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.
The sultry, low purr of the black Audi is the only sound in the tense awkward air. On the same couch, Atlas sits as far away as possible, his cheek almost touching the windows. He has a pair of earphones in his ear, pretending I don't exist in the car. Fine by me.
It's weird being on this end of such a rich service. My eyes flit to the driver's shaded eyes in the rearview mirror. I want to spark conversation with him, to make it feel less like a service and more natural to me. But it never comes. At least I know his name: Ezra Orlando.
I shift the itchy grey skirt under my thighs and loosen the wine red tie around my neck. I never got the ideology behind these silly uniforms, and now they make me look like another snobby prep kid. It does serve me one purpose, though, and that is not needing to show anyone my non-designer, cheap clothes.
Everyone in the Upper East Side moves at a slower pace than the rest of Manhattan. No rush, just happy people walking their dogs, riding their bikes, living their happy lives. The luxury doorman hotels and city parks are a stark contrast to where I grew up. Even the trashcans have no garbage surrounding them. This place is for pearls, pocket squares, and dollar bills. It is home to the city's elites.
We finally drive through pointed, steel gates to what I assume are the school's. The buildings' gothic architecture screams old money—stone exterior, grand, tall designs that sweep upwards to the sky with height and grace, and clustered columns. It looks like something straight out of Milan.
The driver stops us next to the center building, and we step out. I'm still staring in wonder at the beautiful exterior when Atlas spins to my side with a stony expression.
"Try not to attract too much attention to yourself," he mutters, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside.
Looking around, I realize what he means. Everyone is staring at me with whispering eyes and cupped hands over their mouths, mainly targeting Atlas's hand on my forearm. I pull my hand out of his death grip and scowle at his neck.
Before I can curse him, I'm stunned for the second time at the interior of the school. It is the polar opposite of what I was greeted with on the outside: polished white and black granite, sharp corners, and glass windows everywhere. It's as though he pulled me into a different school, modern chic.
The hallways are filled with rushing students. A group of girls stroll past me, and I'm hit with the suffocating smell of hairspray and Chanel perfume. I recognize it from the samples Marli and I would giggle over in the mall.
A group of guys greet Atlas with slapping backs and laughter. His tense demeanor shifts, and an easy look plays on his face as they catch up. It's the first time I see a smile on his face, full lips pulled to reveal flashing, straight whites. He would look charming if I didn't know him so well.
They're all clad in the same grey uniform, with the exception of two wearing a varsity hoodie. I cross my arms, self-aware as they shift their attention to me once they realize I'm standing next to Atlas.
