Fifteen

There's only been a few moments in my life where I had felt completely crushed. Once, when I was fifteen and had to put my childhood dog, Max, down because of old age. And second, when my grandma died of a sudden heart attack when I was sixteen.

Now, in year seventeen, as I stare up at the words FAKE BITCH graffitied across my mural, I can't help but wonder how much shittier high school could get.

The late November cold is rushing in through the broken double doors that had been kicked in when the intruder decided to wreck my work. Usually, I would be shivering, but right now I'm numb.

It's the Monday morning after Thanksgiving break, and I had wanted to check on my work in hopes of feeling re-inspired, but was met with the principal, Mr. Z, and a janitor instead. The police would be here to investigate the vandalism soon, but first hour will be well underway at that point. I haven't decided whether I wanted to stay at school or not yet.

"Peyton..." a voice says behind me. I hear feet kick broken glass out of the way. "What the hell happened...?"

"What the hell does it look like?" I spit.

The anger and sadness seeps from my acidic tongue. I feel betrayed. I feel defeated. I feel so many negative things that I don't know how to speak to anyone at the moment, and the last person I want to see right now is Jamie.

This mural had become very personal to me, and now something that had started to bring me peace and comfort is now covered in darkness.

I pick up my things and go to leave. There are tears on my water line threatening to spill over at the thought of someone hating me enough to ruin the one thing that brought me joy.

"Peyton," Jamie calls out.

But I storm forward and attempt to get past without looking at her. I don't want her to see me cry. Why the hell is she here anyway? She should be in first hour with everyone else. She must've heard the gossip and came to check on me. I hear footsteps follow behind me but refuse to acknowledge her. The tears are falling now, and I'm trying so hard to outwalk her.

"Peyton, you can't outwalk me," she says. "I'm taller and faster than you."

"I can try!" I shout back through the tears.

She groans as I press the unlock button on my keys. If I start running now, I can make it to my car, lock her out, and drive away. Then I could at least cry in peace.

I bolt for my car, my hand touches the handle and I throw myself inside, but Jamie is fast. She stops the door from closing as she bravely wedges herself inside. Then, suddenly, I can no longer hold back the pain.

It forces its way out, tearing and scratching through me. I lack the strength to even try to stop it, so I don't. I let it rip through and tear me limb from limb, even in front of Jamie, who probably thinks I'm being dramatic.

For some reason, this has broken me.

"Hey, it's okay..." she comforts me. "It can be fixed..."

The thought of continuing the mural is beyond me. I really just need to get away from Branton High, but I couldn't do that with Jamie blocking my door.

"P-Please j-just..." I stutter through the tears. "J-Just leave me a-alone."

"No," she refuses. "I'm not gonna do that. I'm sorry. Now scoot over."

"W-What...?"

"Scoot," she demands, shoving her way inside of my car and forcing me to the passenger seat.

"Jamie, stop."

"I'm gonna drive," she states.

I just watch her turn on my car and put her seatbelt on. What the hell is she doing?!

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Leaving school?" she replies with a confused expression. "I thought that's what you wanted?"

"It is!" I shout. "Without you!"

"You wouldn't even be able to see the road if you drove right now."

"Jamie, get out."

"No."

"Oh my God!"

I cross my arms and stare out the passenger window. Who the hell does she think she is?

"Put your seat belt on," she demands.

"Excuse me?"

Her eyes widened in fear as she thumbs my steering wheel nervously.

"Please, put your seat belt on, Peyton," she asks calmly.

I want to be mad at the world, but Jamie Kendall makes that hard when she's just so damn cute. I grab the seat belt and angrily pull it over my torso. We ride in silence after that. I refuse to ask her where she's planning on taking me, considering she has no idea where I even live. The devastation I feel over my mural comes in waves, and every so often my eyes release small tears without consent. Hopefully, Jamie wouldn't take me somewhere public.

But after about fifteen minutes, we're arriving at her house.

"I didn't know where else to go," she explains.

"It's fine," I lie.

I exit the car and follow her inside. There are so many things I want to be angry about, but the fact that Jamie doesn't want me to be alone forces me to feel happy instead.

"Also, I'm sorry I kind of kidnapped you..." She throws her bag on the floor. "But it's for good reason."

I can't help but laugh. This gets her to release a wide smile, resulting in me losing my breath for just a moment. But, just as fast as the moment came, it ends.

How on earth will I ever finish the mural now? There's no way. Soccer season is right around the corner, which means practice every day after school. Games and tournaments on the weekends... I'm too far behind to finish it strictly on school time...

Plus, who's to say the vandal wouldn't just ruin it again?

"You okay?" Jamie asks from the edge of her bed.

I shake my head. "I'm not gonna be able to finish the mural."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I force away tears. "I won't have time. I'll have to paint over the vandalism and soccer practice starts soon... I just..."

