They don't play to win. They play to hurt.
Sterling Academy's irresistible reputation all came crashing down last year when a list of the 'top thirty girls too...' had been anonymously published.
Now recovering from the pits of hell the media dragge...
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THE TEARS WERE real, the guilt was too.
It took Sage about a minute to jump into action when my panic attack had started, he'd done all the right things to comfort me. But comfort isn't an apology. Confessions are currency and I'm about to be in debt.
"Amber?" Sage's soft voice calls out from the other side of his bathroom door. Straight after he'd calmed me down he'd driven us to his house, since it was closer than mine.
He'd led me to his bedroom, where I hid in his bathroom.
"Yeah," I answer, attempting to lighten my voice as I stare at myself in the reflection.
I've done well in making myself look close to normal, I wiped away at the streaked mascara and dabbed away at the concealer using the pads of my fingers.
Breathing in and out once again, I turn around and walk towards the entrance of Sage's bathroom. I grab the glass knob of the bathroom door before twisting it and entering back into his bedroom.
"You want to change into something more comfortable? I have some sweaters in my closet if you want," His eyes don't meet mine, and I can't help but slightly soften at the gesture.
"Is Sage Evanders nervous?" I taunt, but my voice is throaty from the crying and I don't feel half as confident as I did before. As if I haven't been tortured enough flashbacks from what had happened earlier invade my mind.
Sage's deep blue eyes finally meet mine and I stop, rooted in my position. "C'mere," He gestures to the spot next to him on his king—sized bed.
Unlike what I originally expected, Sage's room is a lot neater than imagined.
His king—sized bed is in the centre of the room, and left to it are huge sheer curtains that show the Evanders's backyard which currently has a stool, large easel and empty stand amidst all the blooming flora.
Sage's room is pretty colour—free except for the hint of blues. There's a replica of his piece 'Seeds of prosperity' in one corner of his room. If I'm being honest, the only reason I even know that it's a replica is because I heard that Harrison Tony bought it for twenty—two million to surprise Romani Marigold and sign her to his label.
I walk over to Sage slowly, the deep navy blue rug he has on the floor is soft to the touch as I walk on it. I wonder if he picked it out, or if his mother had his entire room remodelled when he was young like me.
"You have a nice room." I idly comment, more so to hear if the rasp in my voice has fully gone away than anything.
"It's kind of boring," He admits, watching me like a hawk as I take a seat at the end of his bed. I feel as the energy shifts, as Sage unconsciously moves a little closer. Not by much, but closer.
"What's missing?" I ask, looking around and honestly, not finding any problems. There are framed photos of Atlas, Caleb, Luca and him up across the sides. His desk is neatly piled with art folders, and there is an encased shelf lined with swim trophies and medals.
