“Come here, Little B.” She does as I ask, making sure to jump when she gets to the bottom step. My mother rolls her eyes and mutters something about breaking a leg before leaving us alone in the foyer. From the day my father bought this house, I’ve always jumped off the last few steps and so far I haven’t broken anything. Well, except for the vase that my grandma Bianca had set down. I may have kicked that, but still to this day I plead the fifth.
With my phone in my hand, I crouch down next to my sister and wrap my arm around her waist. She nestles into my side and all but hides her face in the crook of my neck. Paige is a bit camera shy, not that I blame her, but I want to capture this moment. “Smile, Little B.” She does, but most of her face is hidden. Honestly, I don’t mind. Fear of the paparazzi has been ingrained into her mind, and rarely has anyone ever truly photographed her. For the longest time, my dad would make her wear a hood whenever she was out and about. He wanted her to have as much anonymity as she could.
“Are you putting that on Instagram?”
“I am.” Paige leans closer and watches me upload the photo and add the caption, “My perfect girl.” I add various hashtags and wait a few seconds for the comments and likes to start. Most often, everything is positive. But occasionally, someone will post something that I have to delete. Thing is, I know what my mom, Aunt Katelyn and Aunt Jenna go through when it comes to the band. The last thing they need is to see sexual comments about me as well. And as far as Paige is concerned, I don’t want her seeing the nastiness of social media.
“Look, everyone says I’m cute.”
“That’s because you are.” She wraps her arms around me, giving me the strongest hug she can.
“Tell me all about the dance and what Peyton is wearing when you get home, okay?”
“You bet.” I stand and shake out my pant legs. Taking one last look in the mirror, I head for the door where my mom meets me with Peyton’s corsage in hand. The three champagne colored roses are nestled in baby’s breath and tied together with a pink ribbon. The fact that I know anything about flowers has really upped my dating game. Chicks dig random knowledge.
As if on cue, the limousine I rented for the night is idling in the driveway. Technically, it’s easier for me to pick Peyton up, but I want her to have the full experience. Also, Elle and her date will join us for the ride over. That is one thing I’ve learned about living in a massive city like Portland – the teens really go out of their way to make prom something spectacular. In little ole Beaumont, it’s held at the school gym with paper streamers and balloon arches. That’s how it was when my parents went, and it was the same way when I went. I can’t imagine much has changed.
The black limo stops in front of the Powell-James home, and I’m out of the car with Peyton’s corsage in my hand before the driver can do his job by opening my door. I’ll let him focus on the girls and let them feel like a million dollars. One would think considering how famous their dad is, boys would flock to them, but they don’t. When Quinn and I were in high school, it was the other way around, and we learned early on our popularity had a lot to do with our fathers. Believe me, Quinn and I don’t mind if the girls are left alone.
Harrison opens the front door before I reach the final step. Even though I’ve known him for half my life, I extend my right hand to shake his. “Good evening, Mr. Powell-James.” Harrison tries to hide his smile but accepts my hand firmly.
“Evening, Noah. Peyton is almost ready.”
I follow him into the house and am immediately introduced to a tall lanky kid in a tuxedo. “Noah, this is Ben. He’s Elle’s best guy friend.”
We shake hands, but it’s awkward. “You’re Noah Westbury.”
No shit.
“Man, this is surreal. I mean, Peyton said you were taking her, but most of us thought she was bullshitting us.”
I shake my head slightly. “Nope, no bullshitting here. I’m happy to take her to prom.”
“Man, the guys at school are going to flip,” Ben says. He turns his back toward me and from what I can gather is pulling out this phone. There isn’t a doubt in my mind he’s informing everyone of my presence. Unfortunately for him and his “guys” I won’t sign autographs or pose for pictures tonight unless Peyton instructs me to. This is her night.
The sound of heels coming down the hardwood steps grabs my attention. I step out into the entryway in time to see Katelyn leading her twin daughters down the stairs.
“Thank you,” she whispers into my ear before giving me a kiss on my cheek. I don’t tell her that it’s my pleasure, but I should.
When Peyton comes into view, all wind is knocked out of my proverbial sail. She’s gorgeous with her long tresses curled and pinned to the top of her head, and her dress… I swallow hard and chance a look at Harrison. His eyes are hard and there’s a noticeable tick in his jaw.
“The night of your prom, you wore that pink dress. Do you remember it, Peyton? When you were coming down the stairs I thought Harrison was going to make you go change. I can’t even tell you what Elle was wearing because I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Everything changed for us that night. I thought things were going to turn out differently, but I was wrong.”
I stand up and stretch. A quick glance out her window shows my father and Harrison talking. I’d like to think my father won’t sell me out, but who knows at this point. The fact that Peyton and I have been intimate shouldn’t matter, and won’t if she doesn’t make it. It was her choice, and I was too enamored with her to tell her no. I thought we’d be together afterward, but I was mistaken.
My dad glances toward me or at least at the room. I’m not ready to leave Peyton. It’s selfish of me, I know. There are others out there that want their time with her, but I can’t bring myself to walk out the door or even invite them back in.
The hard plastic chair is as inviting as being sacked in an outdoor stadium. Both suck beyond words. Yet, I find myself sitting down and picking her hand back up. Her body temperature is questionable, and probably a bit on the cold side. I refuse to believe she’s dying. Peyton wouldn’t do that to me.
“Okay, you’re going to let up on the break, but do so gently.”
It’s midnight and Peyton’s birthday. Legally, I’m not allowed to teach her to drive, but she asked me to. She’s nervous about her permit test in the morning and thinks that a crash course behind the wheel of my Wrangler is the way to pass. She’s not fooling me though. I know she’s been waiting for this day since I got my Jeep for my eighteenth birthday. Peyton is often hanging out in my dad’s garage, taking pictures of herself in it, so who am I to deny her this late night or early morning ride.
For good measure, I grab hold of the ‘oh shit’ handle and hold my breath. Peyton eases my prized possession out of my parents’ driveway and onto the darkened street.
“Which way do I go?”
“Where do you want to go?” I ask, sitting up straighter so I can be more attentive to her. “If you turn left, we can drive toward the school. Right and we go by your house.”