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September 2014
Payton walked the streets of New York City, car horns, muffled conversations, bells on doors as they opened, and squeaky breaks filling the air. She missed her home, her friends, the familiar streets, sounds and people.
Like Mrs. Watson; neighbour and owner of a diner in the French Quarter located between a voodoo shop and bakery. Every morning before school, she made Payton her favourite —french toast with powdered-sugar and a 20 oz. styrofoam cup of sweet tea— at no charge. So long as she remained in school and kept her grades up, Mrs. Watson allowed it.
From public school to an all-girls private school, from south to north, Louisiana to New York —Payton couldn't wrap her head around it.
From the apartment building she, her parents and paternal grandparents reside in, Spence School was only a few blocks.
Payton pulled at the white collar of the uniform, then pulled down on the dark green and blue plaid skirt, uncomfortable. "How does anyone find this comfortable?" she murmured. "I traded jean-shorts and a tank-top for this."
She soon approached Spence School and was in corridor. She swept her grey eyes all-around. How can this many people pack inside a hallway?, she wondered.
"Hey, new girl." Payton stopped, and looked to the left. Shorter than herself, blonde-haired and flanked by two girls —one brown-haired with unnatural curls, the other blonde with pink-dyed tips. "I'm Amber. This is Samantha—" the blonde-haired girl, Amber, pointed to the brown-haired one before pointing to the other, "—and this is Becca."
Uninterested, Payton nodded once. "Uh, cool." She rounded Amber, but Becca and Samantha stepped in her path.
"Where do you think you're going?" Amber came around her "friends?", and Payton heavily sighed. "You need to—"
"I don't 'need' to do anythan'." And with that, Payton continued to the classroom she was initially headed to. She entered the classroom, made a b-line for the back, and took residency in an unoccupied desk.
"No one's talked to her like that," said the raven-haired girl, in front of her. She was turned sideways, studying Payton with her green eyes.
"Who, Amber? Girl needs to learn some manners." Payton looked around, nervous. How her parents could afford tuition for an all-girls private school, she will never know, and already she hated —seemed like money well-wasted.
"So, you're the new kid," the raven-haired girl stated, confidently. Payton just looked at her. "Nobody has hair as bright as yours." She referred to Payton's natural, fiery red hair that stuck out like a sore thumb. "I'm Kate. Kate Bishop."
Payton's brows furrowed, as she spoke slow and unsure. "Payton." She smiled, more comfortable and confident, "Payton Cooper."
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November 2018
As the years continued, Payton's "new girl" reputation around Spence School worsened. She became bitter and sour, and fell deeper down the rabbit hole after Thanos happened.
Walking down the corridor —shouldering the worn and tattered backpack she's had since the 7th grade—, with her chin held high, she looked around. No one, all except for Kate Bishop, met her stone-cold eyes. Payton approached and slammed the raven-haired girl's locker shut.
Kate sighed, deeply, "Is this gonna be a new thing? Locker slamming? 'Cause it's kinda getting a little old." She opened it back up, and it slammed closed again, this time harder. She snapped her head to Payton, "What is your problem? Is 'southern hospitality' not a thing anymore?"
"This ain't the south, Katherine. Rules don't apply."
"Just . . . leave me alone, Payton." And with that, Kate walked to their next class.
In truth, Payton didn't like to be this person with Kate; but she didn't know how not to be this version of herself. As the corridor emptied, Payton took the same route as Kate to the classroom. Down the corridor another few paces, up the stairs to the second level, then another more feet and the classroom was on the left.
She entered as the final bell chimed. The teacher, Mr. Perkins, wrote on the whiteboard and explained the assignment. Project. Partners. Due before Christmas break. And Payton tuned out the remainder.
History wasn't a strong suit of hers, but neither was being someone's partner. It never ended well.
Mr. Perkins called out the names of pairs as he occasionally adjusted his thin, wire-framed glasses and fixed his striped-tie. "Ms. Bishop and Ms. Cooper. Now, today is about topics. Topics are due by the end of class. That being said . . . find your partners and begin."
Students shuffled to their assigned partners and discussed. Kate came over to Payton, reluctantly, and pulled the chair out beside her. She sat in it with an exaggerated puff of air.
"So . . ." Payton clicked her pen once, " . . . any idea on topics?"
"I'm not working with you." Kate made it clear.
The fiery redhead chuckled, "Ya ain't gotta choice, little lady. It's called 'assigned' partners for a reason."
"I know what it means. Let's just . . ." Kate heavily sighed, and mumbled, ". . . get this over with." And they did. But not after some convincing from Kate. "Mr. Perkins said it could be any historical event."
"Outta all the historical events in American history, you choose the Battle of New York?"
"Yeah. Look," Kate scooted closer, "it's a major part of our history, as New Yorkers—"
Not a 'New Yorker', Payton seethed in her thoughts. "Everyone in this room will be gunnin' for that one. How 'bout another one? There's more than one battle that involved the Avengers, you know . . ."
Kate rolled her eyes. "Not if we go to Mr. Perkins now and claim the topic." Despite Payton's annoyance with it, she reluctantly agreed, and the topic was theirs.
"Since we know what happened, I want you girls instead to do a personal dive on the six Avengers that assembled here, in the city." Mr. Perkins glanced between them. "Can you two do that?" Kate nodded, and Mr. Perkins found Payton's bored gaze, "Payton?"
She sighed, "Sure."
"Good." He slapped the palm of his hand atop the black-topped lab table. "Excellent, girls. Payton, you're improving."
"Hooray for me . . ." she muttered. Once he left to converse with the other students and their groups, Payton turned to Kate, "So if today's Thursday and next week's Thanksgiving break, that gives us two weeks before presentations start. How you wantin' to do this, Katherine?"
"Stop calling me that," Kate met Payton's amused gaze. "We each can do three. I can do Hawkeye, Thor and Hulk. You can do—"
"Yes I know the others." Payton opened the palm of her left-hand and wrote as she named them, "Black Widow, Iron Man and Captain America."
"Oh, so you do know them?" Kate seemed genuinely surprised, and Payton looked at her, confused.
"Pft, duh. Who doesn't?" Payton clinked the pen close. "They're practically the most famous people in the world."
The bell chimed, signalling the end of class. "Before you leave, topics, ladies. Topics!" Mr. Perkins hollered. "If your topics are in, you may be dismissed."
"Your call, Katherine." Payton met Kate's annoyed green eyes. "The park or one—"
"The park's fine." Kate gathered her belongings, then pushed her chair out, "See you after school."
As she hurried to the door, Payton hollered, "What time?" No answer, and she huffed. "Or not . . . That's 'fine', too."
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