The Great Divide

1. The Interview

"No way. I'm not doing it."

"Margaret, please. Be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable. Reason is the only reason I'm using right now, and I'm absolutely not doing it!"

"Don't get cheeky with me. You're doing it, and putting up a fight is only going to make matters worse."

"There is no way on God's green earth that I'm working with him."

Mrs. Dearing's forehead crinkled, and her misty eyes narrowed. "You're working with him. End of story. Suck up the attitude."

I exhaled defiantly and fell into step with Mrs. Dearing. Her low heels clacked on the linoleum floor as the two of us headed down the hallway towards the threshold of hell: the campus media room.

"Have I not properly explained to you our history? How difficult he is to work with? How insulting he is?" – My face pinched at the thought of his arrogant one – "How I want to punch the stupid expression off his stup –"

"You've explained at great length your – erm – struggles. I have no wish to revisit these stories. You'll be working together for one afternoon – one interview. It's not the end of the world."

"Yes, it is!" I drawled and raised my hands in exasperation. "James O'Brian is the worst human being on the planet."

"Stop exaggerating."

"I wish I was! Trust me." We were nearing the media room now. Dearing's clicking heels were counting the seconds until our dreaded arrival. "He's the most conceited, selfish, pompous person I've ever met. I refuse to work with James. He'll be the death of me!"

Just as I finished my sentence, another one flooded my ears, the voice causing my already riled disposition to intensify.

"Margaret Ren? You're kidding me. Tell me you're kidding me. You said the last interview was the last one I'd have to do with her. I'm not doing another."

Through the door leading to the media room, I was met with the face of the person voted "most punchable" – in my personal yearbook, at least – and my eyes reduced to slits. James's eyes, the exact color of sludge, mimicked my own, and both of us stood at a standstill. The first person to make a move was the first person down.

"Right," Mr. Jacobs said, running a hand over his fuzzy brow as if he was sweating, "You both set then?"

"I've already spoken to Margaret about the interview. She'll be ready tomorrow with questions." Dearing's voice was clean and crisp, like the animosity between James's and me was nonexistent. "James will just need to do the camerawork."

If only it were that simple.

The four of us, separated only by the media room doorway, stood facing each other like some twisted Western standoff.

Jacobs cleared his throat. "It's one interview. And it shouldn't take longer than ten minutes."

James broke eye contact, crossed him arms, and huffed. "You're not considering post-production times."

My eyes must have been nearly invisible now as my lids were drawn as far together as possible without loss of sight.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, you two! You're both adults! Act like it." Dearing's gaze bounced between James and me. Before I knew it, James's muddy eyes were back on mine.