SOME HIGHER POWER must be smiling down on me. Not only did Natalie easily agree to let Addison come with me to New York, but my grandmother is also waiting at home when I got back from my shift at the diner on Thursday.

The older woman chuckles. "Alright, kopelià, you're going to pop my head right off if you squeeze me any tighter," she says, her thick accent comforting just as comforting as the arms she wraps around me as she pats my back.

I hold tight for a moment longer before I'm afraid she might have a point, and pull away. "Sorry, Yaya. I just, I really needed a hug."

"You know where I live, paidí," she tsks, "You are welcome anytime. Old ladies like myself enjoy the company."

"I do know that," I tell her with a smile, and follow her and Mom to the living room. We take a seat on the couch, my grandmother in a chair she'd bought especially for this house.

"I've just been out of it this past couple of days," I explain when Yaya prods me further. "A lot to think about."

"Ah, yes," she says, taking a sip of the herbal tea my mom had set on the table for her. "Your mother told me about your plans this weekend. Are you looking forward to going back to that big city of yours?"

With care, I fold my legs under me on the couch in a technique I perfected early in life thanks to my love of skirts. "I still love New York, Yaya," I tell her. At the small frown that wrinkles her mouth, I reassure her. "But a big part of my heart is here, too. This little town has grown on me."

At that, she smiles. "A little of that big part is surely the lovely young man you found yourself here. Is that Hunter of ours going with you?"

"He is, and so are a few more of my friends."

As it turns out, most of my friends, and Cameron, were able to get permission their parents to go to New York for the weekend. Sure, they'd need to have the flight details, and the contact information for wherever we would be staying, but that was easy enough.

The only one who couldn't get her parent's approval was Eliza. At lunch, she'd brushed it off by saying she had another family engagement her mom wouldn't let her out off, but I had my doubts. I could see the way her eyes flicked to her half-eaten fruit salad, the way they always do if she's lying. But I wasn't about to force her to come. Instead, I'd nodded and told her we'd send her pictures every so often so that she'd feel like she was right there with us.

I'd purchased our plane tickets after school while I was on break at the diner. The last minute meant we'll have to fly coach, but somehow I don't think my friends will mind. After all, it's not on their dime. It's on my wonderful cheating father's.

"What time is your flight?" Mom asks, looking up from the novel in her hands.

There weren't a whole lot of options, but I'd found one that meant we'd still be able to attend some of our classes before making the two hour drive to the airport in Fayetteville. "Three o'clock. We'll have to leave school at lunch, but nobody will be missing any tests or deadlines. And we'll bring our homework on the plane."

I'd never much considered missing school or homework any other time I'd hopped a plane with friends. But, according to Addison, it's the kind of thing normal parents tend to worry about.

This brings a small smile to her lips. "I'm glad to hear. I'll call the school in the morning."

With her face bare and her brown hair tied back in a less-than-perfect ponytail, I'm suddenly reminded how much closer to a normal mom she is now. What will it be like to see my dad now, knowing that the socialite he was married to for so many years was more of a character born of self preservation in his world than the real woman Mom wanted to be?

Will he still be the same absentee dad who hands his kids a wad of cash or a shiny credit card in lieu of affection? Will he spend more time in the office than paying attention to me? Or will he be the opposite, not giving any room to breath and smothering me to make up for the past seventeen years?

The what-ifs and will-hes are endless.

I forwarded the flight information to his secretary on my way home tonight, so there's no backing out now. Not that I want to. I want to go, but—

Just when I think the conversation will veer away from the subject, my grandmother wheels it back around.

"Do you look forward to seeing your father again, Peyton?"

Much to her credit, my mom shoots her a warning look. It looks almost like she's saying "please don't get her started on this, Mother," but, nonetheless, I'll take it as a show of support that she doesn't want to talk about this any more than I do.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip for a moment before I lift my shoulders in my best attempt at a nonchalant shrug. "I look forward to hearing what he has to say to me after the past couple of months." It's not a lie.

Yiayia clucks her tongue disapprovingly and sets down her cup of tea. "Don't let him try to convince you that your mother is the bad one in this situation. She did the right thing bringing you here. I had been telling her for years to leave that man. He was no good for my kóri, never had been."

"Mitéra," Mom says sharply. "Regardless of what happened between me and Jonathon, he's still her father. She has every right to talk to him and see him whenever she likes."

I don't particularly like to talk to him at all, but I don't correct her. She's doing her best to be the bigger person, no matter if it hurts or not, and I can only admire her for that.

My grandmother mutters something I don't catch, but Mom seems to. As she continues, I hear the front door open; Jaden must be home. Which means it's time to suck up my nerves and find out what the hell is going on with this whole not-talking-to-me thing.

"Her father asked to see her this weekend and Peyton agreed. She's going to see him in New York and that's the end of it, mother."

