Breaking the Wrong (6 page)

Melissa chimes in. “He’s a math whiz—he’ll help you so much more than I ever could.”

  Doubtful. 

I give the two of them an awkward smile and scrunch my lips in thought. To anyone else, it’s just tutoring, but to me, it’s exposing too many of my insecurities … to the one person I loathe most.

On the other hand, this could be an easy way to talk to him.

Tosha’s words ring out in my head. I can be broken glass. I can make someone jump and this might be my time to do that.

“If you’re not busy, that would be great.”

Macsen crosses his arms and the material of his shirt strains as he gives me a dubious look. “I’m not busy. I just finished helping someone. It’s not a problem.”

I grind my teeth and give him a short nod. “Fine.”

Macsen points to a table in the far back corner. “My stuff is over there.”

My steps are slow as I walk to his table. He follows. I want to turn around and run right out of the doors and back to my car.

All of this feels wrong. But, then again, what do I know about wrong? I have upheaved my entire life just to bring someone down.

I drop my leather bag on the table and start to pull out my notebook. Macsen relaxes in the seat across from me and watches. It makes me nervous. I like seeing what is running through people’s eyes, but Macsen has blinders over his, making him impossible to read.

Awkwardly, he clears his throat. I slowly sit down and stare at him. “I’m Macsen, by the way.”

I know him, and I know he knows that.

My fingers lace together in front of me and I give him a fake smile. “Nice to meet you.” I deserve a reward for keeping the tremors out of my voice. “I’m Emil-”

“I know who you are,” he interrupts. “I heard you tell Chris in class.”

At the mention of Chris, I let out an amused laugh. He hasn’t said a word to me since the last time we talked, but in Psych class he gives me these cheesy winks and points to Macsen’s back.

Macsen cocks his eyebrow. “You know Chris?”

“If you consider talking to him one time as ‘knowing’ him, then sure.”

It seems like he’s going to say more but instead, he snorts and peers at my math textbook. “Where do you want to start?” he asks.

I settle in my chair and look at him. “Anywhere,” I say quietly. “It’s all a big blur to me.”

Macsen leans forward and slides my textbook closer to him. Before he even looks at the numbers, he pulls out a pair of glasses.

Macsen wear glasses. I never pegged him as a glasses kind of person.

Some females have a fetish for muscles, big, rough hands, or even just a handsome face. Not me. Glasses on a guy make my pulse race. My inner nerd freaks out over it.

His sharp green eyes look up at me. “Let’s just start with a few small problems.” His voice is gruff, and it’s easy to pick up on his bland tone. Somehow, he’s acting like he got roped into this. I want to remind him that he’s here because he volunteered, but I keep my mouth shut.

He points to an equation on the page and drags his finger down. “Just start with these few problems...” His hands are rough and calloused. I expected them to be well manicured. It throws me off balance to think that he might actually lift a finger and work. “Is it okay to start with that?” he asks.

I blink repeatedly, noticing his hand stops on number fifteen. God, I hope that’s where the problems end. I give him a short nod. “That sounds good.” 

“Good.” Before he even finishes the sentence he picks up his book, opens it to his bookmarked spot, and I no longer exist.

I grind my teeth together and slowly start working on the problems. Nothing makes sense, but I work through them like I know exactly what I’m doing. More than a few minutes pass, I can only tell by my stiff neck. I rotate my head and look over at Macsen. His head is still down, concentrating on the thick book laying flat on the table. I go back to the impossible problems in front of me and try to figure them out.

It’s a complete failure. With a sigh, I drop my pencil. “I’m done,” I announce. 

Macsen says nothing. He looks at me through his black eyelashes before shutting his book. “Hand them over.”

Right now, I want to be broken glass and cut the hell out of him. I want to wad up the paper and drill his forehead with my messed-up answers. My hand covers the notebook as I jerk it toward him. His dark brows furrow. He puts his palm flat on my textbook and drags it toward him.

Underneath the table, my left leg starts to bounce erratically. My eyes drift over to the wall where a clock is mounted. Forty-five minutes. It took me forty-five minutes just to do a few problems. If that isn’t promising, I don’t know what is.

I watch his eyes scan the paper methodically. I’m waiting for him to pull out a pen and start marking my paper with everything I did wrong. But his hands are pen-free. Nothing has been marked and I’m starting to worry, because I really do need a tutor. Not someone who’s just going to pretend they know what the hell they’re doing. I need help now.

Finally, he hands over my notebook. I raise an eyebrow. I’m not wildly self-confident. I know my struggles and I know, for a fact, that these answers are wrong. All wrong.

Macsen grabs a pencil next to his laptop and leans across the table. His face is close enough that if he glances up from the notebook, our noses will touch. Discreetly, I scoot my chair back an inch. 

“So,” he announces, in that same gruff manner. “You get the idea, but I notice you get stumped right here.” Macsen points to one of the problems and I’m already frowning. He catches my expression and says, “It’s not so bad. We’ll go through it a few times and you’ll understand it better.”

I want to believe him, except he sounds so put off.

But this isn’t new. Growing up, I had my fair share of teachers who were put off by my confusion.

My legs cross underneath the table at the same time my arms do. “What if I
don’t
understand it?” I ask.

He regards me thoughtfully and leans back in his chair. “You will.”

“You’re so sure...”

“Look, I know my way around math. And I’ll make sure you understand this.”

My foot taps against the leg of my chair repeatedly. “But everyone has a different way of learning.”

“And I’ll figure out your way.” He leans forward and taps a finger against my paper. “So, can I help you now?”

I bluntly nod. He explains the solutions with ease, and it’s almost painful for me to admit that Melissa is right. Macsen is a math whiz.

~

After my tutoring session, I drive over to Tosha’s. I need her advice. Talking and seeing Macsen feels impossible. I can’t focus or breathe. All I can think about is the past. If I have any chance in hell of fulfilling my Burn List, I need help.

There is no one better than Tosha.  

Tosha separates her clothes into piles on the floor. I make a face.

“That’s gross. Do you know how many people have been on this floor?”

Tosha gives me a look and keeps separating. We’re in the laundry room in her dorm.

“Come help me,” Tosha calls out.

I walk over and grab the pile that doesn’t have her underwear and drop it into the washer. When the machine starts, I look over at her.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask quietly.

Tosha adjusts the knob on her washer and presses start. When she looks my way she nods. “Shoot.”

“When you’ve gotten back at someone ... how did you do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know...” I pause and try to find the right words. “In school, when someone pissed you off, and you wanted to show them up. How did you do it?”

She stretches her arms above her head like she’s getting ready to work out. “I didn’t get back at them, it’s just called being a bitch.” She lowers her hands and smiles curiously at me. “Why? Do you want to be a bitch?”

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.”

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.”