Mechanical by Pauline C. Harris Page B

from
Jessica’s room and walked outside. Michael did have the car ready,
as Jessica had predicted, and I hopped into the passenger’s
seat.
    “So, where do you live?” Michael asked,
shifting the car to drive.
    “It's about a ten minute ride from here. I’ll
give you directions,” I told him. “Just head through town.”
    “Okay.” He backed up and started down the
road.
    I stared out the window, watching the houses
that we passed.
    “Nice skirt,” Michael said to me.
    Wondering why he had commented, I looked down
and realized in surprise that I was still wearing Jessica’s skirt.
“Oh,” I said. “Oops, I forgot to change. I’ll give it back to her
tomorrow.”
    He grinned. “It’s not like she’ll miss it.
She has too many clothes as it is.”
    There was a pause and I stared out the window
again, watching the trees fly by. The radio wasn’t on, but I wished
it was. I needed some noise to cover the absence of our voices and
the awkward tension in the car. I suddenly realized that this was
the first time I had ever noticed that a situation was awkward. My
tension faded for a moment as I pondered this.
    “So, where are you from?” Michael asked,
pulling me out of my thoughts.
    Um .... where was I from? A factory?
An assembly line that created mechanical parts? Yeah. “Here,” I
answered.
    “Huh. How come I haven’t seen you around
before now?”
    Because I’ve only now come back .
    “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I stay home a
lot.” There was another uncomfortable pause.
    “So, are you involved in any activities at
school?”
    I shook my head.
    “Oh. Well, what do you like to do?”
    I looked at him. “Why do you want to know so
badly?” I asked, puzzled over why he wanted to know, when all he
was doing was giving me a ride home.
    He smiled without taking his gaze off the
road. “Just trying to make conversation.”
    “Oh. Well ... to tell the truth, I don’t
really know. Turn here,” I said, pointing to the road.
    He nodded, turning. “I know what you mean. I
don’t do much of anything, either. I don’t even know what I want to
do for a career after I finish school and everything.” He sighed as
if this decision weighed upon him daily.
    Career. The thought had never even crossed my
mind. My existence was strictly to carry out the missions the
creators assigned us. If obeying orders was considered a career,
then it was the only one I would ever have.
    “I could see you as a writer,” Michael
stated, looking satisfied with himself.
    “A writer?” I was startled to think he would
choose that kind of a job for me. “Like, what kind?”
    “I don’t know. A journalist, maybe. Something
like that.”
    I stared at him, surprised. “Why do you think
I should be a journalist?”
    He shrugged. “Well, you’re quiet. And from my
experience, the quiet ones are always the ones who have the most to
say. The loud ones just say a bunch of stupid stuff. It’s always
unimportant. But whenever the quiet ones speak up, everyone listens
‘cause they know it's got to be something worth hearing.”
    There was a pause.
    “Maybe you’re right.” I glanced at him,
thinking for the first time that Michael might be more than just an
annoying human boy who talked a lot.
    “Yep, you’re gonna be a writer someday,”
Michael said, grinning at me.
    “Turn here. Go two miles, turn left on Grande
Road.”
    Michael followed my instructions and turned
in the direction I pointed. “So, what do you think would be a good
career for me?” he asked.
    “Well, I don’t think I know you well enough,”
I answered. “What are you good at?”
    He snorted. “Nothing.”
    “I’ll bet that’s not true.”
    “Well...”
    “I could see you as a doctor,” I said,
interrupting him.
    He shot me an incredulous look. “A doctor?
Why?”
    “I don’t know. You just look like one.” I
looked at him innocently.
    “Okay. Now that’s settled,” he replied
teasingly. “We now have our careers mapped out