The first time I ever thought about becoming a reporter wasn’t because I wanted to ‘uncover the truth.’ I was ten, stuck inside with my best friend during a thunderstorm in the spring. My best friend, Pat, dared me to go outside and dance around the fountain in the market. I went but slipped into the fountain, came back soaked, but I did the dare and won the prize, which was some kind of candy. The next day, in school, my teacher shared a story from our local News Sector. I was on the front page. The headline? ‘Child’s Fountain Swim During Thunderstorm.’
They’d turned an impulsive childhood moment into a story for everyone to see. At first, I was embarrassed, but then I realized something. Whoever reported that piece decided how people would see me. They could make me a stupid kid or a free spirit, all with the words they chose. Whose other stories could be changed depending on how they were told? From then on, I didn’t just want to be in the story. I wanted to be the one reporting it.
Contingency Plan: (What they’ll do if their cover is blown)
Drop the “sweet” persona immediately and revert to my true nature. Use intimidation to unnerve or just paralyze/eliminate hostile parties to escape.
My pen slipped from my fingers, the clatter sharp against the quiet scribbling of the classroom.
Dimitri was already rising from his seat, and I stood up in the same breath. Heat prickled up the back of my neck as our eyes locked.
We’d finished simultaneously.
I let out a short huff, and his eyes narrowed.
We moved in unison, steps matching, and the air between us practically crackled.
Both of us reached Jarvins’s desk at the same time. My hand slid my persona page forward, the edge whispering against the surface of the desk, brushing the corner of his paper as he did the same.
Dimitri didn’t look down at the papers. Instead, his gaze stayed trained on me. I could tell he was thinking about how to one-up me on this assignment. He’d been straightforward about how us tying on entrance exams made him feel competitive.
The feeling was mutual.
“You two will be partnered up,” Jarvins said, scanning the pages with an infuriatingly neutral expression. He gave nothing away as to whose persona he thought was more put-together. “Use the timer on your tablets for five-minutes and interview each other with the questions in your email. Stay in character while you interact. Let the interview be mutual and natural to your personas.”
Neither of us said a word as we walked back to our desks to grab our tablets and found a spot in the back of the room to do the interview.
We sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. My magic wouldn’t stop buzzing under my skin at his proximity.
I opened my inbox without looking at him, trying to maintain focus, though I could feel his gaze moving over me.
My heart pounded harder as I remembered that he’d heard everything between Zuko and me last night. Heat bloomed over my cheeks. My gaze wandered over toward Zuko, who was already looking at me as he finished his persona.
He winked.
I ducked my head back down toward the tablet. Calming my nerves and desire was difficult but not impossible.
We scrolled in silence for less than a minute, searching for Jarvins’s email. The only sound was the quiet hum of other students talking around us as Jarvins paired others up as they finished.
His red eyes flicked up once, catching mine over the tablet screen. “Do you have the questions up?”
“Basic identity probing first,” I mumbled, reading through the questions to ask. “What’s your full name? Any nicknames you actuallylikebeing called?”
Dimitri’s eyes fluttered shut, tablet balanced loosely in one hand. He took a slow, deliberate breath that expanded his chest and made the line of his shoulders roll back. When he exhaled, it was as if something in him shifted. The sharp-edged stillness he usually wore softened, replaced with an easy, almost dangerous charm.
When his red eyes opened, they dipped before lifting again with a lazy half-smile. “Donovan Lakewood,” he said, voice dipping into a warm, deliberate tone that strung each wordtogether like top-shelf liquor poured slow. “But you can call me Don.”
My lips parted in surprise at just how easily he slipped into the persona I’d poked holes in during our study session. The shift in him was seamless, and I couldn’t deny that it intrigued me.
“Okay, Don,” I said, leaning back just enough to study the change in his posture, “where are you from? Anything someone should know about your hometown?”
His hand slid down his sleeve in an idle dusting motion, a flourish so unlike the Dimitri I knew that I almost forgot to write it off as performative. “Cursinia,” he answered, lips curving but eyes unreadable. “Only advice? Lock your doors at night, and double-lock them if you hear a knock.”
The smoothness in his tone wastooflirty to be Dimitri.
He leaned back on his hands, smirk sharpening. “Your turn, Miss…?”
“Melone,” I replied, drawing in my own deep breath before letting my posture shift. My shoulders rolled, chin tilted, and lips curved into a bright smile. “Renee Melone. So nice to meet you, Don. You can call me Renee during the interview.”
