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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✘ most likely to be a tease ✘
Ayaka.Beaulieu@hotmail.com Shakespeare once asked, to be or not to be? I ask, is it better to be the sin or the sinner? Because sometimes, when all positions are taken you're made your own captor, by your own foolish mistakes.
No.1 Ayaka, how does it feel? not to be first, but to be mocked so heavily? You were the golden girl. Before Amber Zhu and Salem Whifteild had their reign it was you. Our hierarchy was all you. No one's heard from you since, everyone wants to know if it was true.
What happened to Sterlings very own silver girl, Ayaka?
I keep it real,
— Valè
[ pending ]
I NEED TO be as far away from Caleb as humanly possible.
When I'd told him my favourite book, I never expected two days later he'd come to school with an annotated version, with inserts about parts that remind him of me.
"Caleb," I look up from where the seven hundred page book lays heavy in my heads, "you didn't have to do this." It was so sweet, so innocent, so unexplainably not him — the boy behind the list with his friends.
"What? You said you loved the book, and I love making you happy." A light blush coats his light skin and I can't help but take notice of it.
"I'm disgusted by your sweetness," I say, not daring to fight off my smile as I flicker through the pages, eyes widening at the amount of time this probably took him to accomplish.
When all can be bought with money, it's the sacrifice of time that shows affection.
"You tell anyone Caleb Delvaùx annotated a book for you and you're dead Valé."
"You'd do jack shit if I said anything." I retort, with a cheeky grin.
"Got me there."
"I should feel special, is that it?" I taunt, flickering through the pages my eyes yet to meet his expecting ones. When I look back up, Caleb's gaze still hasn't left mine, and there's an emotion I cant quite decipher that flashes across his face.
"You shouldn't feel what you already are."
"Stop it," he thinks I'm shy because I'm so overwhelmed, theres truth to that but, it's guilt I am in constant surrender to.
Shaking off the memory from the days prior, I walk up the steps of Constance's house, grabbing the front of my dress so it doesn't drag against the cobblestone hindering the quality.
The dress is so beautifully captivating, a magnificent masterpiece — yet not so obsessional it'll take attention away from the real event of tonight. Cinched at the waist with a V cut ending just where my breasts are on show, it gives an illusion of cleavage whilst still being mom approved.
