One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

“Where are you going?”

“To buy a bottle of water.”

“You can eat the snow cone, Dalton.”

He places his hands on my knees and moves in closer. “But can I kiss you if it has strawberry in it?”

Despite the pickle-flavored juice melting on my tongue, my mouth runs dry. Everything is different from how it was this morning. After hearing his confession while on the phone with Peyton, after him not hating me when I confessed about driving his car, how could it not be?

I’ve finally given in to what my gut has been telling me for a while. Dalton Payne is not the same man he was weeks ago, and that realization has opened my eyes to what we could be together.

“Y-You better go grab that water,” I suggest.

His lips on me are about all that I want right now, and I’m grateful he’s doing something to remedy the possible allergic reaction I could have to his snow cone choice because honestly, I’d probably risk the anaphylaxis to kiss him again.

He licks his lips suggestively but pulls away at the last second. My breaths don’t come easier until he’s standing behind a mom with two little boys waiting to place their order.

How is it that I miss him when he’s only a dozen feet away from me? Am I so starved for attention from the opposite sex that I go crazy with a couple of kisses? I think I need to have my head checked because I can’t help but feel like this is just another prank. My heart is telling me that Dalton really means what he says, that his confession to his sister came from a good place, but the tortured and tormented girl in me is still cautious.

“Hey.” I snap my head up at the feminine voice, my hands already beginning to shake with what’s coming.

Violet, a girl from school that I don’t really know, is standing in front of me with a bright smile. She was never one to be mean to me at school, but she also never did anything to stop the bullying either. In my opinion, those people who just stand on the outskirts of the group and watch while others are humiliated are just as guilty as the ones actively abusing others.

“Hi,” I say with caution.

“Can I join you?”

My eyes instinctively dart toward the snow cone stand, searching for Dalton. I’m not looking so he can rescue me but trying to find his eyes and reaction to determine if he’s involved with this setup.

Dalton isn’t even looking this way. He’s smiling at the woman behind the counter with his money in hand, ready to pay for his bottle of water.

“Why?” I ask, giving Violet my full attention. “Did your friends send you over here?”

“They’re not my friends.” She doesn’t snap the words at me, but disgust drips from her tone.

“You’re hanging out with them,” I remind her. “Doesn’t that make them your friends?”

“No,” she answers, sitting beside my feet on the picnic table.

I’m sitting on the tabletop, and the distance between us, even though she’s close, makes me feel a little better.

“I only hang around them because I’m bored,” she says, but it’s not the full truth.

I simply stare at her, wondering why she’s here to begin with.

“It’s super shitty, and I know I’ve never said anything when they’ve picked on you, but I didn’t want to be included in their tormenting.” She heaves a harsh sigh from her lips. “I never laughed like the others. I don’t know if you know that or not.”

“I know you were at Dalton’s little pool party the other day. If you’re not friends with them, why would you go?”

Does this girl really think that I’m so hard up for friends that she can slide right over here, and I’ll welcome her with open arms? I have twelve years of built-up cynicism that wouldn’t allow for that even if I wanted to be friends with her, which I don’t.

“Boredom?” She shrugs her shoulders, looking past me toward the crowd of rowdy teenagers on the other side of the lot. “I just wanted to say sorry for not speaking up. They didn’t send me here, and I don’t want to associate with them at all. I figured if Dalton was starting a new group, one that didn’t treat people poorly, then I could—”

“You thought you could what?” I snap. This girl has lost her mind, thinking she can hop from one side to the other. I’ve decided people like her are worse than the ones participating in being mean.

“I just want friends,” she mumbles, and just like that, she makes me feel sorry for her.

“They’re going to be mean to you if you stick around much longer,” I warn her.

“I know.” Her back straightens, but she never pulls her eyes from mine.