The windows of the rear-facing wall at the RDU terminal gate B19 were already starting to fog. It was going to be a typical June day in Raleigh— humid and hot; it wasn't even noon yet. I checked my tickets again, making sure that I was sitting at the right gate. All I needed was to get on the wrong flight and end up in the middle of the indigenous South American forests with a guy who didn't understand English but was very prone to stare. Only a couple more hours, I thought to myself wistfully. Only a couple more hours and you can forget.

But I couldn't forget; no, it would be next to impossible to forget the awful beginning I'd had to the summer after my last year of high school. I leaned my head against the stiff black chairs, repositioning my body in a wasted effort to get comfortable. I still had another hour before I'd board a plane to Springfield, Kentucky— the much anticipated destination of my summer. I'd moved away from Springfield two years prior with my eccentric mother, never to look back. It was a decision I hadn't regretted up until about a week ago. Now, I was subjecting myself to an entire summer there with my Grandmama and old friends. Joy, I thought sarcastically, letting myself daydream as I stared out at the cloudless sky.

I was just dozing when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I jumped and flipped open the cover to see that it was my mother, calling for the hundredth time.

Ignore it, I wanted to tell myself, but I knew that if I did, she'd send in the SWAT team to find me. She'd always been protective; when I was younger, it'd been no big deal because I needed her to watch out for me. But now, at 18, it was just embarrassing. The phone stopped buzzing and I smiled, hoping that she'd given up. Then it vibrated again.

No such luck. "Hello?" I answered.

She sighed, seemingly relieved, into the phone. "Peyton Maye Hale, what took you so long to answer?"

I could see my mother's worried face in my mind; all of her laugh lines, carved from years of gullibility, would be turned down with worry. Her straight graying hair, the stark opposite of mine pulled back into a pony tail. Even her blue eyes, which matched my own, would be blazing with anxiety. She was crazy and eccentric, formerly an actress who still liked to improv on the weekends. My mom, who renamed herself Anna when she turned eighteen, felt that good parenting meant tracking me like I was on the FBI's most wanted list.

I laughed, picturing my mother weighted down with tracking devices, turning this way and that to locate a signal. "Relax Mom," I groaned into the phone. "You really have to stop worrying. I'm still in the terminal, and we haven't even begun to board." Thanks for that, I added in my head. Thank you for getting me here an hour and a half early— just so I can sit here and wallow in my self-pity. A few blonde strands of hair fell out of my carefully constructed pony tail, and I sighed. "Listen... I'm safe. No stranger has attempted to approach me, and I haven't been attacked by airport security yet. Can you please stop calling every five minutes?"

"It hasn't been every five minutes," my mother scoffed. "And Peyton, baby, it's just because I love you." Then she exhaled. "But if you swear to call me before and after you get on that plane, I'll stop calling. But you have to-"

"Alright," I agreed hurriedly, "I love you, bye!" And I snapped the phone shut.

I pulled the twenty something bobby pins out of my incredibly thick, unmanageable hair and let it out of the hair tie. It fell in long pleats about my shoulders—which, I noted, needed a lot of sun. In fact, vitamin D would do my slender body some much needed good. Frowning down at the freckles that sprinkled across my forearms, I made a mental note to pick up some sun block when I arrived later on this afternoon. My hair, like a poodle's thick and coarse coat, would be impossible to rearrange my ponytail without a mirror. I also felt too lethargic to head to a restroom that was nearby. So, instead, I raked my fingers through my hair and leaned my head back against the seat.

But I wasn't paying careful enough attention to my thoughts, which I'd been trying to keep on top of for the past couple of days, because suddenly I was swamped with the image of my boyfriend, my beautiful boyfriend, being straddled by some other girl.

I could still clearly see Brandon's shocked face and I choked back the never ending tears. Wiping my hand under my cheek I told myself that I would not cry over him, not anymore. However, just because I wasn't crying over it didn't mean that it still didn't upset me. Nor could I help but be sucked back to the previous Friday, when my quiet existence suddenly became incredibly hectic.

It was the afternoon of my four month anniversary with my boyfriend Brandon Taylor. It was also the last day of high school; of course, I was stuck after school with a teacher trying to make up a test I'd missed, rather than celebrating with my friends. But that morning, Brandon offered to pick me up after I finished and I'd given him the time when I thought I'd be done. However, the test was much easier than I thought, so I managed to finish way earlier than I'd predicted.

