The bustling city street is filled with the sound of traffic as cars are honked in frustration. My heart is pounding as I sprint after getting off the bus and my breath comes in quick gasps. My fingers clutch my bag tightly, the weight of its contents a reassuring presence. Every step brings me closer to my destination, and the importance of the upcoming interview with the prestigious University of Oxford weighs heavily on my mind.
I cannot afford to be late, not for such an incredible opportunity. One is simply not late for an interview with the prestigious University of Oxford.
As I round the corner, I barely have time to register the flash of movement before a collision sends me stumbling backwards onto the ground. A briefcase flies into the air, spilling papers in a flurry across the pavement.
"Oh shit, I'm so sorry," a voice exclaims and I look up to see a young man, probably a university student, dropping to his knees to help me back up onto my feet. He puts his foot on the skateboard he was riding, which is now lying on its side beside us.
"It's alright," I reply hastily, scrambling to gather his documents which are trying to escape aware with the breeze. "I was in a hurry, I should have been more careful."
He flashes me an apologetic smile and picks up his other papers. "No, it was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."
After dusting off my jacket which was hanging over my bag, I hand him the papers I collected and he quickly shoves them back in his briefcase. I wince as I feel a sharp pain in my elbow from where I hit the ground and with a hiss, I glance at the small scratch from scraping the pavement. Why did I take my jacket off again?
Suddenly, his warm hand gently takes hold of my arm, his touch catching me off guard. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice laced with concern as he examines the minor abrasion.
As he tenderly stares at my injury with such genuine care and attentiveness, I cannot help but grow nervous and my heart flutters in the same anxiousness.
"I'm fine," I manage to reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Hold on a second," he mutters before quickly rummaging in his bag.
He brings out a small first-aid kit filled with some band aids. Tenderly, he raises my arm, his touch featherlight. With a bit of a furrow in his brows, he leans over to blow on the abrasion lightly, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine. My eyes widen and I glance around awkwardly. With the utmost care, he cleans the wound and applies a band aid, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
"There, all better," he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat. Then he gives me a soft smile, his thumb gently caressing my skin in a soothing motion.
I can only nod, my voice caught in my throat, captivated by this unknown boy before me. "Thank you."
Our gazes lock and we stay like this, frozen in time. Until it hits me that I have an interview to get to. Glancing down at my wristwatch, I hurriedly tell him that I have an interview to go to and after waving at him, I turn around to sprint down the road.
In a novel I read last night, the protagonist was broke and jobless just like me. She was stopped by the security guard before entering the premises, like me. I am given a card which I'm supposed to pin to my breast to show that I am a visitor here. I am allowed on the school grounds, it says. She takes an elevator up to the thirtieth floor, unlike me. I get escorted through the ground floor to the office where the interview is taking place. The secretary has already disregarded me.
While waiting in the waiting area which is just a line of chairs placed against the wall, I curiously glance around at the interior of the university. It is a very charming interior with its vaulted ceilings and vibrant murals adorning the walls. The cosy nooks and crannies invite exploration, and the natural light streaming in through the large windows creates a warm atmosphere.
It's easy to see why this place is a hub of creativity and learning, where students can feel inspired and motivated to pursue their passions.
"Seong Jin Lee," the secretary calls for me and I look over at her from the waiting area. "Mrs Freon will see you now."
As I gaze at her intently, I feel a sudden sinking sensation in my chest, and my heart drops down into the pit of my stomach, seemingly passing out on my intestines.
Trying to alleviate the awkwardness of the moment, she tugs her lips up in a reassuring manner, and I take that as my cue to stand up. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves before starting to make my way to her. The desk is made of transparent glass, and the secretary sitting behind it is a black woman with striking dark brown eyes, dressed impeccably in formal attire. She's wearing a black pencil skirt that rests on the high of her thigh and a black blouse that seems to be suffocating her, with her cleavage forced right underneath her nose.
Despite her professional demeanour, I can't help but feel a little panicked as I approach her.
"Don't get lost, sweetie. It's the door to your right after you go up the flight of stairs, alright?"
"Right?"
She nods. "Right."
"Right," I echo after her with my head bopping up and down in confusion. "Cool."
"Okay," she sings with amusement shining in her eyes. Before I can turn around, she calls for my attention, "Before I forget. Here you go."
I eye the box of tissue she is holding out to me with a look of bemusement making its way onto my face. Gazing back up at her, my mouth opens and shuts as I try to figure out why she's giving these to me. In the end, all that leaves my lips is, "Uh, what?"
"You're gonna need these."
I gaze down at them again, still bemused. "Why?"
"Let's just say Mrs Freon isn't the nicest of people."
"Okay, great." I take the box from her and tuck it under my arm. "Thanks for the heads up."
"You may head in now."
When I arrive at the huge mahogany door which has a golden plaque with 'Adeline Freon' permanently imprinted into it, I knock three times. Another deep breath. My legs seem to weaken under the weight of my upper body. A lump was being swallowed down my throat. Relax, Seong Jin, I advise myself, just relax.
When I don't get a response, I cautiously knock again and finally a faint 'come in' is muffled through the door. I pull the door's handle down, the premonition blinking red in my face, and I push the door open.
