One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

“I’ll…” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, “I’ll take a look at these things later. My head hurts pretty bad right now.”

“Okay.” She takes a step back after placing the photo album beside me on the bed, and her disappointment is clear.

They haven’t pushed me much. They haven’t even mentioned anything about punishment for drinking and driving, which resulted in wrecking my car and nearly killing the neighbor girl. I recall being in a timeout for an eternity when I used my jumbo crayons to color a mural I thought was worthy of being showcased at The Louvre on my closet wall when I was three, but I guess it’s hard to discipline someone who doesn’t even remember what in the world happened that night.

“You can keep that as long as you need to.”

Before I can thank her for the effort, she’s out the door and down the hall. When her bedroom door closes with a soft click, I know what’s happening. If I followed her and pressed my ear to her door, I’d hear her sobbing. It’s happened more than once since I got home, but I don’t know if it’s because I’ve ruined their lives and put them in debt with hospital bills. I don’t know if she cries because she’s grateful I’m still alive, or if she’s upset that I can’t remember much about her. I don’t have it in me to ask.

Tired of the claustrophobia that comes hand in hand with staying in the same room for days, I climb off my bed and walk down the hallway. I don’t turn toward my parents’ room but toward the stairs. Maybe sitting on the back patio will help. There’s a huge in-ground pool here, and even though everyone assures me that I’m a great swimmer, all I can remember is the one time I slipped and thought I was going to drown in the bathtub when I was two.

As I walk past my brother’s room, I lift my fingers to the tiny scar right above my left eye that I got the day I slipped in the tub. I cling to that memory because I don’t seem to have many these days.

Preston’s door is halfway open, and when I peek in, I find him sitting on a black beanbag in the middle of his room while he races cars around a track on his TV.

“Mind if I play?”

My little brother jolts when I talk, and the surprise is still on his face when I cross the room in his direction.

“Play?”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I won’t be able to play for long because my head will start hurting, but I’m bored.”

I don’t bother admitting that my head is already throbbing as he scrambles to pass over the other controller. I can deal with a little pain if it means I don’t have to be alone right now.

Preston starts another game, one that allows two players, and somehow the buttons on the controller are familiar. Even the track my silver sports car is navigating is familiar. My car races in the lead, and I don’t even have to look down at my hands to figure it out. It’s almost like an out-of-body experience. I have not a single recollection of playing this game before, but my hands seem to have played it a million times over.

“Wow,” Preston praises when I lap him on the screen. “Impressive.”

I’m smiling, having a good time for the first time since leaving the hospital, but then out of nowhere, a black car sideswipes my car. The silver car on the screen spins out of control before stopping in the middle of the track with a small puff of smoke coming from under the hood. It’s not a huge accident. There isn’t blood pouring from the doors or anything, but it hits me in the chest like a cannonball. I drop the controller as Preston’s little red car rushes past me to the finish line.

“Wanna play aga—” My brother’s jaw snaps shut when he looks over at me. “Is it your head?”

“Yeah,” I lie before standing from the floor to leave his room.

“Hey, Dalton.” I turn in my brother’s direction. “Thanks for playing with me.”

I nod my head, a little weirded out that he seems so grateful that I spent ten minutes playing a video game. If anything, I should apologize for having to cut it short.

“You never took the time before,” Peyton says when she sees the look on my face after I step out into the hallway.

“So, I was just busy all the time or something?” That would explain all the trophies in my room and his surprise at me asking to play.

“No,” she answers, her voice flat. “You were just that big of an asshole.”Chapter 8PiperSurreal. That’s the only way to describe how my night is going.