Miss Gloria's eyes lit up at the sight of our raised hands.
She pressed her palms together like she was about to witness a miracle — or a massacre.
"Anne. Go ahead," she said, giving me the floor first.
Austin leaned back slightly in his chair, just enough for me to catch the satisfied smirk on his lips. He wanted to hear me go first — so he could dissect it.
Fine.
I cleared my throat, sitting taller.
"Macbeth's guilt isn't just a feeling — it's a character. A shadow that follows him, drives him mad, and ultimately becomes his downfall. He doesn't just feel guilty — he's consumed by it. And unlike Lady Macbeth, who represses her guilt until it explodes, Macbeth talks to his. Argues with it. Tries to rationalize it. But guilt always wins."
A few heads nodded. I even caught Zoey giving me a subtle thumbs-up under the table.
I looked straight ahead, not at Austin, not yet. I knew he was going to come at it from a completely different angle. That was his pattern — take the opposite stance, no matter what.
Sure enough, a beat passed before Miss Gloria gestured.
"Austin?"
And then his voice, low and self-assured: "I disagree."
Shocking.
He didn't look at me when he spoke — not at first. He addressed the whole class, like he was giving a TED Talk and we were the lucky audience.
"Macbeth doesn't feel guilt the way we understand it. What he feels is fear. He's not sorry — he's scared. Every hallucination, every paranoid rant, every bloody vision… it's about losing power, not losing sleep. Lady Macbeth feels guilt. She spirals. But Macbeth? Macbeth calculates. Even his so-called breakdowns are laced with strategy."
He finally turned to me. "He regrets the consequences — not the actions."
I tilted my head. "You really believe that?"
"I know that," he said, matching my gaze. "Macbeth is a man driven by ambition and haunted by fear — not by morality."
I scoffed. "You're confusing guilt with conscience. They're not the same. He had a conscience. He even says, 'I am his kinsman and his subject… who should against his murderer shut the door, not bear the knife myself.' That's guilt."
"Or maybe that's performance," he shot back. "He says it, sure — but he still kills Duncan. Words don't absolve him."
I leaned forward. "But his mind unravels after. That sleepwalking scene? That's not fear. That's guilt breaking his brain."
Miss Gloria jumped in then, eyes glowing. "Excellent points from both of you. Let's open the floor."
A hand shot up. "I think they're both right," a girl from the front row said. "Macbeth is afraid of consequences, but that fear only exists because he feels guilty."
A few others joined in. Suddenly, the room wasn't just watching us — they were in it. Debating, citing lines, asking questions.
And still, somehow, it felt like me and Austin were the only ones in the room.
Every sentence he threw, I volleyed back. Every point I made, he twisted and reshaped.
It wasn't just rivalry anymore.
It was rhythm.
By the end of class, the chalkboard was covered in quotes and fragmented thoughts. Miss Gloria looked like she'd witnessed a full-blown stage play.
"Brilliant discussion," she said as the bell rang. "You've all just proven that literature lives and breathes through conversation."
Everyone began packing up, but I stayed seated for a second, catching my breath.
Austin stood and slung his backpack over one shoulder. "That was fun," he said, casual.
I raised an eyebrow. "You call being wrong for forty minutes 'fun'?"
He grinned. "You wish I was wrong."
I stood, gathering my books. "One day, you won't have a comeback."
"Impossible," he said, walking toward the door. But before stepping out, he turned back just briefly.
"You're good, Anne."
He didn't wait for a response.
And I didn't give one.
But my heart — traitorous thing — answered for me anyway.
I bent over my desk to stuff the last of my notes into my bag when I heard Miss Gloria say, "Lily, a moment?"
Lily tilted her head innocently and walked over. I didn't think much of it — she was the class rep, after all. Probably something about attendance or admin stuff.
I stood up to leave, but just as I reached the door, I heard my name.
"—so I think pairing Anne and Austin would be productive," Miss Gloria said in a low voice.
I paused, one foot still inside the classroom.
Lily didn't even hesitate. "I completely agree. They bring out… interesting sides of each other."
Miss Gloria chuckled. "That's a polite way of saying they argue like an old married couple."
"They challenge each other," Lily said, all sweet and strategic. "And isn't that what learning is about?"
Miss Gloria nodded, clearly pleased with herself. "Then it's settled. I'll announce the pairs on Monday, but keep it between us for now. Let the sparks build."
Lily clapped her hands softly. "I love this job."
I narrowed my eyes and stepped back into the hallway before they saw me. My pulse thudded in my ears.
So this was their game now?
Setting me up like I was part of some matchmaking experiment disguised as a school project?
I pulled out my phone and typed into our group chat:
Anne:
> Lily, I swear, if you don't explain yourself by the time I get home, I'm unfriending you emotionally.
Within seconds, the typing dots appeared.
Lily:
> 😇 Define "emotionally."
Anne:
> You know exactly what I mean.
Zoey:
> Wait—did she do it? 👀 Did she pull the Miss Gloria scheme?
Lily:
> I did. For educational purposes.
Anne:
> I hate you.
Lily:
> You're welcome.
---
As I walked out of school that day, sun glaring and bag heavy on my shoulder, I realized something awful.
I wasn't just stuck in this war anymore.
I'd just been drafted into an alliance I didn't sign up for.
And my co-soldier?
The very boy I swore I could outsmart, outargue, and outlast.
Monday couldn't come fast enough.