I'll surprise him— I thought, slinging my bag onto my shoulder. I couldn't wait for tonight, and I could only imagine what he had in store for us. Brandon didn't come from money but he was lavish with gifts and dinners. With Brandon, I would have been happy to sit at home and stare at him, but he insisted on taking me out. Brandon was by far the cutest boy at our school, and he played soccer like a professional. He'd been my best friend before we'd started dating and that story was an entire different one in itself. But all that was in the past, and now it was just he and I… just us two against the world.

Us. I relished the word on my tongue, happily repeating it down the hall. God, it felt good to finally say that. One of the things I hadn't grown accustomed to since I'd been dating Brandon was that we were a 'we' and an 'us'. It was an odd feeling to know that Brandon was mine. And that he wanted me nearly as much as I wanted him.

There was no doubt in my mind that I couldn't be happier— it simply wasn't humanly possible. And it was a great feeling to know that.

Three whole months had passed since Brandon had told me he loved me. We spent the time together in bliss— laughing at jokes no one else understood, kissing between classes, holding hands on our way to the parking lot. Brandon told me he loved me at least once a day; every time, it never failed to send an electric shock through me. I was dumbfounded as to how I landed such an amazing guy. Sometimes, I would catch him looking at me like I'd looked at him when we were only friends. And of course, a blush spread into my cheeks. This only made him laugh and he'd kiss my forehead and pull me into his arms. The nights we spent together, lying on a blanket under the stars, were the ones where I felt like I was in a dream. Brandon was too good to be true. But yet, he loved me. And I loved him, more than anyone or anything— more than myself.

My friends would laugh when I'd go on and on, relaying every detail of a date or every word of a conversation, and they'd tell me that I was 'crazy'. "Crazy in love," I'd agreed. I was still taken aback every time I saw him with his perfect hair and teeth and eyes and… everything. He looked all-American with his chestnut hair with honey streaks and perfect green eyes. I always ended up breathless every time he would pull me into his embrace.

I smiled to myself, thinking of kissing him until we were both breathless, as I padded down the hallway and out the back doors. I stopped just outside and looked around, taking in the summer afternoon. Raleigh, at this point in early June, was spectacular. Everything was lush with green and flowers bloomed in the manicured gardens spread around the school property. However, even in the beauty of this place, there was something missing.

I expecting Brandon's car to be there. You're early, I told myself and shook my head, chuckling. I nearly turned back to go check out front, hoping that maybe he'd forgotten where I told him to pick me up, when something caught my eye.

Parked beneath an old shrub, sat Brandon's car. At first, I thought maybe I'd been mistaken. But I saw the signature lime green beamer, which was a gag gift from his parents, and knew that it had to be his. There was something off about it, though. It was angled in a way that made it quite impossible for someone to see it from where I was standing, but why it was parked like that was the real mystery.

I remembered back to the first time Brandon had taken me there. We'd parked back behind the eucalyptus shrub and he'd stolen those oh so infamous kisses.

My belly was suddenly full of sickening butterflies.

Carefully, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Brandon. He picked up on the third ring, which was odd because Brandon almost never did that, especially when I was calling. It was also odd that he was panting, "Hello?" Why does he sound like he's been running a marathon when he's parked in his car?

I swallowed against my suspicions, hoping to sound cheerful. "Hey Brandon, I'm finished with my test. You said you'd pick me—"

He cut me off, "So early?" And then I heard him chuckle, and he shushed someone. That someone wasn't me.

"Brandon?" I asked.

"Sorry baby doll, I'm on my way. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

"But…" I began, about to point out the fact that he was already here, when I heard the sound of a female voice laughing.

"Yeah?" Brandon said.

"But I have a ride home," I replied, stoically, praying that my ears were lying.

Though Brandon sounded disappointed, I picked out that thread of excitement. "But what about our three months?"

I shook with rage, how could he do this to me? He thought he was so smooth, while I could clearly see his car. "It's only three months," I told him, coolly. It's only three months, it's only three months— it became a mantra; I was repeating over and over. It's only been three months, not enough time to build anything.

Anything but my hopes, I thought in anguish. I wasn't overreacting, because I could now clearly hear the same female voice whispering something to Brandon. Then I heard the three words I'd told him so many times over: "I love you," she cooed into his ear. Her voice was so close to the phone that I felt if she had said it to me. Brandon quickly rearranged himself and tried to cough to cover it up.

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Whatever you say," he sighed, coughing one more time for emphasis. A tear coursed down my cheek and I could almost feel my happiness and my heart shatter. I'd never been cheated on before… ever. I'd also never been this crazy about a boy. Brandon was my everything; he was the air around me and the sun shining down. He was my life and I'd put everything on the line to be with him.

