One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

“Hi. I’m Dalton.” Saved by the handsome boy. He holds his hand out to her. “You were the one at the pool party that was happy I put those jerks in their place.”

This is news to me.

“Violet,” she says with a hint of awe in her voice as she shakes his hand. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Dalton has to pull his hand away from hers when she holds it a little too long, and I can’t really fault her for the hearts practically dancing in her eyes. He’s incredibly good-looking, but the thought of her crushing on him bothers me more than her keeping her lips closed when she had witnessed me getting bullied at school.

Dalton takes his place by my side, making a point to swish his mouth several times with the water he just purchased before speaking again.

My cheeks flush with his actions, knowing that he’s thinking of kissing me just like I have been doing since he pulled his lips away from mine a few minutes ago.

“Are you going to be a senior, too?” Dalton asks Violet, and I bristle at the fact that he’s interacting with her at all.

Then I do my best to step back and look at his point of view. He doesn’t know anyone, and he’s able to approach each person as if they’re brand new. He isn’t worried about what happened in the past. He’s only concerned with how they act now. Maybe I should do the same.

“Junior,” Violet answers.

“Hey, Vi.”

We all turn our heads to the person that just walked up. Drake is another one of those that sort of floated around the mean people, and like Violet, he never participated in the daily doses of torture.

Dalton introduces himself to Drake, and before long, we have a group of about ten people at our table. I remain silent, watching these people gravitate to Dalton like a shelter in the storm. Is it possible that there’s an entire populous at Westover Prep that has just been waiting for things to change?

Dalton, even with no memories, doesn’t miss a beat becoming the center focus once again to the group. He smiles and chats, asking questions about school and sports, but he keeps my hand clasped in his the entire time, even taking breaks while others are talking to grin at me and press his lips to the back of my hand. Everyone that’s joined us takes it in stride. They don’t bat an eyelash at the affection he’s showing me, and it makes my nerves calm a little.

He glances my way, concern marking his brow when I wince from brain freeze after taking too big of a bite of my snow cone.

“You okay?”

“I think the pickle juice is eating a hole in my head,” I mutter through the pain.

He rubs my temples, not missing a beat in the conversation with those that have gathered around us.

Kyle and Bronwyn’s group has dwindled. Many of their inner circle watched us for a while, but then left the snow cone shop altogether. Thankfully, they didn’t bother to come over and fake being friends. I don’t know that I could’ve handled that if they had. I’m not a mean person, even after being bullied for a long time. I’ve never wanted to outwardly criticize or gloat, but watching Bronwyn huff and puff as our group got more attention as time passed, I can’t help the little smile pulling at my lips.

I will never be friends with the trio of hatefulness and spite, but maybe they will quit being vile now that Dalton is different.

When we get up to leave, my snow cone long forgotten and melted, several of the people ask about meeting up again later in the week. Dalton smiles at them but doesn’t confirm any plans.

“See?” he says as we climb back into my car. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I feel like I’m in the middle of a teen drama series,” I grumble as we drive back to my house. My head still aches, but it’s not bad enough to really worry about right now.

He laughs, a husky sound that fills the inside of the car.

“You didn’t have a good time?”

I don’t answer him, but only because I don’t know how. Yes, it was nice being around people that weren’t being hateful, but the entire time I was waiting for someone to slip up and call me Mary, or for someone to walk up and say something harsh. I’ve been on pins and needles the entire time, and two hours of stress has left me exhausted.

“It was fine,” I finally answer when I feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my head.

“Just fine?” He takes my hand when I park in my driveway. “We can do better than fine.”

A weak smile pulls up one corner of my mouth, but it’s the best I can give. I can’t even explain the way I feel. Today was what I’ve hoped for years, but having it didn’t bring the elation I dreamed of many times.