Breaking the Wrong

by Calia Read

  I know she’s picturing me being cruel and it’s a funny thought to her. If only she knew what ran through my mind. It’s the quiet people you need to watch out for. And that’s one of reasons why I’m sitting here, asking for advice. Macsen is quiet. Just like me. His mind is running at top speed. I can barely focus around him.

  “No,” I sigh. “I don’t want to be a bitch. I just want revenge.”

  “Against who?” Tosha picks at her cuticle with a frown. “Someone back home?”

  “Yes. Someone from home.” Technically, I wasn’t lying. This person really was from my home state.

  “I need more details than that. If you want my secret weapon, you need to spill it all.”

  “It’s nothing huge. Just a girl that was mean to me in school.”

  “Was it Ashley?” Tosha asks anxiously. “The one who wore her school uniform three sizes too tight and used to gossip about you?”

  I didn’t know this Ashley or that she had talked about me, but I nod my head and lie. “Yes. That’s the one.”

  The answer is good enough for Tosha. She hops on top of a washing machine. “Getting back at someone is an art form, Emilia. It is work.” Her dark green eyes are solemn and I know she’s taking this seriously. “The first thing I do to bitchy girls is find their weakness.”

  I rest my elbows on the running washer beside me and anxiously listen.

  “Everyone has a weakness. You just have to look.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Find their weakness ... anything else?”

  “One more.” She jumps off the washer and grabs my shoulders. “Shut your brain off. If you want to get back at someone, you have to stop thinking.”

  I nod, looking down at the scratched surface of the tile floor. “Just look at it as a job. All you’re doing is trying to find information on that person. You don’t want to be their friend, you just need to know who they are in order to find their weakness.”

  “I can do that,” I say with confidence.

  “Good.” Tosha smiles. “If you can, the smell of revenge is only one conversation away.”

  Chapter Six

  EMILIA

  “Okay. What do you have today?”

  Bending down, I search through my bag and find my notepad and textbook. “The same thing. Just even more annoying and stupid.”

  “Let me see.” Macsen holds out his hand for my textbook. It’s become routine.

  For a week, I’ve sat across from Macsen Sloan. And with Tosha’s advice still fresh in my mind, I’m feeling more confident around him. I can go minutes without shaking. My bitterness doesn’t burn as bad, but it’s still there, keeping me fired up and alive.

  Macsen slides on his glasses. His long fingers tap against the table as he concentrates on the problems in front of him.

  Quickly, I look back down at my notebook before I get caught staring. It’s hard to figure Macsen out. He rarely talks, and when he does, it’s only for a few minutes before he goes back to reading. I have to find a way to get to know him.

  “None of this looks too difficult.” He pulls away from the table and slides his glasses off. “Just do a few problems and see how they feel to you.”

  His head is buried in a book and I’m not surprised. Before I look down, I catch the title of his book. I think he’s reading a different novel every time I see him. But this time, I know the book.

  My mouth opens before I can think. “Let me guess ... you like Cash?”

  It’s amusing to watch Macsen slowly lower his book. His green eyes stare at me skeptically. “You’ve read As I Lay Dying?”

  “Yes.”

  He sits upright and pushes his book aside. I think that’s the first time he’s willingly done that. “Why do you think I’d like Cash?”

  Macsen lights up and I know I’ve found his fire. I’ve found the one thing that he will talk about eagerly. As I Lay Dying was a different read, but it stuck with me. The characters were so unique and twisted that I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the pages.

  My lips purse together as I think over my answer. “Cash is...” I shrug. “Cash is the oldest. He’s logical and always thinks everything through.”

  Macsen smirks. “So you think I’d like the logical brother?”

  “Logically? Yes.”

  He grins. “Cash isn’t my favorite character. I like Darl.”

  It has been a while since I’ve read the book, but it’s impossible to forget Darl. And not in a good way. “Darl is insane!” I sputter out.