"Bye," I whispered.

Brandon said nothing before the line went dead. It was the first phone conversation we'd had where he hadn't said that he loved me.

I wondered who he was with, and I was overcome with sadness. As I blinked back tears, my mind tried to feed me excuses. Maybe he can see you, maybe he has a surprise or maybe he just needs some air.

But the rest of me knew that he wasn't thinking about me at that moment. Why would another girl tell him that she loved him? Love was such a fragile thing and so sacred in my eyes, so the fact that she'd used the L-word made his betrayal sting that much worse. Of course, I had no idea if they were fooling around; I had no proof. But deep down I knew that they were, I could just feel it within my core.

I was crying, and it reminded me a night— seeming, now, so long ago— where he told me he didn't love me. He'd lied to me then, because he didn't think he felt anything more for me than lust. Regardless, the pain had been similar to this. It felt like I was stabbed, through and through, and the searing pain in my belly made me tremble. However this time, the truth wouldn't make my heart race with joy— it would kill me to learn.

Rage came then, like a crack of lightening, and my vision was rimmed with a red haze. I wanted to punch something, or to cause damage— to inflict an ounce of the pain I was feeling. I slung my bag over my shoulder marched down the strip of sidewalk— heading straight for Brandon's car.

Pushing back the shrub branches, I was faced with the most horrific sight I'd ever seen. Sitting in the driver's seat of the car, Brandon was being straddled by someone. He had his arms wrapped around her waist— straining her closer to him.

I let out a sob and Brandon's eyes flew open. We locked gazes and he pushed the girloff of his lap. She was no stranger to either of us, because she was the varsity cheerleader who shared a table with Brandon and I at lunch. She was also Brandon's ex, a girl who he'd dumped to be with me.

Tears sprang up again, filling my eyes and I was blinded. I blinked them away, willing myself to see Brandon's deception. No one spoke for a long moment until she mumbled something to Brandon and climbed out of the car. I could see that she needed to walk past me to escape, and I could do nothing but cry as I took a step forward to let her pass. She said nothing to me, but I could read the smug look on her face. You thought he was yours? Her face mocked me, you really must be crazy.

"Pey—" Brandon began, but I had already stalked away before he could finish. I heard his door slam, followed by the sounds of his footsteps. A hand grabbed my shoulder, and I flew around.

The back of my hand caught Brandon's cheek with a crack, and he backed away. My chest heaved with fury and sorrow, and tears coursed down my cheeks. "How could you? You… you pig," I spat the words in his face.

He tried to explain, but I held up a hand to stop him. He was going to hear my piece before he even began to think of what he could possibly come up with as an excuse. Pulling a hand through his hair, he waited as I collected my thoughts. They were scattered briefly, because I was caught up in the sight of him. But his features, once so attractive, now seemed repulsive to me and I shuddered. I couldn't stand to meet the eyes I'd gazed into only days before.

"You… are disgusting. I can't believe you would do this to me." I said calmly, still trembling. I was losing it— fast.

"No, let me explain-"

"NO!" I screamed, taking a step forward so that I was inches from his nose. "I catch you with that slut! And you think you can explain."

"I know, Peyton. And I'm sorry! But it just happened." He was begging me to understand, I could see it in his eyes. But if he thought that I would forgive him, he had another thing coming. Looking into him face, I could see the sorrow. It was hurting him to see me like this, mascara streaming down my face and me screaming in his. I wanted him to hurt and I was happy to think that it did. He would suffer now, I tried to tell myself.

However, the other half of me was torn. Though I was furious with him, I didn't not love him anymore. I hadn't fallen out of love with him within the past three minutes. I still was crazy about him, and I still wanted nothing more than to run into his arms. But my pride wouldn't let me just yet, and he would know my fury.

"It didn't just happen, Brandon—" I hissed. " I was finally beginning to even think that maybe I was right— that I was right in believing that you loved me, too. But I was just another game, wasn't I?" The words suddenly became so true in my ears that I was overcome with another wave of grief. That's all I am, I whispered in my mind. "And I finally began to think that I'm good enough for you!" I was thinking aloud and hadn't realized he'd heard me when he began to stammer something else.

"You are!" he sputtered, trying to reach for me."I love you Peyton, my Peyton." But his words held no value in my ear anymore. I was still caught up in the fact that I was just another notch on his bedpost. I wasn't special to him! The fact was clear now, and I understood how he'd so easily cheated on me. It was because I was just like her, the girl he'd just been with. I was just another girl he'd tell his friends about. Brandon began to say something more.

