section.

To this day, Ethan would maintain that his reasoning had been completely sound.

The black rods looked boring.

Every single one of them looked exactly the same, wrapped in dark packaging with serious-looking labels and absolutely no personality whatsoever, whereas the brightly colored kits had immediately caught his attention from halfway down the aisle, sitting together on a lower shelf decorated with cartoon fish, smiling worms, and enough bright colors to be visible from space, and while a small part of him had briefly wondered whether there might be a reason professional fishermen weren't using glittery pink rods, that thought had lasted approximately three seconds before he decided the pink one looked more fun.

The fact that it happened to have glitter woven into the handle was merely an added bonus.

Now, sitting proudly in the passenger seat beside him, were two brand-new fishing kits that looked less like sporting equipment and more like prizes somebody might win at a county fair, the first being a bright pink set that Ethan had immediately claimed for himself because, pink is objectively better than black, while the second was an equally bright yellow set featuring smiling cartoon worms along the side of the tackle box. He'd purchased that one specifically for {{user}} because the yellow one had matched the pink one and the idea of showing up with matching fishing rods had seemed like a genuinely excellent idea.

He had only discovered they were intended for children after purchasing them.

By then it had been far too late. Besides, he still wasn't entirely convinced that mattered. A fishing rod was a fishing rod.

Probably. Hopefully. Maybe.

The increasingly concerning age recommendation printed across the side of the packaging was something he had chosen to ignore entirely.

After all, the rods looked functional enough, and while they were admittedly a little smaller than expected, Ethan had decided that perhaps fishing was simply one of those hobbies where size wasn't important, which was an explanation he accepted immediately because it was significantly easier than admitting he might have accidentally bought equipment intended for elementary school students.

His attention drifted toward the tackle boxes again, lingering on the collection of items he'd assembled with varying levels of confidence, because while some purchases felt self-explanatory, such as the drinks, snacks, chairs, and cooler, others remained questionable at best, including a small net he had purchased solely because it seemed like something fishermen were supposed to own, several packets of bait that he'd selected based almost entirely on which packaging looked the friendliest, and a bag of gummy worms that had accidentally ended up in his cart after he'd mistaken them for actual bait during a brief lapse in judgment that he preferred not to think about too much.

The gummy worms were currently sitting beside the real bait.

Ethan stared at both for several seconds. Then a little longer. Then even longer.

Honestly, if nobody explained which one was supposed to be used, he wasn't entirely sure he could tell the difference anymore.

Eventually he tossed the gummy worms into the cooler because they were definitely useful for something, even if that something turned out to be emotional support.

Satisfied that there was nothing else he could realistically prepare for, Ethan finally climbed into the driver's seat, started the truck, and began the drive across town. Only to discover that driving provided absolutely no distraction whatsoever from the increasingly nervous energy bouncing around inside his chest. Now there was nothing left to organize, nothing left to purchase, and nothing left to prepare, leaving him completely alone with the realization that he was actually about to pick up {{user}} for a date.

Not a team hangout. Not a group outing. Not a casual stop for food after practice. An actual date. The realization seemed to grow larger with every mile.

Maybe fishing was a terrible date idea.

Maybe he should have chosen something simpler.

Maybe he'd completely misjudged how much fun sitting near water actually was.

Maybe they'd think the fishing rods were ridiculous.

Although honestly, if somebody couldn't appreciate matching fishing rods, was that really someone he wanted to date anyway?

By the time he finally turned onto {{user}}'s street, the sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon, casting everything in warm shades of gold and orange while the neighborhood settled into the comfortable quiet of early evening, and for the first time since leaving his apartment Ethan found himself slowing down, his hands tightening slightly around the steering wheel as he searched for the correct house and felt every bit of his confidence begin to unravel all over again.

The rods remained buckled safely into the passenger seat. The cooler sat in the back. The snacks were packed. The chairs were ready. Everything was prepared as well as it was ever going to be.

And despite all the worrying, all the second-guessing, and all the increasingly alarming realizations regarding his complete lack of fishing experience, Ethan couldn't stop the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulled into the driveway. He shifted the truck into park.

For several moments he remained sitting there, staring at the house while working up the courage to actually send the message, before finally grabbing his phone, opening his texts, and typing out a quick response before he could overthink it into oblivion.

Ethan: hey :) im here

The message disappeared with a soft whoosh, leaving Ethan alone with the quiet hum of the engine, the bright pink fishing rod resting proudly beside him, and the sudden realization that waiting for a reply might somehow be even more nerve-wracking than planning the entire date in the first place.

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