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“I’ll get the snacks.” Seline rubbed her hands together. “Harry, your combo?”
“Something sweet and salty,” he said.
“What about you, Pastel?” Seline asked as she got up. It took a moment for me to realize she was talking to me. Sage’s poor attempt at suppressing a snort didn't go unnoticed.
“Um, I’m good.” I smiled at Seline and tried not to take offense at the nickname. I didn’t think she meant any harm.
I felt like I was watching a play on its final night. Everyone moved around each other so effortlessly. They communicated with simple sounds or looks that had probably taken years to perfect. My nerves were back, and I picked at the edges of the light pink binder I brought in. It was stuffed to the brim with old artwork I’d found in the dustiest parts of my mom’s attic. The drawings inside were atrocious, but the ideas were good. Great even after I tweaked them. I brought the folder for emotional support, something to cling onto and remind myself I could hold my own against Sage.
Yes, she was usually better than me when it came to the technical side of art. Her execution was flawless, but I was a storyteller, always have been. There was no doubt in my mind I could run circles around whatever she had outlined.
“Ready when you are,” Tyson said as soon as Sage’s laptop screen was mirrored onto the projector.
“Lights?” Sage asked an already-moving Seline.
"Camera, action," Harry joked.
With the lights dimmed, the rough sketches on the screen came to life. I leaned my elbows on the table, pressing my fingers to my mouth. We hadn’t even gotten through one slide, and I was already impressed. Thank God for the relative darkness; Sage didn’t need to know how easily my heart jumped at the redesign of Leisah’s costume.
“New era, new outfit,” Sage started. She leaned back in her seat as she spoke. Sage positioned one foot on the chair, pulling her knee into her chest. Presenting in front of this many people would have me on pins and needles, but not her. She slouched and talked slowly, like she was on her friend’s living room couch.
I clenched my back teeth together—of course the attention didn’t faze her. I’m not sure what bugged me more: the publish-ready cover, or the knowing glance she tossed in my direction. Sage knew she already had a colossal lead before I'd even set up at the starting line.
Chapter Four
Sage
I couldn't tell what she was thinking. Everyone chimed in with their gripes, voices overlapping each other as they battled to be the loudest, but she hadn’t said one thing since I finished my presentation.
Noah’s silence put me on edge. I didn’t want to, but I kept sneaking glances to see if her neutral expression had changed.
Her fingers were pressed to her lips, the nails painted pink, with strawberries drawn on every other one. She wore matching pink glasses but still squinted at the projector like she couldn’t see what was going on. Or maybe she could see and didn’t understand like the others.
Tyson and Tommy were giving me a fairly solid argument against the choice to do away with Leisah’s family. I didn’t want Leisah to have any ties yet. I didn’t want her to be shoehorned into a matronly saint role, like she had in the older comics. Leisah deserved more than that. She deserved to be a well-rounded character, admired for more than what she could give to others. I couldn't stand how self-sacrificing she'd been in past issues. I got exhausted reading about her giving up what she wanted for the "greater good."
Noah picked at the edge of her pink binder. Seline and Harry put their two cents in, agreeing with including the family in the story so early on. I didn’t care what they thought, though, because I was the head artist. Whatever I drew was what would get printed.
I was used to the harping and moaning, the complaints about my characters being too cold or my stories a bit stiff. The criticism was white noise at this point; nothing speaks louder than numbers, and I could pull numbers in my sleep.
“I’ll take your feedback into consideration,” I said once there was an opening in the conversation.
Tommy scoffed. He’d been working for Harpy for the past year, and we’d sat in meetings with each other long enough to know when one of us was blowing smoke. He was a mediocre editor who only stood out because of his ability to come up with hooking cliffhangers.
“So you brought us in here for what?” he asked. “To show off your storyboarding abilities?”
“Tyson’s the one who invited you,” I reminded him with a shrug. “You’re free to leave whenever.”
“Sage,” Tyson warned in a low voice.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“Are you?” Tyson’s close-lipped smile told me he smelt bullshit.
I held up two fingers. “Promise.”
“Leisah’s a big deal,” Tommy continued. “Like, huge. If you flub this rebrand, the higher-ups are gonna have a field day.”
“You don’t think I know that?” I laughed humorlessly. “That’s why I don’t want her to remain as some pure beacon of hope. It’s cliché and one-dimensional. The fandom will eat us alive—me alive. They expect more. Deserve more.”