"Shut up!" I screamed, slapping his hand away. I was now enraged. The fact that he was using me and that I was just another pretty face had infuriated me. I wanted to smack him again. "Just for once, shut the hell up! Brandon, I meant it when I told you I loved you. And I've meant it every time since then." He was going to get it now. "I love you! Don't you get that? Don't you see all that I've done for you? You dirty, filthy— And for once, I was stupid enough to believe that maybe you loved me, too. I knew I shouldn't have fallen for you; because you are you! And you have a reputation of doing this! You've done it before— back last year. It was with a different girl, and then one after another you just went through them. Or should I say us now, because I'm just another one of them, am I not?" I was shaking my fist in my face, and I poked him hard in the chest, causing him to teeter back a step. "But I overlooked all of that, because to me— you were perfect. And you were good… and everything to me! I didn't think I was good enough for awhile, but I pushed all that aside, because I thought I actually had a shot with you. I let myself fall in love with you, against my best judgment; I gave you my heart! Do you know how special that is?And what do you do? You… you cheat on me? Like it's no big deal… What is wrong with you?" I was sobbing by the end, so miserable that I nearly collapsed.

"Peyton, I'm sorry." Brandon sounded so utterly broken, so much so, that I almost apologized to him. But I shook my head; I would not feel sorry for him, not after what I'd just seen.

"Sorry doesn't undo what you've done." I told him aloud, and then paused before adding: "You know, even though I could kill you for cheating on me and lying to me, that's not the worst part. It's that I believed you when you said you loved me. And I believed that I was finally enough. That's what really pisses me off. But I'm smarter now—"

"No, don't say that!" Brandon cried, trying to embrace me. "We can work this out, you're different. I'm different now, now that I've met you."

I backed away, raising my arms. "No you're not. You're just the same. And you've proved me right." I was resigned and calm, though my heart was breaking as I spoke the words. "You've proved that I'm not good enough for you— that I am just like every other girl. And that you're just too perfect for me."

"Peyton, baby— you know that's not true. Come on, now. Let's go grab some dinner and I'll tell you what happened."

"Oh no, I don't need any explanations; I've seen enough. And you don't have to take me anywhere... ever again. I'm sorry to have wasted your time." I said, looking away. My heart was lead and I felt as if I was a thousand years old because I was weary and broken.

"You didn't," Brandon tried to say. He sounded like he would start crying.

I turned, ready to leave and let Brandon go back to his cheerleader. They were good for each other— good enough.

"Goodbye Brandon, I really did love you." I promised, a tear streaking down my cheek.

"No, it's not over between us! Wait, please," he begged as I turned to leave.

Something sparked inside of me then, and I whipped back around. "I've been waiting—waiting for you to need me like I need you. But I can't keep waiting, because I don't want to. It's pointless for me to sit around for something I'm never going to have."

"Please," Brandon whimpered. "Just let me explain."

"There is nothing to say," I insisted.

"You're lying," Brandon said, calling my bluff.

"Maybe..." I whispered. "But you've hurt me, now. And I have to go, to get away from you."

"Please, Peyton. Please stay." Brandon was frantic now. He grabbed my hand and I kissed it, squeezing my eyes shut. A tear fell onto his palm and he looked down at it. "I'm sorry," he whispered, just as resigned as I was. This hurt, too. He hadn't tried, nearly at all, to get me to stay. He'd just said please about 50 times, but nothing he'd done seemed valuable.

"Me too," I agreed, and I turned and walked back towards the school, fully aware that I was leaving love and life standing with an extended hand— still waiting for me to return.

Someone touched my hand, "Dear... are you alright?" I opened my eyes to look up into the face of an elderly woman. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. But by the way she was dressed, I knew she was a flight attendant and that I was back in the airport. My back hurt from the uncomfortable position I was sleeping in. My head was fogged and I couldn't really think straight. But I shook my head, and used the back of my hand to wipe my face; my cheeks were wet. "No," I said, my voice hoarse. When I sat up straighter, I could see the plane outside my window. "Is the plane boarding yet?"

She smiled down at me, "Yes— you're the only one in here," I looked around to see that she wasn't lying. "And," she continued. "No one else bothered to wake you up. I didn't want you to miss your flight. Unless..." her voice grew quiet. "Unless you already have, in which case, I'll need to find you a new plane." I handed her my ticket and she smiled, "Nope, you're all set. Hurry now, they're waiting for you." I was thankful that she didn't question me further— merely smiled and waved me on. But I did catch the worried glance she shot me before I walked down the exit ramp. The attendant on the plane was not as kind; he gave me a frown and shuffled me down the aisle.

