REM // Van McCann

21. That's What You Get

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?"