Drawn Together

by Juliana Smith

He stole my muffin, and I can’t not say something, right? There are a handful of things I could offer in this scenario. But the two words that fly out of my, mind you, very extensive vocabulary, are “Muffin Man?” said with the utmost fury. “Excuse me?” “Muffin man.” “Muffin man?” Stephan asks. “Who lives on Drury Lane?” Margot smiles. “Can you…be more specific?” “You,” I point, “stole my muffin this morning." “That was you?” “How often are you stealing someone's breakfast that you don’t recognize me?” He shrugs, which says more than I think most words would. “You stole her muffin?” Noah, my knight in navy armor, asks. “I paid for it.” “Then stole it, only ate half, and threw the rest away.” “I was full.” All chins at the table are bouncing back and forth between us, like they’re witnessing a tennis match and have to keep their eyes on the ball. “Fletcher,” Stephan sighs. “I really don’t think that’s the best approach to—” “Why?” my roommate asks, finally adding something to this. “Why, what?” “Why did you eat only half of the muffin?” Fletcher—I note his name this time—lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “I felt like it.” And that was that. I was right earlier that first impressions are important, because mine of Fletcher is that he is a narcissist who has no ability to think of anyone but himself.