  “Darl is probably the only logical one in the group ... besides Cash.”

  I lean closer, forgetting that I’m talking to a Sloan. “How can you like him? He hates his brother Jewel and burns down a barn with his mother’s coffin in it! He’s just so ... so crazy.”

  He chuckles quietly and looks down at the table as he talks. “I thought he was pretty fucked up at first, but when I read it the second and third time around, I saw that he may not be as crazy as I thought. He hates Jewel, but maybe he hates Jewel for the love his mother gives him. I think he just wants a piece of that love for himself.” My brown eyes are wide and Macsen continues. “Everyone takes his actions as insanity, but maybe he burns the barn down with his mom’s coffin in it because he sees the trip to Jefferson as a waste. Maybe he wants his mom to have some peace.”

  When he finishes his explanation, I’m still looking at him strangely. Macsen is nothing like I expected. He leans back in his chair and rubs the back of his neck.

  My head cocks to the side. “That’s one way of seeing it.”

  “I know I’m the minority,” he admits, “but I think he’s not half as bad as people think.” Macsen clears his throat and points at me. “So who is your favorite character?”

  I answer with a big smile. “Vardaman, of course.”

  My answer doesn’t shock him. “Everyone loves Vardaman.”

  “Of course everyone loves him. He’s this little boy that just lost his mom and reacts the only way a six-year-old knows how.”

  “Just like Darl reacts the only way he knows how,” he points out.

  We’re just talking about a book, but it feels like more than that.

  Macsen clears his throat and looks down at his phone.

  “Do you need to go?” I ask.

  His head jerks up and he shoves his phone back into his pocket. “No. I’m trying to see when Professor Woodell’s office is open. I have an appointment with her tomorrow.”

  I smile slowly at my notebook, and make a move before I feel guilty. “Can’t be tomorrow. Her office is closed tomorrow.”

  Macsen frowns and looks over at me. “Really?”

  “Yes,” I lie. “I had to talk to her yesterday and she told me her office is closed on Thursdays.”

  I will my face to remain solemn and wait for Macsen to respond. Underneath the table, my legs bounce up and down nervously. Macsen narrows his eyes at me and I know he’s trying to figure out my angle.

  “I didn’t know you talked to Woodell,” he comments.

  Slowly, I tap my pencil against my notebook. “Why would you? We don’t talk … ever.”

  He’s going to call me out. I can feel it. But after a few seconds, he nods his head. “I’ll see her Friday then.”

  It’s childish what I’m doing, but even with this childish prank my nerves are practically frayed. I’m considering this tiny little lie as the first step to getting back at Macsen and it feels good.

  ~

  I’m still feeling pretty good on Friday, so good that I even arrive at the library before Macsen.

  I put all my books on the table and stare at the door with a wide smile. When Macsen walks through the door, his gaze locks on mine. His eyes go into tiny slits as he walks to our table.

  I’ve been light on my feet for the past day, but my giddiness starts to waver because my six-foot-four enemy looks ready to attack. I keep a smile on my face, but it’s only to hide the fear that’s racing through my body.

  Macsen drops
his bag onto the table with a loud thud and narrows his eyes at me.

  “Hello,” I say with forced cheerfulness. Macsen says nothing as I observe him. “You seem upset.”

  “Oh, I am.” Macsen’s palms settle on the table, and he leans closer with a smirk on his face. I smell that clean scent and something twitches in my belly. His light green eyes are filled with speculation as he watches my face.

  “Why are you mad?”

  “Maybe I’m mad because I missed my appointment with Professor Woodell. Or maybe because I listened to someone and now I won’t be able to get another appointment with Woodell for a month because, to quote her: ‘My time is valuable, Mr. Sloan.’”

  That last part makes me smirk. Macsen tilts his head to the side. “You think it’s funny?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “No.”

  “You’re smiling.”

  “Am I?”

  “Why did you lie?”

