One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

“What?” I lean closer on my bed.

“Her house got egged that night. It says,” she flips the page, and then another, “she didn’t know it was you and the other guys in class until she went back to school on Monday, and everyone was talking about it. Smug is the term she used to describe you when you confessed to it.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad. Just a stupid prank kids play.”

“Wait—” She holds up her finger to silence me. “This is worse than I thought it was. Remember, I told you about making fun of her when she started her period?”

I nod, but she doesn’t see me because her nose is still in the journal.

“Apparently, it happened during a field trip. No,” she gasps as her eyes snap up to mine. “You didn’t. Please tell me, you didn’t?”

“I wouldn’t remember if I did,” I remind her. “What does it say?”

“You stuck pads to her back. She didn’t notice them until the teacher pulled her aside when your class got back to school.”

I scrunch my nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“I don’t think they were used, but that’s still a complete asshole thing to do.”

“How did she know it was me? If she didn’t notice them until the teacher pointed it out, it could’ve easily been anyone else.”

“Don’t you get it, Dalton? Everything everyone did to her was because you either told them to or because you treated her so poorly; they did it to impress you.”

“What else does it say?”

“I almost don’t want to keep reading. It’s awful. I’d be suicidal if even half this shit happened to me.”

Her words hit me like a knife in the gut. The man I am now would be devastated if something happened to Piper because of me. The guilt of her getting hurt in the crash already weighs me down, but I wonder how the old Dalton would feel if he had pushed her to the point of hurting herself.

From what I’ve been told and what Peyton is reading in the journals, I’m not so sure he’d even care.Chapter 14PiperI don’t know if Dalton read the journals and realized that what he’s asked of me is impossible or what, but he didn’t show his face once on Thursday. It didn’t keep me from expecting him to pop up out of nowhere and insist, once again, on my forgiveness.

Today is going to be different, however.

Peyton dropped the bomb that Dalton was having a few friends over. The information came as more of a warning, letting me know that Kyle was in charge of the invites, and that meant that the worst of the group would be in attendance.

Dalton must not remember a damn thing because I can’t see him remembering what happened between Kyle, Vaughn, and Bronwyn and being okay with letting them come over to his house.

“I could kill him,” Peyton murmurs as her pencil eraser flies over the problem she was working on. “I can’t concentrate on a damn thing with all of that noise.”

I cross the room to the far window and glance down at the source of her irritation. The first couple of hours this morning, it was peaceful. Now that the pool is full of teenagers splashing around, they’re reaching epic levels of irritation.

From the looks of it, there are more than just a couple of people down there. Every guy from Dalton’s group of friends is in attendance. Even Vaughn is splashing water in the face of a sophomore girl. The sight of him makes me want to spit nails, but he’s not the only person that makes my blood boil.

Bronwyn is sitting so close to Dalton that she’s practically on his lap. Even without his memories, he’s gravitating right back to the same situations he’d be in if the accident never happened.

There’s more skin on display than I’ve ever seen, all of the beauties from my class wearing the tiniest bikinis. The guys are all shirtless, muscles for days shining golden in the sun. They’re all beautiful, goldens gods, and every one of them has the blackest hearts.

“It’s like a party at Hugh Hefner’s grotto,” I mumble as I turn away from the window.

“Who?”

I shake my head instead of answering her. She may be almost fourteen, but I’m not explaining porno magazines to this girl.

“Wanna go down?” Peyton asks as I plop down on the bed beside her. “It’s not like I can concentrate with all the racket.”

“Not a chance in hell,” I answer honestly.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” she reminds me.

“Can’t Preston make his own lunch for a change?” I argue, but then feel bad. Even though I’m not keeping the extra money for keeping an eye on him, his parents are still paying me to do just that.

“If we left him alone, he wouldn’t eat. I don’t know how his eyes aren’t crossed at the end of the day after playing that damn game for sixteen hours straight.”