One Eighty (Westover Prep Book 1)

by James, Marie

  “I’m not even surprised,” I murmur.

  I don’t bother to close the door when I turn to leave.

  Somehow, I manage to make it down the stairs without toppling ass over end, and as if they can feel the shift in the atmosphere around me, people get out of my way before I get the chance to shove through them. It’s disappointing, really. I was looking forward to taking some of my anger out on them.

  My keys are out of my pocket before my feet hit the grass on the front lawn. I’m spitting nails, contemplating going back inside and beating the shit out of my best friend by the time I make it to my car.

  Just as I pull the door open, it slams back closed. The tips of my fingers burn from the abrupt release.

  “The fuck?” I yell when I turn to see who’s fucking with me.

  Now would not be the best time for Kyle to come out and try to talk some sense into me. He couldn’t even be bothered to pull his cock out of Bronwyn long enough to fake some stupid ass excuses like she did.

  He was going to find out sooner or later.

  His words echo in my head. Does that mean this isn’t the first time they messed around? Tonight wasn’t some drunken mistake, which seemed like a good idea while filled with alcohol, that they’d both regret if they could even remember the details in the morning.

  But it isn’t Kyle or Bronwyn now standing against my closed car door.

  “Get the fuck out of my way, Mary,” I growl.

  One thing I’ve never done while torturing her all these years is put my hands on her, but right now, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea. She must not recognize the pure hatred in my eyes because the girl doesn’t even flinch when I growl at her.

  “Not going to happen, Dalton. Give me the fucking keys.” She holds her tiny hand out like I’d ever let her drive my car.

  No one drives it—not even my parents.

  “Move,” I snap. “Or I’ll move you myself.”

  Her arms cross over her chest, but when I reach for the door handle again, she has the damn nerve to slap the keys out of my fucking hand.

  “You’re pushing your fucking luck,” I warn, but before I can bend to collect the keys from the grass at our feet, she already has them clutched in her hand.

  “You’re not driving,” she snaps, finally taking a few steps away from the car to put some distance between the two of us.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “You can walk, or you can ride, but you’re not driving home drunk.”

  Glaring at her doesn’t seem to have the effect it normally does, and if going by the tension in her slender jaw, I don’t imagine she’s going to change her mind anytime soon. I don’t make a habit of drinking and driving, but my go-to plan, crashing here until I sober up, isn’t going to happen tonight. I never want to step foot on this property again. If I do, I may end up charged with murder, and I’m too good-looking for prison. Plus, neither Bronwyn nor Kyle is worth the damn trouble.

  “Get in the passenger seat or walk,” she hisses.

  Chapter 4

  Piper

  Although I haven’t had anything to drink besides water tonight, that doesn’t stop my foot from trembling out of control each time I press the gas pedal. I know how Dalton feels about this car. I don’t think there’s anything more valuable to him in this world, and that’s saying a lot because he’s the most materialistic person I’ve met.

  Why I insisted he let me drive, I don’t know. Actually, I do know. He’s drunk, and my parents would never forgive me if I saw him leave and didn’t try to stop him. I couldn’t go back inside and try to track down Frankie, and she didn’t answer my text when I sent her one once I got outside. Dalton is my fastest way home.

  “Put on your damn seat belt,” I tell him for the tenth time as I pull away from Kyle’s house and head in the direction of our neighborhood. He doesn’t. It’s like he’s refusing to even acknowledge I spoke in the first place.

  “This is all your fucking fault,” he spits from the passenger seat. He doesn’t even respect me enough to look in my direction while he insults me.

  Dalton is mean when he’s sober, but it seems he’s even more noxious when he’s been drinking.

  “You would blame me for not being able to control your girl,” I mutter.

