One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

Sounds petty, doesn’t it? Well, petty and repetitive is what you get in small town Westover, Colorado. We literally have nothing better to do, and even repeated pranks are funny when you’re bored.

Hearing footfalls, I turn just in time to see Piper “aka Bloody Mary” Schofield walking up my driveway. The nickname “Bloody Mary” came from an unfortunate incident in sixth grade. The fact that her first menstrual cycle started at school when she was completely unprepared has given our class more than enough ammunition. I wouldn’t be surprised if several kids in class don’t even know her real first name. More than once, I’ve even overheard teachers mistakenly call her Mary before correcting themselves. Those are the best days. The ones where she’s reminded just how much power I have in our small town.

The Mary walking up my drive right now looks nothing like the timid and standoffish Mary that was at school yesterday, or any other day since I met her, for that matter. Gone are the frizzy layers normally crowding her face. In their place are smooth, luxurious curls, either highlighted by the nearly setting sun or professionally colored. The soft, golden curls bounce almost hypnotically as she moves, and irritatingly, my fingers itch to touch them.

She’s always been pretty, even though I’d never admit that out loud to anyone, but this evening she’s a knockout. Her smoky eyes barely even look my way as she walks past me as if I don’t exist.

My jaw drops as she saunters by me with more arrogance and assuredness than she’s ever displayed before. She’d never act so haughtily in the presence of others, but her brazen demeanor right now irritates me even though there is no one here but me to witness it.

Normally, she’d cower away, make plans to come over when she knows without a doubt that I’m gone. We live right next door to each other, easily able to see the other’s driveway from our living room windows, so it’s not like she can be surprised I’m standing here. She wants to be seen. The realization strikes a chord with me.

“Speak of the devil,” I mutter.

“What’s that?” Kyle asks in my ear, and I frown at the fact that she’s somehow managed to make me forget I was on the phone.

“Nothing. See you tonight.” I hang up as I watch her ascend the front steps of my house.

Although her hair and makeup are done, she’s dressed as she usually is at school in khaki shorts and a loose t-shirt, her clothes hiding her tiny frame. I’m surprised she came over, knowing she would have to walk past me to go see my younger sister, Peyton. They aren’t friends exactly. Mary isn’t really friends with anyone but one other girl in our class, something I’ve made sure of over the years, but I overheard my mom talking to my sister last week that her failed state math test will keep her from going to high school in the fall, and she needed Mary to help her study for the retake in a little over a month.

One problem with tormenting the girl next door is struggling not to get caught. Not only do we live in a small town, but our parents are good friends. The balancing act has been part of the fun these last couple of years, and knowing that Mary can never get away from me completely is just another method of torture I like to remind her of.

As I’d guessed, my sister comes out on the porch after Mary knocks on the door.

Graduation is tonight, and Kyle’s house has been volunteered to host the after-party. He lives just outside of town, so there’s a decreased chance of the police crashing. His place is always the best place to get loud at. Besides, his parents are always gone, so the lack of supervision makes for the optimal party place.

Without a care, I watch my nemesis show my sister something on her phone. Both girls smile, and the radiant sparkle in Mary’s eyes rubs me the wrong way. She’s not supposed to be happy. She’s not supposed to be brave enough to walk past me without flinching or worrying about what I’ll do to her. She’s supposed to cringe in fear at just the mention of my name and skulk into the shadows terrified of my next insult.

I’m agitated even further with the way my cock seems interested in the way her hair swishes back and forth across her back as she shakes her head in response to something my sister has said.

I’m not supposed to want her.

I’m supposed to ruin her.

Instinctively, my lips lift in a sneer as she turns back in my direction, but I falter for a split second as she glances my way. Her bright blue eyes still carry the sparkle that showed when she was speaking with Peyton until they lock with mine. Darkness clouds the vibrant blue, and it’s enough to snap me out of whatever trance she’d placed me in.