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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tw: amber's mom's bs about weight.
"DUCKLING!" MOTHER'S SHRILL voice into the sound system on my floor. Reluctantly I get out of bed, peeling off the silk sheets and then my sleep mask from off my forehead. The white silk falls away onto my vanity as I walk past it and onto my floor.
I press a finger on the system, taking a hand behind my neck to crack it whilst doing so. "Yes, mother." I speak.
I've been awake for hours but blamed my absence at school on a stomach bug in my plan to avoid Sage since yesterday's assembly.
"There's someone here to see you." Who could it be? "It's the Evanders boy." She says as if able to read my thoughts.
"Sage," I hear the correction on the other side as he mutters it. Mother hums but nothing else, she doesn't correct herself. She doesn't care. She gets off making people feel insignificant.
"I'm letting him come up." There's silence and I think it's because Sage is emerging before I hear some things on the other side, "but let me warn you my daughter is no beauty this time of day, she's very...washed out." I glance at myself to skim over my appearance in one of the hallway mirrors. I do look dull, oh my God.
I rush into my room hoping the stairs will take Sage some time. For once I'm glad mothers shut the elevators to my floor.
I strip from my pyjamas so swiftly that I barely pay any mind for the embarrassment of mother selling me short. I rummage through my draws quickly pulling on a white cami tank top with mini detailed flowers.
There's a knock on my door and I shimmy out of the silk shorts and pull up the matching cotton one's "Amber?" the familiar voice calls.
"Just a minute, Sage!" I turn to my vanity, undoing my hair from its dutch braids, letting the black waves slip just above my shoulders as I shake them out. I know they won't last though, nothing usually does with my hair type if excessive use of hairspray isn't used.
I don't care for makeup anymore, after the crying incident last time — still internally cringing at that — I've found myself putting less and less on when talking to Sage.
He doesn't make me feel judged, but still, it's mother's voice that plays like a continuous loop in my head. Telling me I am not beautiful on my own — swiftly I apply a swash of lip gloss and curl my lashes.
I swing the door open with a rehearsed smile, hoping my cheeks haven't gone too red with everything I've just done in such little time.
I've always had that problem, mom pointed it out once when I'd hidden in my bedroom to do a workout after I heard her on the phone with a modelling agency — she'd declined their interest in seeing me, telling them I was still embarrassingly 'excessive' in all matters regarding weight.
I was only eight.
"Sage." I greet coyly as he makes his way into the room and doesn't spare me a second glance.
