The four main characters of Divided and their sidekicks grew up in a very different world than most people you and I know. Living in a dictatorship, separated from other ethnicities and deprived of the world's technological advances, their lives revolved around school, family, and Market Days (this is no Target or Walmart, trust me!).
Jason, a hesitant hero who faces difficult choices, grew up in the shadow of a power-hungry father, who dotes on Jason but is awful to everyone else, in the Ivory section of Queenstown. In this character backstory scene, Jason performs well in sports, but not in academics, and his father suggests their neighbor's eight-year old son, Donald, tutor Jason. Donald will re-appear in the Divided series as "Junior".
Jason Backstory Scene 1: Nine Years Before Divided Starts
Jason Britwell sat on the couch, not daring to move a single muscle as his father scanned the contents of the school letter. The elementary school had sent semester reports home in a letter, rather than handing them out in school. Last year had been pass-fail only. But now, in second year, they received grades in every class.
Math worried Jason.
It was so boring. He often fell asleep. And he struggled with his sums. Multiplication tables were beyond him. Must’ve slept through that class, too.
Hudson Britwell, a barrel-chested man with jet black hair, stood on the other side of the living room's ornately carved wooden coffee table. Jason heard his mother, Eleanor's, muffled footsteps upstairs.
Maybe the physical education teacher's comments about his football prowess would make up for his low math grade.
Jason drew deep breaths and held back tears. Father hated it when he cried. But he knew the report contained bad news.
Hudson Britwell tossed the letter aside. Then smiled.
"You have my athletic ability, though I wish you'd focus more on your academic subjects," his father said. He squeezed Jason's shoulder.
Jason released the breath he'd been holding. His father wasn't mad.
"How does your friend, Donald, do in math? Maybe he would tutor you or you can meet with the teacher after school?"
Friend? Donald wasn't a friend. Neighbor, classmate, sure. But friend? Nope.
"I... I guess Donald could help," said Jason. Never mind that Donald would tell all the other kids how much of a failure Jason was.
“Rulers maintain power through their brains, not their muscles. Donald understands this concept. You should spend more time with him.”
Donald's father was a wealthy regime representative who traveled back and forth to Martinsburg. Jason didn’t know anyone else who’d ever left the city.
Why did his father push Jason into friendship with Donald?
His neighbor friend wasn’t good at sports. He wasn’t on the second year football team, nor did he get chosen to captain the teams in Phys Ed like Jason. Plus, Donald tormented others. That was stupid.
Jason was popular at school, and great at sports.
Why this focus on Jason's grades? His father had always come to Jason's games, cheering more loudly than anyone else, even Jason's mother who Jason knew adored him, and praising Jason for his performance on the field.
"Okay," his father stood. "I'm glad we had this talk. Get some help from Donald. It pays to have influential friends, and he would be your only one. Those other kids won't get you anywhere."
His father left the living room, the front door closing hard behind him.
"But I don't like Donald," Jason said to the empty room.
Eleanor entered the room and sank next to him on the sofa, her fingers winded together in her lap. “You don't have a choice, Jason. There’s a saying - ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.’ Let’s pretend it applies here.”
Was Donald an enemy?
Donald was... nothing. Not a friend or an enemy. Why would his mom call Donald an "enemy"?
Donald often instigated fights that he then conveniently escaped without punishment. And strangely, no one ratted him out.
Donald strolled in without a knock. Who did this kid think he was?
“Mrs. B, how ya doin’?” He flopped onto the sofa on Jason’s other side as Jason and his mother stared at him, mouths open like twin drawers.
Jason shut his mouth, then flashed his mother a look.
“I’ll let you two boys play. I have dinner to prepare.” Jason’s mother walked to the kitchen without a backward glance.
“Finally, the old hag leaves us alone,” Donald said, heading toward the discarded letter on the ground. “Let’s torch this. I heard all about that math grade.”
Before Jason could grab the letter, Donald had flicked on the gas fireplace and tossed the letter into the flames. Jason grabbed at it, but the fire consumed the letter too quickly.
“What are you doing! I didn’t even read it yet!”
“It’s not worth your time. You’re smarter than that, Jason. Can’t you see? Just stick with me and all your dreams will come true.” Donald laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Even at eight years old, Jason towered over his slim, short-statured neighbor.
Why had just happened?
Nothing added up. His father hadn't seemed upset about his math grade, but still he'd coordinated Jason's tutoring with an eight-year-old?
His mother’s words echoed,
Keep this enemy closer.
Jason swallowed his distaste and agreed with whatever Donald had just said.
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