  “Didn’t think you’d believe me,” I try to say sincerely.

  “Okay,” he says with a shrug.

  “Okay?” I ask suspiciously.

  He walks to my side of the table and I feel panic. “What are you doing?”

  His bag lands on the table and he looks down at me. “Do I always have to sit on the opposite side of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I want to change things up. Do something different today.”

  I don’t like it. Macsen sits down and he’s already way too close. His knee brushes against mine underneath the table, and I instantly try to scoot away.

  “Let’s get started then.”

  His elbows rest on the table, only a few inches away from me.

  I scoot my body away. It seems like he’s moving closer. “So are you going to give me the wrong answers now?”

  Macsen gives me a pointed look as he pulls out his book. “No, because that would be mean.”

  For my grades, and my grades only, I swallow my pride. “I’m sorry,” I mutter quietly.

  Cupping a hand around his ear, he leans toward me. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you very well.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” I snap out.

  Macsen moves away but not before his arm brushes against my thigh. I look down at my bare thigh, convinced that the tingle I feel underneath my skin will make a physical mark.

  “Hey, Sebastian.” The guy across from us looks up curiously at Macsen. “You’ve been gawking at Emilia this whole time. What do you think? Is she really sorry?”

  Sebastian’s face reddens before he looks down at his book. “I think she is.”

  Macsen snorts and rudely dismisses him before he looks back at me. “You know, not even Darl would be as cruel as you.”

  Now he’s just teasing me. I roll my eyes and point to my textbook. “Darl would have lied to you, set a trap up at Woodell’s office, or made you eat rat poison.”

  Instead of looking freaked out, Macsen tilts his head back and laughs loudly. It earns disapproving stares from everyone around us, and a curious look from Melissa.

  My little prank had the opposite effect of what I wanted. Macsen seems almost intrigued by me lying to him.

  I hear my phone vibrate in my bag and quickly grab it. The name Aniston flashes on the screen. My lips flatten into a thin line. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Macsen.

  Halfway across the room, I answer. “Hello?”

  “It’s a miracle,” Aniston says on the other end. “You can answer your phone.”

  “I answer my phone,” I point out as I open the doors and lean against the wall.

  Aniston says nothing for a few seconds and finally cuts to the chase. “How is everything going?”

  My brother has known from day one about my list. Unlike Eden, he has been in full support of my revenge.

  A sigh escapes my lips. “Everything is good.”

  “So that means you’ve brought him down?”

  “Yes, Aniston,” I reply dryly. “Within a week, I’ve managed to destroy his life.”

  He laughs dryly. “I should have come with you.”

  “You could have ... but you hate this person more than I do. Do you really think it’s wise that you come here?”

  “I wouldn’t do anything,” he mutters.

  Aniston is the worst liar. Miles separate us, but I know when he’s trying to feed me a load of bull. I smirk and call him out, “Liar.”

  “Maybe I am,” he admits. “But it didn’t take you this long to get back at everyone else.”

  My head hits the wall with a thud. I look up at the ceiling and stare at the fluorescent lights until my eyes water. “Everybody else is different. They didn’t do what he did.”

  “Just do it. Don’t over-think it.”

  Even as we talk, something sits low in my belly, making me feel wrong—wrong for planning all of this. There’s no reason for me to feel any guilt.

  Aniston snorts and I hear his car door slam. “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “Meeting Julian at the bar.”

  Julian Langley is Aniston’s close friend. A few years ago, our dads started a law firm together, and we all became a close-knit circle. He’s always with our family, and I have come to think of him as a brother.

  “Have fun then … and be careful.”

  “I will.”

  We hang up and I stare at the blank screen. For a minute, I miss Aniston and Eden and how close we were in New York. Just a walk across the hall and we could talk.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I jerk my head up and stare at Macsen’s face. He gives me a curious glance.