  When I opened that door, finding Vaughn, Bronwyn, and Kyle in their compromising positions, I was pissed. Not because Vaughn was with someone else, but because I was stupid enough not to listen to my gut in the first place. Then, like the soft-hearted pushover I was, I felt bad for Dalton. Not only was his girlfriend cheating on him, but she was doing so with his best friend. Frankie would never do something like that to me, and she knows dang well I’d never do anything like that to her.

  What I walked in on was soap opera worthy. Things like that aren’t supposed to happen with high school kids. Girls our age are supposed to get upset when their boyfriends look at other girls too long, and guys should be getting upset when girls don’t wear their letterman jackets or smile too brightly at other boys. They aren’t supposed to get caught having threesomes with people they aren’t in relationships with. Or maybe that’s what these stupid parties are always like. If so, count me out. I want nothing to do with copious amounts of alcohol and demoralized teens. How half of our class hasn’t ended up pregnant or with STDs, I’ll never know.

  “You shouldn’t have even been there,” Dalton says as if speaking to himself.

  Leave it to him to blame me for what was going on in that room. Like I had any control over his friends. My only mistake was thinking for a second that a boy at Westover Prep would be interested in me. I’ll never make the same mistake again, that’s for dang sure.

  “You belong at the library, not at some house party,” he continues.

  Even with the wind whipping around in the car from the T-tops being gone, his words still manage to stay inside the car and stick to me like poison.

  I don’t argue with him because he’s right. I’ll never be able to get the sight of Vaughn’s penis out of my head. Thankfully, Kyle was situated so that even though I could tell what was going on behind Bronwyn, I couldn’t actually see the details. In no way, shape, or form did I think seeing my first in-person penis would happen like it did tonight.

  “You fucking ruin everything!” Dalton roars as his fists come down hard on the dash.

  The movement startles me, but even though the wheel jerks in my hands, I manage to keep the stupid car on the road.

  “You can’t take a hint? You must like the fucking teasing because you just keep showing up for more and more. Why can’t you just get out of my fucking life for good?” He’s still not looking at me, but with each ragged breath he takes, the angrier he gets. “You spend all of your time thinking you’re better than everyone else. Piper Schofield can’t be bothered to care what others think of her.”

  His tone is mocking, and I’d like to say I ignore him, that I concentrate on driving since I’ve never been behind the wheel in this part of town before, but that’s not the case. The tremble in my feet and hands from worrying about Dalton’s car transitions to heated anger and hatred for the boy in the seat beside me.

  “You don’t have a fucking clue what it’s like to be me!” I roar, turning my head to look in his direction.

  His face is marked with tears, and the sight of the wetness on his cheeks disorients me for a second. Inwardly, I wonder if these tears are like mine, and he’s crying because he’s so angry. There’s no way he’s actually heartbroken over Bronwyn. They were frenemies at best. Then his lips turn up in a demonic sneer.

  “You’re fucking pitiful.” His words are calm. There’s no sign of the rage and hostility that echoed through the car just moments ago. “You’re just the girl everyone loves to pick on. Everyone hates you. There isn’t one person at Westover Prep that likes you.”

  As far as insults go, these aren’t so bad. Lord knows I’ve heard worse. I’ve been through years of misery from him and others, but tonight they strike a
harder chord.

  I shake my head, turning my attention back to the rows of trees that provide a false sense of security on the side of the road. Between the trees and the asphalt, I know for a fact that there’s at least a ten-foot-wide ravine. For a single second, I wonder what it would be like to drive us both over the edge of the cliff, but as quick as the urge is there, it’s gone. Imagining death isn’t new to me, but I’d never do that to my parents. Permanent pain isn’t something I’m into.

  “Even that girl you showed up with tonight was in on the joke,” he interrupts, continuing like I didn’t just counter his claim.

  “That isn’t true. Frankie is my best friend. She…” I squeeze the steering wheel until my hands ache from the effort. My eyes snap back to his. “No.”

  His head bobs. “Yes, she was.”