Just as the words leave her mouth, my brother rounds the corner to the living room and drops his backpack with a loud thump. "You're going to see Dad? This weekend?"

Of course, these are the first words he says to my face in weeks and they're dripping in accusation. "I called him yesterday. It's not like I had much choice, it'd look bad on Mom if I didn't."

Jaden's jaw drops open, shock and hurt clear across his features. I don't know why those emotions are there, but apparently something about what I said much have triggered them because before I can say anything else, he turns and stomps his way up the stairs. A breath later, his bedroom door slams shut and the thin walls seem to vibrate from the force of it.

"What the hell is up with him?" I mutter as my mom shakes her head.

With a sigh, she stands and takes her teacup from the coffee table. "You'll have to ask your brother that, Peyton. You two need to talk."

"Not if he's going to bite my head off, we don't," I scoff. "I've got enough going on without his tantrums."

"Peyton Alexandra," she snaps. "This needs to stop, before the two of you tear each other apart. I love the both of you, but I hate when you're fighting and I've had it up to here with it."

He started it, I think. But I don't dare say it.

"Your mother may have been an only child, thank God, but she is right, korítsi," Yiayia says thoughtfully. "I grew up with six brothers and sister of my own, you know. And if they taught me anything, it is that you should never take for granted the love you share with your sibling. You can never quite replace it should you lose them."

I know I have to talk to him. No matter how irritating or aggravating Jaden can, he's my little brother. I only have him, and in just a few months I'll be leaving him behind while I go off to NYU. I don't want to spend that time fighting and ignoring each other because we can't own up to our problems. One things for certain— we are not our parents. We don't lie to each other and always have each other's backs.

I need that back.

"I'll go talk to him," I say softly, getting off the couch without another word to sidetrack myself.

I climb the stairs, making far less noise than Jay had. When I get to his door, I take a deep breath and knock three times on his closed door.

His gruff reply comes quickly. "Don't wanna talk, Mom!" That's probably the nicest thing he's said to me this week.

With a wince, I raise my voice. "It's, uh, it's me, Jay."

There's a dull thump against the door, and I'm pretty sure he's thrown something at it. "Screw off," he calls less politely.

"Just open the door, asshole," I call back. My eyes roll, even though he can't see me through the solid wood.

There's a shuffle on the other side, followed by footsteps, and the door opens to reveal my brother dressed in a plain white tee and jeans. His face is red with anger. "There. It's opened. Now go the hell away," he states, and goes to slam the door in my face.

If Jaden hadn't pulled the same trick on our au pair when he was twelve, I might've fallen for it. Instead, I dart into the doorway and the door bounces off my shoulder. He was slamming it harder than I thought he would, but thankfully he checked his effort at the last second when he noticed my intentions.

He glares at me as I slip into his room with a grin on my face. "It's good to know you don't actually want to smash my face with a door," I say cheerfully and take a seat on the chair at his desk. "You had me worried for a second."

"Yeah, well Mom would kill me if I broke your pretty face," he says bitterly.

Ouch.

I cross my arms over my chest defensively. This is already going badly, so I might as well just rip the bandaid off. "Alright. What the hell's the matter with you lately?"

After a blink, he makes it obvious he plans on ignoring me in favour of stuffing clothes in his laundry hamper. If that isn't an odd sight, I don't know what is.

"Come on, Jay," I say, irritatedly. "Stop being childish and tell me why you hate me all of the sudden."

Jaden scoffs, shoving a shirt in the hamper with way more force than necessary. "Maybe shit isn't always about you."

"You're the one ignoring me, Jaden. Don't tell me this has nothing to do with me."

"Because everything has to do with you, right?" He whirls on me and snaps. "Mommy's little girl, Daddy's favorite. It's tiresome."

This is new. "What are you even talking about, Jaden?" I ask him, my eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I'm talking about the fact that you, Princess Peyton, can do no wrong!" Jaden explodes. "It's always 'Peyton' this, 'your sister' that! 'Oh, don't bother your sister', 'your sister's having a hard time', I'm sick of it. Nobody cares what I think, how I feel, all that matters is that your life is easy!"

I visibly flinch at the harshness in his voice. Sure, Jaden and I have fought, we've yelled and thrown things. Frankly, we're very overdramatic. But this feels different.

This feels like my brother honestly hates me right now.

"Jay, I swear, I had no idea you felt that way," I say quickly, bolting to my feet with my hands raised in front of me.

"That's exactly your problem, Peyton! You're so completely unaware of everyone around you. All you care about is yourself."

"That's not true!" I say defensively. "You're my brother and I care about you, no matter what you think."

"You have a funny way of showing it," he mutters.

Screw hurt. Every time Jaden accuses me of being a heartless bitch, he pisses me off just a little more. "You're talking like I treat you like shit. What exactly is it that you think I've done to you, Jaden?"

He scoffs and turns away from me, looking out the small window with his arms crossed over his chest. "Forget it."