Gulping my fear down, which was near impossible, I make my way inside and scan my surroundings. It is so… plain. The walls are a soft grey with no pictures or anything on them. In the middle is a wooden table with a very disorganised mess. Two leather chairs sit across from one another. The one leather chair on the other side isn't facing me, but rather the other way.
The only other thing in the room is a shelf with all kinds of files stuffed into them. It looks so brown with dust that I'm even afraid to go near it. The windows are from the floor to the ceiling, but there are blinds covering them, making it almost impossible to see in the room.
It just looks so dull and sad.
"Didn't you hear me saying come in the first time?" her monotone voice speaks, making my stomach twist nervously.
I shake my head, but then I realise that she can't see me so I answer her verbally. Standing on one spot, I fiddle with the ends of my jacket.
"Well, Mr Lee, are you just going to stand there or take a seat?" she asks in the same cold voice.
I guess the secretary out back wasn't lying about Mrs Freon not being the nicest person. I cannot tell if she's angry, impatient or happy. She's a Dominic.
I gulp for the third time today, but the lump I have stuck in my throat doesn't seem to want to leave. I walk forward, making sure that my steps are as light as the ones of a predator hunting its prey or rather a prey avoiding its predator.
Gingerly, I take a seat on the comfortable leather chair across from her and I rest the box of tissues on her desk as quietly as I possibly can. Her chair is still facing the other way and now I'm starting to get curious about how she looks. Just then she spins around slowly and reveals Mrs Freon.
Damn, she's huge.
Where do all those muscles come from?
"Mr Lee, I've seen your grades and I have to say, they are one of the most impressive ones we have received from all the candidates. I am impressed."
She sure doesn't look impressed. Wait, is she being sarcastic?
"Um… thank you?" I berate myself internally for making that sound like a question. Well, I mean it kind of is a question since I don't know if she's actually being sincere. "It's just Seong Jin, by the way."
She stares at me bluntly and I start to squirm around in my seat, feeling a bit uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
Did I offend her by correcting her?
I simply prefer to use more informal language. I meant no disrespect.
I just don't like being addressed formally. It makes me feel older than I really am, especially when the person speaking to me is old enough to be my grandmother. In my culture, children are taught to respect their elders no matter what. If Halmeoni were to say something that I disagreed with, I would still have to swallow my pride and respect her words. After all, adults are always right and they never lie. It's just the way things are.
"Very well, Seong Jin."
Is it getting hot in here or is it just me? I wipe a hand across my forehead and smile restrainedly when Mrs Freon frowns at me.
"Tell me, why should we pick you out of the thirty-four other candidates who received the very same results you did?"
"There are thirty four candidates who got the same results as I did?" At my murmured enquiry, she nods curtly. "Wow, that's a lot of candidates. Uh…"
"What sets you apart? What do you do on your weekends?"
Is this a trick question?
"I just… stay at home most of the time. Mostly I study and catch up on school work. I'm very dedicated to my academics. I'll do almost everything in my power to get the results I want."
As she listens to my response, she hums impassively and proceeds to jot down said response. For a moment, I try to peek over at her observations. However, when she trains her eyes back onto me, I instantly sink back into my chair and focus my gaze on her face with an unconvincing smile stretching onto my lips.
There is something about her that gives me a sense of unease. Perhaps it's the way she sits so rigidly in her chair or the way her eyes seem to bore into mine, searching for something that I'm not sure I want to reveal.
As I glance at her, a strange memory resurfaces. I am reminded of the lady who administered our paperwork back when Amma took us to some office to get my late father's life insurance. The woman was very large, mean-looking, and always seated on her leather chair. She had a similar air of authority to this woman in front of me, and I can't help but wonder if they're related in some way.
Regardless, I push the thought aside and focus on the present moment, trying my best to keep up the façade of confidence that I hope will impress her.
"That's a shame."
"Excuse me?"
"You only focused on your academics," she states detachably. "Teenagers are supposed to have fun before adulthood swoops in."
"No offence, but if I did that then I wouldn't even be sitting here right now."
"That may be true," she starts and clasps her palms together on the desk, "but it's necessary to have a life outside of school work. We don't just look at the grades that a student obtains. Your hobbies are really important to understand if you could partake in the extracurricular activities that we offer, to understand if you are better suited here or someplace else."
"I don't follow."
"What do you do outside of school work, Seong Jin?"
"I like to read. Um… back in my junior years, I really enjoyed playing football, but I quit… to focus more on bettering my grades. I really enjoy photography too and fashion design. I used to have a sketchbook with all my designs in it but… I lost it."
"What kind of books do you read?"
"Clean," I mutter quickly. Too quickly in fact. Calm down, Seong Jin. "Clean, fun books only. Nothing that borders beyond that."
Her brows quirk up and she nods slowly.
I avert my gaze down to my lap awkwardly when she picks up one of the many papers on her desk. Why the hell did I add that I don't read anything that borders beyond clean? That implies that I do indulge in the Fifty Shades of Grey sort of books once in a while. Jesus, I'm such a mess.
