The Boy Who Wore Boat Shoes

09⎜The Starbucks

09⎜The Starbucks

           “Thanks,” I said, accepting my bag of food as the brown-haired-brown-eyed-completely-average-in-every-way girl behind the counter handed it to me, our fingers just barely brushing. She shot me a shaky smile, her cheeks displaying a blush as she nodded. Not really knowing how to respond to the silent acknowledgement, and because I was fairly positive that our transaction had ended, I walked away from the counter after that, going over to an empty table meant for two, and then sat down.

           I dropped my backpack to the floor below my feet and then began to extract my just-purchased-for lunch from the brown bag with a Starbucks logo on the center of it. Since I had an hour between my next two classes and it had stopped raining days ago, I decided to explore the campus a bit. My exploration had been cut short when my stomach started to grumble, so I assumed that that meant it was time to eat something. I had consumed a granola bar for breakfast, but that had obviously not been enough. Thus, I ended up in a Starbucks on the Stanford campus.

           After opening up the paper container and withdrawing my plain bagel with absolutely nothing on it, for I wasn’t one to overly-adorn—even when it came to food, I bit into it, instantly knowing that the circle with a hole in the center wouldn’t be enough to fill my void of hunger. I would end up having to go buy something else to eat, eventually. The bagel was good. It wasn’t noteworthy in a way, shape, or basic form, but it wasn’t bad; it was just a regular old bagel.

           “Yo! Wilson!” someone called as I took another bite into my lunch (well, first part of it). I glanced up, a familiarly friendly face heading my way. Due to not being in the same grade, our paths didn’t really cross much during the school week, though for some reason I had made an unintentional habit out of spending my weekends with the Pennsylvania native who happened to like lacrosse.

           “Hey, Scott,” I greeted back with a single nod of my head.

           “So, bro, how’s it going?” he asked, sliding into the seat opposite mine.

           “Good, and you?” I returned politely, putting my bagel down, as to not appear rude.

           “Oh, I’m fine. I love college—minus the classes,” he said with a laugh, placing his own Starbucks bag on the table and removing a sandwich of some kind. He took a large bite out of the most-likely-meat-filled snack, looking at me expectantly to say something.

           “Well, considering that classes are basically the entire reason that you’re here, I’d say that they’re pretty important,” I assessed with a shrug.

           “I never said that they weren’t important—just that I didn’t love ‘em,” Scott said with a shake of his head. “What about you? Do you love classes?”

           I thought about the question for a moment, though it probably required an immediate response. It wasn’t a hard thing to answer, though, in a way, it was. The work side of things wasn’t ideal, though what sprouted from the assignments and late nights of studying was what I came to do: learn. Since the start of classes, I had definitely learned quite a bit, and despised the endless workload, as well. It went both ways, though I knew to which one I happened to be inclined. I liked learning, and I liked classes.

           “Yeah,” I finally replied after about two seconds, though the time felt as though it had been suspended and drawn-out longer than the ultimate outcome, “I do.”

           “I figured, dude,” he smiled. “You’re kinda like Superman, ya know that?”

           “Me? Superman?” I reiterated in disbelief, not even fathoming that he was making such a comparison.