In a city of sheep ruled by wolves, she became the python that pulled them apart.
•••
Sage Black is a girl of little opportunities, forced to see the seamy side of life growing up in New York. Witnessing what lengths billionaires will go through t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
That morning, I spend a minute longer standing in front of the cracked mirror in my bathroom, studying my tense features. The distorted glass and harsh fluorescent lights make my features look hollow. The two French braids running from my scalp to chest is a change from the ponytail I wear every day, and the holes in my stockings are sewed by my mother's delicate fingers.
But there is no point. No matter what picture I try to paint, I'm already the poor girl from Harlem that is pitied into this school. The newspapers all over subway floors and tabloids in every penthouse in New York made sure of that last night—my picture is already painted for me. And who knows what will wait for me in the halls of the school.
I have a hunch it will be in the form of a perfect, golden-haired Yvonne Sutton.
The more I stare at my reflection cut up by zigzags in the mirror, the more foolish I feel. Harshly sliding the cupboard shut, I make my way down the fire escape and get into the car waiting for me.
I've gotten used to the rides with Atlas every morning; he keeps his headphones in and I keep my gaze out the window. We'd only communicate in the form of scowls and passive-aggressiveness. Today, he barely glances at me—not glare or even a smug smile after the news came out.
I feel uneasy at the thought of Tave and Zain treating me differently this morning and wonder if I'm going to spend the rest of this year in the library. On Friday, they hadn't even noticed my disappearance. It shouldn't have stung, but it did. But then again, I made sure no one saw me exit the house, and walked until I found a subway station after seeing the death certificate.
When we reach school, I feel my palms grow sweaty and dread cooling in my stomach, twisting around my intestines. The second my face is met with the autumn wind, I immediately attract staring eyes.
A week ago, I would've brushed it off without giving them a second thought. This is who I am, and deep down, I know it is nothing to be ashamed of. I'm a hustler, a person surviving with my bad fortune—despite my bad fortune. These people don't know a grain of hard work, and I should used that as my weapon.
But that was a week ago. I've made acquaintances; they've seen more of me, they know me. Being a stranger would've been easier than facing their scrutinizing stares every day in hallways, classrooms, across the lunch hall. It's hard to be strong all the time.
Fake it till you make it, Sage.
Putting on a nonchalant front, I walk into the building, planning on going straight to my locker, grab my books, and wait in the library without facing anyone. Still, that's wishful thinking.
I feel like a candle flame glowing brighter and brighter the more I walk, attracting more eyes from moths in grey uniforms. What was once curious stares last week, turns into ridiculing and judging stares today. Now that they've acquired I'm inferior to them, everyone seems to grow bolder, not hiding their snickers.
