Page 43 of Like a Power Play
A heavy gust blows past us, and she shivers, the dark strands of hair on her arms prickling. I take a steadying breath, then finally force myself to ask.
“You okay?”
Peyton spins around to face me, walking backwards. The wind catches her hair, sending loose brunette waves tumbling in front of her face. A grin tugs at her lips as she tilts her head.
“Never better, why?” she calls out, her voice battling the breeze.
I put a hand on my hip, looking at her skeptically.
“Peyton, you’re freezing.”
She looks down at her arms, then meets my eyes again, shrugging. “I don’t mind the cold.”
There’s something about the way she says it, a slight hitch in her shoulder, the little divot in the side of her cheeks, that makes me want to catch up with her, instead of insisting on turning back. Like if Peyton Clarke doesn’t mind the cold, maybe braving it with her wouldn’t be so bad.
I’ve definitely had too much to drink.
Her back straightens, eyes glowing as an excited gasp escapes her. “Hey, do you want to go see the Ferris wheel?”
I raise an eyebrow, pulling back in surprise. I’m not shocked by her spontaneity. Peyton’s made it clear she does what she wants, when she wants. What’s surprising is that she’s askingmeto be part of it.
“The Ferris wheel?”
She nods, stepping into the purple glow of the streetlights. Just as she leans forward to press the crossing button, her eyes catch mine. And I don’t know if it’s the stress or the alcohol, but I swear:
Rain has never complimented someone so perfectly.
Watching the drops trace paths down her green-streaked skin, pooling in the edges of her lips, the damp strands of hair clinging to her cheeks, and those golden eyes drinking in the indigo glow of the lights above, the air in my lungs freezes.
And I realize that maybe Peytonisbreathtaking, even in spite of her arrogance.
“I’ve never been,” she continues, rocking back and forth on her heels.
I straighten up, prying myself from my drunken Peyton-induced daze, feeling my brows wrinkle. “Wait, you’ve lived in Seattle since freshman year, and you’veneverbeen on the Ferris wheel?”
Her head shakes, lips pressing in a disappointed pout.
I throw my hands up dramatically. “That’s, like, freshman 101. You know, visit campus, check out all the local sights. I—” I cut myself off, the words dangerously close to spilling about Minnesota. I swallow them back, praying the alcohol hasn’t loosened my tongue too much. It tends to have that effect on me. “I mean, every transplant has to go see the Ferris wheel. Pike Place, the Space Needle…”
Peyton just shrugs, hugging herself tighter. “I’ve been busy, I guess.”
Her fingers fidget in her sleeves, eyes falling to the cement. And suddenly, my tongue loosens just a little too much. “Busy with what?” I ask, stepping into the rain. “Practicing till your knees give out?”
It’s meant to be a jab—light, playful. Our usual back-and-forth. But instead of firing back like I expect, instead of giving me one of her usual sarcastic comebacks, Peyton just…shrinks.
I don’t know why it surprises me. She’s smaller than me, I guess, but I’ve never really noticed it before. Not until I put on her hoodie, but even then, she always seemed bigger than me. Like she took up the space around her whether she was supposed to or not.
But now, with her eyes averted and her shoulders recoiled, she suddenly seems so small.
And I hate myself for it, because I know exactly what it feels like. The pull to disappear, to fade into the background so nobody notices when I’m not okay. The way my body has taken up less and less room since everything started, and how I’ve tried to make myself as invisible as possible.
But Peyton, she doesn’t seem like she should be the same. She’s always been the one who stands tall. Too tall, for someone of her stature. She doesn’t hide.
Or so I thought.
My lips part, likely a sad attempt at a tipsy apology, but before I can, Peyton cuts in.
“Does it matter?” Her voice is steady, not soft, but not harsh either. She just asks the question. And suddenly, I’m caught in this tangled mess of irony, each thread twisting and tugging, threatening to snap.
