I have always known that Peyton has been our father's favorite. Even though we're only eleven months apart, she somehow gained the title of Daddy's Little Princess.

Whenever he would come home from work, I'd be sitting on the couch, watching television. He'd look at me, saying, "Hey Alex. Get your homework done?" When Peyton would come in the room, his eyes would light up and he'd say, "How's Daddy's Little Princess doing today?" and give her a peck on the top of the head.

For his fortieth birthday when I was twelve, Mom helped Peyton and I bake him a cake, and we got to put our own little message on it. We walked into the dining room, lights dimmed, with the candles glowing over the message Happy Birthday Daddy!

"Thanks Princess," he said after blowing out the candles and taking a slice.

"I helped too," I said from beside Mom.

He turned to me. "Oh, I just assumed it was Peyton. She calls me Daddy. You call me Coach. That's how it's always been."

I cried that night. I had never once called him Dad. Or Daddy. Since I started talking, he always corrected me. "It's Coach, Alex. Call me Coach."

He's the person that set up our lives for us. I became the sporty daughter, while Peyton became the girly one. Coach signed me up for soccer when I was five and I've played ever since, with him being my coach. He's also a gym teacher at my high school, so he always pushes me, especially during track season.

Peyton, though, got to try whatever she wanted. Gymnastics, dance, ice skating. I asked Mom once if I could try dance. She enthusiastically said sure.

"You're just going to love it," she said as I put the dance tights on.

Just then, Coach walked into the room. "Where are you off to?"

"Dance class," I said with a big smile on my face.

He looked disappointed. "Alex, go change. You're not going."

"But Coach…"

Mom spoke up. "Jack, she's really been looking forward to it."

He looked back at me. "You don't really want to try dance. You just think you do." He said it like he was trying to hypnotize me.

"The deposit's already paid."

"Take Peyton instead."

I sulked to the stairway and slowly climbed the steps back to my room.

Mom quietly told him, "She's going to think you're playing favorites."

And in the most monotone voice possible, he replied, "I love both of my daughters equally." I don't even think Mom believed him.

But then The Accident happened. Not even a month ago, on my sixteenth birthday, The Accident ruined our lives. Even though both of our lives were in danger, Coach followed the ambulance with Peyton's soon-to-be lifeless body to the hospital as I was being pulled out from the car. I haven't said a word to him since that day.

"Mom, can I take the car? Please?"

I turned sixteen today. I had my license, and had been bugging to take the car all morning.

She let out a sigh. "I don't know Alex. Where would you go?"

"Ooh, I know!" I heard Peyton yell from the living room. "Let's go to Mr. Freezy's!" Mr. Freezy's was a small ice cream place about twenty minutes away. Mom took Peyton and me there once after dentist appointments and we fell in love with the ice cream. We rarely go out there anymore, since it's such a long drive for just ice cream. The commercials feature a dancing penguin.

"Perfect! It's supposed to get up to ninety today. Please Mom?" I gave her my puppy-dog face.

After a long pause, she said, "Just remember, Peyton has dance at—"

"Yes!" I said, hugging her. After pulling away, I grabbed the keys from the counter. "C'mon, Pey. Ice cream awaits!"

Thirty-seven minutes later, we had ice cream in our hands.

"Don't get any ice cream on the car," I warned. "Coach will have my head."

"That's why I grabbed these." She waved around a handful of napkins before stuffing them in the cup holders.

I started out of the parking lot. "Put on the radio. 92.3."

"We are not listening to that Indie garbage. I'm putting it on 99.7." She lowered her voice. "Billboard's top, we play nonstop."

I laughed. "That is such a lie. There are more commercials than actual music." She jokingly told me to shut up and turned the radio up more.

A while later, without noticing it, I ran over a pot hole and Peyton spilled some of her ice cream on the dash.

"Shit," I said. "Quick, grab some napkins and clean that up." That's when the mistake happened. I ran through the worst possible stop sign to not stop at. Really, there should be a stoplight at that intersection. A SUV crashed into Peyton's side going fifty-five. It was enough force to flip the car over. That's when I blacked out.