  My heart kicks up a beat because he’s standing way too close. I feel hypersensitive to him, aware of every action he makes. And that feels too wrong for words.

  I toy with the sleeve of my black-and-white polka dot blouse and look around at the people quietly reading.

  “Everything is good,” I respond. “I just have a brother who drives me crazy.”

  Part of me is frantic, wondering how long he has stood there, and if he heard my conversation with Aniston.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Macsen leans against the wall and his arm is pressed close against mine. His skin feels like fire against my arm. I dig my fingers into my biceps painfully and laugh nervously. “Probably.”

  “In my family, I’m the one that drives people crazy,” Macsen says quietly. He’s staring at everyone scattered around us, just like I did minutes ago.

  “Why do you drive them crazy?” I ask quietly.

  He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. I know he’s hiding something. “Who knows—?”

  “Maybe it’s because you read all the time,” I offer with a straight face.

  A small smirk covers his lips and when he looks down at me, he’s smiling widely. “I can never tell if you’re joking or serious.”

  I turn slightly to him and lean my shoulder against the wall. “I’m serious.”

  He mirrors my actions. “Well, I’m telling you, it isn’t because of reading.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I’m desperate for some ammunition against Macsen. I need something big that I can store away and use to my advantage. In the past week, I’ve gathered nothing.

  Macsen looks down at the ground. I’m convinced that he’s going to confess something that no one else knows. But when he levels his serious green eyes at me, I know that he’s giving me nothing. “I’ll tell you—when you tell me what your brother said that has you so upset.”

  The blood drains from my face. He straightens and walks over to the doors, holding one open.

  I remain rooted in my spot, trying to figure out how much he can see through me.

  “Are you ready to go back in?” he asks.

  I move away from the wall and slowly nod. And when I walk past him, I make sure to keep more than a few inches between us.

  Chapter Seven

  EMILIA

  I stand on my tiptoes and reach for a book on the third shelf. It looks like
the rattiest book in my dad’s library.

  The book teeters on the edge for a second before it drops from the shelf. I catch it with both hands and read the title, How to Achieve a Thriving Garden: Ten Easy Steps.

  It smells old, like it has been in a stuffy room for centuries. When I flip through the pages, they are tinged a dark yellow. It’s the perfect book to use.

  Clutching the book to my chest, I peek my head out the door. Aniston is sitting on a kitchen stool talking to Mom as she cooks dinner. Dad sits next to him, listening to their conversation. Dad ruffles Aniston’s hair. I scrunch up my lips because I know he has probably told one of his stupid jokes.

  It’s the perfect time to make my move.

  I run toward the staircase to avoid the steps that creak. When I reach the top floor, I slip into my room and see my sister scattering all the tools we need.

  “I got the book,” I announce proudly.

  She smiles widely and flips her dark red ponytail over her shoulder. It was brushed and pulled back this morning, but now it hangs to the left with strands escaping the ponytail. “Excellent!” she says happily. “Bring it over, please.”

  I place the smelly book on my pink floral comforter and stare down at my sister’s head. She is a daredevil. My crazy younger sister doesn’t consider that some things might come with a punishment. But she makes me feel fun, that I shouldn’t be afraid of everything in the world.

  I’m the older sister. I should be guiding her, telling her what to do.

  I watch as she grabs one of the many sharp blades placed on the bed. Alarm rises in me.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I ask doubtfully.

  “Yes, Emi,” she says with concentration. Her glasses fall down on her small nose and she impatiently pushes them up. Her hands start to twitch uncontrollably, and I take another step forward. “I know what I’m doing,” she says firmly.

  Neither one of us do, but I nod my head and squat down on my knees, leaning my arms on the edge of the bed.

  For twenty minutes, I watch her progress, impressed that she is so focused. Once she’s finished, we stare down at her creation.

  She drops the glue and looks at her handiwork. “We have our hollow book!” E latches onto my arm and jumps up and down. I jump with her because her excitement is contagious to me.