I've known Reed Whitlock since Kindergarten. And from the moment he opened his mouth, I've hated him. We may have the same friends, but he is not one of mine, that is for sure.
But, the week before we start our senior year, something changes between...
"This is looking like a contest, Of who can act like they care less." The Story of Us — Taylor Swift
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THE ALARM CLOCK on my bedside table rings incessantly, waiting for me to get up or press snooze. What will it be today?
My hand slams down to make it stop, but it doesn't work until eventually, it falls on the floor beside my bed.
Forcing my body up and out of bed, I stumble to the bathroom, turning on the water to the shower almost immediately.
I went for a run last night when I realized I wouldn't be able to sleep without tiring myself out. When I got back, I all but threw myself into bed. I stink and I feel disgusting so this shower is a want more than a need.
Once I get out, I reach for a towel and wrap it around my waist before going to the sink. I shave, put on deodorant, brush my teeth, and put in my contact lenses before going back into my bedroom.
The clock is still laying on the floor, so I put it back on my nightstand. The time reads 8:15 AM.
"Shit!" I curse, racing to my closet, where I grab the first pair of jeans I see.
I have to be at work by 9:30, which would be fine, but Nana is out of town and I have to get Peyton ready for her Summer Day Camp.
I tug on a white t-shirt and my pair of torn-up black Converse before heading to the room just down the hall.
I gently open the door, revealing the pink light that emits the room from the curtains Nana decided to put in here.
Golden hair covers the pillows at the head of the bed. The soft snores that linger near the lump in the duvet tell me the person underneath is still sound asleep.
I turn off the Paw Patrol night light, which was still on from last night, before kneeling and taking the covers off of the top half of the bed, revealing a sleeping angel.
Peyton's hair is scattered around the pillow, looking like a halo wrapped in tight curls and waves.
Like our mother, she has blonde curly hair, and every time I look at her, it's devastating. If only she were here to see you, sweet pea.
"Wake up, Pey," I softly coax her out of deep sleep, running my hand over her head.
"Reedy," she calls me by the nickname she gave me from the moment she could talk.
My parents were the type of couple that everyone knew were soulmates. They met when my Mom graduated college and was coming home for a long summer, on the hunt for a job and apartment hunting. Until, her car broke down on her way to her hometown, Saintville, a neighboring small town of Blue Lake.
Dad was, or is, a car mechanic. His parents owned the local car repair shop, and he and his brother had started pulling their weight not long after starting high school.
