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My stomach twisted with guilt. She'd been the one I called to take me to the hospital when the nerves in my hand were on fire. She'd kept me company for hours in the waiting room, helped me with my at-home physical therapy exercises. She’d even let me live vicariously through her as she sketched my characters.
"This isn't like before." I stopped, waiting a second to give her my full attention. “Don’t worry about me. All you need to worry about is keeping these wipes in arm’s reach. Can you do that?"
Amaya studied me for a beat before giving me a small smile. "Fine," she said. "Done, but only because you have a very trustworthy face."
"I know. It's cute, ain't it?" I posed in the mirror.
She laughed. "You gotta admit, you'd make a hot ogre. If you wanted attention at your meeting, this was the way."
I snorted. "Shut -up and help me finish getting this crap off."
I had a nasty habit of over-explaining myself, a habit of trying to convince people to understand me. I’d gone so many years trying to get my parents and Liana to get it that I’d become an expert at stockpiling facts and words to better communicate. It was a habit that mentally exhausted me. I rarely, if ever, could get my family to change their minds. When it came to people who consumed my work, though, that was another story.
Over-explaining in art led me to find my style. I drew scenes densely packed with small details, rooms overflowing with things, no corner empty. I liked doing that with my characters, too. They dressed in layers of clothing and jewelry. Plenty of them sported tattoos with double meanings, piercings with extensive backstories.
Blank space made me anxious—it was wasted potential. The concept of waste made me antsy, which was why it took me longer than I thought it would to finish my first chapter for Inkmic. I left no part of the page white. My fingers burned after filling every inch, but it was so worth it.
When I got into the office this morning, it was the first time I wasn’t solely focused on proving my right to be there. The panels I’d drawn last night were incredible, and my story was far more intriguing than I thought it'd be.
It’s a good thing you went with a small cast like Sage suggested.
I frowned at the thought and pushed it away as quickly as it appeared. No thinking about Sage before I got my morning tea. We’d be in meetings all day together, so the less I thought about her, the better my day would go.
I was the first person in the Bloom Room, a warm mug in one hand and my new sketches in the other. There was rain coming down outside, painting the sidewalks dark gray. Afternoon storms had become a regular occurrence, and I felt excitement melt in my chest at the thought of going back to my desk and drawing to the sound.
Even though there weren't any assigned seats, I took the same one I'd had during my first meeting. Thankfully, it faced the window, allowing me to admire the storm. The calm that washed over me lasted only a few seconds before my phone buzzed with notifications. I glanced at them quickly and resisted the urge to unlock the screen.
I'd made a promise to myself that I wouldn't look at any contest updates while on the clock. Last night, my eyes were as dry as a desert after I reviewed my pages a billion times before uploading. I'd given enough time to the competition. Now, I had to focus on Harpy and Leisah…and Sage, who'd entered the room in her usual stealth manner.
She had her hair pulled under a black beanie today, edges slicked down, septum piercing in place, purple lipstick perfectly applied. She went to the drinks caddy first, making herself a cup of tea without uttering a word or sparing a glance.
I straightened my collar and picked at my puff before realizing I was preening. Even though Sage hadn't seen me doing so, my cheeks burned at the realization I suddenly wanted to look good. Better than good. For what? To impress her. To get her to admire something about me, even though it was clear gaining her admiration would be near impossible.
When she finally moved away from the caddy, I opened my sketchbook, trying to look busy. Instead of claiming her seat across the table, Sage pulled out the chair beside me.
I frowned when she sat down, and I dared to glance at her. She was busy settling in.
"What are you doing?" I asked, tone hoarse and unsure.
Sage opened her laptop. When her screen came to life, the window was open to Inkmic's landing page. My heart leapt at the sight of it. She didn't stay on the page long enough for me to get a good look at the leaderboard, though. The disappointment I felt had my fingers begging to open the app on my phone. One peek wouldn't hurt.
I didn't realize I'd leaned into her personal bubble until she cleared her throat. My gaze went from her screen to her face. There was a small smile on her lips, the perfect blend of knowing and smugness.
"What do you mean?" Sage asked, her voice a whisper. She slipped out of her corduroy jacket, letting it fall around her waist. The long sleeve, black marble pattern top she wore looked molded onto her skin.
She knew exactly what she was doing with that tone. Ever since our not-truce truce, she's been using it more. I could tell it'd been carefully crafted to lure someone into a false sense of security. She must know how it made my stomach jump. I'm not the best at masking emotion; I could practically feel my pupils dilate whenever she smiled at me. I didn’t believe it was flirting, but it was something close enough to make me nervous.
“You’re in Seline's seat." The statement sounded less childish when it was bouncing around in my head.
“It’s a seat.” She pulled up today’s meeting agenda and started adding things to the list. “She doesn't own it."
“I…right.” I nodded. Sure, she didn’t own it, but there was always an unspoken social rule that whatever seat someone frequented was basically their assigned one. Since we were on the topic of social rules, why was she sitting right next to me when the room was empty and so many other chairs were ripe for the taking?
"Would you prefer I move?" she asked, still typing away. How she multitasked without blinking was beyond me.
"No."
"I don't mind moving across the table."
