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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HOW DOES SHE know? How does she always know?
"I'm not mad." Valé shrugs, but it's in her eyes another story lies when they reflect everything but that.
"Well, well, well Amber. Never knew you'd go this low, betray us?" Nayelie's the one to scoff, belittling me under her piercing gaze and I'm transmitted to one of our first encounters as a group where I'd done the same.
"Is that what you meant?" Nadia doesn't address me at all, as she looks over at Valé.
Meant what? Have they been secretly conversing without me?
"Don't trust anyone," Nayelie mutters, more so to herself than the rest of the group. Yet when recognition flashes across Nadia's features I go rigid with obliviousness. "Are you dumb?" She screams at Valé. "Why would you have us share their secrets in front of the backstabber then?"
Valé doesn't allow her stare to wander as she eyes me with a hint of a grin, even despite the other girl's rising temper. "Like I said, I'm not mad." She shrugs, seated. "I told you guys to make them trust you, Amber has done just that."
She's wrong there, but I don't find it right in my heart to correct her.
"Valé, are you hearing yourself? She's a fucking liar!"
"Don't talk about me like that," I warn, crossing my hands over my body, but even I can hear the lack of confidence in my tone.
"Were you fed acid as a child? Or are you this delusional to believe I care to hear whatever you have to say right now!"
I tighten my jaw, "You have no idea what position I was put in!"
"You know what Amber? the only position I want you in right now is six feet under."
"She's right we don't know what she was put in, so let's hear you out." Nadia finally peers over her shoulder to look at me, waiting for an explanation with those big brown eyes of hers that are still bloodshot from the tears earlier.
I start from the beginning and don't stop.
"He's on his way," the familiar voice urgently cuts in.
"He's What? Who's on there wa—"
"Me."
My hand goes limp by my side and the phone goes clattering to the ground. I don't have to turn to the side to know who's just spoken. Sage.
"Sage," I greet, holding back any wariness from my picture—perfect stance and calm demeanour. My phone is screen facing to the floor.
"What are you doing here?" I think he's addressing me, but then his eyes fall past me. When I turn, I catch Gigi hiding half her frame behind the door, her dark hair peeking through the yet—to—be—closed slit as the light from inside the house creeps outside illuminating the night sky.