  My mouth runs dry, and tears burn the backs of my eyes. It’s not possible. Frankie has been my best friend for years. She hates Dalton and his shitty friends just as much as I do. Then a thought hits me. She was adamant about going to the party, wouldn’t take no for an answer when I tried to back out. She didn’t even bother to hide the ogling of Dalton from my bedroom window earlier when she arrived at my house. She wouldn’t be dumb enough to fall for his playboy ways, would she?

  “And Bronwyn and I broke up. We planned the entire thing.”

  Now I know he’s lying. He was just as shocked as I was when he shoved that damn door open, but my brain hasn’t had time to sift through the bullshit he’s spewing to get to the bottom of his words and find the truth.

  The car begins to shake, and when my eyes snap to the front, I realize that my front tire has slipped off the road and is kicking up the rocks on the shoulder.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Dalton roars.

  My eyes begin to roll as I move the steering wheel to the left to get us back between the lines, but I must not be doing it fast enough for Dalton because he grabs the wheel and pushes hard to the left. Things might have been okay if we weren’t coming up too fast on a blind curve. Both of my feet press the brake as I pray that there isn’t anyone on the other side of the curve, but my prayers aren’t heard.

  Lights blind me as I struggle against Dalton’s hold on the steering wheel.

  By some miracle, we avoid the other car, but the fishtailing is too much to compensate for. When the front passenger wheel hits the gravel again, the car has had enough. Even knowing that we’re going to wreck, I somehow manage to wonder why the trip down a ravine is so bumpy. Having driven in Colorado since I got my permit, I always pictured it more like a flying experience. Thinking the car would leave the roadway and soar until I met death at the bottom with a Thelma and Louise type crash and explosion.

  Instead, I’m jolted back and forth as the car tumbles. I’m weightless, then jarred to the side, over and over. Dalton is going to be pissed about his car, but when I look over to the passenger seat, it’s empty. Nothing but leather and the flash of lights fill the seat that once held the angry boy as the car topples.

  The sounds of scraping metal and snapping of tree branches fade away until nothing can be heard but an eerie hissing and the sporadic tumble of smaller rocks as they slide past the wreckage.

  “Da-Dalton,” I manage, but his name comes out as a whisper.

  Wetness fills my eyes, but my shoulder screams in pain when I try to wipe it away. It feels like glass is clogging my throat when I try to yell out for Dalton again.

  “H-help!” My scream is more like a soft plea, and as much as I want to stay here until help arrives, it hits me that help may never show. If the car we swerved past kept going, we wouldn’t be missed until tomorrow.

  With all the strength I have and favoring the injured left side of my body, I manage to get my seat belt off. My phone is still in my back pocket, but when I pull it free and hit the home button, I realize I have no service. I don’t know how far down the ravine we are, but I know I won’t have a chance of getting help if I can’t get back to the road.

  “Dalton,” I call again as I climb from the very top of the car.

  Sliding safely from the T-tops makes my stomach turn. Just knowing that Dalton exited the car the same way while the car was rolling down the hill is enough to make me vomit. I’m undiscerning of where I get sick, having only enough energy to turn my head to the side to lose the contents of my stomach.

  Tears sting my eyes, joining the wetness already there as I try to get a better footing on the rocks. I’m able to climb to safety from the T-tops, but that, combined with Dalton refusing to put on his seat belt may be what kills him.

  I repeat his name as I slip and slide up the rocks. The only way I know I’m heading toward the road in the pitch black is the pull of gravity at my feet. The sharp incline is hell on my calves and nearly impossible with only one working arm. I don’t spot Dalton on the way up. My phone flashlight is bright but still only manages to give me about five or six feet of visibility.

  I pause when I hear what I think is a whimper, but even after staying still for long moments, I don’t hear it again.

  “Dalton, can you hear me? Make a noise,” I yell when I finally manage to get to the top.

  Shivers hit me with the force of a train when I point my phone down the ravine and realize that the car is so far down, I can’t even see it from my vantage point.

