'P' is for Peyton | Completed

'P' is for Peyton

Peyton's been gone for a week.

There's a rumor she lost her way underneath the night's starry veil, that she finally went off the deep end. Some people celebrated her disappearance; she's toxic.

I saw her the day before she vanished: we sat together on the edge of Petal Cliff, above Petal River, next to Petal Plains. She swung her long legs back and forth over the cliff's edge, the water lapping a hundred feet below. One time, we dropped a pebble to see when it would hit the water. Ten seconds.

Peyton's been gone for a week and a day.

I sit alone in the diner, tracing my finger in the etches on the table. Peyton and I always eat lunch in this booth. We've watched the seats crack and age, the foam threatening to spill out of the vinyl. Peyton always complained about finding strands of ebony hair in her biscuits and gravy.

I never had the heart to tell her they came from her head. Nobody dare told Peyton she was wrong.

A waitress glides to my table, sliding a milkshake towards me. I take a sip and watch the shake curve its way through the swirly straw. The taste that hits my tongue isn't right.

"Excuse me, miss, this is peanut butter," I say, sliding the milkshake back to the table's edge. "I think I ordered chocolate."

The waitress — Melanie, her nametag says — stops in her tracks. She flips back through her notepad. "Oh." She furrows her thin brow. "My bad. This... must have been for someone else. I'll be right back."

She takes the glass and disappears. Miscommunication is no big deal, but the encounter was surprising. Peyton always ordered a peanut butter milkshake after every meal she had here. She told me the 'P' in her name stood for peanut butter, one of her favorite foods. I'd tell her she was quirky and she'd kick me under the table.

Peyton's been gone for a week and two days.

I left my lunch at home today, and I didn't bring my wallet to school, so I'll have to sit with an empty space in front of me. Sometimes, Peyton would give me whatever she didn't want from her lunch. That's another thing 'P' stood for: picky.

As I wander to the lunch room, a flash of ebony catches my eye. I ignore it until I see it again, my heart coming to life. Peyton sneaks down this back hallway whenever she slips outside to eat.

The bell rings, which means lunch just started. Against my better judgment, I chase the ebony down the hall. Every corner I turn, so does the dark hair. I come to a dead end, just before the set of doors that go outside. The black hair disappeared.

Staring at my reflection in the glass, my face starts to transform into Peyton's. She's smirking at me, like she knows something I don't. A chill runs down my spine as her laughter echoes through my head.

Peyton's been gone for a week and three days.

I keep feeling like someone's watching me. Nobody else is in the room.

Peyton's been gone for a week and four days.

My nose is buried in my math homework when the phone rings. It's an obnoxious ringing, too; nothing melodic, like what I used to have. I'm pretty sure Peyton changed it on my phone one day and I forgot to change it back.

"James?" my mother calls. "It's for you."

I drop my pencil into the fold of the book and run my hand through my hair. "Tell them I'm busy," I say.

"It's Peyton."

My heart stops. I stride from my chair and meet my mom at the top of the stairs. "Who... who did you say?" I stutter.

"I said Taton," she says, handing the phone to me. "You act like it's such a rare occurrence."

I take the phone from her, it still vibrating in my hands. My mom's never met Peyton, and Peyton's never met my mom. 'P' is also for pathetic, which is what I am for never formally acquainting the two of them.

Peyton's been gone for a week and five days.

Everywhere I turn, she's there. Her face is behind my own, and I can't look at myself anymore.

I keep hearing her voice in my head instead of my own. Even some of her quirks are slipping past my lips. Not once in my life have I said "early worm gets the bird" or drummed my fingers on the desk.

Peyton's been gone for a week and six days.

My car's in the shop, so I walk home from school today. I need fresh air, anyway.

The trees loom over me in a jade canopy, making walking home more tolerable. One of Peyton's playlists keeps me occupied. It's one she made me after I told her I didn't listen to a lot of music.

I walk by Peyton's house, trying to ignore the pit forming in my stomach. Crossing the driveway, I glance up at her house. Dark curtains conceal every window except one: Peyton's room.

She's watching me from her window, a smile creeping on her lips.

Just like every time I see Peyton, my heart skips a beat. However, this is out of shock. Her place by my side at school has been empty for the past week and six days.

She disappears without closing the curtains.

Peyton's been gone for two weeks.

But she's leaning against the base of the tree trunk, right underneath the treehouse in my backyard. I had taken her up there exactly three times. She'd teased me about the make-believe treasure maps nailed to the walls. I had to remind her I made those when I was eight years old.

She beckons me over with the wave of a hand before climbing up the rotting rungs. I eagerly follow her, striding out of the house barefoot.

Peyton left the trap door open for me. I pull myself up, the treehouse more dim than the rest of the backyard. The wooden floor creaks as I settle in, leaving me uneasy.

"Peyton," I say as she sits on an old milk crate in the far corner. Shadows conceal her face, giving her even more mystery.

She studies her short fingernails, then looks up at me. It's more of a glower than a look. She's never glowered at me before. "I've seen you following me," she says. "Don't do that."

"I was worried," I say. "You have no reason to be mad."

Peyton rises from the crate, dusting off the back of her black jeans. She's never worn black jeans before. "I have no reason to be mad."

"If anything, you've been following me," I continue. "I see and hear you everywhere I go. I can't get you out of my head. Heck, a waitress accidentally gave me a peanut butter milkshake. You're the one who should be apologizing."

She sulks toward me, hunching over as to not hit her head on the roof. "That's your fault." Peyton jabs a finger at me. "You think I didn't disappear for a reason?"

I don't think she realizes I'm teasing her. "If it wasn't to give me a heart attack, then I don't know what it was for." She's backing me into the corner as I talk. "Pey, give me some space."

She isn't listening to me, though. She never does. "You don't tell me what to do."

"Where have you been these past — " I take a step backwards and trip over a toy robot. Peyton's green eyes follow me as I crash through the treehouse wall and over the edge of the treehouse platform.

Above me, Peyton watches my descent. She doesn't do anything. Her arms are crossed, and eventually she retreats back into the treehouse.

I hit the grass and hear someone calling my name. Out of everything, my heart hurts the most right now.

"What happened?" I can't move my neck to see who's talking, but it sounds like my mom. I'm staring into the blinding sun.

"I tripped over a toy in the treehouse and broke the wall," I say. "Peyton saw it happen."

My mother's face appears, blocking the sun from my view. "Peyton Ross?"

"Yes." I can't feel the rest of my body. I can't move at all.

She bites her lip. "James, sweetheart. 'P' is for Petal River. That's where Peyton is."