The bright lights of the ambulance are what I saw when I came to. I was still in the car, but Peyton wasn't.

A police officer was standing next to the car. "Two teenage girls, either friends or sisters. We don't think the passenger will make it; she was pretty much done when the vehicle hit."

"Wow, it makes you think. My daughter is fifteen. That could've been her."

Finally, what the first officer said had finally sunk in. We don't think the passenger will make it; she was pretty much done when the vehicle hit.

"Oh, God! Peyton!" I yelled as loud as I could. I couldn't tell if the liquid running down my face was blood or tears.

The police officer spoke up. "Calm down, Miss."

I ignored him. "Peyton!" I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe she would magically open the back of that ambulance and come out unscathed.

Then, a familiar voice. "I'm their father. What happened?"

"Bad accident. Driver's still in there. She was unconscious for a while. It doesn't look too bad for her, actually. Just…a lot of glass. Maybe some bad cuts. We think the car went straight to the top, instead of rolling."

"What about the other girl?"

"We, uh… I'm sorry."

Without skipping a beat, he asked, "Which one is in the car still? Blonde or brunette?" He asked this like there was some chance I was stupid enough to let Peyton drive. That maybe Daddy's Little Princess was okay after all.

"Brunette, sir."

The ambulance started taking off. "Here's my business card. Call me when she's out." I could hear him rushing back to his car, the tires squealing as he left.

I blacked out again.

Slowly opening my eyes, I saw my mom. She was sitting in a chair next to my hospital bed, reading a magazine.

"Mom?"

She looked at me. "Alex, oh darling." She rushed over to the side of the bed.

"Pey…Peyton didn't make it, did she?"

She swallowed hard and shook her head. She motioned to the bed. "Can I sit?" I moved my legs over as she sat down.

"Did I ever tell you your name was going to be Peyton?"

"Really?"

She nodded. "Your father and I were thinking of names. We decided on Peyton for a girl and Alex for a boy."

"So, you thought I was a boy?"

She smiled. "Let me tell the story. After you were born, and they cleaned you off, you were put in my arms. You were such a beautiful baby. I looked down at your face, but you didn't look like a Peyton. You looked like an Alex. So when your father came back into the room—he had passed out during the delivery—he asked what gender you were. I said, 'A girl. A beautiful girl named Alex. Alex Renee Campbell'. And that's how you came to be." I looked at her face and she was crying. I wasn't sure if they were tears of joy or of sorrow.

A moment passed. "Where is Coach?"

"At home, making phone calls."

"Oh."

"Alex, this is hard on him."

"Because his favorite daughter is dead."

"You know that's not true." We both knew what she said was a lie.

Now, twenty-seven days after the crash, everything was different. Mom was working non-stop on her next novel. I stayed up in my room, only leaving when it was necessary.

Coach, though, kept going like nothing was different. Every morning, he would peek his head in my room.

"Want to go for a run?"

I was awake every time he asked, but I always pretended to be asleep.

"Alex, you up?" I kept a steady breathing pattern. After no response, he'd leave my room.

This was killing me. I was a runner, and not running for almost a month was pure torture. Today, I sat up in my bed and looked over at my pair of Adidas. I hadn't touched them in almost a month. I took a deep breath, and got out of bed. After slipping on shorts and an old shirt, I laced up the shoes and put my hair up in a ponytail. I grabbed my iPod off of my dresser and went downstairs.

"Oh, you were up," Coach said from the couch, putting on his running shoes. I didn't acknowledge him at all. I just went out the front door and started to follow the five mile route Coach and I always used to take.

"Wait! Alex!" I could hear he started following, but I picked up the pace and turned on my iPod to my running playlist, letting Fleet Foxes run through the headphones.

Yay! First chapter done! I think this is a story I can actually keep going with and not become bored with.

Any questions, comments, or ideas, please leave! I'm open for suggestions!

Coming Up:

Alex's first day of Junior year

Introduction of Alex's friends

Please review!