The Master Psychic

chapter 6 - chris

The air inside the school was warm, buzzing with the usual chaos of the morning rush—lockers slamming, shoes squeaking against the linoleum, voices overlapping in a hundred different conversations. Sage had barely stepped past the double doors when something barreled toward her.

"Sage!"

Before she could react, a blur of curly brown hair and brightly painted nails wrapped around her like a vice. Sage stumbled back a step, almost losing her balance as her best friend nearly tackled her in a hug.

"Christina," Sage wheezed, trying to breathe around the tight squeeze. "You're crushing me!"

Christina pulled back just enough to grin, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

As Christina chattered about some new drama unfolding between the cheer squad and the soccer team, Sage let her gaze wander over the crowded hallway. The noise, the bodies pressing past, the constant motion—it all blurred into the background as she thought about the girl practically glued to her side.

Christina had been her best friend for six years. They'd met in middle school, when Sage was the quiet girl in the back of the room who never spoke up, and Christina was the one who'd marched straight over, plopped down in the empty seat, and declared them partners for life. From that day on, they were inseparable.

Christina was everything Sage wasn't—bright, bold, and endlessly outgoing. People gravitated toward her the way moths did to light, and she never seemed to shy away from attention. Everyone loved her. Teachers, classmates, even the grumpy cafeteria staff.

And then there was Sage—quiet, cautious, sometimes even distant. It baffled her how someone like Christina could choose her, of all people, to be her best friend. But she had, and Christina never let her forget it.

Of course, their closeness came with... assumptions. Sage knew how people whispered when they saw them walk down the hall, arms linked or laughing at some inside joke. A lot of kids thought they were a couple. Christina didn't exactly help the rumors—she was open about being a lesbian, and she never seemed bothered when people teased or asked questions.

Sage, on the other hand, always felt her cheeks burn when she overheard someone say it. Not because it upset her—Christina's love life wasn't anyone's business—but because it was easier for people to assume than to understand. Christina was her anchor, her safe place. Not her girlfriend. Her best friend.

Still, when Christina leaned against her locker now, smirking as she nudged Sage's shoulder, Sage couldn't help but smile. Let them think whatever they wanted. What mattered was that Christina was there—and had been for six years straight.

The hours dragged.

Math was a blur of numbers that made her eyelids heavy. History was nothing but the teacher's monotone voice competing with the sound of pencils scratching against paper. English was the tiniest bit better, but even that felt dull compared to the world Sage carried in her head. Every tick of the clock stretched longer than the one before it, each class reminding her that this was her last week of high school—yet it still felt like a lifetime away from ending.

By the time lunch came, Christina had managed to keep her entertained with gossip and exaggerated stories, but once she was back in class, the minutes crawled again. Sage doodled in the margins of her notebook, stared out the window, and wondered if anyone else felt the weight of boredom as sharply as she did.

Finally, at the end of the day, the bell rang. The sharp clang filled the hallways, instantly sparking life into the students. Laughter, chatter, and the slam of lockers erupted around her as everyone rushed for freedom.

Sage shouldered her backpack and followed the stream of bodies toward the exit. The spring air hit her as soon as she stepped outside, cool and refreshing compared to the stuffy classrooms. She walked across the parking lot, weaving between groups of friends saying their goodbyes, until her eyes landed on a familiar car.

There he was—Mason. Leaning casually against the hood, arms crossed, sunglasses catching the late-afternoon sun. His protective gaze scanned the crowd until it found her, softening the second their eyes met.

Despite the long, boring day, Sage felt a small smile tug at her lips. She lifted a hand in greeting as she made her way toward him, her world of dull classes already fading into the background. Mason was here, and that was enough.

Sage slid into the passenger seat, dropping her backpack at her feet as Mason started the engine. The familiar rumble filled the silence, and soon they were pulling out of the high school parking lot, leaving the noise of her classmates behind.

For a while, the drive was quiet—just the hum of the car and the soft rhythm of tires against pavement. Sage rested her head against the window, watching the blur of trees and houses slip by. She was still weighed down by the monotony of the school day, her mind drifting.

But Mason's voice broke through the quiet, calm but edged with something more serious.

"Sage," he said, glancing at her briefly before focusing back on the road, "when we get home... I need to talk to you. Harper and I both."

Her brow furrowed, and she turned her head toward him. "About what?"

His jaw tightened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "It's nothing bad. At least—not in the way you're thinking. But it's important. Something you need to know."

Her stomach gave a nervous twist. "Mason... you're kind of scaring me."

He reached over briefly, his hand brushing hers in reassurance before pulling back to the wheel. "I'm not trying to scare you, kiddo. I just... I can't keep putting this off. You deserve answers. And Harper agrees."

The weight in his tone silenced her questions before they could even form. She swallowed hard and nodded, turning her eyes back to the road. The world outside kept moving—cars, shops, people going about their lives—but Sage could only focus on the echo of his words.

Something you need to know.

The rest of the ride stretched long, filled with an uneasy quiet neither of them tried to break.