Ever since she opened up to me, her words never left my mind. It was intriguing meeting someone who was reserved and hasn't seen and experienced much. It was like she was living in a snow globe, oblivious to what was around her. I'm sure she wasn't brought up like that. Her parents no doubt pushed her to go out but she prefers her own company. I put it upon myself to be a good friend to her. To help her see and experience as much as possible. She was going to get sick of me but I was determined to show her how great life could be.
She's had driving lessons from me for about two months now. Despite only practicing once a week, she was learning quickly. She told her parents she's been learning so they let her use the car and they were surprised at her abilities. She never told her parents about me but they suspected someone was teaching her.
She's now comfortable driving on the main road. It's nice to see how far she's come. I remember when she first started, she was terrified. Now she drives with confidence. I like to tease her when she makes risky decisions like turning quickly instead of waiting for oncoming traffic to pass.
She's been studying for her theory and has plans to take it sometime this month. She's already rehearsed having driven in America, so she knows the rules of the road. The only thing she has to focus on is the differences. Along with getting her driver's license, she was determined to find a job to keep her occupied. Staying home and exploring the city was quickly getting old. She needed something stimulating and could use the money to help pay off bills and to treat herself to something nice every once in a while.
I was surprised she chose not to further her education after graduating. She seems like the type who can study forever but she told me she never liked school. It forced her to interact with people which she didn't like. I found it odd that most of the jobs she applied to involved interacting with people but I didn't want to bring it up and scare her off. She applied as a waitress at several restaurants and cafés, and she applied to several administrative jobs. Clara has low self-esteem so when she heard back from a doctor's office wanting to bring her in for an interview, she immediately called me, worried.
"What if they ask something and I don't know how to answer?!" she cried out. Even though I couldn't see her, I knew she was panicking, her eyes wide and palms sweaty.
"Most questions are common sense. You don't have to answer right away. Take the time to think before answering," I advised. "I can help you practice for it."
She agreed to it and began compiling a list of potential questions and writing down how she'd answer them. When she had time, she'd recite her answers until they were ingrained, asking her parents for feedback on what they thought of her answer.
Another Saturday rolled around. We were supposed to practice parallel parking but focused on her interview which was on Monday. We drove to the empty car park and sat on the pavement. She brought her notebook which was filled to the brim with writing and I snatched it from her, having a gander at what she wrote. I've never seen her handwriting before so I was surprised she wrote in half cursive half print. You could tell when she was in a rush as it was hard to make out her writing at times. Sometimes she wrote neatly and other times, she couldn't be arsed. Anyways, her handwriting is a lot neater than mine so who am I to judge?
A loose, folded paper fell out and I was quick to pick it up, seeing that it had my name on it. She saw and quickly snatched it from my hand, turning pink.
"It's nothing," she said, folding it another time and placing it in her coat pocket. Now I'm curious what that was about. Unfortunately for her, now that we've been friends for a while, I was going to tease her about it until she told me.
"What was that? Why were you so quick to hide it?" I asked innocently, smirking. Her face turned a deep shade of pink which made me think it was something embarrassing. "What? It's not like you were confessing your undying love to me, is it?"
"No, definitely not!" she said quickly, turning away from me.
In retrospect, that was a poor choice of words on my end. To be honest, I didn't think she'd actually fall for me. I was very different from her. She was shy and I was bold. She preferred nights in while I preferred to go out. We were very different yet for some reason, fate brought us together and we were good friends. That's how I thought she saw me. A good friend. Yes, she's beautiful and anyone would be lucky to have her as their girlfriend but I thought I'd be the last one she'd fall in love with.
I was in uni struggling to keep up in my courses, eating horribly because most of my money went to pay for school and rent, and I drove a shitty car. Not to mention how I smoke cigarettes and weed, and occasionally do drugs when I'm out with friends. I'm not the most fashionable person, wearing things until they have holes in them. I can be quite stubborn, demanding, and surprisingly moody. I've had past girlfriends tell me that which made me think I was better off on my own, though I do crave companionship.
I knew I had gone too far when she refused to look at me, pretending to pay attention to something else when I knew she was trying to calm down and hope her face was no longer red. She wanted me to stop teasing her but didn't have the courage to tell me.
"I'm sorry. I was just teasin' ya. Let's practice for the interview, yeah?" I asked, closing her notebook and nudging her arm with it. She turned around, surprised I was giving it back.
"You're not going to ask me questions from it?"
"Nope," I said, popping the p.
"But I put commonly asked questions in there—"
"Clara, you can't give them this notebook and ask that they pick questions from it. I know you memorized them so I'm going to ask you my own questions."
"Your own questions?" she asked.
"Give me a brief summary of your work history and qualifications."
"Is this one of your—?"
"Yes. Now answer the question."
