How to Breathe | rewriting

9 || sketchbook and newspapers

[franco: noun : he is the perfect husband, boyfriend, or friend]

|H A V E N|

There was something about Franco, the way he held himself together and the way he acted. It was almost like I was looking through a mirror, seeing bits of myself in him. We sat by each other, during English. It was arranged seating. My teacher continued on talking about analyzing quotations, and how to use them effectively, while half the class looked ready to sleep.

I had somewhere to be after school, the newspaper office, down the road. Apparently, they were looking for new recruits to send the newspapers around from door to door. I didn't really understand why they didn't electronically post the newspaper on a website or something. The bell had rung, allowing us to feel relieved. I quickly gathered all my books and stuffed them into my bag, not thinking twice about it. I ran out of the school, and towards my car. I hopped in and placed my bag into the passenger seat, turning the ignition on. I drove out of the school's parking lot and to the newspaper office. I turned up the music, releasing my worries and stress.

I pulled into the newspaper office's parking lot and parked in front of the building. I mustered up the courage and walked through the door with a bright smile.

"Hi, I saw your advertisement online about wanting newspaper recruits?" I spoke to the front desk lady.

"Ah, yes, we've got quite a handful of those." She said fluffing up her curly blonde hair, giving me a scrutinizing gaze. "Just sit over there, and we'll get to you." She dismissed me, pointing towards a couple of padded chairs. I silently walked towards the chair, crossing one leg over the other. I grabbed a magazine when I realized I couldn't take the boredom.

The door opened, and Franco stood there, dripping in sweat.

"Are you stalking me?" I guffawed.

"Hell no." he wiped his sweat from his forehead. "I'm not stalking you, exactly, it's just that you accidentally put my notebook in your bag. I don't give a fuck about the notebook, but this one has some confidential shit, so I'd like it back. I was waiting for a good moment to steal it back, but you drove off in your car."

"Oh." I grabbed my bag, placing it on my lap. "This one?" I motioned, showing a notebook with a black cover.

His dark, empty eyes lit up. "Yeah, that's mine." I leaned forward and handed him the notebook, but his hand bumped with mine, leaving the notebook to fall open on the ground. There were doodles of me inside. It wasn't exactly me, but he drew my eyes in one corner of the page, my nose in another corner, and my mouth in the middle of the page, freckles dancing on the page. I blushed profusely.

I was at lost for words, I looked up at him gaping, not knowing what to say. He stood there, scratching his hair, before crouching down to pick up his book, placing it into his bag. "I sorta drew your face, well, because, you were the only thing in my line of sight," he stated. "Don't think too much of it."

It was as if he then realized where he was. He looked around and surveyed the room, landing his eyes back on me. "What are you doing here?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"To get a job."

"Oh." He seemed rather conflicted, but he stepped towards me. I didn't know what he was doing, and I just gasped at him. "Is anyone sitting there?"

I looked to my right, seeing an empty chair. "Yes, no, wait, I mean no, no one is sitting there."

He took a seat, pulling a yo-yo out of his pocket. He continued to play with it, bringing the yo-yo up and down.

"So, um, Franco, right?" I glanced at him.

"That is what I go by." He replied sarcastically.

"Oh, well, I'm Haven, in case you didn't know." I sounded stupid, really. He obviously didn't have a care for who I was, he inserted an earphone into one of his ears, drowning me out. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the white painted wall.

A middle-aged man, that was dressed nicely stepped out of one of the rooms, along with a saddened looking elder. I figured they didn't want her for the job.

"Alright, so which of you is going first?" He asked, clapping his hands together.

I looked towards Franco, and when he made no sign of movement, I figured he wanted to wait. So I got up and walked towards the man.

"I'm going first."

"Alright, let's get to it."

He walked me inside a furnished room, with a big oak desk with a computer on it. "So, tell me a little bit about yourself."

"I'm Haven Montgomery. I'm turning 18 in January, and I'm a senior. Uhh, I've had a bit of experience. I worked with the kids in the city's library, and I worked as a waitress, too. I also sometimes babysit."

He nodded approvingly, jotting down a few things onto a paper. "Alright, and what are your biggest strengths?" He glanced up.

"Oh, well, I'm very good at teamwork. I'm able to listen to other people and include their ideas to reach a solution." I hummed quietly, another nervous habit. "I'm also very reliable, as I've taken care of many things, like little toddlers and kids, or the food." I referred to my waitress days. "I'm also very good at photography."

"That's very good! Thank you for the examples." He stated, jotting down whatever he needed to. Moving on, last question, where would you want to see yourself in five years?"

"That's a very broad question, it could mean anything, whether it be about jobs, education, or even a country I'd like to live in." I started. "I'd want myself to be happy, doing whatever makes me happy." I finalized.

"That's a very good answer, Miss. Montgomery." He stood up, as did I, and we shook hands. "You've got yourself the job." He gave an infectious smile, I couldn't help but smile back.

"Thank you, thank you so much." I halted to a stop. "What about the dark-haired boy outside?" I questioned, referring to Franco.

"We have two slots available, so if he manages to show me he's up for the job, he might get the job as well."

"That's great, thank you."

He walked me out of his office, asking for Franco to join him.

I looked to see Franco, his mouth hanging slightly open, a little drool escaping his mouth. I quickly wiped his mouth, with my sleeve, waking him up.

"What are you doing?"

"You fell asleep, and had a bit of a drool." I pointed towards my chin where his drool was. "Anyways, you have to go for the interview." He got up, and stretched, wandering down the hall.

"Wait," I yelled. He stopped and turned around, giving me a glare.

"What now?" He snapped.

I straightened his collar a little, before patting it. I ran my fingers into his hair trying to adjust it. He grabbed my hand, motioning for me to stop.

"Thanks, but I think I got this." He sauntered into the office, the door closing immediately after.