Tayana Osuna, Arts and Culture editor

Stanley and Oakley stand side by side in the pretentious colored pencil aisle of Micheals. Stanley is frozen as if weights are keeping him in place. Oakley, however, scans over the art supplies with crusty orange fingers, no doubt a product of the cheeto bag sticking out of their backpack. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,” Stanley stuttered. 

“Sorry? What’re you sorry for? They’re for you!” said Oakley. 

“I know, but – I just – I’m -”

“A chicken?” Oakley giggled. 

Oakley reached their arm forward grabbing a metal container of supposably expensive colored pencils. They now faced Stanley while holding out the pencils. 
“It’s not that big a deal. The more you think about it the more it’ll stress you out.”

TayanA Osuna

Oakley reached their arm forward grabbing a metal container of supposably expensive colored pencils. They now faced Stanley while holding out the pencils. 

“It’s not that big a deal. The more you think about it the more it’ll stress you out.”

Stanley either didn’t hear them, or continued to do the exact opposite of his friend’s advice like someone who is afraid of heights but still stares down into the pit underneath their feet. 

“Stanley? No one’s even looking! Here, I’ll even look away.”

Oakley covers their eyes while turning away, still keeping the pencils within arms reach for Stanley. After a few moments of what from an outside view would look like a poorly written Greek tragedy, Oakley uncovers their eyes, and sighs. They try pressing the case of pencils against Stanley in hopes that he’ll have no choice but to take it. However, instead, the pencils fall straight to the floor. 

Sighing Oakley states, “there’s no security tag even on them! I mean it’s like they don’t even care!” Picking the pencils up now he continues, “ You just slip ‘em in your pocket, and walk out.” 

“I don’t have pockets,” Stanley states plainly while still staring at the shelves of pretty pens and pencils. 

“Well, then just stuff them in your waistband! Or put it in your bag, I mean that’s why you brought it! To hold your shit!”

“Yeah the shit I own! Not the shit I steal, Oakley!” 

“Alright alright! No need to use the S word!” 

“What word do you propose I use, Oak?”

“I like to use the word ‘obtain’”

“That’s rich!” Stanley mutters while walking away from the pencil aisle. 

“Thank you!” says Oakley proudly. 

“That’s not a compliment!”

“Well I took it as one!” 

Stanley continues to walk towards the store exit, but Oakley quickly pulls him into another aisle. 

“Here, how bout you put it in my bag!”

“Forget it, Oak! I’m not doing it, and they’re too expensive to buy so you might as well put it back.” 

Oak, now defeated, tosses the colored pencils amongst the rows of washi tape, and follows Stanley out of the store. 

“You know they don’t go there,” pointed out Stanley. 

“I know, but it’s more dramatic this way.”

“You and your drama!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m the dramatic one!”

The two pals giggle and playfully shove their way to the car. While they buckle their seat belts Oakley pulls out a metal tin of colored pencils. 

“Look what IIIII gooooot,” they say while shaking the tin in Stanley’s face.

“There’s no fucking way!”

“There is!”

“How did you – when did you -”

“I snagged them when we first got here, when you initially wouldn’t even go in the aisle.”

“Wha- but – I – but why?”

“I knew you’d never do it!”

“How supportive.”

Oakley starts the car, and drives out of the parking lot, all the while Stanley judgingly glares at him. Although he still can’t help but smile at his lovely thief of a friend.