Diplomat High

Chapter 2 - Barry's Interview

You pulled through the crowd of bustling people towards the basketball court as Abraham Lincoln rambled to you. "Never in my life could I have imagined something quite like integrated schools. You mean they study in the same buildings?"

"Yes, they do. And there's nothing wrong with that. Have I mentioned you're insanely racist?"

He rolls his eyes. "Have I mentioned you're insanely racist?" he mocks. "There have to be at least 10 presidents worse than me."

"Which is still horrible?"

"Ah, to each their own. You can't have a president without a little spice. By spice, I mean bigotry. But it's time for you to interview Barry, isn't it?"

You sigh as you make it to the basketball court and push the door open. It's an expansive space decorated it blue and white. On the court is an assortment of students, some of them in loose jerseys, and others of them shirtless. You search around for a coach or teacher or something, but you're starting to realize that almost every class is student led, meaning you'll have to find Barack yourself.

"Alright, do some quick dribbling drills. I'll set up the cones," a guy called out.

You brought your attention to him, and you almost want to evaporate on the spot. He's tall with dark honey-colored skin and a short afro. Along with that, he's shirtless, exposing his lean frame.

"Well, come on, that's him. Go talk to him," Lincoln says.

"I will, but you need to go first."

"Why? You're afraid I'll steal the show?"

In more ways than one. "Just please disappear."

"Fine, fine." He disappears, and you straighten as your stride towards Barack. He grins at you as you near. "What's up?"

"I'm from the Yearbook class, and you're apparently running for--

"Hey! Jong-un, what did I tell you about scrimmaging when you're not supposed to?" he shouts.

A short guy with black hair does a quick crossover, causing his teammate to slip, and he stops and pulls on a guilty smile. "Sorry. He asked for it."

"Whatever. As a co-captain, you need to set an example."

"Oh, is that Kim Jong-un?" you ask, taking in the short boy's sly appearance.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm supposed to be interviewing him as well."

Barack smirks and leans against the wall. "You won't let me have you all to myself first?"

You feel your face beginning to heat up. "W-well, I'm--"

"I'm just kidding." He chuckles, but even so, it's hard to believe he was joking. "You'll get your chance with him. But me first."

You take in a slow breath as you take out your pencil and start up your voice recorder. "Okay. First question, what made you decide to run for president?"

"Well, in a well off school like this, I feel as though we need to be open to new experiences, new people, and circumstances. Yes, we all come from different backgrounds, but we need to learn to share these backgrounds to incite meaningful change."

"And what is a concrete change you'd like to make?"

"Hm, nothing very concrete, but I'd like to make sure that new students especially feel welcomed and not too intimidated by the environment." He pauses and tilts his head to the side. "What did you say your name was?"

"Oh, it's y/n."

"That's a nice name. I assume you already know mine, but you can just call me Barry. You're new here?"

"Yeah, I am." 

"What do you do for fun? You'd be good on the court?"

You laugh. "Most definitely not."

He picks up a ball of the rack and passes it to you. "Prove it then."

You're aware that your entire conversation has gone off the rails, but you're not going to pass up this opportunity.

You grin as you step towards the court. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to embarrass myself."

"We all start somewhere. You could never embarrass yourself in front of me."

You sigh, shaking your head with the corner's of your mouth lifting as you dribble. You raise the ball up to shoot, and he easily blocks it.

"I thought you'd go easy on me!" you scoff.

"When did I ever say that?"

He dribbles back to the three point line, and you put your hands up to play defense against him. "I thought you'd be going easy on me, y/n."

"Fat chance."

He races towards the basket, and you manage to get in his way. He smirks as he dribbles, his body pressing against you. Your heart is racing in your chest from running around and how close he is to you. You're so distracted by this that he's able to spin around you and land a lay up. He grins. "C'mon, y'n. Don't make this easy for me."

"Oh, you're on."

You continue playing basketball with him, laughing and enjoying your time with him, completely forgetting the impending interview you still have to complete. Just as you manage to land a bucket, the bell rings, and your mouth gapes open. "Oh. We're out of time?"

"Yeah, my bad. I shouldn't have distracted you. But we had fun, right?" he says.

The corner's of your mouth lift. "Yeah, we did."

"Then no worries. We can always complete this later, if it doesn't take up your time, that is."

"Of course. We'll be able to meet up again." You didn't know if that was true, but you did want to see Barack again.

"It's a da--" He clears his throat, looking slightly embarrassed. "So, it's settled."

"It is."

"See you then, y/n."

You nod and start out of the basketball court with your things as a warm feeling fills your chest. Wasn't he dashing? But, of course, you were only there for a very, very professional interview that happened to go off the rails. Nothing more. 

Or maybe not?

"How was it?" Abraham asks as he appears beside you.

"It was... amazing."

"Oh god, if you're already doe-eyed from meeting Obama, the rest of this list is going to be insufferable."

You furrow your brow. "What do you mean?"

He sighs. "You'll realize it soon enough."

Whatever Abraham was alluding to concerned you, but what did a racist's opinion mean to you anyway? All you could do was move forward to the next round of interviews.