One Eighty (Westover Prep Book 1)

by James, Marie

  “Damn, you’re a quick swimmer,” I grumble after coming up for air and sputtering since she dunked me when she caught me.

  “I’m on the swim team, dummy,” she says with a grin.

  I look around the pool for everyone’s position before standing in the middle and closing my eyes. I know who my target is, and I’m not letting her get away from me this time.

  “Marco!” I yell, already positioning myself in Piper’s direction.

  “Polo!” Peyton and Preston answer.

  “Oh, Piper. You’re not playing fair,” I tease when she remains silent.

  Neither am I since I’ve got my left eye open a tiny slit.

  “Marco!”

  “Polo!”

  Again, she doesn’t play along, but before she can move, I’m right in front of her. I could easily grab her shoulders to tag her, but where’s the fun in that? My hands clamp around her thin waist, and she gasps.

  “Dalton.” There’s a warning in her tone, and I plan to put some distance between the two of us, but instead of quickly releasing her, I trail my fingers down her hips and the outside of her thighs.

  Her gasp is audible, but it doesn’t stop her from getting away from me.

  We play in the pool for another hour, but she manages not to get caught by me again.

  I was idiotic, and I know touching her without permission isn’t the way to build her trust. I want to apologize to her when we get out, but she wraps a towel around herself and disappears inside before I get the chance.

  Chapter 18

  Piper

  His hands on me—eye-opening is the only way I can describe it.

  For a split second, I forgot who he was.

  I forgot the last twelve years.

  I forgot the way his lip would twitch with evil intent when he was preparing to do something mean to me.

  I forgot all of the things that made me despise him.

  And that’s dangerous.

  It’s dangerous to my heart, my health, and most importantly, my sanity.

  “This should help,” Peyton says as she hands me a cold bottle of water and two Tylenol. “I can’t believe you didn’t put sunblock on.”

  I pop the pills into my mouth and follow them with a long drink of the cold water.

  “I didn’t plan on getting out from under the awning,” I tell her. “I should’ve just stayed out of the pool.”

  I should’ve never agreed to go out there in the first place, but I keep that piece to myself.

  “We had fun,” Peyton says with a lopsided smile. “And I was thinking the fun shouldn’t end.”

  I quirk an eyebrow up at her. If she suggests anything that remotely has to do with spending more time with her older brother, I’m out of here.

  Without a word, she disappears into her closet before returning with a huge cosmetic bag.

  “Makeup?”

  “More than makeup.” She plops down beside me on the floor. “Facials, nails, the whole nine.”

  I consider the offer for a while. I haven’t done that sort of thing since eighth grade when Frankie and I decided that if we had healthier skin, the kids at school would be our friends. I was still hopeful in those days, but Dalton made sure to cut me off at the knees when we arrived at school with glowing skin and our faces made up. Looking back, we probably had on more makeup than necessary, but what do thirteen-year-olds know about applying contours and blemish cream?

  A lot, apparently, because Peyton is an expert with a makeup brush and eyeliner. Glancing at myself in the small mirror she’s holding up, I turn my face back and forth. I look better than I did the night before the party, before Dalton turned the water hose on me in his driveway. It was my last-ditch effort to make people see me as more than a running joke, but that day in eighth grade was already in the back of my mind. It didn’t work that time, so why would it work now?

  Needless to say, it didn’t. Even if Dalton hadn’t ruined my look, the same people who ruined my life that night would’ve done the same regardless of how my makeup and hair looked. They don’t have it in them to change.

  “You look fabulous.” She beams at me. “I wonder what the kids at school would say right now.”

  I sigh in frustration, but it isn’t aimed at her, really. She has the same mindset I did when I was her age. My pessimism built for years, but it was firmly in place by the time I started high school. I don’t want her heading down the same path, and even though I can’t control what other people do, I can apply a little reality to Peyton.

  “People at Westover Prep don’t care if you change from an ugly duckling overnight.”

  “You were never an ugly duckling,” Peyton counters with a frown.

  “What I’m saying is it doesn’t matter what you look like on the outside.”

  “Beauty is only skin deep? Really, Piper?”

  “The people at school are mean because of what’s inside of them. It has nothing to do with me.”

  “That’s very—enlightened.”

  “It’s the only way I’ve survived all this time, and I know when I leave Westover, things will be better.”

  “Because you can be anyone you want?” Her brows furrow.

  “No, you’re not getting it. There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t have to change when I leave for college. I’ll still be the same person I am now, and there are people out there who will appreciate that about me.” I give her a weak smile, hating that my new beginning is still a year away. I long for it more than anything. “There are people who will value my opinion, who are mature enough not to belittle others just to get a thrill when they’re bored.”

  “There are assholes everywhere,” she mutters.

  “There seems to be a much higher concentration in Westover.”

  “Will you stay the night?”

  I grin. “That’s a quick change of subject.”

  I’m stalling. The last thing I want is to be stuck in her house with Dalton just across the hall all night. I already can’t get him out of my head when I’m at home. I know it’ll be pure torture on my psyche to be mere yards away from him.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell her when she just watches me with hope-filled eyes.

