Peyton Church is a city girl by anyone's standards. Born and raised in New York City, she grew up wanting for nothing. She attended the most prestigious preparatory schools, shopped on Fifth Avenue, dined with the rich and famous and was adored by...
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FOR THE FIRST time this week, I'm actually looking forward to lunch.
When the bell rings, signalling the end of my third period math class, I make my way to the cafeteria and join the short line-up to get my lunch. Successfully grabbing a bottle of water and a pitiful salad, I make my way into the open area of the cafeteria, searching for Addison's blonde hair and happy bubble of joy.
After a moment, I notice a denim clad arm waving me over, and I head for a table near the edge of the room where Addison is sitting with a strawberry blonde whose engrossed in a book.
"Peyton! I'm so glad you came!" Addison grins, patting the seat next to her for me to sit.
"Of course," I tell her, taking a seat at the table. "How could I refuse?"
"Eliza," she says, poking the girl on the other side of her in the arm. "This is Peyton Church. Peyton, this is my best friend, Eliza Newman."
The other girl at the table looks up from her book, tucking a bookmark between the pages and closing it. She fixes me with a small smile. "Hey, Peyton. Nice to meet you."
Being me, I can't stop myself from inventorying her outfit. It was an automatic response I had ingrained in my brain from back home, where what you wore meant just as much as who you knew.
Eliza's style was dark and edgy, yet simple and not nearly as eclectic as Addison's. She wears black distressed jeans and a black camisole under a dark blue flannel shirt that was about three sizes too big for her. The black kohl ringing her grey eyes adds to the look along with the tattoo choker around her neck and dozen or so silver hoops in her ears, as well as the one in her nose.
Back home, I wouldn't have given someone like Eliza a second look before I walked the other way. Hell, just yesterday I still felt that way. But when she smiles and says hello to me, I don't sneer, or laugh, or give her seven different tips on how to look like a normal person. Instead, I return her smile and her greeting, and tell her how gorgeous the lacework on her camisole is.
"So Addy roped you into being her partner I hear?" Eliza says, picking at the sandwich in front of her.
I laugh, nodding my head. "Yeah, she didn't exactly have many options."
"Good thing to. You seem to know your history stuff," Addison adds, pulling her legs up underneath her on her chair.
I shrug, uncapping my water bottle. "It's, like, the only class I find interesting. We had a bunch of different history classes at my old school, so I've got a pretty good knowledge base."
"Where'd you used to go?" Eliza asks, sounding genuinely interested in hearing me talk about myself.
