Conversations with Sebastian

"They hate me," I said dazedly to Sebastian as we wandered our merry way out of English Composition.
"Not here to make friends," he replied absently. "Have you ever read anything by Kafka?"
"Just The Trial, and I didn't finish it. Did you hear them? Every time I talked, there were whispers."
"Nineteen-year-old monkeypeople, who cares. I thought you'd read Metamorphosis?"
"I lie a lot about things."
"Ah."
"I'm not sure why."
"'As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.' What's not to like, really. Why would you lie about that?"
"Everyone's read Metamorphosis. I'm not done caring about the nineteen-year-old monkeypeople."
"Maybe they don't like you because you lie about things you've read in order to cover up the holes in your literaturical credibility."
"Yeah, but I never lied to them about it."
"In that case, they don't like you because of the things you've actually read, where are we going?"
"We're breaking into the horticultural lab."
He accepted this with remarkable aplomb, as one who will never have to face consequences will do. "Why not just read it?"
"I'm a bit busy at current." Was there an open window? There usually was.
"Not too busy to break into the horticultural lab, I can't help but notice-"
"It doesn't count as wasting time if it's time that would otherwise be spent waiting for the bus-"
"There are those Camus essays, too. And the Irishman is going to be giving you back those William Trevor short stories."
"Why the tone?" There, there was the open window.
"Tone, what tone." He was already inside, peering around, ignoring my levering shenanigans.
"The tone of aggrieved put-uponedness that is ordinarily adopted by my husband whenever he has to do the-ouf-dishes."
"The dishes are your agreed-upon job."
"That tone."
"I just would like to know why you're spending so much spare time playing video games and being randomly social."
"Am I getting my homework done? Am I doing it on time?"
"Are you doing the bare minimum? Is that the beginning of a repetition of old patterns? When did you get your critiquing done? When did you finish the essay? Was it ten minutes before class started?"
"Auuugh."
"I'm just saying. It's my job, to just say. What do you suppose this is."
"It is," I stared at it wisely, "a plant. You're also for advice, and someone to talk to."
"When you're being illicit."
"Or when I'm shelving," I replied agreeably. "Because of the monkeypeople."
"Becuase they don't like you."
"Becuase I'm a liar."
"Probably. Security."
"...Shit."