  “Are you okay?”

  I spin around at the masculine voice, but it isn’t Dalton standing behind me but an older man with a look of abject fear in his eyes.

  “Thank God, you’re okay,” he says as he walks closer.

  “M-my fr-friend.” I point down the ravine as my teeth begin to chatter.

  “Come on,” the man says with his hands out. “I have a first aid kit in my car. I called an ambulance as soon as I saw you go over.”

  “We have to help Dalton,” I tell him as I dig my feet into the gravel on the side of the road, preventing him from pulling me toward his car.

  “There’s nothing that we can do for him until help shows up.” That doesn’t make any sense. The man in front of me is an adult. They’re supposed to know how to handle situations like this. “Let’s get something on that forehead cut of yours.”

  Before I can object, the sounds of sirens fill the air. Only then do I notice a road flare burning in the middle of the road about forty yards away. I don’t know which direction I’m facing. I don’t know which side of the road we went off or how close we are to town. Everything is happening so fast and yet slowing down at the same time.

  It seems like hours before the ambulance and rescue personnel show up after hearing the sirens for the first time, but then it’s like there are a hundred people swarming the scene. I refuse to go in the back of the ambulance, insisting that Dalton will need it when they find him.

  The EMT frowns when he looks at me, and I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t think Dalton will need an ambulance. Thankfully, he stops short of telling me that a body bag will be more likely for the boy that’s tormented me for years.

  People are hollering; guys are tied to ropes and rigs as they’re lowered down toward the car, while I sit in the open door of a police car and watch it all in the flash of red and blue lights.

  There’s a commotion, but my brain isn’t really registering any of it. It’s almost like an out-of-body experience when the bottom of a bright orange rescue basket peeks over the ledge. Inch by inch, Dalton is revealed as the pulley system brings him to safety.

  He’s rushed past, carried by two men on either side of the rescue basket, but when I stand to tell him I’m sorry, it’s clear that he’ll never hear another word I say.

  My head swims, guilt and fear filling it until I can see nothing but blackness and death.

  Chapter 5

  Piper

  Through the steady beeps of a distant machine and whispered voices, I do my best to assess my surroundings without opening my eyes. I’ve done this very thing several times already, before falling back into the torment of my nightmares.


  I know when I open my eyes and acknowledge the people in my hospital room, I’m going to have to answer for what I’ve done. I’m putting that off as long as I can. Guilt burns a hole in the lining of my stomach.

  I don’t think most people would bat an eyelash at the opportunity to rid the world of their tormentor. I imagine, just like me, they lie in bed late at night and dream of a slew of demises fitting for the ones who’ve made their lives a living hell. After years and years of abuse, I, myself, have thought about numerous possibilities to relieve the earth of Dalton Payne.

  I pictured my hands around his throat, cutting off his oxygen and ceasing the vile words from his mouth. I’ve imagined watching him getting attacked by bears and doing nothing to try to stop it. I’ve even wondered what it would be like to hold his head under water until he stopped moving.

  I didn’t think it would ever happen. Getting rid of someone requires guts, stamina, and most importantly, the ability to get away with it.

  I don’t have any of those things.

  He’s made sure of it. Dalton and his clan of groupies have chipped away at my self-esteem and self-worth until I’ve been left with nothing.

  Tonight, however, I’m single-handedly responsible for killing the tyrant.

  I hate Dalton Payne.

  I hated Dalton Payne.

  I haven’t had a change of heart, but despising someone who is no longer alive doesn’t seem fair.

  His life is over.

  My life will also be over once I open my eyes, but the bravery I need to face my actions is nowhere to be found. My body trembles, shaking uncontrollably.

  This isn’t like the time I broke the back window at my grandmother’s house, or the time I forgot the bathroom sink was running and the water overflowed for hours onto the floor. This isn’t a mistake that a couple of hundred dollars and a trip to The Home Depot can fix.