Take A Risk, Peyton. (GxG)

3. Tour

Kris.

Beside me, Reese is like a ticking time bomb; even when she moves gracefully in her adorable little uniform, I can sense something is off. She keeps giving me sidelong glances, but I am not sure if that means she is judging me or I am reading too much into it.  

In the hallway is where the tour begins. Whenever possible, she makes an effort to wave to everyone who looks in her direction. Considering the number of people who attended her party, it is only reasonable for me to anticipate her fame.

As we pass a line of gleaming black lockers on either side of the lengthy hallway, she inquires, "Have you been assigned a locker yet?" 

I shake my head; unlike Royston High, where the floors are filthy, the lockers are locked with silver, and graffiti is inked on them, these are pristine, with rich black coating and there is a sort of digital interface where you actually enter your password.

Elegant, huh?

The entire space is spotless. There are no posters advertising drama tryouts, rallies, or prom garbage—clearly, they have an extremely well-organized student notice board somewhere. 

Comparing hurts.

"Oh, I see. So, you know, the lockers are in the same hallway, and make sure to remember your passcode.” With a sideways glance, Reese yanks me out of my daydream.

"Oh," I murmur, glancing again at the row of lockers.
 
"So, uh, which school did you go to? Like before here?” Reese asks. Her tone is low, but not entirely unenthusiastic. 

I love that she is trying to get us to talk, that should shake off the awkwardness hanging heavily between us. I am not even sure why I am feeling this way. 

She can not possibly recall the stranger from that night who she accused of trying to set her house on fire. Can she?

"Royston High," I mutter as I jam my hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

After a moment of hesitation, Reese answers. "I have never heard of it. How popular is it?"

Of course she has never heard of it. It is a simple public school on the other side of town, not some posh private institution like this one.

"Not really," I reply, my face exploding with shame.

The rest of the tour is silent. Reese just quietly strolls beside me rather than attempting small talk like she did before. 

I wonder what is running through her mind. However, my anxiety creates all these scenarios in my mind.

Has she recalled who I am? Is she surprised to see me here? Is she bothered by my presence here? Can she tell that I am having trouble fitting in?

"This is the chapel," Reese only says when we come to a stop in front of closed brown doors with a cross on top.

I nod. 

The administration building is the next place we go, and I know it because I was here the week before classes started to complete my enrollment.

After that, we visit the atrium, lecture halls, performing arts theater, fitness centers, library, and common areas where Reese gives an explanation of who hangs out there. Next are the cafeteria and sports fields. There is even a fucking pond with real fish in it!

I'm thrilled. 

After the most exhausting forty-five minutes of my life, I find myself in a math class with the only two people I know, Reese and Curtis. 

My gaze falls on Reese, who is seated at the front of the class, leaning forward with concentration. I chose to sit in the back next to a couple of girls who won't stop talking about the shoe haul video they just posted on tiktok.

I am a hot and uncomfortable mess throughout class, unable to shake the feeling that I am not quite fitting in. 

When lunchtime rolls around, I dash to the principal's office. She directs me to the guidance teacher's office. Ms. May, the guidance teacher is a sweet lady in her late fifties who helps me to try on the uniforms. Even though I detest the skimpy little dresses, I have no choice but to accept them. 

We never had uniforms at Royston, and I miss the freedom of being able to wear whatever I wanted. After the teacher is finished and satisfied with my uniform, she hands it to me and I stuff it into my bag. I then head to the cafeteria. 

I'm not too shocked that it's equally spotless. Despite the attitude of the students, the chefs are not grumpy men and women in white aprons; rather, they greet everyone with a warm smile. I have to admit, their black uniforms look fantastic. 

I manage to get a seat at a table with a group of girls and boys who greet me with smiles.

Despite the warm welcome, I miss Maxine and Robert, my best friends from Royston. I miss knowing every inch of that godforsaken building, my seat in the cafeteria, and most of all, I miss playing Rugby. 

I really think that the only thing that kept me sane was Rugby. Reese did, however, point out that the only option available to girls who want to play Rugby is to play on the guys' team, which is practically an abomination. 

That alone tells me I should find something else to do with my time. 

Fortunately, the bathroom is empty after lunch, so I sneak out there to pull a blunt—my only source of comfort and tranquility. 

My thoughts have been racing, and I need some time to unwind. 

I am not sure how long I stay in that stall, but when I get out, lunch seems to have passed. I take out the sheet of paper with the daily schedule of activities that Reese gave me. 

Monday: Sports, 2:30–4 PM.

I observe the clubs and sports teams during their in-season practices as I stroll through the campus. Still, nothing catches my attention, even when the principal stressed the importance of having a flawless resume for college and participating in at least one extracurricular activity. Not that I am considering going. 

I have a lot on my plate already. College is not part of the plan.

Not too long after, I see the Badminton club. The warm-ups look interesting, and despite my dislike for the tiny skirts I would have to wear if I participated, this appears more appropriate. More soothing. 

And what better way to blend in than to take up the sport of the wealthy? 

I enter slowly and I'm not too shocked to see Reese there. But there is no point in paying attention to her; we are not friends.

The tall man, who I assume is the coach, welcomes me to the team and advises me to get fitted for the proper jersey at the following practice.

 I nod; Resse frowns. 

"You're late." 

Coach cuts me off just as I am about to roll my eyes and tell her how much I do not give a fuck about this.

“Give her a break, Peyton,” he says and turns to me. Yes, Peyton, give me a fucking break. “Go on, pick a side and let's start.”

I offer a curt nod, walking right past Reese to the other side of the room, the opposing side. My Vans squeak madly on their spotless floors.

When I turn to face the opposing team, Reese's gaze falls on me. I look at the lines on her forehead and the pout on her lips, holding her gaze for a moment before turning it away.

I seem to have caused some kind of disturbance.

This will be fun. This I will enjoy.

><><

Look who has been MIA. I'M SO SO SO SORRY FOR JUST DISAPPEARING LIKE THAT. LIFE IS LIFING AT THE MOMENT ANYWAY, MY REASONS ARE BORING  TELL ME HOW YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN AND DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE A HEART SO I KNOW YOU'RE STILL READING.

LOVE YOU!