One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

“His fingers are going to curl up with arthritis,” I add.

She laughs, but instead of staying to work out a few more problems, she closes her book and heads to her bedroom door.

“Come on, maybe we can make lunch without being interrupted by the idiots in the pool.”

I follow her out of the room, stopping by Preston’s room to ask what he wants for lunch.

“You make the best grilled cheese,” he tells me with a smile.

“Flattery will get you everywhere. Keep it up, kid.” I wink at him before heading down the stairs.

Peyton is already in the kitchen, standing in the open door of the fridge.

“What did he decide on?” she asks as she pulls a container of yogurt from the shelf.

“Grilled cheese.”

She busies herself, getting out what I need for sandwiches while I grab the skillet from the cabinet.

“I think he only likes it because he can eat them one-handed,” Peyton says with a grin as she grabs a butter knife.

“False. He said I make the best grilled cheese sandwiches he’s ever tasted.”

She snorts. “And he told Mom yesterday that no one makes chocolate milk better than her. He insisted that her milk to chocolate syrup ratio was out of this world.”

“So, he’s manipulative?”

“Yep. Dad was getting on to him about playing so much on his video games, but Preston interrupted him to ask if he’d been working out, telling him that his arms seem more muscular than usual.”

“And how did Raymond respond to that?” I ask with a wide smile on my face.

“Dad forgot that he grounded him from the video games.”

We both laugh loudly at the kid’s antics.

“He’s going far in this world,” I tell her just as I place the first piece of buttered bread in the skillet.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t end up like Dalton,” Peyton says as she peels a slice of cheese from the stack and hands it to me.

“Do you think he’s different? Does he seem different to you?”

She takes a long moment to respond, and I keep my head down, watching the bread heat. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t doubt how much I hate him. It doesn’t change anything. There are some things that are too terrible to come back from.

“He is,” she finally says. “He hasn’t insulted me once. He’s been taking time to play games with Preston. He even complimented Mom’s shitty dinner the other night. Before the accident, he wouldn’t have even been around to eat with us.”

“But?” I ask because it feels like she’s leaving something out.

“But look outside. He doesn’t remember, yet all those jerks are still here. I can only hope that the way he was before wasn’t actually who he is. You know? I have my fingers crossed that the jerk that used to live here stays gone forever. I kind of like who he is now.”

I kind of do, too.

I don’t speak that out loud, however.

“Well, if it isn’t Bloody Mary.”

I freeze at the sound of Vaughn’s voice, and Peyton grows tense beside me as well.

The playful atmosphere that welcomed us when we were talking about Preston’s ability to redirect people is sucked out of the room in an instant.

“Oh, Vaughn,” Bronwyn coos, “I’m so happy you think I’m pretty.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as she repeats verbatim one of the messages I sent to Vaughn earlier this year. I know it was all a joke, a way to get me to that party so they could humiliate me, but the sting had worn off a little. Getting into a major accident and thinking I killed someone had a way of making the other things that happened that night a little less important.

I should’ve gone home the second Peyton told me Dalton had friends over. I’m a fool for still being here.

“Oh, Piper, you’re the prettiest girl in school, and every guy knows it,” Vaughn adds.

What he doesn’t know is that was one of the lines I had on replay in my head. It was the first time I let myself consider that he was full of it, but my teenage heart wanted so badly to be liked by someone that I ignored that feeling in my gut warning me away from him.

“What are we discussing?”

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Kyle chooses now to join us in the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, Bloody Mary. Are you making us lunch? I like wheat bread.”

If I didn’t know any better, the tone in his voice could easily be misconstrued as friendly. Kyle Turner has never been friendly to me a day in his life.

“You people are supposed to be outside. My mom and dad don’t want anyone in the house,” Peyton tells them.

“Grown-ups are talking, little Dalton,” Bronwyn snaps. “Best keep your nose out of our business unless you want a four-year dose of what Mary has gotten.”