Page 18 of Outdrawn

Sage stopped coming in late. She barely put in any studio time. After a few weeks of confusion, I realized she’d started dating one of the girls in class. I didn't know how to feel when I found them making out before class, or holding hands during. Leaving together after.

Did I even have the right to feel anything? The short answer had been no. I had a bad habit of adding weight to the mundane, thinking a knowing smile from a stranger was a sign, or a person reading my favorite book on the bus was my chance at a soul mate. Sage taking over my sketchbook was nothing to her. She was an entitled jerk, so it should have meant nothing to me. To prove the nothingness to myself, I'd thrown the sketchbook out. I'd regretted it—and still do—despite my need to prove I didn't feel any type of way about her. Every emotion I had about Sage was twisted somehow. I wanted to impress her, show her how I was better than her, but also be kind and learn from her.

"Well damn," Sage's voice pulled me out of my musing.

I pressed my lips together, trying to be sure I hadn't accidentally said something out loud. Sage's gaze was on her screen, too entranced with the contents to notice me.

"What?" I asked when she left her exclamation dangling in the air. I hated when people did that—a shocked gasp followed by silence would always be the bane of my existence.

She smiled to herself, the back of her fingers brushing across her lips. "You check out Inkmic lately?"

I frowned and, with a few keystrokes, pulled up the site. My heart dropped when I saw a wiped landing page. No navigation bar, no external links, no leaderboard, just white background with an orange text paragraph explaining where over a decade of art had gone.

Dear readers, artists, and Dave —

We feel we’ve gotten a little complacent. We feel our charts are stale. Our artists have gotten a little too comfortable resting on their laurels. After countless meetings and brainstorming sessions, we have decided that there is only one way to remedy this: a factory reset.

Before you grab your pitchforks and your steak knives, you must know we’d never be foolish enough to delete our wonderful catalog. In addition to our server, all your favorite stories are saved on multiple backup drives on a data farm in a city we cannot pronounce (probably in the Netherlands, we’re not entirely sure because we don’t pay them enough to be friendly).

During this factory reset, we are removing the leaderboard. For the next six months, we’re running our very own Battle Royale, a competition to once and for all decide who deserves to be on top.

Here’s the rules:

New content only (we’re serious about laurel resting).

Readers can only pick their top five favorites once a week. No editing. No take-backs.

Every month, we shave off the dead weight (10% of entries).

Here’s the prizes:

25k cash prize (yeah, we know. We’re shocked to pull that out of our bank, too).

Three book deal (on the comic you won with. No bait and switch).

A meeting with some of our execs (yes, the rumors are true. We’re looking to option some films. You might be our first).

I reread everything twice to make sure I understood correctly. When I felt like I'd digested as much as I could, I looked over at Sage to see what she thought. How did it feel for someone on top to have the slate wiped clean? I'd be livid. Hell, I still was livid, because last I checked, my comic had been sixth on the most voted-for chart.

"You're…smiling," I said with hesitation.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Sage leaned back in her chair with her hands behind her head. "This is the most interesting thing Inkmic has done in years, and I was there for the Great Purge."

"Does this mean you're going to do it?" My heart rate picked up. If she did it, I had to do it too.

Her eyes widened, surprise making her features less intimidating. "Does this mean you're not?"

"Of course I am." I rolled my eyes like it was a silly question. Inside, I was screaming. How the hell was I going to pull off seventy-two Leisah issues in addition to coming up with something that'd beat whatever Sage was about to pull out of her ass?

"Who wouldn't want those prizes?" I asked in a less enthused voice. The prizes were great, life changing even, but I couldn't see myself actually winning, not with the kind of talent Inkmic attracted. Artists from all over were about to come out of the woodwork.

"It's going to be a bloodbath," Sage said with unmistakable glee in her voice. This was a thrill for her? Entertaining. While my hands went clammy, she was downright giddy. Sage truly won the emotional regulation lottery. What artist looked forward to a popularity contest without feeling sick to their stomach about the feedback?

"How many entries do you think it'll have?" My fingers felt numb at the idea of pulling a double shift.

"Tens of thousands." There was no doubt in her voice. "When I'm number one, I wonder how many of you guys will still say I'm overrated. You gonna be leading that charge?"

She gave me a teasing smile, and I laughed, feeling slightly lighter because my words had stuck with her. I didn't realize I had the power to do that. Even in the meeting today, Sage seemed immune to criticism. Every word washed off her into an ocean of 'I don't give a fuck.'

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