Seth's Point of View
I nudge Peyton's arm and gesture towards the board of string bracelets beside her, "Look, they even have your name."
She smiles, "Wow, no one ever has it."
When the sun set a few hours ago, the beach transformed. Over one hundred vendors set up their jewelry, paintings, and artwork. People piled out of their cars to walk the boardwalk, and musicians played loudly in the street.
I hand the older woman behind the table two dollars and she hands me the Peyton bracelet. I tie it around her frail little wrist, and she stays completely still.
"Thank you," she tells me.
The lamp posts illuminate her face as she yawns, and I can tell she's exhausted.
"Are you ready to go?" She nods and we head back towards my truck. We stop under one of those little shower machines and rinse the grains of sand from our shoes.
I open her door and she slides inside onto the beat up old seat.
"Have you texted your parents lately?" If it was my parents, they wouldn't mind if I was out all day. I know Peyton's parents usually keep close tabs on her, though.
"Mmhmm, I told them I'd be home around eleven," she says, her voice dripping with sleep.
Then the song on the radio changes and she bolts upright, turning the volume up. "Oh my god, I love this song," she tells me.
She hums along softly, "I'll never stop holding your hand. I'll never stop opening your door. I'll never stop choosing you, babe. I'll never get used to you."
I start to chuckle and she squints at me. She swats me on the shoulder when she decides I'm laughing at her.
"What are you chuckling about? I'm not that bad of a singer," she says all defensively.
I agree, "No you're not, but you have peculiar taste in music for someone who claims she doesn't believe in love."
She frowns, "It has a nice beat." It doesn't have a nice beat. There is a guy strumming his guitar, but it isn't particularly infectious.
"Sure it does," I smirk. That just earns me another swat on the shoulder.
The radio cuts out and a loud ringing plays over the blue tooth system. Peyton winces at the blaring noise, and I reach to answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Hey, man. Where the fuck are you? Logan and I are over at Miles, and there are a couple of girls from Lakewood Prep. Logan says he tried to text you, like, a ton," EJ's voice echoes through the car.
"Shut up, EJ. You're screaming, and I can't come tonight. I'm busy, I'll see you tomorrow." I was praying he would leave it at that and hang up before Peyton started punching me because of the loud ass commotion he was causing.
Of course he doesn't and says, "Seth, if you tell me your out with some bitch trying to get her to fall in love with you so you can win that damn bet, I am personally hunting you down and snapping all of your toe nails off." Peyton rolls her eyes as he slurs his words.
"No, that's not what I'm doing, EJ. Just go back to the party, and lay off the booze, man."
"Are you at home playing scrabble with Kelly?" Peyton can't stifle her laughter, breaking a smile.
I scowl at her, "It was one time, okay?"
"Stop being a liar, you play scrabble with her every weekend. She has you wrapped around her finger. Now tell me that the girl I just heard giggling was Kelly, and I will let you hang up."
I groan, "For fuck's sake, let it go. I'm with Peyton, and I'm taking her to her house right now. I'll be home before midnight, dad."
"Fine, don't drive intoxicated," he reminds me, as if I would do that.
"I'm sorry he's so loud," I tell Peyton.
She just snuggles back into the chair, looking more tired by the minute. She shakes her head, "It's cute how he cares about you."
I glare at her, "It's not cute."
"Sure it's not," she giggles.
I pull up outside of her house, and I'm just as shocked as I was this morning. It looks nearly identical to how it looked a couple of years ago. The grass is lush and green, and the paint is perfectly sky blue. The whole house looks like something fresh out of an ABC Family television show.
I slide out and walk with her to the door. I'm about to tell her goodnight when the door swings open. Peyton's mom hurries out and swoops me into a hug.
Then she stands back and whacks me over the head with her hand repeatedly, "Where have you been, young man?" I look at Peyton for help, but she just grins drowsily.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Waters."
Peyton tugs her mom back inside, "Come on, Mom. I'm exhausted." She gives me a little wave and a yawn. Her mom is still insisting that I come by more often when Peyton pulls the door shut behind her.
