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"It's fine. I don't care where you sit."
"Good. I figured since we're on decent terms now, we could play nice in front of everyone." The smile on her lips made me squint at her. She wasn't going to get in my head. Whatever she had planned, I'd figure it out.
"How's your first chapter doing?" Sage asked, but by her tone, I could tell she already knew the answer. She knew my ranking, and it wasn't impressive, because if it had been, she wouldn't have brought it up.
I nearly dived for my phone then. Was I in the bottom ten percent this early on? I'd spent at least eight hours trying to make sure everything was perfect, and that sure as hell showed in the work. If I'd done all that, only to be knocked out of the running during the first elimination, then that wasn't just embarrassing—it was disgraceful.
Would the higher-ups see that failure as a red flag? The editors at Harpy read the comics on Inkmic. If I couldn't keep up on a site mostly full of artists who create comics as side projects, would they rethink their decision on giving me a contract? I wouldn't blame them. I wouldn't deserve a seat at this table.
"Are you…okay?" Sage had finally stopped typing and even deigned to glance at me. "Your face is working overtime."
I wiped the panic from my brow, trying to take on a confident expression. "I'm good. Are you?"
"Perfect." She smiled, and God, I couldn't help but ask. I knew what the answer was going to be, but I couldn’t leave it. It’d bug me until I succumbed to internal combustion.
“My chapter’s fine. How’s your chapter going?” I clung to one of the loose buttons on my top, as if it held the secret to being okay with failure.
“Top ten already," Sage said with no hesitation—she'd been waiting to share that. I could tell it had been begging to come out of her the second she stepped into this room.
I realized then it was the reason why she wanted to sit by me. She wanted to be up close and personal to see the disbelief blooming in my eye, the sadist.
“Wow, congrats." I injected as much apathy into the words as humanly possible. Her expression fell a bit—the change in her smile was miniscule, but I saw it. The apathetic route pushed the wrong button. Lucky me.
"You didn't check your ranking, did you?" she tried.
I shrugged and picked up my pen, pretending to write down notes. "I don't usually look at rankings in the morning. Things change quickly throughout the day. No point in obsessing over them this early."
"You're at the bottom, aren't you?" Sage asked. The question was rhetorical. "There's no shame in it. We all have to start somewhere. I mean, they do say there's nowhere to go but up for a reason, right?"
My throat tightened. I took my time answering, glad I didn't know my actual ranking, because then, this would be impossible to fake. "I've been too busy fixing your storylines to worry about rankings today. The doc you gave me access to was a mess. Don't worry, I cleaned up all the major story problems. I saved some loose ends for you to tie up in case Tyson asks about how we split the workload. I would never want to make it look like you're slacking."
Sage scoffed. "Messy? I gave you a series bible with color-coded tabs and a fleshed-out glossary."
"Yeah, but your ideas were…" I tapped my pen against my nose, pretending to think long and hard. "Convoluted."
"So, I take it you've removed everything that made Leisah interesting and replaced it with storylines that make her blend in with the rest of Harpy's lineup?" Her glare would burn right through me if I hadn't refined my shield over the years. I used to cry after class critiques in university. My people-pleasing desire still lurked underneath my growth, but I didn't let it outwardly control my emotions anymore.
"She's more relatable, if that's what you're saying."
"No, I'm saying you're trying to make her blend in with characters she's better than because you're too afraid of standing out," Sage said quickly. "It's the same thing you do with your work: attempting to appeal to the masses."
I frowned. "There's a difference between appealing to the masses and being smart about writing for a market. If you took your nose out of the air for a second, you'd see the benefit of writing stories with a low barrier to entry. Harpy isn't some indie brand pushing out avant-garde work. I'm surprised they even gave you a head artist position, considering how much you clearly hate writing superheroes. If they're so beneath you, why are you even here? Why are you drawing for an audience you think isn't worth your time?"
My words sank in with the intended effect. She was quiet—I'd pierced her center. Instead of feeling proud about it, I felt sorry. I recognized the wrinkle in her brow, the kind I got when I was questioning myself, doubting myself.
I wanted to apologize, or at least say something that would soothe the burn of my words, but before I could say anything, the door opened, and the rest of the team filtered in.
Like me, Seline eyed Sage suspiciously. She didn't say a word about the seat, though, claiming the free one next to Harry instead.
Tyson started the meeting in his usual, upbeat tone. If he felt the heavy air swirling around Sage and me, he didn't mention it. He took us right back into the trenches, reviewing and finalizing our new storyboards.
Throughout the meeting, I was acutely aware of every move Sage made. She was left-handed, so anytime she reached for her pen, I had to be careful not to reach for mine. When she pulled her knee into her chest, the bottom of her pants slid up. There was a tattoo wrapped around her ankle. The delicate line art reminded me of the tattoo on the back of my neck. I squinted for a second, trying to read the words, but before I could, she readjusted her sock. She raised her brow when I looked up, and my heart raced as I directed my attention back to Tyson, embarrassed to be caught staring at her ankle, of all things.
Halfway through the meeting, I couldn’t take being so close to her anymore. Every slight movement she made felt important and noteworthy. I needed a break and stood to make a cup of coffee at the caddy.
I wasn’t supposed to be counting down minutes until a Leisah meeting was over. I was supposed to be hyped and engaged when it came to the job of my dreams, but my characters filled up every part of my brain. I plotted my next chapter, trying to tweak things in ways that would be unpredictable. Yes, I drew with the masses in mind, but that didn't mean my story wasn't good. I could still make things exciting.
Once I couldn’t stall by making coffee anymore, I took my cup back to the table. Tyson and Seline were arguing about the color themes, mainly whether to stick with the eighties neon or go for a more nineties, grunge scene look.
