PEYTON'S POV
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"It fucking sucks, I can't stand her!"
My reply rolled off my tongue without a second thought, and it took me a moment to realise that my words weren't true at all. For years I had been talking badly about Zara that it just became second nature to me — as horrible as that sounds.
Laine's reply was drowned out by the door slamming loudly, and I looked to the window to see if it was open. Perhaps the wind had pushed the door closed. The window was shut, and I didn't need to ponder the reason much further as I heard footsteps storming away from my room.
"Fuck," I hissed. Zara had heard me.
"What?" Laine's annoying voice spoke.
"I have to go," I said quickly, standing up from the bed.
"But —" Laine began, but I hung up before she could continue.
I nervously made my way to Zara's room, absolutely dreading the impending conversation we were about to have. I knocked on her closed door and was greeted with silence.
"McMann?" I called, and I was ignored.
I opened the door and peeked my head around the corner. Seeing Zara curled up on her bed, her face pressed into her pillow.
"McMann," I repeated. Ignored again.
"Zara..."
Not once, in the four years I'd known her, had I ever spoken her name. The use of it must've shocked her as much as it shocked me, since she took her head off her pillow and looked up at me.
"Fuck off, Mitchell."
The use of my surname didn't go unnoticed. Since the lockdown began she had been calling me 'Peyton', something that she never used to do. It felt like a punch to the gut, especially since I'd just used her first name for the first time, but who was I to cast blame?
"I'm sorry, please let me explain," I asked, taking careful steps towards her bed.
"No explanation needed. I heard you loud and clear!" she snapped, her tone sharper than a knife stabbing through me.
I sat at the very end of her bed and watched as she stiffened slightly, my presence on her bed making her uncomfortable. I thought about moving, but I didn't. I wanted her to hear what I had to say, even if she told me to leave afterwards - I needed to explain.
"Look..." I sighed, "I'm just going to explain and if you want me to leave you alone after that then I will, okay?"
She didn't reply, and I took her silence as a wordless agreement. I took a deep breath and began to speak.
"I didn't mean what I said to Laine. If she'd asked me that same question four days ago it might've been true, but now...now I don't think of you like that. For the past four years I..." I faltered slightly, "I didn't like you, and I guess I just got used to talking shit around Laine and the other girls and it just slipped out without me thinking about it."
I could tell she was listening, even if she hadn't looked at me the entire time I had been speaking. Her shoulders had stilled and she had tilted her head slightly to the side left so she could hear me properly.
"Why did you hate me for so long?"
Her soft voice was barely audible with her face still partially pressed into her pillow. The fabric was darker where her eyes had been, no doubt due to her tears. A second wave of guilt crashed through me. The truth was, I had never hated her. Over the years I might've convinced myself that I did, but the reality was much worse - I was jealous. Jealous of what I thought was a perfect life. Jealous that she beat me in that one fateful running race.
"I never hated you," I whispered.
She scoffed, rolling over and sitting up to face me. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery, her cheeks stained with tear tracks.
"You know, I find that hard to believe."
"I know I haven't given you much of a reason to believe me, but I promise you...I've never hated you," I spoke softly.
My thoughts drifted back to the day of the eighth grade athletics carnival. I remembered it like it was yesterday, the memories still burning fresh in my mind. I had been preparing for that day for months, my parents training me vigorously every single day. I had been on a strict diet and hadn't consumed any sort of unhealthy food in what felt like forever, and my parents didn't let me attend parties or socialise with friends in fear that I would eat something they didn't approve of.
"I'll try my best!" I had told my parents as I left the house that morning.
"No," my dad had said, "you'll win."
I had won every event so far that day, including high jump, long jump, shot put, discus, and javelin. It was time for the one hundred metre sprint, my best event. I eyed my opponents, recognising every face except one. The new girl was standing in the lane next to me, tightening the laces on her shoes. She gave me a kind smile, which I didn't return, and crouched down into a starting position. I followed suit, bending down and positioning myself, ready to run.
"On your marks," the man bellowed, and I braced myself against the ground.
"Set!" I raised my hips.
BANG!
The gun went off loudly and I pushed off from the ground, sprinting as fast as I possibly could towards the finish line. I could hear the cheers of the students and teachers, everyone cheering for their friends and their school house. I was used to winning this race with ease, so when I sensed someone beside me, it took me by surprise.
There was fifty metres to go, and I was neck and neck with the new girl next to me. I pushed myself harder, vying to win first place and secure my undefeated streak.
Twenty metres, she was gaining speed, inching ahead of me with every step she took.
Ten metres, she was going to win.
She crossed the finish line first and I followed close behind. We both collapsed to the ground and drew big gasps, trying to catch our breath. I was shaking, not from the adrenaline, but from the fear of how my parents would react after finding out that I had lost a race. The thought of giving them the news terrified me.
"Good race," the new girl had said, standing up and walking over to me. "I'm Zara McMann, I'm new."
She held out her hand to help me up, but I ignored her. I stood up on my own and brushed past her roughly, refusing to talk to anyone as I grabbed my bag and made my way towards the stands. I didn't want to talk to any of my friends, and I definitely didn't want to talk to her.
I walked home from the carnival, wanting to put as much time and distance between myself and my parents as I possibly could. With every step I took my anxiety grew stronger and stronger, and by the time I reached the front door of my house I was an absolute wreck. I shakily put my key in the lock and opened the door, seeing my parents waiting for me expectantly at the dining room table.
"Did you win everything?" my mum asked gruffly.
"I..." I said nervously, "I won long jump, high jump, discus, shot-put, and javelin!"
"And the sprint?" my dad asked, standing up and walking over to me.
"I came second..." I whispered, refusing to meet their expectant gaze.
"Speak up, we can't hear you!" my mums stern voice spoke.
"I...I came second," I said shakily, chancing a glance at them.
They looked furious. My mum stood up to join my dad and they both walked over to me, towering over me angrily.
"We don't pay hundreds of dollars on training and organic diets for you to come second, Peyton!" my mum yelled.
"I'm sorry!" I cried, tears falling down my cheeks.
"Sorry doesn't change anything. Second place is the first to lose. You lost, Peyton. You're a loser!" my dads taunting voice growled at me.
He snatched my bag off my back and threw it aside, grabbing my arm and dragging me upstairs towards my room.
"You're grounded!" he bellowed, slamming my bedroom door shut.
That was the last day I had cried. I remembered crying for hours and hours, still sobbing as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned from light blue to a burning pink, and then to a deep twilight blue; the same colour as Zara's eyes. Reminiscing on that day brought back emotions that I had buried deep within me. Memories that I had never planned to revisit ever again. I found myself feeling the lump in my throat and the burning in my eyes and nose, and I quickly blinked away and tears that were threatening to form.
"Please, I know I don't deserve it...but please, give me a second chance," I found myself practically begging her.
"I feel so stupid," she replied, "Telling my friends that everything was fine, constantly making you food, cleaning up after you...and for what? For you to turn around and throw it in my face."
"You don't have to believe me," I told her, "but I'll prove to you that I'm going to change. You'll see."
I left her alone after that, leaving her room and going back into the room she had given me. I saw the food she had left me sitting on the floor by the door and was filled with even more guilt. She had overheard what I had said while doing something nice for me. I felt like a terrible person.
I wasn't the type of person to back down from my word. I made a promise to her and I had every intention of keeping it. I was going to prove to her that I wasn't the terrible human being I had portrayed myself to be. Maybe...just maybe, after this lockdown was over, we could actually get along.
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AUTHORS NOTE
Did you guys like getting a bit of background perspective of why Peyton dislikes Zara? I really enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you enjoyed reading it!