Camila absently tapped the rubber end of her number two pencil against the open text book in front of her, certain that somehow, the rhythmic beat helped her concentrate. She read through three sentences before her gaze wandered around the kitchen. The time on the microwave read 7:49, and she stared until the numbers changed. Ten minutes remained of her allotted study time, and she sighed, feeling anxious to move on to something else.
The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of her laptop, and despite her resolution to study, she couldn't help but read over the words on the screen. Though she had yet to reply, Camila had still to close Laura's last email. It gave her something to think about during her moments of procrastination, when thinking about love and life and relationships seemed far more interesting than solving redundant equations.
Camila glanced up at the time again: 7:51. It was close enough to eight o'clock, she decided, slamming shut the Pre-Calculus text. She still had days before the next exam. Relieved, and feeling productive, she pulled the laptop closer and the homework out of the way.
After grabbing a bottle of juice from the fridge, she sat back down and began her reply.
Dear Laura,
Having only had one relationship, I'm certainly no expert in the ways of love. I don't remember exactly how Nathan and I got together to begin with. I remember the basics, the where and when and how we met, but I can't recall the precise moment when we went from strangers to friends to more.
All I know is that we met at an art gallery many years ago. My best friend, Dinah (my now roommate), thought it would be fun to crash an upscale benefit party, hosted by a totally overrated New York artist at a totally overrated art gallery uptown. I remember we got dressed up in our fanciest attire, and that Dinah made me rehearse a "script" she made up to get us in. We worked on the "lines" during the subway ride. I suppose this is where I reveal that my best friend is an actress. We paint a pretty clichéd picture of New York, don't we? Struggling artist, hopeful actress...
Anyway, I thought Dinah's idea was both hysterical and ridiculous, and I think the only reason that I even agreed to go was that I never thought we'd actually get in...
As it happened, the guy checking invitations turned out to be an old high school friend of Dinah's and he let us through. It's weird how things happen, isn't it?
Needless to say, Nathan was there. His family is very New York elite. They are everywhere that matters, and by extension, so is Nathan.
I try to remember the moment we met often, but it's fuzzy. I don't remember if we were looking at art or if we were just standing near art, but I remember he smiled at me. The exact dialogue escapes me, probably because I was so nervous about being caught there. So I remember that when he smiled at me, I got really nervous. I thought, "Oh no, he can see I don't belong here..."
But he only wanted to chat about how boring the party was and how his parents had forced him to attend. I found him easy to talk to, and I started to relax, forgetting about the party or the fact that Dinah had disappeared into the crowd and left me all alone.
I can't say that I thought anything would come of it, though. It was only a conversation, and I figured that once we ran out of subject matter he would smile politely and excuse himself.
I could tell, just by looking at him, that he was really wealthy. Only, he didn't come across as cocky or self-involved. I guess that's why, in spite of myself, I gave him my number when he asked. Well, that, and I didn't know how to refuse.
