The more you agree with someone, the more intelligent they’ll think you are. Of course, you can’t be BLATANT about it. You can’t half-heartily brown nose a person, oh no no no. To gain someone’s favor, you have to put all of your passion into agreeing with him or her, doing your very best to validiate their every word. Emily found the best way to get people to like her was to ask questions she knew the answer to. But it couldn’t just be ANY question. The question had to fulfill two categories. The first category was that it had to be abstract. Queries should never be a question of objective fact such as “What time is it?” or “On what date did Columbus discover America?”
No, asking such questions would just expose Emily as an inane idiot. The questions Emily asked were more ingenious, perhaps even slightly devious. They should have been by all rights treated as inane as asking the time was, but the queries offered something too irresistible for most people to pass up: the opportunity to brag. You see, the best questions to ask are not “What” questions, but “Why” questions. “What” a person, animal or thing did is easy enough for most people to answer quickly and precisely, as what an elephant did would not change too much from person to person.
Everyone knows what a deceased and depressed actor did, as soon as someone reports the sight of his swaying body there is little to question in regards to how he or she ascended to Valhalla. But “why”, well, the “why” is what fills up ten pages in the morning paper. Speculation, arguments, theses, antitheses, stuff of that nature is what people live for. So while Emily would NEVER dream of asking the time, would never even think of asking what Columbus did to get to the America, and would not consider inquiring the exact translation of a particular Spanish word, she WOULD ask her history professor Columbus’s motives for sailing the ocean blue, and she would, with an earnest look in her grass green eyes, ponder what sort of construct time was exactly.
Nine times out of ten, these questions would lead the person to whom they were directed to go off on a long speech about Columbus’s complex backstory, about different philosophies on the meaning of time, and about the fascinating roots of Spanish language. Through this method of asking questions that really meant nothing at all, Emily managed to participate in class without really saying anything, much less learning anything. But her lack of knowledge was not noticed by most people. No, most people would smile a wide smile when they saw Emily, and say to their friends and colleagues what a smart young girl Emily was.
Most of them, be they teachers, students, or janitors, had no idea that Emily has in fact said nothing, that all she did was give them a venue in which they could express their life-view to a captive audience. Emily didn’t feel guilty in the slightest for doing this. After all, if people wanted to talk, what was so bad about giving them an opportunity to? It’s not like she was harming anyone by asking questions she really didn’t need to know. And if it prevented her grades from plummeting, well, so be it. Humans tend to be social creatures, and symbiotic relations are nothing new with that considered.
So, when Emily headed up to the second floor of Porter and knocked on the door of a Lucas Hoffman, a painter with a moderate amount of skill, she knew exactly what question to ask.
“Hey Lucas, why do you paint?”
Lucas was tall, tan, and had jet black hair, which he combed forward to the point where his left eye was almost consistently covered by his bangs. He was attractive, if one was predisposed to finding androgynous men attractive. His attire was nothing spectacular or flamboyant, he usually wore a warm colored t-shirt and a pair of white shorts, with gray flip flops to seal the deal. As for his artistic ability, Emily’s sculpting blew his pitiful attempts out of the water by a long shot. But his paintings, well, they were something else entirely. Lucas’s paintings were an orgy of clashing colours and distorted figures.
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The figures in his paintings tended to be grotesque shrunken reflections of reality. Due to the extreme thinness that permeated nearly all of his paintings, Lucas took to calling himself “Botero’s anorexic cousin.” Of course, Emily didn’t particularly care for creepy looking figures, unless they were made out of clay and through the exclusive care of her own two hands. No, she actually just wanted to exploi-, er, that is to say, utilize Lucas’s more base talent. In essence, what Emily aimed to do was not very different from asking a Professor with a PHD in Linear Algebra to do some basic addition. Dani wanted a poster for the track meet, and Emily would provide the Methodist Marathoners with a good one, her own substandard painting ability be damned. Ah, but her goals and motivations, at this moment they were of little consequence to Lucas.
“Why do I paint, you ask?” said Lucas, as he blinked his eyes and looked down at Emily. “Why does the sun rise? Why does the cock crow?” and here Lucas started making sweeping gestures with his arms. “I paint because it is in my nature to. Much like…” and then Lucas smiled a devious smile “you ask sweepingly vague questions because it’s in your nature to.”
Emily’s cheeks turned red.
“No need to be so…” Lucas raised his voice, perhaps twelve octaves louder than he should have. “SUBTLE!” Emily let out a small cough. “Oh, DO TELL ME what it IS that you REALLY…” Lucas was swaggering back and forth now, gesturing wildly with his arms on every word he spoke. And then, in a soft voice, Lucas whispered: “desire.”
Emily giggled despite herself. “Shoot, you got me. Fine, fine. Would you mind doing me a favor?”
Lucas put on a faux-cautious air. “That depends, oh foul witch. But what favor would you ask of me?”
The sculptor sighed, once Lucas went on a tangent it was nearly impossible for him to stop.
“Um, could you, uh, paint something for me?”
Lucas chuckled. “I reckon I could, but it depends. What do you need me to paint, and for what reason?”
“Oh, just a little poster for the track team. Dani asked me to make something for the upcoming meet, but I kinda suck at painting.” At the mention of the D-word, Lucas’s brown eyes started to sparkle.
“Of course I’d be c-c-chill with painting something for Dani, you should have just said that from the get go. But… can I ask you a favor in return?”
Emily crossed her arms. “Depends on the favor.”
Lucas bowed and grinned nervously.
“Oh, just tell Danielle that I’m going to a L-Lambda Kai party tonight and that I’d be really happy if she showed up.”
“No problem Luke, I’ll tell her.” Emily found Luke’s crush on her athletic roommate cute, if at times a bit obsessive. Deep down though, Emily knew that Luke’s efforts would be a fruitless one. She’d never see Dani express much of a romantic interest in anyone, much less a effeminate goofball like Luke.
“Just wondering Luke, why do you go to so many Dekes parties? Planning on pledging?”
“Nah, that ain’t for me." Lucas answered. "I like Dekes cause the guys there are chill, a bit less intense then most of the other frats, y’dig homeslice?” Emily brushed some dust off of her shoulders.
“Oh, that makes sense, I guess.” Emily didn’t think it made much sense at all, actually. If you’re going to binge drink, you might as well binge drink at a place that is energetic. The gentlemen of Delta Kappa Epsilon might as well have worn boyscout uniforms, because they had a reputation for being polite to a fault. In fact, the Bensen chapter only started serving alcohol at their campus longue and off campus house ten years ago(at least that was what Emily had been told by her friend Sharon, and Sharon was very wise in these things). Before then, most people would have trouble separating them from Christian Students United.
When Emily went out, on the rare occasions that she felt like doing so, she’d go to Pi Kappa Phi. Pi Kappa Phi had a reputation for being the “Animal House” of Bensen, with all the substance abuse, sordid sexual acts, and structural damage that dubious title implied. She knew nearly everything about the infamous greek society, from the year it was founded(1889) to the ingredients in their “secret” punch(mostly sugar, food dye, artificial cherry flavor and a varying but liberal amount of vodka.)
“Well anyways Luke, thanks a bunch. I’ll be back later to pick up the poster.”
Lucas bowed. “No trouble. If I’m not in my dorm just ask my RA to open it, he’s super-chill.”
Emily smiled, and for the first time in the conversation her grin wasn’t forced or rigid in the slightest.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”