  “Please? We can make popcorn and watch scary movies,” she offers.

  “I hate scary movies.”

  “Then romantic comedies.”

  I cringe. “I hate those even more.”

  “We can watch whatever you want. Your pick.”

  I don’t know much about Peyton, but I know I haven’t seen any of her friends come over this week. I don’t know if that’s intentional because she’s trying to focus on passing her math test so she doesn’t have to repeat the eighth grade, or if it’s because she’s in low supply of friends.

  “Fine,” I agree.

  As much as I don’t want to be near Dalton, I can admit that I’ve had fun tonight and I don’t really want it to end.

  “Yay!” Peyton claps her hands excitedly. “I’ll grab you some pajamas.”

  While she rummages in her dresser for clothes, I put away the makeup and hair products.

  “You can change out here. I’ll change in the bathroom, then we can grab snacks and binge watch something.”

  I agree with a head nod, only stripping out of my still-damp swimsuit and shorts after her bathroom door clicks closed—only she’s faster at getting dressed than me. I have the t-shirt over my head, but I’m just pulling up the pajama pants when she reenters the room.

  I don’t have panties to put on, but when her eyes focus at the center of my body, I know she isn’t shocked that my lower half is naked. What surprises her are the tiny lines slashed in my upper thighs. Some are white and silvery, while others are still angry and pink.

  “Piper?” She looks up at me, and tears glisten in her eyes.

  “It’s nothing,” I assure her as I finish getting dressed.

  “It’s not,” she replies.

  “Please don’t tell anyone.”r />
  “You hurt yourself?”

  “Not anymore,” I lie. Well, it’s sort of a lie. I haven’t cut in a couple of weeks, but I’d be remiss if I thought I’d never do it again. I do have a year of torture at Westover Prep to get through.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I repeat.

  “I w-won’t.”

  I don’t believe her, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Maybe if I show her how happy I am, she’ll believe that the self-harm is over.

  “How about those snacks?” I’m gleeful to the point it’s bordering on manic, but it doesn’t work the way I hope.

  She’s quiet and reflective the entire time we’re in the kitchen popping popcorn and loading up on sugary things. When we make it back upstairs, I give in and choose a comedy, praying it will take her mind off what she saw.

  She laughs at the right parts, but the joy she expressed after I agreed to stay the night never returns.

  She falls asleep before I do, and with the way my brain is running wild right now, I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again. If she tells my parents, I’ll probably end up in a psych ward. My father, as a pediatrician, is well aware of the process of making that happen since he’s involved often with teens who are on the very edge of a mental breakdown.

  I worry the edge of my lip until I taste blood, and that only serves as a reminder of the rusty taste in my mouth the night of the accident.

  A noise in the hallway distracts me from my thoughts. The household went to sleep hours ago, so the noise is startling. Maybe I should sneak out and head home?

  The noise happens again, and it’s not like a thump but a soft patter. Making sure not to jostle Peyton, I climb out of bed and slowly make my way across the room. I hear the noise again when I press my ear to the door.

  There’s low mumbling, but I can’t decipher the words. After minutes of listening, I determine that it’s one person in the hallway having a conversation with themselves. Does Preston sleepwalk?

  Afraid he’s going to fall down the stairs, I slowly open Peyton’s bedroom door. Only it isn’t Preston pacing the length of the hallway, but Dalton.

  His eyes snap up to mine when he notices me.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper-hiss at him.

  Is this part of the head trauma? Just what I need, more guilt to feel if he has insomnia because of the accident.

  “I was contemplating knocking on the door.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

  “It takes ten minutes of roaming the hallway and arguing with yourself to decide?”

  He nods. “I wanted to apologize for touching you in the pool. I should’ve asked permission.”

  “I would’ve told you no,” I interrupt.

  “I know.” His lips twitch with a weak smile. “I think that’s why I didn’t ask, but it was still wrong.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  I turn and begin to go back into Peyton’s room.

  “Wait. I also wanted to show you something. Maybe to make up for my douche-baggery?”

  I give him the side-eye, still not fully convinced he’s a changed man. “Like what?”

  “It’s outside.” He hitches his head in the direction of the stairs.

  “I’m not falling for that.”

  “You need to trust me.” He grabs my hand, urging me to follow him.

  “That’s probably never going to happen,” I mutter, but I don’t pull my hand from his.

  We stay joined through the house as he grabs a blanket off the couch, and we head out the back door. I don’t let go of his hand when he directs us around the side of his house. Thankfully, we’re on the opposite side of his house that mine is on because my parents’ bedroom is on that far wall.

  “What are we doing?” I ask as he releases my hand to spread the blanket out on the grass.

  “Just sit and wait.”

  There’s a small rail fence on this side of his house because a privacy fence would block the view of the woods lining his property.

  “We’re going to get eaten by a bear,” I grumble.

  We’re not touching, but I still draw my knees up to my chest to put more distance between us.

  “We would hear a bear if he was coming for us.”

