“Never.” I shook my head. “I always knew what I was going to do with my life. It was never a question of if or how, but when. I believe everyone knows what they want to do, but they’re just too afraid they won’t be able to do it.”
“I might just listen in as well,” the driver said, pulling up to New York University.
He came around to my door as I fixed my jacket, nodding to him before walking up the steps. He was right; the place was filled with hopeful twenty-something’s, all gathered around the large theater.
“Dr. Davenport.” The director of the event, Professor Mills, waved as she tried to work her way through the crowd toward me. She was a short, pale woman with big glasses that nearly took over her whole face. In her hands were all kinds of files, which she shifted to one side in order to shake my hand.
“Welcome, sorry for the chaos. After we announced our last guest, we got an influx of students.” She smiled, showing her braces as more students passed us.
“I was about to say, I didn’t think this many students cared about science so much.” Why not was beyond me. “Who is the next guest, a musician or something?”
“No…wait, she was right behind me.” She turned, standing on her tiptoes, trying to look over the crowd. “Oh, there she is.”
I followed her line of sight. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” There, taking a selfie with two students—one with dreadlocks that almost touched the ground and another with a hot pink mohawk—was the Con Artist herself.
“Ms. Poe!” The director called to her as the campus police helped everyone get in order and move toward the hall.
Finally free of distractions, she focused on us, her brown eyes widening when she saw me. “What are you doing here?” she questioned when she reached us.
Why, God? Why? “I should be asking you that.”
“You know each other?” The director clapped in joy. “This is great. I can’t wait to get this open debate underway.”
“Debate?” the Con Artist and I said at the same time.
“I was under the impression this was question and answer with the students,” I stated.
“As was I,” she said.
“Really? We let your chair know, Dr. Davenport, and your agent, Ms. Poe. The reason is that the science and art department graduates have basically been having this battle for days now. They hope you both will hammer in their points. Since you two are friends, I’m sure this will be a healthy discussion. Follow me,” Director Mills basically proclaimed in one swift breath.
Neither of us understood what she meant until we followed her through a separate door leading to the stage where three red chairs awaited us. The crowd I had just seen blended together outside was now divided between the arts and the professional. The difference was so clear. Even the Con Artist and I were, without realizing it, representing our teams by our outfits. I was dressed in a suit, while she had been more free-spirited in her outfit choice.
“Ladies and gentlemen. It is with great honor that I introduce our first set of speakers for the day,” Director Mills said, already sitting in her chair onstage as we waited.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered beside me.
“Our first guest is currently the youngest neurosurgeon at New York Presbyterian Hospital. He graduated from our very own New York University before rising to the top of his class at Yale Medical. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Dr. Eli Davenport.”
The left side of the room cheered for me, rising to their feet.
“Good luck,” I said to her before walking onstage. Waving to the audience, I shook Director Mills's hand once more before taking the first seat.
“Our second guest is also a graduate of New York University. It was at our very own art gala that she debuted her first major work, Screaming in the City. Since then, her art and photography have graced almost every corner of the world. Time Magazine called her the Anselm Kiefer of this generation. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Ms. Guinevere Poe.”
I had thought the applause given to me was shocking, but all the art students went completely wild. Stomping their feet and clapping their hands, they cheered as if she had ended world hunger or cured cancer.
She came out, the biggest grin on her face as she waved back with both hands. She even gave a bow.
I rolled my eyes.
“Good luck,” she mocked when, finally finished praising herself, she sat in her chair.
I wanted to wipe that look off of her face.
“Thank you for being here,” the director said to us as we were handed microphones.
“No problem,” she replied gleefully.
“I wouldn't say ‘no’ problem. I could be saving someone’s life right now, but—”
A bunch of ohs and laughter came from my section.
She glared at me, nodding her head as if agreeing to something.
Let the games begin.
Guinevere
That’s how he wants to play? I had just made a pact not to allow him to drag me down to his level, and there I was getting into the ring with this…this thing…again. I had lived in the city for years, and never had New York felt as small as it had in the last few weeks. I just couldn’t get away from him.