Driving Miss Catherine

Catherine sat in class trying to pay attention. Her environmental science professor was not nearly as interesting as the cute bird sitting outside the open window, or the sound of passing cars on the busy street below. As students around her began packing up their bags, Catherine realized class was over. She put her notebook and pencil away and followed her classmates out the door and down the stairs that led outside. It was raining a little, so Catherine pulled up the hood of her rain jacket. She stepped out into the damp, humid air and looked for the familiar black car that waited for her each day. Normally she resented her father’s insistence on her having a personal driver, but on days like today she was glad to have a ride. However, today she did not see the black car anywhere. She angrily pulled her phone from her pocket and texted her dad.

*Where’s Devers?*

Her dad replied instantly: *I had to replace him, didn’t I tell you?*

Catherine rolled her eyes. *Nope.*

She frowned and put her phone away. She realized it looked like she was waiting for the bus, so she moved over a few feet and stood under a tree, looking down the one way street for the black car. Whoever this new guy was, she already disliked him. He was late, and making her stand in the rain.

The black car rounded the corner faster than most NYC taxis and practically screeched to a stop a few feet away from Catherine. She walked over to the car and waited for the door to be opened for her, but the driver never go out, so she opened it herself and slid into the back seat. The partition between the front seat and back slowly opened and the driver turned around to face her.

“Hi miss Catherine, sorry I’m late, that’s not something I’m used to,” he said and laughed at some joke that was apparent to him, but Catherine was completely clueless.

“Please, call me Cat,” She said and made no effort to lean forward to shake his hand.

“Cat? I like that, that’s a nice name. You can call me Seb,” he smiled, and turned around, leaving the partition down. As soon as he started driving, Cat realized he had probably never been a chauffeur before. As they zipped through the streets of New York City and snapped around corners so fast Cat had to hold onto the door handle to keep from sliding on the smooth leather seats, she tried to place where his accent might be from. Somewhere European, though he spoke English well, that was good. Cat knew French very well, and could tell he didn’t have any kind of French accent.

Cat was torn out of her thoughts as they lurched to a start as the light turned green. “So, what is Seb short for?” She asked once they were driving at a more normal pace.

“Sebastian, like the crab,” he smiled at her in the rear-view mirror. Sebastian the crab, from the Little Mermaid? Cat was starting to like Seb a little more. Maybe he would be okay after all.