I don't get on the plane back to Fayetteville on Sunday afternoon. A concierge at the front desk accepts a generous tip from my father in exchange for bringing the rest of the plane tickets down to our hotel rooms. Another tip has a housekeeper collecting my bags and bringing them up to my father's suites where I'm hole up in his guest room.

I'm still holed up on Monday morning, buried deep under the silk sheets in a pair of sweatpants and a tee that don't belong to me. They smell like fresh air and home, and Hunter's cologne; it's a kind of bittersweet torture I welcome in my wallowing.

Mom had called to check in yesterday afternoon, and I'd told her I was going to stay an extra night. When she asked why, I'd come up with the easiest excuse that didn't involve spilling my guts out over the telephone: Dad had talked to a friend and scored me an interview with someone at Columbia. I had a tour of the history department Monday morning.

It wasn't a lie either. My dad had made good on his promise to make some calls as soon as I'd told him I was stating an extra day. He hadn't asked any questions, rearranged my flight and had gotten me an interview and a tour that were in fact scheduled for this morning.

But I don't plan on showing up. He's already at work and Andrea is god-knows where. By the time they get home, I'll be heading to the airport for my flight back home to Rock Valley.

Yes, Rock Valley is home. I thought maybe that feeling would change once I knew my friends were on the plane, flying back without me. But noon came and went, and I still felt uncomfortable here in New York. The streets were too noisy and the skies were too smoggy. I couldn't hear the birds or the wind, or see the sun clearly over the horizon.

Hunter had said I was in my element here, but it doesn't feel like it. Sure, I can slip into my socialite heels and walk the walk with the rest of them, but it feels like I'm faking every smile, laugh and step. I can blend and I can pretend because I grew up here. But when it comes to feeling like I belong...

With a deep breath I throw off the covers and crawl out of bed. It's only ten o'clock. My flight doesn't leave for another five hours, but I want to go home. I want to feel the fresh air in my lungs and the sun on my face. I want to hug my Yaya and thank her for everything she's done for us these past few months.

I stuff what things I've unpacked back into my suitcase. I don't bother changing out of the sweats I'm wearing or putting on any makeup as I walk out the door.

I'm leaving. And this time I don't plan on looking back. New York, I love you. But my heart belongs to a small town in Arkansas.

When we pull into the parking lot on Tuesday morning, I realize I'm both entirely prepared and unprepared all at once. Sure there's no gossip blogs in Rock Valley, but teenagers are the same no matter where you live. And teenagers love to talk.

My mom drove me to school this morning. I'd lasted ten minutes in the Jeep with her last night before I told her what had happened in New York. About Mia, my friends and my father. I'd told her I'd bailed on the Columbia thing, that I knew Dad was only trying to buy his way back in my good graces.

She'd taken it in stride. Yeah, she'd been mad as hell to hear about Layla-Mai Jordan, and I'm grounded for the first time in my life, but she also told me she felt some of the blame was her own. She should've been more for us growing up, raised us to be better. But I don't blame her one bit.

"You sure you're okay, Peyton?" She asks me for the tenth time this morning. "I know I told you there's no skipping school today, but if you really don't feel like you can handle it, call me, okay?"

I give her a real smile, even when I spot a familiar old pickup over her shoulder. "I will, Mom. Don't worry."

"I'm your mom, Peyton," she says exasperatedly. "It's my job to worry about you."

With a quick kiss on her cheek, I climb out of the Jeep and plug my earbuds into my phone. Cranking up my music— a mix of pop and country— I make my way towards the front doors.

I keep my eyes fixed in front of me as I walk straight to my locker. But even then, I still see people look at me and take in my appearance.

I do not look like the Peyton Church they know. My hair is tied up in a top-knot and a bit of mascara and lip balm are the extent of my makeup. I'm wearing the only pair of leggings I own with plain white tee and denim jacket. My shoes are flats— no heels.

This isn't a cry for attention; I didn't dress down for anyone but myself. I just got out of bed this morning, opened my closet, and closed the accordion doors when I didn't like anything that I saw. Then I threw on a tee and my leggings and went to my bewildered mom to borrow one of her spring jackets.

I feel more vulnerable than ever without my armor. That's what my wardrobe was for the longest time, something to help me stand out from and rise above the people around me. I wanted to be looked at and idolized. But now, it feels almost freeing to walk the halls looking no different than any other girl at Rock Valley High.

So I ignore the stares and soon enough, people look away and go back to gathering their books. The breath I'd been self-consciously holding in comes out as a sigh of relief when I reach my locker and see nobody around. Of course, a part of me had hoped to see a familiar and welcoming face waiting for me. But I know better.

Silently, I stuff my things into my locker and exchange them for the binders and pens I need for my first class. My phone doesn't buzz, nobody stops to talk to me, and I make my way to homeroom.

I make it one step inside the door before I falter. Somehow I had actually forgotten who I share this class with, who I've been sitting next to for weeks now.

