Chapter 7
**Chapter 7: Beneath the Mask**
The gravel crunched beneath Sapphire's shoes as she stormed away from the auditorium, her breath sharp and uneven. The autumn wind whipped through her hair, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Behind her, the muffled laughter of her former allies echoed like a taunt, but she refused to look back. Her chest burned—not from the cold, but from the raw fury coiling inside her. *How dare they?*
The parking lot stretched ahead, its asphalt gleaming under the pale afternoon sun. Students lingered by their cars, their chatter dying as she passed. Sapphire clenched her fists, her nails biting crescents into her palms. She could feel their stares—curious, judgmental, triumphant—but she kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the city's skyline pierced the clouds.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, her thumb hovering over Amara's contact. The screen blurred for a moment, tears threatening to spill, but she blinked them back. *No. Not here.*
Amara answered on the second ring. "Hey, princess."
The casual warmth in her voice unraveled something in Sapphire's chest. "Are you busy?"
"Not really. What's up?"
"Can we meet? I just… I need to talk to you."
A pause. Then, softer: "Of course. Same place as last time?"
"Yes. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
---
Amara's apartment was nestled above a thrift store, its staircase narrow and dimly lit. Sapphire climbed the steps two at a time, her heels clicking against the chipped paint. The door swung open before she could knock.
Amara leaned against the frame, her silver hair tousled and her sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her usual smirk faltered when she saw Sapphire's face. "Shit. Come in."
The apartment was a collage of chaos—canvases propped against walls, half-empty mugs littering the coffee table, a record player spinning a vinyl with a crackled hum. Sapphire sank onto the couch, its springs groaning under her weight. Amara sat beside her, close enough that their knees brushed.
"They ambushed me," Sapphire said finally, her voice fraying at the edges.
Amara's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
"A group of them. Lina was there too." The words tasted bitter. "They said I've been 'acting out of character.' Warned me to be careful. It was all so… calculated."
Amara's jaw tightened. She stood abruptly, pacing the cramped room. "They *threatened* you?"
"Not directly. But they have photos. From the overlook." Sapphire's throat closed around the memory—the torn picture, Jason's smug face. "They'll send them to my parents. To Stanford."
Amara stopped mid-stride, her back rigid. When she turned, her expression was unreadable. "Let them."
"What?"
"Let them leak it." Amara crossed the room, kneeling in front of Sapphire. Her hands gripped the edge of the couch, knuckles white. "We'll burn their whole fucking system down first."
Sapphire's breath hitched. Amara's eyes burned with a ferocity that left her dizzy—a wildfire contained in a glance. "You don't understand. My parents… Stanford… it's everything they've ever wanted for me."
"And what do *you* want?" Amara's voice softened. "To spend your life pleasing people who don't give a shit about who you really are?"
The question hung between them, heavy and unflinching. Sapphire's gaze dropped to Amara's hands—calloused, ink-stained, *real*. "I want…" She swallowed. "I want to stop feeling like I'm drowning."
Amara's fingers brushed hers, tentative. "Then stop holding your breath."
The kiss was sudden, desperate. Sapphire's hands fisted in Amara's shirt, pulling her closer as their lips collided. It wasn't gentle—it was a clash of teeth and breath, a silent scream against the world that demanded they conform. Amara's palms slid under Sapphire's blazer, mapping the ridges of her spine through thin fabric.
The record player skipped, the vinyl hissing static. Sapphire barely noticed. The room tilted, reduced to the press of bodies, the scrape of a zipper, the muffled gasp as Amara's lips found her neck.
"Wait," Sapphire breathed, pulling back. Her chest heaved. "We shouldn't—not like this."
Amara stilled, her forehead resting against Sapphire's. "Why not?"
"Because I…" *Because I'm scared this is all I'll ever have. Because I don't know how to want something without ruining it.*
Amara traced her jawline, her touch featherlight. "You don't have to explain."
They stayed like that, suspended in the dim glow of a single lamp, until the city outside faded to twilight.
---
Sapphire's penthouse was a mausoleum when she returned. The marble floors gleamed under recessed lighting, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. She toed off her heels and climbed the spiral staircase, each step echoing through the hollow space.
Her bedroom offered no refuge. Stanford acceptance letters lay fanned across her desk, their embossed seals gleaming like accusations. She picked one up, the paper crisp under her fingers. *"We are pleased to inform you…"*
A knock shattered the silence. Her mother stood in the doorway, her Chanel suit immaculate, her smile colder than the moonlight.
"Darling. I didn't hear you come in."
Sapphire dropped the letter. "I was out."
"With *friends*, I hope?" The emphasis was subtle, razor-sharp.
"Yes."
Her mother's gaze flicked to the torn photo on the desk—a half-shredded image of Sapphire and Amara, salvaged from the auditorium. "You've been distracted lately."
Sapphire's pulse roared. "I've been *living*."
"Living?" Her mother stepped closer, perfume cloying. "This—*phase*—is beneath you. The Kensingtons are asking questions. Stanford is watching."
"Maybe I don't care what Stanford thinks!"
The slap echoed. Sapphire's head snapped to the side, her cheek burning.
Her mother's voice trembled—with rage or fear, Sapphire couldn't tell. "You will not throw away your future for some… *rebellion*."
The door slammed. Sapphire sank to the floor, her fingers pressed to her stinging cheek.
---
The next morning, the halls of Celestia High buzzed with renewed malice.
Sapphire walked into the cafeteria, Amara at her side. Whispers erupted like geysers—*gold digger, phase, disgrace*. She ignored them, claiming their usual table by the courtyard windows.
Amara nudged her coffee closer. "Drink. You look like hell."
"Feel like it too."
A shadow fell over their table. Braden Cole loomed above them, his letterman jacket straining over broad shoulders. Once, he'd written her love notes in AP Lit. Now, his smile was a sneer.
"Sapphire." His tone dripped mock concern. "Can we talk?"
"We're talking now."
"*Alone*." His glare shifted to Amara.
Sapphire leaned back, her voice icy. "Anything you say to me, you say to her."
Braden's knuckles whitened on the table. "You used to be someone people admired. Now you're just… pathetic."
Amara stood slowly, her chair scraping the floor. "You've got ten seconds to walk away."
Braden scoffed. "Or what? You'll—"
Amara's fist connected with his jaw. The crack reverberated through the room. Braden staggered, clutching his face as gasps erupted around them.
"*Walk*," Amara growled.
He fled, the cafeteria erupting in chaos. Sapphire stared at Amara, her heart pounding—not from fear, but awe.
"You didn't have to do that," she murmured.
Amara flexed her hand, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Yeah. I did."
---
That afternoon, Sapphire found Lina in the library, hunched over a laptop.
"I need your help," Sapphire said, sliding into the seat opposite her.
Lina's eyes narrowed. "With what?"
"Ending this. You know their secrets. Their weaknesses. Help me fight back."
Lina hesitated, her fingers drumming the keyboard. "Why should I?"
"Because you're tired of being their pawn too."
A beat of silence. Then Lina leaned forward, her voice low. "Jason's dad is embezzling funds from the alumni committee. Elena cheated on her SATs. They're all hiding something."
Sapphire's lips curved. "Perfect."
As they plotted, the weight on her chest lifted—replaced by a steely resolve. She wouldn't run. Wouldn't hide.
Let them come.