"No," I snap. I'm done with his attitude. "God, you're being so immature. You can't just tell me I'm the worst sister on the planet and not explain."

My brother is quiet for a while, so long that I start to think he's resumed giving me the silent treatment. I've just about conceded to the fact that I'm not going to get any where else with him tonight. Coming up with a believable excuse to tell our mom, I turn to leave the room when he speaks up, his tone calm and cool. "Why would I explain something you couldn't possibly comprehend?"

My mouth pops open in a small 'o' of confusion. Realising I must look like a fish out of water— not that Jaden's bothering to even look at me— I shut my mouth and grit my teeth in annoyance.

Before I can express that annoyance with words, my brother continues. "You've always gotten everything you want, Peyton. Money, clothes, shoes, guys. You had a say in every vacation we'd take and chose everywhere we would eat. Dad got you a car when you turned sixteen, and you don't even drive. Mom always went to your dance recitals and gymnastics meets. You'd take off with your friends for days or come home drunk, you even made out with my best friend on the goddamn couch. And nobody ever said shit about any of it."

I have no words, but I open my mouth to speak anyways. No sounds comes out, and Jaden keeps going. "You threw a fit when Mom and Dad got divorced, and everyone told you it was okay. It didn't matter that my world was falling apart too. Then we move, and finally, I think, 'maybe a fresh start will do you some good. Maybe you'll turn into an actual human being and be a real sister for once.' But, no. You hated it here and you made sure everyone knew it. Never once did you think to ask what I thought of this place. Instead, you got pissy because you had no friends, you had to walk to school, you had to get a job.

And then, lo and behold, you start hooking up with the most popular guy in the whole damned place. And everything goes back to the way it always has been." Jaden turns to me then, taking in my dumbfounded expression for exactly two seconds. "Did you know that I had actually started making friends here? My gym teacher even offered me a spot on the soccer team. For once, I was just me. Then you went and fucked it all up. I'm back to being Peyton Church's kid brother, and nobody gives a shit anymore. Because I will forever live in your goddamn shadow."

In this moment, you could hear a pin drop. My brother glares at me, and I stare hopelessly back at him, struggling to come up with any reply to the worlds he's hurled at me. If each point he made had been a knife, Id surely be a bloody mess on the floor right now.

"Jaden, I—" My words are a garbled mess. All I can manage to pull out of my ass is, "That's not true."

Of course, I'm not trying to deny his entire rant. Many of the things he said are all too true.

Okay, possibly all of them are true. I had just never realised how bad it would sounds if you strung together so many of the awful things I'd done in my life.

But I'm not making any sense right now, so I get why he looks visibly pissed off when he hears the words. What I'm trying to say is that there are plenty of people who give a shit about my little brother. A lot of shits, in fact. And I'm one of those people, whether it feels that way or not.

"Yes, I'm a bitch," I reiterate. "Yes, I've done a lot of shitty things. And no, I never realised how those things might have effected you Jaden. But don't think for a second that means I don't love you."

If I think my admission of overall bitchiness and status as Worst Sister of the Decade will thaw my brother's frigid exterior, I'm sorely mistaken.

"I'm sure you love me in your own way, Peyton," he says coldly, "but that doesn't mean you really care."

Correction: Jaden's initial accusations were each a slap to the face. This one?

This one hits me like a knife straight through my heart.

Tears spill over my cheeks before I can hold them back. I choke out a word that sounds something like my brother's name, but even I can't say for certain.

"Wanna know what else really bites, Peyton?" He says bitterly. "Hearing, on accident, that you get to go see Dad this weekend, and that all of your friends get to join you. It only took one phone call. Meanwhile, I've been talking to him for weeks, been planning to fly out for weeks. But he told me he was too busy until next weekend. Guess we still know who Dad's favorite is, huh?"

"I didn't know, Jaden," I snivel, wiping furiously at my eyes with the sleeve of my thin sweater.

He snorts a laugh and it's anything but humorous. "That's kind of my point."

With a sniff, I put on my best stern face. "I called him for Mom, because she asked me to. She's the only reason I'm even going, Jaden. I didn't even want to call Dad, let alone see him." With a deep, uneven breathe, I put everything I can into calming down before I continue. "Are you really going to be mad at me because I'm trying to protect Mom?"

Jaden looks straight at me, his eyes level with mine. No one has ever questioned if we were siblings before— our eyes are the same. Our dad's eyes. But while I inherited my cool and cunning blue gaze entirely from him, Jaden's have always been a perfect mix of Mom and Dad; steely blue from Dad with all of the warmth and affection of our mom.

But that warmth is nowhere in sight right now. Now, it feels like I'm staring straight at Jonathon Church as my brother tells me to leave.

Look who's actually updating on a semi-regular schedule? It's a miracle.
Until next week, I'm just gonna leave this here...

Lots of love,