After everything was set, we were off. The plane ride to an airport in Charlotte was very quick and I had to hurry to catch my layover. But soon enough, I was aboard a different plane heading to Louisville airport, one that was about an hour away from Springfield.

A bag of stale peanuts and a Coke later, I arrived— jet lagged and grouchy— in Kentucky. I gathered my bags quickly and hurried outside to see who was there to pick me up. I smiled at the tall woman wearing overalls and a pair of working boots, with a long gray braid that nearly stretched down her back. Her wrinkled face spread into a smile when she saw me. "Peyton Maye!" She cried, calling me by a name that I hadn't heard in so long. In Kentucky, I was Peyton Maye, rather than just Peyton. I was odd to see my Grandmama after almost two years. She looked the same as when I left, and I could see my mom in her oval face. Even her hug felt the same as I remembered as she pulled me into one.

"Grandmama!" I greeted, inhaling the scent of her. It was something I had always loved about her; she smelled like sweat, hay and horse. And it was lovely. "God, I'm so glad to see you!" I said, squeezing her tighter. There was something about my Grandmama that never failed to calm me. Days earlier, I'd been cheated on by the supposed love of my life, but it suddenly didn't matter. I was just here, with her, and I was happy. Almost, I told myself. Almost but not quite. I don't think I'll ever be happy again… Sadness overrode my joy for an instant.

Grandmama stepped away from me, holding me at arm's length. "My, how you've grown child!" Her southern drawl made me laugh. In Raleigh, nearly everyone spoke proper English. Hearing my grandmama speak made me feel more at home than I had since I'd moved away two years ago. "What have they been feeding you down there? Magic beans?"

I laughed, "I think that's called Vitamin B, Grandmama."

"Well," she sighed. "Where we're goin', there ain't no things like vitamins. You get everything ya' need from th'stuff ya' grow in your own garden. And besides, who needs yucky pills when we gots ourselves lots and lots of fresh produce just waitin' to be eaten?" She ushered me into her old beat up truck, one that threatened to quit any day now. I closed a rusty red door behind me and slipped off my tennis shoes. Grandmama knew me well enough to know that I would live in boots for the summer, so they sat in the seat next to me. I inhaled the smell of leather and burst into a wide smile. She looked at me curiously, and then shook her head. "You're always doin' that, child. Justa' smilin' away at random things."

"No," I disagreed. "Well..." I thought for a second. "Well yeah… maybe. But no, I'm just happy to be home." Home, I thought excitedly as Grandmama pulled away. I'm going home.

Grandmama laughed, "Child, we are glad to have ya' back. It surely has been too long."

"We?" I asked, "Grandmama, are you dating someone?" The shock was not easily masked on my face. My grandfather— Papaw, as they'd all called him— had died before I was born. Grandmama had managed just fine on her own since then, and I couldn't begin to imagine her spending time with anyone other than her family and horses.

"Have ya' lost all your senses?" she asked, putting a hand on my shoulder. Her voice grew thoughtful, "I do believe that ya' left more than just me when ya' moved."

My head bowed, "Are you talking about him?" I didn't dare say the name I'd tried so hard to forget.

"Dawlin', Andrew never stopped missin' ya'."

I shook my head, "First Grandmama— it's Andy. He hated Andrew, and besides," I added. "Andrew Blake Cuttsinger just sounds funny."

Grandmama gave me a look that said you're stalling. "Second?" she asked.

"And second, we happened a long time ago. We were kids, Grandmama. We didn't know any better. And things have changed," I said. Or so I thought, I added to myself. Andy Cuttsinger was a boy that I'd dated two years ago. He was my childhood sweetheart, so to speak. We'd been in love… and I'd left him. Things were over between us, and I clung to that fact as though it were my life support.

"Your mama told me, y'know. I know that what's his name did ya' wrong, child. You don't have t'pretend like it didn't happen."

"Brandon," I said. "His name was Brandon Taylor."

"Brandon," she sneered. "Well, ya' got anotha' boy waitin' for ya' out home."

"I doubt if he's waiting for me," I said quietly.

"You'd be surprised," she replied, matching my volume.

We continued to chat about useless stuff— never mentioning any sort of romance. But I couldn't get Andy out of my mind, and soon enough, the past caught up with me for the second time that day. Only this time, I was sucked back two years rather than just a week.