The English Teacher (Clara Oswald X reader)

Conversing

  "Tea or coffee?"
  "I prefer coffee," you said. Clara got up to make some. "Oh, you don't have to-" But she had already made her way to the kitchen. You sat on her couch nervously.
  In a few minutes, Clara came back with cups of coffee for the both of you.
  "So," she began. You thanked goodness that she hadn't left you to start the conversation. "How was your first day of school?"
  "Good, actually. Not bad at all. The kids are quite nice. I don't think I've ever had a first day that's gone as well as that," you said.
  "Really? My first day was completely hectic," she responded.
  "I dunno. I've always been told that I've got a natural talent for the job."
  "There's gotta be at least one kid who was difficult for you to put up with. Otherwise my ego will be completely bruised."
  You chuckled and she took a sip of her drink. "I mean, there were a few talkative kids here and there, but other than that there was only one kid who seemed to really have a problem with my class. Tommy Smith, I think his name was."
  "Why, what was the problem?"
  "He doesn't really pay attention. I dunno, he seems kinda shy and unwilling to participate."
  "Weird. He's never like that in my class."
  "Well, when I was in grade school I was mad about English and Science, but hardly said a word during History. Maybe he just needs a bit of time to get used to me."
  Clara looked at you. "You seem really understanding of him," she said.
  "Thanks," you said, a little shakily. Absorbed in what you'd been saying, you'd almost forgotten who you were talking to. You thought it had gone pretty okay, though.
  Maybe I should try to loosen up a bit more, you thought.
  "So what were you like in grade school?" she said, taking a sip of her coffee.
  "Well," you started off. "I was an ace at science, of course. I did love English as well,mthough. My friends would tease me particularly about stuff I sent in for poetry assignments." You grinned a little, in happy remembrance.
  Clara laughed. "Really? Poetry? That is something I'd love to see."
  "It's really not," you said sheepishly. Oh, the stuff you'd written in grade school. You thought it was completely atrocious.
  "So what about you?" you asked her. "What were you like?"
  "I loved to read. Particularly Jane Austen, her books were fantastic," she smiled. "I never really thought much of what I wrote for English assignments. I think was more of a reading-and-analyzing English student than a writing one."
  "You could always ask me for advice," you said without thinking.
  Clara grinned. "Could I?"
  "Y-Yeah, sure."
  "And if you ever need advice for teaching, feel free to give me a call," she said, writing her number down on a nearby napkin.
  You accepted it numbly. "Thanks."
  You gave her your number, then the two of you resumed conversation.
  Conversing with Clara Oswald was very interesting. You learned a lot about each other, hopping from subject to subject, sipping on coffee. You didn't remember exactly what you'd told her, but you couldn't seem to forget the little things she told you. By the end of your visit, you'd learned that her favorite color was red, that she liked cats, that she read a lot if she got any free time, and that she was single. You found yourself a little glad of that last one.
  Yes, conversing with Clara Oswald was nice. Glancing at the number on the napkin, you thought that it was something you'd definitely like to do again.