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Blueberry Scone

by Adam Toth and Wilfred Padua

October 2010

Running to class can be so awkward. Especially when carrying a messenger bag.

My bag thumps against my back and flops around my body. I'm not exactly aerodynamic at this moment.

There're also all the people watching me. Most "runners" don't wear a polo and khakis, and it doesn't help that today my hair is long enough that when I run, it stands up like a mad scientist. Out of all the students on the upper mall, I definitely stand out. I pass by a tour group on one side and a guy and a girl making out on the other. They all look at me. Even the couple.

But today, this is all okay. I can take the mockery of being the one kid on the whole campus running to class. It's a necessity that my commute gets cut in half.

I need an extension. Big time.

This paper's been killing me for the past few weeks, and thanks to my boss who seems to think that I also telecommute, every time I start writing my essay -- even at odd hours of the morning -- he manages to call me with questions about emails, distracting me before I can ever get going. I'm the type of guy who needs to get in a flow when writing a paper, but this time there's been nothing but a weak stream.

Again: I need an extension.

I'm hoping to ask Prof. Murphy for a few extra days. I'm sure it will be fine, especially if I'm diligent enough to show up early.

----------

I make it to class six minutes before we're supposed to be there. Hardly anyone is around -- perfect. One of the few students already seated is that kid Brian with the teenage mustache. He always tries to talk to me about girls in the class, which is unfortunate because he talks so loud. I know they hear every word.

Meanwhile, my friend Will is speaking with our professor. He's probably sucking up again. Will never reads anything, so he asks the professor random questions to make it look like he actually did something the night before. It's brilliant, actually. I don’t know how he pulls it off. While the rest of us scramble to remember what our homework was, he sits back and gets credit for doing absolutely nothing the night before.

I step towards them and awkwardly stand behind Will. I don’t want to stand too close because I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m eavesdropping. I am, though.

“So you really don’t mind, Dr. Murphy?”

As Will says that, the door opens again, and I turn around to see that really tiny girl who sits in front of me. She always reminds me of a Smurf. She isn't blue, but she is small and cuddly. I turn back around to hear Dr. Murphy's response.

"Not at all, William. I'd rather extend your deadline and make sure you have a strong essay than make you hurry and not see what you're capable of."

Oh, fuck me. He did not just do that. Extension requests are acts that can't be followed. Murphy knows that we’re friends, and he’ll think there’s something fishy going on if I bust out with the same question. That’ll blow the participation grade that I’ve built up through making smart observations during dull conversations.

Before Dr. Murphy notices, I inconspicuously make my way to my seat. That mustache kid plops down right next to me as I get my books out.

“I saw Erin outside talking on the phone. She sounded upset, and it sounded like she was talking to a boyfriend. You don’t think . . .”

I ignore him. It's okay. He needs to be ignored sometimes. Instead, I watch Will finish his conversation with Prof. Murphy.

“Because if she is, dude . . ."

“Go for it, Brian." I pretend to care. I figure that "go for it" is generic enough that he'd either be satisfied or finally catch the lacking enthusiasm in my tone.

But my interjection doesn't stop Brian. “I dunno if she gets guys like me, though. I mean, I'm all tall, and I think I'm funny, but not everyone agrees. Y'know?"

Will comes over, and his timing couldn't have been better. He interrupts our "conversation."

“Hey Rick, what’s up?” Will says this as he sits on my other side. Oh, and I'm Rick. Sorry I didn't say so beforehand.

"Not much." I don’t want to reveal how pissed off I am at him for stealing my extension. I’m not one to whine about a bad lot; I prefer the more passive approach. In the other ear, Mr. Brian-the-mustache keeps talking “I just don’t want to date a girl who smokes her life away . . .” Fortunately, class starts and forces him to stop.

Will, though, never understands the "being quiet during class" etiquette. He constantly whispers one-liners in my direction or tries to spark up a conversation.

“I’m getting that being-Asian scholarship,” he whispers not-so-indiscreetly. Everyone pretends they didn’t catch that, including Dr. Murphy and me. In my head, though, I know Will was lucky. Don't get me wrong -- Will is very involved with our campus and has pretty solid grades. No, he's not lucky because he got the scholarship. He sort of worked hard to get it. Will is lucky to be Asian or any minority for that matter.

Since scholarships aren’t as readily available to the white male demographic, I’m not given the same opportunities. If I was of any Asian descent, there’s no doubt that I would have gotten that scholarship instead. I am so much more involved on campus, and my grades are better. He's a model student, but I'm a working prototype.

“They emailed me today. It’s for $15,000, but I have to do a six-week long internship in Baltimore.” I don’t look at Will while he speaks – I never did during class. This is a tactic to wash my hands of any classroom disturbances that he causes. Keeping my eyes focused on Dr. Murphy absolves me from the one-sided conversations that happen between Will and me.

Will catches onto my unease and stops speaking. I feel bad for ignoring him. I also feel bad because he catches a glare from Murphy, which makes Will sink into his seat. I write in my notebook “We’ll talk during the break” and slide it his way.