She swallowed, eyes wide. She's quite terrible at hiding her reaction to things so whatever she's feeling will be visible. If you've upset her, you'll know by the way she gets all quiet and closed off. If you've embarrassed her, you'll see her face turn red and she's trying to hide from you. I'm not as easy to read because I find it difficult to express my emotions.
Her cheeks were flushed and I could see her panicking but she took my advice and didn't answer right away. She took the time to think of an answer. I know she knows how to answer it; perhaps she has answered this same question in her notebook before.
"After graduating from high school, I worked as a waitress for six months at Rob's Diner taking people's orders, bussing tables, and running the cash register. My family later moved to New York City where I worked at a dental office scheduling appointments, processing insurance claims, and generating invoices."
She stopped and I nodded, not sure if she had more to add. I never asked about her work history before so I was surprised to learn about it.
"Why'd you leave your previous job?" I continued when I figured that was it.
"My dad was relocated to the UK so I had to leave my job, otherwise I'd still be there."
"Where do you see yourself in five years?" I cursed to myself, remembering she's always moving so that was an unfair question. "I—I didn't mean it that way. You can lie. They don't need to know you move all the time." The interview was for an admin role in a doctor's office.
"Ideally, I see myself still working here, moving up to a management position, and continuously learning new skills."
Her expression was difficult to read. I wasn't sure if it's something she's rehearsed wanting her employer to think she'll be there a long time or if this was an actual wish of hers to be somewhere long enough for once. Either way, her answers to all the questions I asked were good and I had no doubt she'd pass her interview. When I ran out of questions to ask, I threw in silly questions waiting for her to catch on that I was messing with her.
"What's your opinion on technology?" I questioned, keeping a straight face. I pretended to pick at my shirt so I wouldn't laugh because her facial expression was hilarious. It was obvious she wasn't expecting to be asked this. There was no doubt she was internally freaking out, wondering if that was a question she answered in her notebook.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked to buy herself more time.
"I'm just wondering what your opinion is on technology in the workplace," I expanded. I mean...this is something they could ask as human labor is being replaced by robots. Not that I think robots will be taking over administrative tasks but you never know.
"I think technology is a good thing and companies should embrace it. Anything to make things easier and increase output is a good thing in my mind. I know there are some who are opposed to it, citing cost and it being complicated to implement as reasons not to use it, but technology is vital in making sure a company is still competitive." I was surprised by her answer which was a good one so I hummed, thinking of my next question. She doesn't know I'm messing with her yet.
"Are you married, in a relationship, or single?"
I looked down to stop myself from laughing when she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, wondering if this was a serious question or not. I know she said she was single about a month ago but who knows what's happened since. Perhaps she's happily married now, though I don't see a ring on her hand (I'm joking). I'm dead curious because she's flaked on me a few times saying she was "busy." When I asked what she was doing, she changed the subject quickly so I wonder if there's someone else in her life she's trying to hide from me.
"I'm in a relationship."
"You are?" There was no disguising my surprise and curiosity. "With who?" She smiled wide and I was getting nervous. It was clear that whoever this was made her happy.
"We started dating about a month ago," she explained. "I've known him for quite some time. He lives down the street and likes to talk to me when I pass by. He's the sweetest and he loves it when I run my hands through his hair."
It was clear she was in love. Talking about him made her happy and I should be happy for her but for some reason, I wasn't. If he loves her, why isn't he teaching her how to drive a manual transmission? Why isn't he helping her practice for her interview?
"He showers me with gifts. He brings me something every day and it's so romantic," she went on, oblivious to my sudden change in mood. "Do you want to see a picture of him?"
Not really, I thought to myself. I'd rather not know what he looks like because I'll be looking for him everywhere I go. But of course, curiosity got the better of me.
"Sure."
My voice was faint but she heard me, taking her phone out and looking through her camera roll.
"Lemme find a good picture. He's so handsome."
Must she compliment him so much? Who is he? George Clooney? She found a picture and held her phone up for me to see. I felt like an idiot because I was looking at a black Burmese cat.
"Gotcha!" she shouted, giggling.
"Fuck off," I told her, upset I was played.
"That's what you get for messing with me."
I began thinking back to her gushing about her "boyfriend." He lives down the street, he loves it when I run my hands through his hair, he showers me with gifts...God, I'm an idiot! How did I not see it coming?
"What gifts does he give you?" I teased.
"He gave me a dead rat," she pouted.
"So romantic! Well...that's all I had. You did great. You're ready for the interview."
"Thank you. I'm so nervous."
"You'll be fine. They'll hire you."
"I sure hope so."
We got up and she smoothed her dress before grabbing her notebook from the pavement, reminding me of that letter. This was the day I realized I had feelings for her. I was jealous of a fucking cat and I wondered if she knew.