"No matter your problems, face them with a bright smile and a bucket of chocolate ice-cream," nana once wisely told me. At the time, I was barely twelve and thought that I could summon a unicorn if I just believed in myself.
A decade later, despi...
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Maeva's point of view.
I've never been fond of human interactions. Speaking with strangers can extinguish the air out of my lungs faster than a five hours marathon.
Just when I believed that glancing at my crush eating the life out of a sandwich was as adventurous as I could get, I was shot out of high school. I got up, nonetheless, dusted off my sneakers and moved on.
Then, and just when I thought that improvising a biology presentation in front of a room of bookworms was as brave as I could get, I was thrown out of college. I got up, however, dusted off my ballerinas and marched on.
And now, just when plunging into a new job environment is as audacious as I think that I can get; I keep looking over my shoulder, looking for any catapult that might throw me out of life. If I were ever to be catapulted, though, I will surrender at once for advancing in heels is just too much for my weak soul.
"Good morning," I say, the rim of my dress insisting on going above my knee. "I'm Maeva Anderson..."
The man looks at me from above his glasses, a hint of annoyance exuding from him. Someone, please get the guy a cup of coffee, caffeine's obviously missing from his life. "Second door to the left," he says, going back to the quiz he was taking on his phone. I wonder how knowing what type of Persian rug one is can help in life!?
"I'm the new..." Just as I'm about to explain the story of my rookie self, I'm cut short by a loud pen click.
"Second door to the left." He repeats, ever so sickeningly, getting up and wearing his white lab blouse. Next time I hear that freakin' phrase, the cacti decorating his desk will be pinned on his shiny scalp.
Suddenly, and as the back door flies open, a familiar man comes out, stacks of paper in hand and a frown knitting his eyebrows. "Virgil, I need the reports..." he pauses midsentence as he spots me standing behind the reception desk. "Maeva!" he exclaims and the thin-haired man stands in shock at the warm encounter.
"Dr. Richardson," I say, matching the doctor's smile, "How are you?"
He nods smilingly, motioning to me to come closer. The mild tap of his palm on the receptionist's shoulder faintly resonates in the room and the man that was once spitting venom on me flashes me the brightest smile his lips could stretch without cracking.
"Meet Virgil," says Dr. Richardson, "our technical assistant."
"Maeva, I've heard so much about you." Wait a second, where did the "second door to the left" guy go to? Could that person have swallowed him when no one was looking?
The bald man that was once hissing at me gives me a high-five as he explains to his boss how he's excited to see me. For split seconds, I almost believe that we could become besties despite the ten years gap and buckets of venom standing between us. The guy's obviously been exposed to seriously dangerous radiations...
