PART II - SOFIA

"I forgot my notebook at home. Would you mind coming with me? We could just do it there and come back for the rehearsal."

Helen didn't look like she was feeling well at all. She didn't wear any makeup and her locks were flat. I hadn't thought it possible that Helen would forget anything ever in her life. She always seemed so well organized and put together.

Maybe I was worried about her, maybe I just felt bad for her. I shrugged my shoulders. "Sure."

We had arranged a meeting for the time between the last period and rehearsals to talk about the group project and – if there was spare time – rehearse a dialogue from Romeo and Juliet.

"Do you have a car?" she asked.

I nodded proudly.

I named her Cachita. Cachita was a red Nissan. She was used when my mom bought her, but I didn't care. Nothing could dampen my happiness of owning a car. (I would have preferred a motorcycle, but Mom wouldn't give in.)

"This is her," I nodded to my car, and Helen opened the passenger door.

"Is it new?"

I nodded. "I got her for my birthday last week," I said while leaving the parking lot.

She was quiet for a few seconds. "I didn't know it was your birthday."

I grinned awkwardly at her. "I didn't tell anyone."

We said nothing during the ride besides her telling me where to turn. We only drove 10 minutes, but I felt like we've entered a whole different world. I thought that we lived in a nice neighborhood, but it seemed shabby against to what I was seeing here. The road was flanked with old, big oak trees on both sides and I could catch a glimpse of some of the mansions through the thick branches.

"This is my grandparents' house," Helen said suddenly without context. It was a nice Jugendstil villa with white floral stucco decoration around the curved window frames.

I stepped on the break.

"Oh, no, no, we're living down the road. It's just two more blocks."

I suddenly realized that we went super slowly because I was fascinated by the houses lining the street.

"I want to become an architect," I explained. Even though she didn't even say anything, I had the feeling I had to give her an excuse. For the first time today, I felt like getting a real reaction from her. Her head turned and she seemed honestly interested. "That is so cool! Are your parents architects?"

I shook my head. "No, but my mom's boyfriend is a design professor and he knows a lot about aesthetics and well, design. He's teaching me how to draw."

This is what it was supposed to be like, right? We were supposed to get to know each other.

Before I could ask what her career plans were, she said: "This is it."

When I had met Helen for the first time, a picture manifested in my head, about what kind of life she was living. This mansion fit perfectly into my expectations of a house she would grow up in.

"You can park in the driveway."

The driveway was big enough for two cars and led into a garage that could hold just as many. Several paving slaps were neatly put in the grass and lead us to the stairs going up to the front door. Through its glass, I could already see parts of the inside which seemed just as posh as the outside.

"Our housekeeper is on vacation this week, and my dad is at a conference so there might be some chaos I want to apologize for in advance," she said while unlocking the door.

"You can sit down over there," she gestured to the living room, "I'll be with you in a minute."

While Helen disappeared upstairs, I took off my shoes and put down my backpack on the sofa, then continued to explore the house. I was always interested in the ways a house functioned: How its occupants used the space, how circulation worked, what views one had while washing the dishes. The inside was, in fact, as classy as the outside. Big windows let in the bright afternoon light, the furniture looked like from a 90s sci-fi movie and the floors were so smooth I almost slipped twice. The living room was connected with the dining room which led me into the kitchen.

"Woah," I exclaimed when I entered the kitchen. The polished granite surfaces glistened in the afternoon sun. The view through the window into the garden was spectacular. A cat was slowly making her way from one side to the other.

"Her name's Buttercup," I jumped because I hadn't heard Helen come in. "Do you want anything to drink? We have water, juice, coffee, but only with plant milk, I hope you don't mind," she continued and opened the fridge.

"Water's just fine," I answered.

When she put down the glass in front of me, I noticed that she'd put on makeup and put her hair up into a ponytail. Only now I recognized the person in front of me. Of course, I had known it was Helen, but it had been such a quiet and unremarkable version – like a shadow of herself – that to me, she had seemed like a different person.