Hunter isn't here yet. Our desks sit side by side, our chairs empty. For all the quiet confidence I've had today, I don't think I can spend more than a minute sitting so close to him knowing we're over.

Somebody clears their throat behind me. I look quickly over my shoulder, heart pounding double time against my ribs, but it's only my teacher.

"Sorry," I mumble, and make a not-so-subtle beeline for a desk in the back corner of the room. One of the stoner kids usually sits here, but considering I don't remember the last time I actually saw him in class, I don't feel too bad stealing his seat.

The class fills quickly, but I keep my eyes on the blank lined paper in front of me where I'm putting way too much detail to writing out the date. When Mr. Reiken starts talking, I let myself look up and directly towards the front of the class. I still see them, the back of their heads at least. Addison is in her usual seat next to Ethan, but in front of them, my seat remains empty.

Hunter's there, as always, his brown hair tousled from running his fingers through it. I don't let my thoughts wander too far, certainly not far enough to wonder if he's as flustered to be in the same room with me as I am right now. I just want to get up and walk over there, sit in my chair and make them talk to me. Make them forgive me and move on from all of this mess.

I stay glued to my seat and ignore the tidal wave of heartbreak, anguish and desperation that overcomes me.

By the time lunch rolls around, any conviction I have left in me has dulled to an ember.

Few people have said anything to me today, but I've heard the whispers. I can't wear my headphones in class to drown them out or distract myself. Of course, people have most of the details wrong but that could have been intentional for all I know.

In the cafeteria line up I hear a girl ask her friend if she heard about "Hunter Maddox's crazy murderer of an ex".

"I mean, Clary's mean, but who did she kill?" Her friend responds.

The first girl shakes her head and I realize there's only two people separating us. "Not Clary, the other one. That new girl that's been hanging off him since she got here."

"What'd she do?" her friend asks again, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder. "Hit somebody with Daddy's fancy sports car?"

My teeth sink into my lip, but I keep eavesdropping. "I don't know. But I heard she killed one of her old classmates over a guy. Her dad must have bribed someone to keep her out of trouble. Maybe that's why she came here in the first place."

"Harsh," the second girl says, and my shoulders relax for just a moment before she continues. "Hunter deserves better anyways. What a psycho."

I step out of the lineup then, before I can hear anything else they have to say about me. Their laughter seems to follow me out of the cafeteria, echoed by dozens of others who can't possibly all be laughing at me. But it feels like it.

Is this what it feels like? To be on the other side of the preconceived wall that we seem to think exists between the ranks of the high school hierarchy? To be laughed at, ridiculed and gossiped about just because people feel superior?

Maybe I deserve this, after all that I've done. But that doesn't make me feel any better as I walk quickly through the halls to my locker. There's a few people milling about, no faces I can put to names. Most of them look like freshmen or sophomores. I lean against the cool metal of my locker and slide down to the floor, bringing my knees up against my chest.

I pull out my cell phone from the pocket of my mom's jacket. I tap my fingers against the touchscreen until my thumb hovers over her name.

She told me to call her if I couldn't make it through the day, and the truth is that I don't think I have it in me. I'm ashamed to say I've never been alone like this before in my life. I've had friends since I was in diapers, even if I didn't have a choice in the matter.

"Hey," a familiar voice says from above me.

I jerk my head up to see one of the last people I'd thought would speak to me today.

"Jay?" My voice croaks.

Shaking his head, my brother settles onto the floor beside me and stretches his legs out in front of him. "So, I saw you run out of the caf," he says plainly.

"I needed some air," I lie, not bothering to sound the least bit convincing.

Jaden looks me straight in the eye and heaves a sigh. "I heard you talking to Mom last night. About what happened over the weekend."

"Oh yeah?" I say sardonically. "You're probably the only one who isn't surprised how awful your sister is."

I pick at a lone hangnail when silence falls between us. I'm fully prepared for my brother to get up and walk away any minute. Instead he nudges his shoulder against mine.

"No, I'm not surprised," he admits with a shrug. "But that's only because I already knew about the Layla-Mai stuff. We may have gone to different schools, but it's not like nobody socialized. Everyone knew about it."

I blink. It didn't even cross my mind that Jaden might've heard about the things I'd done at Spence. He was a freshman at Regis then, at the bottom of the food chain in my mind. Which actually just goes to show what my mindset was, and puts a lot of things in perspective.

"I guess it's no wonder you want nothing to do with me, huh?" I let out a dejected laugh. "I don't blame you, you know. Turns out I am a huge bitch. Just took a few different people telling me to get it through to me."

Jaden shakes his head. "You're a medium sized bitch at best."

A half choked laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Thanks."

"Anytime," he brushes me off. After a beat of silence, he turns to me, his expression more serious than I'm used to seeing on my little brother's face. "So. Based on the fact you're sitting here crying at your locker, I'm gonna assume they're all still not talking to you?"

My chin dips in a nod and I adjust my top-knot as it flops to the side. "Nope."

"Huh."