-----------

The break finally arrives, so Will and I make our way downstairs to a coffee stand.

We walk at a pretty fast pace. The break is seven minutes -- according to Dr. Murphy, the perfect amount of time to smoke a cigarette. When we get out of the room, Will begins running his mouth again.

"This scholarship is going to be so awesome," he says. I hate when he does this. He tries to subtly rub something in by finding excuses to bring it up. He knows I heard him during class, but he's going to act like he doesn't until I tell him.

"I'm sure it will be," I said.

"You don't seem excited. What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing, I'm just a little overwhelmed with work and whatnot." Vague responses are my specialty.

"That reminds me. Murphy gave me an extension on the final paper."

"Really?" Like I didn't know.

"Y'know, you should talk to him. He's a cool guy."

"Yeah, sure." I turn away and see our friend Scott heading over.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey, Scott," we said in a strange sort of unexpected unison.

"Coming to improv tonight?" he asks

"No," comes Will taking charge and shit, "I've got to go see a Decemberists concert." Lucky bastard.

"Really?" Scott and I are now the ones with that weird unison.

"How did you get the tickets?" I asked. "They've been sold out since they went on sale." I'm a huge Decemberists fan. I would eat a banana for the chance to attend one of their shows, and I hate bananas.

"That's the funny part. I don't even like The Decemberists. I just got these tickets for free."

I think I'm going to hurl.

Scott, remaining level-headed, turns to me and asks, "Well, Rick, can you be there?"

"Improv? Yeah, I'll be there." At least I could show up Will by actually going to practice.

Scott gives us a quick wave and heads off into the other direction. We walk over and join the line for coffee.

"So what were we saying?"

"I don't know." I don't want to give him an excuse to talk about his scholarship, so I try to think of something fast. I point at Will's chest. "Where'd you get that shirt?"

Will looks down at his t-shirt -- a sort of sarcastic graphic tee with a whole bunch of random artwork. It has a Japanese style that I love. I passed up buying it the other day.

"Thrift store. It was only $5. Who in their right mind wouldn't buy it?" I didn't. But it was because I only had $4 on me, and for some reason, the thrift store doesn't accept debit purchases unless it's over $5. It was an ugly middle ground, and I had to walk home empty-handed.

"Yeah, I, um, I saw it there the other day, but they hadn't put it out for sale yet. I was planning on going back. I really wanted it."

"Sorry, man."

"Why is it that you always get what I want?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The shirt, the scholarship, the extension --" He cuts me off.

"The extension?"

"Yeah, on our papers. The one you got today. I needed that extension. I do all the work. I'm always ready for class. And the one time I can't be a perfect student, you butt in and ruin my day."

"Who said you couldn't get an extension?"

Was this kid clueless?

"It's basic principle. It's like ordering dinner after another person. You're not going to tell the waiter the same exact thing. That's ludicrous!"

Coincidentally, right as I mention food, it is our time to order.

Some people get nervous when having to choose something off of a menu, but I always have a game plan. There's this really cute barista that works at this place, and she's been taking my order three times a week for about a month. My plan is to order the same thing every day -- that way, when the time comes, she'll be able to say "Blueberry scone and green tea?" when I show up. She'll know who I am, and then I can make casual conversation. I have a girlfriend, but I still enjoy having reasons to flirt now and then.

Will goes first, and I'm left on deck waiting for her to give me that next-person-come-on-over look. Will stammers, looking like an idiot: "Uhhhhh, um, uh, a blueberry scone and green tea, please."

What's going on!? Does someone have a voodoo doll of me? I can't order the same thing that he ordered. It would totally negate my argument. But if I divert from my usual, that'll just dump three weeks of scones in the garbage. I order an apple fritter.

Once we pay and are done, we walk away. I'm not done.

"So, yes, that's why I can't get an extension. You stole it right from under my nose. What's next? Let's see, what do I want to do next? I'd really like to fuck my girlfriend. Are you going to fuck my girlfriend?" I may have just crossed the line.

"Dude, just calm down."

"Why should I? Give me a reason to be calm."

"You're getting upset at a bunch of coincidences."

"How do I know that? How do I know you're not out to get me?"

"Listen. Don't worry so much. I'm sorry that I nabbed the extension. I'm sure you can email him later if you really want it."

"Yeah, I guess." I sigh, more tired than actually feeling that Will is making a good point. We make our way up the stairs in an awkward quiet state and approach the door.

"By the way, Will, did you say you have an extra Decemberist ticket?"

"Yeah, my friend has one more."

"Can I have it?"

"No." He doesn't even try to sweeten the deal. He walks in the door, and I follow him in.

Murphy's already started his lecture.

Adam and Wilfred met as members of the English / Creative Writing program at Seattle University. Since graduating, they have traveled their separate ways but continue to work together. This is their first collaborative writing piece, and it certainly was a fun experiment.