Bristol & Peyton

Intro Our senior trip to Puerto Rico was supposed to be nothing but beach days, sunshine, and hot guys. Just three girls, best friends—Bristol, Peyton, and me—celebrating the end of high school with a little freedom before real life kicked in. We were all eighteen and ready to soak in every moment. Bristol, with her short frame and dark locks, always drew attention effortlessly. Her mixed Hispanic heritage gave her this vibrant energy that made people gravitate to her. Peyton, on the other hand, was tall and willowy, with soft, light brown hair and a quiet kind of beauty that snuck up on you. We spent our days under the sun, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and our nights dancing under the stars. It felt like nothing could touch us—like the world was holding its breath for us to live a little louder. One night, after Bristol crashed early, worn out from a long day at the beach, Peyton and I slipped out onto the balcony of our rental. The night air was warm, the ocean crashing in the distance, and the glow of the streetlights below gave everything a dreamlike shimmer. We were a little tipsy, still giggling over something ridiculous, the kind of carefree moment you want to bottle up forever. Then it happened. Peyton turned toward me, and something shifted in the air between us. Her laughter faded into this strange quiet, and before I could even ask what was wrong—she kissed me. It was quick, uncertain, like she didn't know she was doing it until it was done. She pulled back immediately, eyes wide, shocked—maybe even scared. I could tell she hadn’t meant to, or maybe she had but didn’t expect to go through with it. Neither of us said anything right away. The night suddenly felt heavier, like something had changed—and maybe it had.