She sits there and reads through it before nodding in satisfaction. Then she hands it to me. After a second of contemplation, I take it and force a smile on my lips.
"Please read that and tell me what is wrong with that essay," she tells me with an almost unwilling smile.
She stands up from her seat and stiffly walks over to the bookshelf across the room. Her black suit hugs her muscles as they flex under the fabric. Her black heels click-clacking against the cold dull floor. She is huge. her frame almost feels too big for this office. As if she read my thoughts, she suddenly freezes in her step and slowly spins around, making me look down at the paper, pretending to be reading it.
For emphasis, I add little approving sounds to make my show even more believable.
From the corner of my eyes, I see her turning back and pulling out files from the dusty shelf, flipping through the pages and then putting them back. I bring my hand up and shove my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and after sifting a hand over my nose to ease a small itch, I glance back at the paper, reading it and trying incredibly hard to keep my molesting eyes from wandering to a very masculine-looking woman in the same room as myself.
Realising that this is my essay, my face slowly draws down into a scowl. What does she mean when she says that I should tell her what is wrong with the essay? Is it bad? Was it not impressive enough? If that's the case, then I don't mind rewriting it again. She can just tell me where I went wrong. I believe I can be of great value to this school. I want to come here. I have to come here. My mum would be so disappointed if I got rejected.
Quickly, I dig in my small fanny pack for a pen, but what I feel under my palm is a packet of Skittles. So tempting that it is almost impossible to not open them and eat them. Which is exactly what I do. I can't help it. I stress eat. It's either that or nibbling on my nails and that's extremely unsanitary.
Finding a pen on her desk, I skim through my essay and wonder what I can change to make her reconsider her decision.
It starts with an introduction of who I am and what my values are, my beliefs. Then it goes on to describe all the hard work that I have put in to accumulate the grades that I have. How I have a study plan that I follow on a daily basis. Three hours for the weekends. The body elaborates on that and finally, I speak about the grade that I got which apparently thirty-four other candidates got so it's not even much to be smug about. Is it too boring?
"Mr Lee."
I jump with a loud yelp, causing the fountain pen and my Skittles to go flying up in the air. In horror, I watch as the pen is enclosed in her calloused palm, but the colourful Skittles, unfortunately, aren't. They all instead fall down onto me, showering me as the rain would. I grimace in a repentant manner and bite my lip regretfully.
Well, if I was going to be accepted before, I have totally squandered the chances of that happening. This is why I should have bought a granola bar and not a bag of Skittles.
"Mr Lee," she calls out making me flinch and contain a squeak of fright.
I spin around in my chair and spot her behind me. She has her arms folded over her chest, but her face remains cold and emotionless. Not callous though. The glare she has set on me states otherwise. She's angry, I surmise when I see her eye twitching a little.
That's it. I have just ruined my chances. I'm not going to be accepted here. I'll be sent packing and go back home to Shoreditch disappointed. Not only will I be disappointed in myself, but I know that my mum will be just as disappointed. Franklin will try as he might to get her to understand that Oxford is a difficult university to get accepted into, but she'll still be disappointed.
"I'm so sorry," I splutter out frantically. "I didn't mean to eat Skittles in your office. It's just that… you're making me nervous."
She looks away and slips around me to her seat. When she sits down without saying a word to me and pointedly puts her fountain pen in her desk's drawer, as if to silently gesture to me that you cannot just use people's belongings without asking them for permission first, she presses a button on her desk. A beep rings in the room, echoing into my ears loudly. Mrs Freon stares at me harshly and I quickly duck my head into my chest.
Oh, Seong Jin, you're such an idiot, I berate myself some more. Who the hell eats Skittles in an interview with the University of Oxford?
"Heidi?" she speaks into the machine and waits for a response.
"Yes, Mrs Freon?"
"Send up a cleaner please."
"Yes, ma'am. Right away," Heidi responds curtly.
Mrs Freon lifts her finger off the button and sternly gazes up at me. Her lashes flutter over her cheekbones when she blinks and for a few nanoseconds, I enjoy the pleasure of not having to stare into her hardening gaze until she opens them again, training them solely on me. She opens her palm and holds it out. Her actions perplex me and so I furrow my brows in question.
Hesitantly, I put my hand in her large one. For a nanosecond I see her eyes widening, but the shock leaves as soon as it comes.
"What are you doing?" she asks in her emotionless tone.
"Um…" I hastily pull my hand off hers and hug it against my chest. My glasses slide down again, so I push them back up and avoid her eyes. "I just…"
"Paper."
I stare at her in confusion, wondering what she's talking about.
Eventually, she clarifies, "The paper I gave you."
"Oh!"
I clear my throat and fumble with the paper but end up giving it to her in the end. Well, she actually grabs it out of my hand while I'm still fumbling with it. When she shakes her head, I bury my face into my chest and try very hard to ignore the burning crimson that's heating up my cheeks. Cornwall was also a blubbering dunce when she did the interview for her personal assistant position, just like me. She and I are the exact same person.
Mrs Freon reads through my essay again and after stamping it, she slides it under the table. "We'll get back to you by the end of today."
Cornwall was hired, unlike me.