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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"SECRETS ARE LIKE currency, you can trade just for the right kind." Valè's words from days ago play like a broken record at the back of my mind as I pack up my final things for the end of the day. I've been trying to find anything and everything on Luca since then to use, but nothing is useful.
"Are you sure you won't be needing to catch a ride with us?" Ari begins, as we walk in sync towards the exit of the school together, leaving behind our shared math class. Our bags are already in hand.
By nightfall the school's museum will be unrecognisable, hosting the seventy—fifth anniversary of Sterling Academy. All students have been banned from the museum wing since the beginning of the week.
"Nah, Luca's already set on me going with him." What I don't mention, is the minutes of begging he'd had to endure for me to agree.
He thinks it's because I'm stubborn, but really I'm scared.
"So, you and Luca?" Aristotle begins suggestively as she eyes me over where her black curls are clipped back using her red and black claw clip.
"I can't date Ari," I remind her hoping the statement will shut her up, but it only ignites her even further.
"Okay? Who needs to put a label on things? We're in the twenty—first century Nads, labels are so last year." I roll my eyes, shoving her as we round the corner of the crowded parking lot. "What? I'm just saying." She shrugs, with a playful smile.
"Yeah, maybe less of that," I suggest.
"Bitch."
I snort as we enter her Mercedes—Benz. I grab Ari's bag as she slides into the driver's seat and twist my body to lean over the middle console to place our bags in the back seats. I slide back into the seat as Ari presses on the accelerator.
"When are the other girls joining us?" I ask, leaning into the seat as I look out the window watching the school grow smaller and smaller away from us as we head over to our hair appointments.
"Bailey, Con and Vals should already be there by the time we hit the mall for my shoes."
"Oh, alright."
The car ride is quiet excluding the song that plays from the girl's joint playlist. I can tell it's Valé's section when Woman by Harry Styles ends, and Nervous by The Neighbourhood begins.
"Nads," Ari breaks the silence. I hum blocking the sun peering through the window with the back of my hand. "Silvers haven't posted in a while, do you think it's dead?" She muses.
'Oh Ari, give it a few hours,' I have the urge to say but don't.
"Nah, elites don't die," is what I say instead as she pulls up into the parking lot of the Courtemanche mall. Even if 'Silvers' did go extinct, it wouldn't die. It's too evil to just pass. It would rot.
