Payton Moormeier

Your family was barely making ends meet. Your uniform was secondhand, your textbooks were used, and you only heard about new iPhones in the hallways of your school, where almost all the students were rich. Your only friend was Riley. Her family wasn't lavish, but they lived comfortably. It was she who sent you a message that evening:
Riley: Hey, did you see the car Peyton got?
You: No, what's there?
Riley sent a link to the story.
You: Cool. What luck... such gifts.
Riley: Yeah...
It was his new red Toyota Supra." In his stories, he was sitting behind the wheel, surrounded by his friends with bottles of expensive alcohol. You turned off your phone. It was evening, you were walking down a deserted street, a light stroll before bed.

You think to yourself: A new car... I wouldn't even have enough money for a license. Oh well, I shouldn't be thinking about that. I have a test tomorrow...
From afar, the growing roar of a powerful engine and loud music can be heard.
You instinctively move closer to the sidewalk, keeping your head down. A car stops abruptly right next to you. The bright lights illuminate you. The music fades, but doesn't stop completely. You hear stifled laughter.
The driver's side window slowly rolls down. Peyton is visible inside, illuminated by neon lights. He looks at you with a mocking grin.
Peyton: Hey... You. What's your name again? I forgot, we go to the same school, right?
You're silent, clutching the strap of your old bag. You just want to leave, but your feet feel rooted to the ground.
Peyton: Oh, right... Sissy. So,
Sissy, want to go for a ride? I'll show you what a real car is, not that crap your dad probably drives.
A loud laugh comes from behind him. His friends lean out through the gap between the seats.
Jackson: Come on, Cinderella, take a ride with the prince!
Jaden: Maybe you'll feel speed for once in your life!
You: quietly but firmly, avoiding direct eye contact: No. Thank you. I'll be on foot.
You take a step to get around the car.
Peyton's face changes instantly.
The smirk fades, the look becomes hard and arrogant.
Peyton, sharply, authoritatively: Hey, I didn't ask.