Jamie studies me in silence, probably waiting for me to break down and start crying again. She knows there are other reasons but waits patiently for me to reveal them.

"I feel absolutely shattered," I confess. "Every time I look at those words..."

The anger and sadness bubble in my stomach again. FAKE BITCH just replays over and over in my head. What the hell made me a fake bitch? And who had the right to call me that? Because I'm positive everyone in high school was a fake bitch at some point!

"They're just words, Peyt," Jamie moves closer.

She's right, but I have a feeling I know exactly who's behind this. Jacki is the only one who seems to have the ability to read me through and through. It's why she's able to get to me so easily.

Is it possible that she was the one who broke into school and ruined my work? She doesn't seem like the vandal type, but she could manipulate people to do her dirty work. I've seen it happen before.

But I know why those words get to me so much. It's because they're plastered all over my advocacy of showing the world who one truly is. I'm a hypocrite. Hell, maybe I deserve it after all. And I also believe Jacki knows the truth about me and is just dying to find hard proof.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I ask Jamie. "That they're just words?"

She sighs. "No. I'm sorry. That was the wrong thing to say. I just..." She hesitates. "I don't want you to give up."

"I don't want to give up, Jamie," I stress. "But the mural is ruined. You know how hard it is to start something all over again. It takes away the initial artistry. It's impossible to relay the same emotions, especially if I have to paint over the words 'fake bitch.'"

She lets me rant without interruption, and then tilts her head in thought.

"You also don't have to do it alone," she reminds.

The sadness seems to dissipate for a moment. Is she...?

"I mean, if you decide to continue..." She looks at me. "I could help."

"Are you serious?" I ask.

"Of course, I am."

We just stare at each other. The thought of Jamie helping me with the mural is terrifying but also exciting. Plus, she's a great artist.

"What?" she jokes. "Are you wondering if I'm fit for the job?"

She's teasing me. I'm convinced she knows exactly how to make me melt and she uses her powers at the perfect time. Then she stands from her bed.

"Would you like to see my portfolio?" She floats to her art corner and shuffles through canvases. "This one is my most prized piece. I was offered a whole twenty dollars from my best friend, who is very broke, by the way."

It's an amazing painting, but I can't get past her stupid antics of trying to sell herself for the job. She should know she already has it.

"Or this one..." She pulls another canvas. "My most recent piece that my mother now wants to hang in her bedroom."

I laugh as she turns to shuffle through more paintings. My own eyes find a stack of canvases and decide to look for the hell of it. I really do enjoy looking at Jamie's work. But when I stumble upon a pair of vibrant brown eyes, my heart stops.

Jamie had painted it about a month ago. The eyes are big and full of life. Hues of yellow and red dance within the gaze. I had seen paintings of eyes before, but never had someone painted brown eyes so... beautiful.

"Oh, uh..." Jamie stutters. "That one's good too."

"It's amazing," I whisper.

I couldn't stop staring at the painting, up until I wonder who inspired it and determine it was probably Jacki. I gently set the piece down even though I want to throw it out the window at the thought.

"Anyone in particular inspired that painting?" I ask, flipping through others for distraction.

"No."

I laugh at her defensive response.

"You don't have to lie..." I look up from her paintings. "It was Jacki, wasn't it?"

Jamie rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything right away. I didn't want her to. The thought of Jacki being a muse for her made me hot with jealousy. Is that another reason Jamie enjoyed hanging out with Jacki so much?

"It was you, actually," Jamie informs, pointing at the painting's date. "This was the day after we went mudding at the lake house."

Suddenly, I don't know how to feel. She had painted my eyes? My eyes aren't anything special. They're brown. The color of dirt. When people compliment me, it's never on my eyes. I find this hard to believe.

"Yeah right." I laugh. "My eyes don't look like that."

"Y-Yeah well you don't see what other people see," Jamie defends. "You don't see how they turn yellow in the sun, almost like they're pools of honey. Or when they give off a tiny hint of red when you're mad... Have you ever seen the way sunlight reflects off hardwood floors? That shits beautiful. A-And..."

I just watch her talk in fascination and tune out every word just to focus on the excitement on her face. No one has ever compared my eyes to honey, or sunlight, or anything other than just brown. No one had made them feel special. No one had made me feel special.

"Help me finish the mural," I say.

She stops rambling. "Really?"

I nod.

"Okay, well..." She tries to contain her excitement. "I guess we should start brainstorming."

"I guess we should."

So, we do. We produce about twenty different ideas that morning, and by the afternoon we come to a decision. There's an excitement between us that's electric, and I've found motivation to continue the mural regardless of the incident from this morning.

And at the end of the day, even though my mural was ruined, I still feel as if I've won.