The Interview

They prepared for three days.

Nadia wrote out a full list of questions Marcus was likely to ask and drilled Oz on the answers until he could deliver them without the eyebrow doing anything. She made him practice his normal face in the mirror, which he found offensive and which was absolutely necessary.

"Your normal face," she told him, "looks like you are keeping a secret."

"That is just my face," he said.

"Then you need a new face for the interview," she said. "A blander one."

"I cannot just produce a blander face on demand."

"Yes you can. Watch me." Nadia arranged her face into an expression of such complete and peaceful vacancy that Oz leaned backward slightly.

"That is terrifying," he said.

"It is useful," she said, her face returning to normal. "Practice."

"Think about something boring," she said. "What is the most boring thing you can think of?"

Oz thought for a moment. His face went carefully, almost impressively, neutral.

"What are you thinking about?" Nadia asked.

"Double history on Thursdays," he said.

"Perfect," she said. "Think about that for the entire interview."

The interview happened on Thursday at lunch, in the library, with Marcus's phone recording and his notebook open. Oz sat across from him in his most normal clothes, which Nadia had selected, and thought about double history.

"So," Marcus said, "how long have you been training?"

"About a month," Oz said. "Maybe five weeks. It sort of crept up on me."

"And what made you start?"

"I missed a bus," Oz said, which was completely true and sounded completely boring and Nadia, sitting three tables away pretending to read, let out a very quiet breath.

"What distances are you running?"

"Various," Oz said. "Around town mostly. I like to vary the route."

Marcus wrote something. "Have you had any interesting experiences while training? Anything unusual happen?"

Oz's left eyebrow did absolutely nothing. He had apparently found a way to suppress it with double history.

"Once a dog chased me for about two hundred metres," he said. "That was quite exciting. Also I found a good shortcut behind the recycling centre."

Oz picked up his water bottle and took a calm sip. His left eyebrow stayed completely flat. Nadia, watching from three tables away, made a small fist of triumph under her book.

Marcus looked at his notebook. He looked at Oz. Something in his expression shifted, very slightly, like a theory being reluctantly revised.

"Last question," he said. "The Blue Blur. The superhero who has been spotted around town. Any thoughts on who it might be?"

"Someone with good trainers," Oz said immediately. "Running shoes matter a lot. I have learned that recently. You cannot underestimate footwear."

Nadia turned a page of her book to hide her face.

Marcus clicked off his phone recorder. He looked at Oz for a long moment with his head slightly tilted. Then he closed his notebook.

"Good interview," he said. "I will probably use some of it for a piece about student athletes."

"Great," Oz said. "Happy to help."

Marcus picked up his things and left. Nadia watched him go, then crossed the library and sat down across from Oz.

"Well?" Oz said.

"I think he still suspects," Nadia said honestly. "But he has nothing solid and the interview gave him an alternative story that is technically true. He is a good journalist. He will not publish something he cannot back up."

Oz slumped back in his chair with the relief of someone who had been holding themselves very straight for a long time. "That was the most stressful lunch of my life."

"You did well," Nadia said. "The dog story was excellent. And the footwear answer. That was inspired."

"The dog story was real," he said. "The dog was enormous."

"Even better." She looked at him. "You need a better costume, by the way. Something without wonky fabric paint. If you are going to do this properly you might as well look the part."

Oz sat up slightly. "Are you offering to help?"

"I am extremely good at sewing," Nadia said. "My grandmother taught me. And I have been thinking about a design since Tuesday."

Oz leaned across the table. "Do you think he believed it?"

"He believed the parts that were true," Nadia said. "Which is most of it. That is what makes a good cover story. You use the real things and just leave out the one bit that would ruin everything."

"I did miss a bus," Oz said. "I really have been running around town. There genuinely was a very large dog."

"Exactly," Nadia said. "You were not lying. You were just not telling the whole truth. Those are different things."

"Are they?""

Nadia thought about it. "In this case yes," she decided. "You are not doing this for bad reasons. You are not hiding it to avoid trouble. You are hiding it to keep doing it. Which is different."

Oz was quiet for a moment. Then he said: "I am really glad you know."

Nadia looked at him. "You should have told me a month ago."

"I know," he said. "I was being an idiot."

"You were," she agreed. "Do not do it again."

"Deal," he said.

Outside the library window the school day was carrying on without them, people crossing the yard, a football bouncing off a wall, someone shouting about whose turn it was. Perfectly ordinary. Nadia thought that was probably how it worked. The ordinary world carrying on right next to something extraordinary, and most people never noticing the join.

She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and slid it across the table. Oz unfolded it. His face, for the first time all week, did something that was nothing to do with secrets or nerves or careful neutrality.

He looked at it for a long time. The design was clean and clever, a deep navy blue with a single crisp white bolt running diagonally across the front. No fabric paint. No wobble.

He grinned.

"The lightning bolt is straight," he said.

"Obviously," Nadia said. "I am not an amateur."

***The End***