One-Eighty (Westover Prep 1)

“I want that, too,” I whisper. “Maybe you can call your parents, and they’ll let you stay here while they’re out of town?”

“I wish.” Sheets rustle on her end of the line, and I wait for her to situate herself. “I already asked last week. They refuse to change the plane ticket and keep giving me this crap about family being important. They act like Granny is helpless. That woman is stronger and healthier than any other eighty-year-old I’ve met.”

“I’m sorry you hate it there. I’d come to you if I could.”

I don’t mention that it would only be to get away from Dalton and his plush lips, but she doesn’t have to know that.

“Shouldn’t you be tutoring Peyton right now?”

“I left,” I confess. “I couldn’t be there today.”

Silence fills the hundreds of miles between us.

“Frankie?”

“What has he done?”

I smile at her defensive tone. She may think the guy is smoking hot, but she’s never excused his behavior. Her protectiveness makes me grin.

God, I want to tell her everything, but I’m not sure how she’ll take it.

“He had a pool party,” I begin, planning to tell her exactly what I told Dillon.

“And?”

“All of the regular deviants from school showed up.”

“Piper, if you tell me he teamed up against you, I’m going to hitchhike back to Westover and set his house on fire.”

Another smile spreads across my face. Fierce loyalty and the willingness to maim and kill is hard to find these days. Frankie gives it in spades, and I’m one lucky girl to have her on my side.

“He didn’t,” I assure her. “He caught them being mean to me, and he made them all leave. I told him about what we saw Bronwyn, Vaughn, and Kyle doing that night.”

“Really?” Her voice is a squeak, still filled with sleep and not ready for this conversation.

“Really,” I tell her. “He didn’t seem too bothered by that. He was more concerned about the way they were treating me.”

“Did he beat the crap out of Kyle? Someone needs to take that jerk down a peg or two.”

“I left the room, but I don’t think there were any fists thrown.”

“And what happened next?”

“Are you living vicariously through my drama because you’re bored being stuck on the farm?”

“Of course,” she says. “Now get on with the story. What happened next?”

“We got in the pool.”

“We?”

“You know.” I twist my hair around my fingers nervously. I just want to spit it all out, and even I’m growing agitated by retelling the story a couple of words at a time. “Peyton, Preston, and me.”

“And Dalton?”

“He kissed me, okay!”

“Whoa. What?”

“We kissed. Well, he kissed me twice.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

“That is not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to yell at me for letting it happen. You’re supposed to warn me against all evil things Dalton Payne. Remind me of the horrible things he’s done since the day we met. As my best friend, you’re not supposed to ask me if he’s a good kisser!”

“So, he isn’t?”

I sigh in agitation, and Frankie laughs.

“He’s a great kisser.”

“I knew he would be. You can’t have lips like his and suck at sucking face, you know?”

“Jesus, Frankie.” I rub my forehead, but it seems the irritation is there to stay.

“What do you want me to say?” I can hear the smile in her voice. “So, you kissed Dalton. It doesn’t have to be a big deal unless you make it one.”

“I hate him,” I remind her. “We hate him. I can’t go around kissing people I hate.”

“Hate kisses may be the best kisses ever,” she counters. “There are no hard and fast kissing rules. That’s not even a thing.”

“What do you know about hate kissing?”

She mumbles something unintelligible.

“What? Frankie! Have you been kissing on someone in Utah?”

“No!” she screams, but even on the phone, I can tell my best friend is lying. She’s as bad at it as I am.

“Who have you been kissing, Frankie?”

“He’s a jerk. I don’t want to talk about it.”

I allow silence to fill the space between us, knowing that she’ll cave, eventually. She wants to talk about her guy as much as I want to talk about Dalton.

“He’s no one,” she says quietly. “Just some fool that works here on the ranch.”

“So now you’re going around kissing fools?” I tease.

Frankie is always purposeful in how she behaves. She isn’t going to convince me she accidentally kissed some guy.

“He’s the biggest jerk I’ve ever met,” she snaps. “I hate him.”

“I think Dalton has the market cornered on the biggest jerk,” I remind her.

“Zeke is worse,” she mutters.

“Twelve years of torture worse?”

“I don’t want to talk about Zeke,” she hisses. “Tell me more about kissing Dalton.”

“I don’t want to talk about Dalton.”

“Yes, you do, or you wouldn’t have called me so dang early.”

“I gave him some of my journals,” I confess, and I swear I could hear a pin drop.