How We Were | ✔️ (Complete)

29. Happy Birthday, Peyton

11:58

Thank God.

"I didn't miss it!" I said, my chest heaving, my words coming in gasps. "Happy Birthday Peyton!"

I couldn't stop smiling. I was just so happy to see him. I wanted to crawl onto his lap, throw my arms around his shoulders and stay there until the morning. But for propriety's sake, I settled for scrambling over the console and pressing my lips to his cheek. "Happy Birthday."

He smiled. "You already said that."

"Did I? Are you mad? Have you been waiting forever? Did you eat dinner?"

"I'm not mad. Like you said, you didn't miss my birthday."

I looked at him warily.

He laughed, the sound a symphony to my ears. "Layla, I'm just trying to give you a minute to catch your breath."

"Oh. Good," I said, holding up a finger. "I need it. I swear it's-"

Peyton's eyes moved to the rear view mirror and my gaze followed his.

I noticed the ribbon first. It was a thin brown thing with white saddle stitching on the edges, a horse drawn chariot logo, the words Hermes and Paris embossed on it. It lay crumpled beside an orange box, previously opened with the top laying carelessly across it. Something shiny peeked out from below, maybe jewelry, maybe a watch.

The side of the box rested against the bare thigh of a girl.

I spun around, facing the back seat, as if turning would make her any less, well, there.

She sat like a porcelain doll with her perfect posture, unnervingly still except for her fine, pale hands. Those were set on her lap, fretting with a scrap of fabric, twisting and untwisting as if her life depended on it.

It was dark in the car so I couldn't make out the details but she was about our age, thin and delicate. Her head was bowed so I couldn't see her face but if I had to guess, I was going with beautiful.

She had on bright white shorts, the female version of those button down shirts Peyton always wore and a navy blue blazer over it. A delicate gold chain with a cross pendant hung around her neck along with a string of thin pearls.

Peyton was watching me carefully, but turned away when I caught him.

"Layla, this is Alice Huntington. She's a friend from home - well, of the family's, she's... a friend. Alice, Layla."

Alice looked up and my heart dropped. She was beautiful. Very, very beautiful. Not in the way I was, but in the timeless, classic way of Grace Kelly. She wore no makeup and had her silky brown hair pulled back from her forehead with a simple headband.

She even smelled good. The car was bathed in a muted but exquisite fragrance, spring flowers with a hint of vanilla. I knew it wasn't Peyton - he didn't wear cologne. He smelled like Tide.

As a bewildered Alice stared back at me, I tried to imagine what she would see.

A feral girl with wild, unkempt hair. I'd tried to pick out all the hay that was stuck in it, but without a brush, it was an impossible task. A girl wearing filthy clothes that stank like animals and grime. A girl with dirt beneath her finger nails and scabs on her legs. Beautiful, but in an untamed, blatant, and almost vulgar way.

Say something.

"Hi!" I blurted.

Alice jumped in her seat.

Too sudden Layla. Too loud. Too fake. The single syllable echoed through the silence of the car.

Her voice was thin and insecure when she spoke. "Hello," she said, before quickly lowering her eyelids, returning her attention to her hands.