Without another word, my brother heaves a sigh and gets to his feet. I expect to watch him walk away, back to his friends in the caf, but instead he turns to me and holds out his hands.

I look at him in confusion. "What? No 'just give them time'? 'They just need some space'?"

"Nah," he says with a shrug and motions for me to hurry up and take his hands. I do, and he tugs me up onto my feet. "You've heard that shit a dozen times. What you need is to get out of here."

I arch a brow at him. "Mom will kill me if I ditch. And then she'll bring me back only to kill me again for condoning you to ditch."

Jaden just waves me off, dropping an arm roughly over my shoulders as he drags me in the direction of the front doors. "Then I guess you won't have to worry about anyone forgiving you. 'Cause you'll be too dead for them to apologize. But, don't worry, I'll write you a great eulogy."

I shove him with both hands, but he just tightens his arm around my shoulders and pulls me with him when he stumbles. Then we're both laughing, loud and without a damn care as a few of our classmates watch us goof off on our way out of the school.

"Where to then, Scofield?" I ask Jay once we've made it to the sidewalk and he steers me towards downtown. "This is your prison break after all."

Jay chuckles, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "You ran out before you could eat. Which means I haven't had lunch, and I'm starving. So, you're buying us lunch at the diner."

I roll my eyes, but make the next left towards the Pauli's. "Admit it, you only came after me so you didn't have to eat cafeteria food."

"Damn right," he says automatically. If it weren't for the goofy grin on my brother's face, I'd think he was telling the truth. "But, seriously, Pey. If you ever need to, you can talk to me."

He must see the look of disbelief I try to hide, because his eyes flick to the pavement. "Listen, I was a dick when I said those thing to you. I was pissed off and tired, and I took it out on you. Mom told me you were only going because Dad was threatening her with custody bullshit. I should've believed you."

I let out a sigh of something between exhaustion and relief. "You weren't wrong, Jay. What you said was like a reality check. I do need to think about people other than myself. It's just hard to reprogram years of my personality, and I know that's not an excuse, but I'm really trying." A humorless laugh escapes me. "It was a massive slap in the face going back to the city. I finally realized I'm really not that different."

"Hey, the fact you can admit that is a big deal," he encourages. "It's a step in the right direction."

I tilt my face up to the sky, taking in the sun that shines in a clear blue sky. I close my eyes, just for a second, and soak it up. "I just wish it wasn't too late."

"It's not," Jay argues, and I peak at him through one eye to see him shaking his head. "Do not tell me you're just going to roll over and die. The sister I love and loathe would never do that."

My lips twist into a wry smile. "Well that's real sweet of you, Jay," I drawl sarcastically before my tone becomes tired. "The year's almost over. I think it's for the best if I just go back to my original intentions when we moved here. Just lay low and graduate. No problems, no drama."

Jaden looks dumbfounded. "For real? Peyton, for the first time in your over-dramatic life, you made actual friends." He holds up a finger to shut me up before I can interrupt. "Those bitchy Upper East Side princesses were never your friends. You associated because everyone made you, then it was only for the clout."

I stay quiet because, for once, I know my little brother is right.

"There's no rule that says friendships have to end when high school does," Jay goes on, sounding much wiser than any little brother should. "Look at Mom and your boss. They kept in touch after school, even when Mom left town."

"I guess," I say noncommittally. "I wouldn't even know where to start, hypothetically, if I did want to make things right."

Jaden raises a skeptical eyebrow as we round the next corner, and the diner comes into view. "I mean, an apology might be something to think about. You know, for the lying and the secrets."

I roll my eyes. "Of course, Master Yoda." Biting my lip, I wince at the next thought to cross my mind. "But I doubt 'I'm sorry' will be enough to get Hunter to un-break-up with me."

"As a member of the male species, I think I'm qualified to tell you that apologies accompanied by food and sexual favors go a long way," Jay says matter-of-factly.

I choke on nothing but the air in my lungs, stopping dead in the middle of the diner parking lot. Jaden has to stop and slap me in the back to get me to straighten up and breathe normally again.

"My baby brother did not just advise me to use sexual favors to win back my boyfriend," I sputter, my face the picture of incredulity.

He fixes me with a shit-eating grin that says it all. Deep down, I think I'd be more concerned if my sixteen-year-old kid brother had kept up the all-knowing shrink routine.

That being said, he's still right about one thing: an apology is the best place to start. I won't make excuses or come up with reasons why they should forgive me. How they feel is valid, and I brought this on myself. But I want them to know that I am sorry, and that I hate what I did just as much as they do— maybe even a little more.

"You're right, maybe you should ignore my advice," my brother admits with a one-shouldered shrug, and I start to mentally backtrack for a split second. Then, he opens his mouth, and shoves his whole damn foot in.

"He can't un-break-up with you if he's dead from the food poisoning he'd get eating anything you made."

I jab an elbow hard into his ribs, and leave him behind as I walk into the diner to order myself a decent lunch.

I. WILL. FINISH. THIS. NOVEL. I. PROMISE. 

Lots of love,