Ethan
The first meeting of the Fall Festival committee felt less like a student activity and more like a hostage negotiation. The room was thick with tension. I got there a few minutes early, a deliberate choice to show the Dean's advisor, Professor Albright, that I was taking this seriously. I found a seat at the head of the long conference table and adopted a look of thoughtful professionalism I was pretty sure I'd seen on my father's face once.
Then Olivia walked in. She was, of course, exactly on time, clutching a binder that looked thick enough to stop a bullet. She had her game face on—hair pulled back, no-nonsense blazer, and a gaze that could freeze boiling water. She scanned the room, her eyes briefly flicking over me before she chose a seat at the opposite end of the table. It was a clear declaration of war. Or, at least, a very frosty ceasefire.
The other committee members trickled in, a motley crew of eager freshmen, jaded seniors fulfilling a requirement, and a few student-government types who looked at Olivia with undisguised hero-worship. They all seemed acutely aware of the drama, stealing glances between me and Olivia as if we were two caged animals about to be released.
Professor Albright, a mousy man who looked permanently stressed, cleared his throat. "Welcome, everyone, to the first meeting of the Fall Festival committee. As you know, this year, we have two co-chairs: Olivia Chen and Ethan Brooks."
He gestured to us. I gave a charming, easy-going wave. Olivia gave a curt, professional nod. The contrast was so stark it was almost comical.
"Our goal," Professor Albright continued, sweating slightly, "is to plan and execute the best Fall Festival this university has ever seen. I will now turn it over to our co-chairs to begin the brainstorming process." He looked at us, his eyes pleading. Please don't kill each other.
Olivia opened her binder with a crisp snap. "Thank you, Professor. I've taken the liberty of preparing a preliminary agenda and a review of last year's festival, including a full post-mortem analysis of its successes and failures."
She began passing out a multi-page, densely typed document. A collective groan rippled through the room. I had to suppress a smile. Classic Chen. She'd brought a dissertation to a brainstorming session.
"As you can see on page three," she said, her voice all business, "the primary issue last year was a lack of cohesive branding and a scattered marketing approach. I propose we begin by establishing a central theme for the festival."
I decided it was time to intervene before she put the entire room to sleep.
"Whoa there, partner," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. A theme? We haven't even figured out what we want to do yet."
Her eyes narrowed at the word 'partner'. "A theme provides a guiding framework for our decisions, Brooks. It's basic organizational strategy."
"It's also boring," I countered, turning to the rest of the committee. "What do you guys want to see at the festival? Forget themes. Let's talk about the fun stuff. What about a battle of the bands? A food truck festival? A zip line across the quad?"
Energy shot through the room. The eager freshmen started chattering excitedly. The jaded seniors looked vaguely interested for the first time.
"A zip line?" Olivia scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "Do you have any idea what the insurance liability on that would be? It's completely impractical."
"And a 'cohesive branding strategy' is going to get people excited, is it?" I shot back. "This is a festival, Chen, not a corporate merger. The goal is to get students to show up, not to impress them with our organizational prowess."
"The goal is to do both!" she insisted, her cheeks flushing with color. "A well-organized event is a successful event. We need structure. We need a budget outline before we can even consider these… frivolous ideas."
"Frivolous? It's called fun. You should try it sometime."
We were locked in, a tug-of-war between structure and spontaneity. The rest of the committee just watched, their heads swiveling back and forth as if they were at a tennis match. Professor Albright looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.
"Okay, okay," he interjected, holding up his hands. "Perhaps we can find a compromise. Why don't we spend the rest of the meeting brainstorming ideas, as Ethan suggests, and then, at our next meeting, we can organize them within a thematic framework, as Olivia suggests?"
It was a sensible solution. Which meant, of course, that it satisfied neither of us.
Olivia looked deeply frustrated, as if her entire color-coded world had been thrown into disarray. I felt a surge of victory, but it was short-lived. I knew that without her structure, my fun ideas would never get off the ground. We were at a stalemate.
The rest of the meeting was excruciating. Every idea I proposed, she countered with a practical objection. Every structural suggestion she made, I countered with a plea for more excitement. We accomplished nothing. It was the most unproductive hour of my life.
As the meeting mercifully ended, the committee members practically fled the room. Olivia began packing her binder, her movements sharp and angry.
I walked down the length of the table to where she stood.
"This isn't going to work, Chen," I said, my voice low.
"I'm aware of that, Brooks," she snapped without looking at me. "You're incapable of taking anything seriously."
"And you're incapable of seeing the bigger picture! No one cares about your stupid binders. They want to have a good time."
"And you think a zip line is the answer to everything?" She finally looked up at me, her dark eyes blazing. "This is my future, Brooks. My career starts here. I will not let you turn it into a joke."
"And my father thinks I'm a joke!" The words slipped out before I could stop them, raw and unfiltered.
Her angry expression faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise. I'd revealed too much. I'd shown her a crack in the facade.
I immediately backpedaled, forcing a smirk. "My point is, we both have something to prove here. But if we keep this up, the only thing we'll prove is that the Dean was right about us."
She was silent for a moment, her sharp mind clearly processing this new piece of information about me. I had handed her ammunition, and I was waiting for her to use it.
But she didn't.
"Fine," she said, her voice clipped. "We need a new strategy. Because this… this was a disaster."
"I agree," I said. "Truce?"
"A temporary one," she clarified, shouldering her bag. "We need to figure out a way to work together. Away from an audience."
She walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the wreckage of our first attempt at cooperation. This was going to be harder than I thought. Olivia Chen wasn't just a political rival. She was a fortress. And I had a sinking feeling that if I wasn't careful, I'd end up spending our entire 'ceasefire' trying to find a way inside.