Peyton Church is a city girl by anyone's standards. Born and raised in New York City, she grew up wanting for nothing. She attended the most prestigious preparatory schools, shopped on Fifth Avenue, dined with the rich and famous and was adored by...
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AS IT TURNS out, Ethan was unsuccessful convincing his dad to let us borrow their van. Which means that I'm left to sweet talk my own mother into handing the keys to her pre-owned over to her license-less daughter.
Oh, joy.
I head straight home from school, Hunter dropping me off with promises to return around six-thirty. Thankfully, Jayden has decided to spend the night at a friend's place, and Mom isn't home from work yet, leaving me alone for at least a half an hour to sort out how I'm going to go about this.
Deciding bribery and sucking up are the best methods of persuasion, I make quick work of cleaning off the counters, doing the few dishes in the sink, and even attempt to vacuum the rug in the living room. I say attempt, seeing as by the time I finally manage to find the stupid switch to turn it on, I hear the front door opening and closing, signalling my mom is home.
She strides into the living room and does a double take. Never, in all my years, have I done anything remotely close to housecleaning. I didn't even do my own laundry. So, needless to say the sight of her eldest child standing in the middle of a room, frigging around with a vacuum cleaner took her by surprise.
Her lips curved into a rather concerned looking smile. "Everything okay, Peyton?"
"Everything's fine. Great, really," I huffed, blowing a chunk of hair out of my eyes. "Just helping out a little."
Her smile turned knowing, in that way only mothers do, as she set her purse on the counter. "Alright. What do you want?"
My jaw pops open and I gape at her, offended. "Is it really so hard to believe I just want to help my mother out around the house? Why do I have to have some ulterior motive?"
"Because you're my daughter," she states simply. "I did the same thing to my parents when I was your age."
My offended expression shifts to consideration, and then I lift my shoulders in an accepting shrug. "Fair enough," I tell her, abandoning the vacuum in the middle of the rug.
Mom rolls her eyes at me as I join her in the kitchen. "Now, what is it you want to ask?"
I take a deep breath. I'm not used to asking permission for things, even from my own mother. In New York, if my friends and I needed a ride, we'd call a car service. It was as easy as that. But here in the real world, it's not nearly as easy.
I lean on the countertop, trying my best to look half as wrecked as I feel inside. "Well, my friends and I wanted to go to a party out of town tonight, but none of us have a car," I explain, my fingers toying with a loose string on the hem of my sleeve. "So, I was wondering if maybe, just maybe, you'd let us borrow the Jeep for the night?"
There. That wasn't so bad now, was it Peyton?
I shake my head to myself, dismissing that annoying voice in my head. Meanwhile, my mom looks over at me quizzically, one eyebrow raised in my direction. Her thin arms cross over her chest and she turns to face me, hip leaning against the counter. "Three questions."