  “That’s reassuring.” I roll my eyes, but it’s almost pitch black out here, so I’m certain he doesn’t see me do it.

  “Just watch.” There’s a playful hint to his tone, and it takes a lot for me not to smile in his direction.

  “Oh!” I gasp when a tiny light flashes a few feet away. Then it happens again and again.

  “I know fireflies are rare in Colorado, but I noticed them the other night.”

  I watch in awe as the bugs twinkle and light up, communicating with each other. I watch so long I don’t realize Dalton has moved closer until the warmth of his body on my left side makes me realize how cold my right side is. When I shiver, he wraps his arm around me so he can rub his warm hands down my arm.

  “Real subtle,” I mumble when he inches even closer. “I’m not buying this romantic bull.”

  Skepticism is one of my honed skills.

  I turn my head in his direction. “What’s next? You’re going to try to kis—”

  His lips are on mine before I can finish.

  Electricity jolts through my body, and it’s more than a spark between our lips created by the static in the air.

  I have no explanation for what I do next. I’m supposed to open my mouth to tell him to take a hike, but that’s not what happens. My mouth opens, alright, but only to give his slick tongue entrance.

  Kissing him is wrong and magical.

  It’s forbidden and everything I didn’t know I wanted.

  It’s cruel and perfect.

  It’s over before I want it to be.

  When he leans in to kiss me again, I shove him in the chest.

  “Don’t ever do that again.”

  I’m on my feet and gone before he can say a word.

  Chapter 19

  Dalton

  “Where’s Piper?” I ask when I rush downstairs.

  I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Before I closed my eyes, after hours of worrying I had only made things worse with Piper, the sun was already coming up. Now it’s almost noon, and I seem to have missed her.

  “She went home a couple of hours ago,” Peyton answers over her chicken salad sandwich before turning to look at Mom and Dad.

  They’re both sitting at the kitchen table. My dad is reading something on his phone, and Mom is sifting through a thick folder. I know they’ve been prepping for a big trial, and they must always keep busy because of their dedication to work. I’m sure the wild teenager from before loved that they were always distracted, and it doesn’t even bother me now, but I’m sure Preston would enjoy some of their attention every once in a while.

  “What exactly do you wear to a viewing?” Peyton asks.

  “Viewing? As in someone died?” I ask. “What did I miss?”

  “Orville Clark passed away a few days ago. The viewing is today,” Mom answers without looking up from her work.

  This is news to me, but I can admit I haven’t been paying attention to much going on around here unless it pertained to Piper who I’ve been singularly focused these days. “Did I know him?”

  Peyton’s brows draw together at my question.

  “Everyone knew Mr. Clark.” She frowns when she realizes what she said. “Sorry.”

  “He was a regular at the diner, either sitting inside when it was cold or out on the bench when the weather was nice,” Mom explains. “He was kind of a town fixture.”

  The growl of an engine draws my attention to the front window, and when a beast of a muscle car pulls up in Piper’s driveway, I do my best to act inconspicuous as I watch a guy with just as many muscles as his car emerge from the driver’s seat. Although his arms are covered in muscles, he can’t be much older than me.

  Irritation runs through my blood when Piper’s f
ront door opens, and she runs to him. He catches her in his tattooed arms, spinning her around like the fools do in chick flicks after being separated for a long period of time. Her nose is buried in his neck, and his hands are dangerously close to her ass because her legs are wrapped all the way around his waist.

  I don’t even acknowledge my sister when she steps up beside me. If I open my mouth, I’d say something hateful, and it’s not Peyton’s fault that my girl is clinging to another man mere hours after having her lips on mine. I might’ve initiated that kiss, but she was a full participant. Until she wasn’t.

  We both stare out the window, watching Piper smile when the asshole finally puts her back down on her feet. She must’ve not gotten enough of him because they wrap each other in another hug, swaying back and forth for another long moment.

  “Who is that asshole?” I spit.

  “Oh,” Peyton says as she’s had some ah-ha moment. “That’s who she was talking about in her journals. That’s Dillon.”

  And things go from bad to worse. The sight of all of those stupid hearts in her journal are seared in my brain, and now they’ll live right beside the ones of her tangling herself with him.

  “He’s here for the funeral. Mr. Clark was his granddad. Damn, he’s smoking ho—”

  “Stop,” I hiss. “That’s enough.”

  “He’s a tasty little snack, isn’t he?”

  “Peyton,” I warn.

  “Yeah, that’s wrong. He’s not a snack. That boy is a five-course meal.”

  I turn to leave, and Peyton’s laughter follows me all the way out of the room.

  I spend the next half hour seething, walking a hole in the concrete on the back patio, but the tension in my body only seems to double by the minute. It’s at catastrophic levels when I hear the jerk’s car start up, and I’m damn near imploding when I peek through the fence and watch him open the passenger side door. He presses his palm to her lower back, guiding her inside. I don’t miss the wide smile on his face or the devilish glint in his eyes as he rounds the front of his car and climbs into the driver’s side. Then he backs out and takes off with my girl.