Breaking the Wrong (13 page)

“I’m surprised you’re not dressed up and going to some party.”

My expression is filled with horror. “Me and Halloween? Give me more credit that that.”

“Not true. I could see you dressing up as one of your favorite book characters.”

My lip scrunches up. “I
would
do that.”

“Who would you go as?” he asks.

I turn my head out the window, feeling shy. “Not telling.”

“Come on, tell me, Emilia.”

My body turns just because he says my name. When he says it, Emilia sounds unique and all mine, like the name was meant for me. Goosebumps form on my arm and I rub them slowly, looking at Macsen the entire time. “I’d be Hester Prynne, or Daisy Buchanan.”

Macsen looks away from the road and frowns at me. “I understand Daisy ...
The Great Gatsby
, I get it. But Hester Prynne from
The Scarlett Letter
? You did read the book, right?”

My sigh is dramatic. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“Tell me then.” I’ve sat across from Macsen for almost two months, listening to him explain the problems that confuse me the most. He understands it all. But for once, he’s stumped. I can see he’s dying to hear my answer. This might be the first time Macsen didn’t have the right answer.

I keep my lips together and shrug. “If you can see the good in Darl, surely you can see the good in Hester.”

“I didn’t say I don’t see the good in her. I would just never expect you to like her.”

A retort is ready to slip out, but he pulls into a parking lot with cars scattered everywhere. I look at the sign next to the road. The bright lights spell out Playmore Lanes. More flashing lights blink on and off, leading to four bowling pins that move back and forth as if they’re going to fall down.

My jaw drops. “Bowling. You’re taking me bowling?”

  “What?” Macsen pulls his keys out of the ignition and faces me with a smirk. “Bowling will be fun. You’ve bowled before, right?”

  “Yes,” I mutter, “I have.”

Complete lie. I have never bowled in my life.

EMILIA

We walk into the bowling alley and I’m met with loud eighties music and the sound of pins crashing together. I give Macsen a look as he guides us toward a counter with a pudgy kid sitting behind it. The kid barely glances up.

I’m looking all around me, taking in the blue carpet with shooting stars and colorful circles peppered around those stars. A few game machines are lined against the wall, and further down, there’s a place to order greasy food.

Macsen stacks two old pairs of shoes on top of one another and nudges me with his shoulder. “Don’t make that face.”

I pull my eyes away from the shoes. “I can’t help it,” I confess reluctantly. 

We find an open table. I slide into the off-white plastic chair and look around. Macsen hands me the shoes and I stare down at them and slide them across the table. “I’m okay wearing my shoes, but thanks.”

Macsen is taking off his shoes and pauses long enough to slide them back to me. “Put them on. You can’t bowl in your boots, Emilia.” I make a face and he smirks. “You’re wearing socks. It’s not like you’re going to get Athlete’s foot or something.”

By the time I’m leaning down, Macsen already has his borrowed shoes on. He sits back in his chair. With Macsen watching me quietly, I can hardly get my boots off. His stare makes me nervous. I keep my head down the entire time. I make another face as I finally slide my feet into the shitty, loaned-out pair of shoes.

“If you think about who wore them before you, you’re gonna ruin it,” Macsen points out.

“Think about it,” I urge as I sit up. “Some sweaty, overweight dude that lives with his parents could’ve worn the pair on your feet. That doesn’t freak you out?”

He stands and waits for me. Without my boots, I come up to his shoulder. “When you put it like that, kind of. Now. Are you going to keep stalling, or are we going to bowl? I want to see your moves.”

I roll my eyes and follow him down the steps, toward the shelves of bowling balls. “I have no moves when it comes to,” I pause and fling my hand in the direction of the lanes, “this.”

Macsen doesn’t respond. He’s too busy trying to find a bowling ball. I stare down at his bent head and watch the muscles in his back flex as he reaches for a ball. Proudly, he holds up a black ball. “Okay. Pick one out for yourself.”

I only lift a brow and step closer. “How much do these things weigh?”

“Not a lot, but you probably need a light one.”

I pick up a lime green one. I didn’t try out another; this one fits just fine. Awkwardly, I hold my ball and walk over to our lane. Macsen is standing over the screen, peck-typing our names.

He finishes and rubs his hands together before he points at me. “Okay. You’re first.”

Quickly, I protest, “I don’t want to go first. I’ve never done this.”
Caught.

“Emilia, you pick up the ball and roll it down there. It either catches a few pins, hits them all or hits none. It’s that simple.”

I glance over at the drunken couple next to us and watch the female bowl. She takes a few steps forward and precisely lets the ball drop. She hits all but one and seems really excited about that.

I turn back to Macsen with confusion. He smiles. “If she hits the last one on her next turn, it’s a spare.”

I nod and walk up the steps to the spotless wood floor. The sport of bowling seems simple enough. I take a few steps, hold the ball with both hands, and dangle it between my legs.

“Emilia!”

With my back still bent, I turn back to Macsen. He rubs a hand down his face and reluctantly smiles. “What the hell are you doing?”

I look at the lane and back at him. “Bowling.”

“You know, I’m sure we can get them to put those bumper pads that they use for children’s birthdays on our lane.” Macsen leans his hip against the chair and grins.

Turning my focus back to the lane, I grit out. “Let me bowl. I have this.”

“God,” he mutters, “I can’t even watch.”

Maybe I’m butchering the real way, but how I’m doing it is fun. I give the ball one big heft and let it go. There is no art form to my toss. It rolls slowly down the lane.

I walk back to Macsen. He’s watching the ball with fixation. I’m just crossing my fingers, hoping that I will hit just one. I end up hitting all but one pin.

Macsen gives me a dull expression. “I can’t believe you hit nine pins with that toss.”

“Is that good?”

He walks over to a machine that expels my lime green ball and picks it up. “Pretty good.” He hands me the ball. “You’re still up.”

I look up at the screen. My name is still highlighted. “Why do I go again?”

“You didn’t get a strike so you get one more turn.”

I did the same thing as before. Only this time, Macsen isn’t the only one staring at me like I’m crazy. The people around us are gawking at me as if I’ve lost my mind. But I dare them to try it this way. It’s fun and kind of a rush.

On my next turn, I hit the last pin. I’m tempted to gloat because I’m not too bad for a newbie.

“Are you ready for me to show you how to really bowl?” Macsen asks.

I sweep my hand toward the open lane. “Be my guest.”

He steps up to the platform, as I lovingly call it, and does the same thing as the woman next to us. He only hits one.

One measly pin.

Walking off the platform, he goes to the machine and waits for his ball. I watch his jaw clinch. “Are you mad?”

He gives me a brief nod. “I like to win.”

My fingers drum against the screen that holds our scores. “It’s just bowling.”

Macsen looks over at me thoughtfully. “I can be competitive.”

I feel like there is hidden meaning to his words. I’m willing to bet that it goes back to Severine.

On his next try, he gets a spare. When he walks back to our seats, he’s in a much better mood.

As I walk back up on the platform, Macsen stops me before I bowl in style. “If you didn’t bowl growing up, what did you do for fun?”

My cheeks are sucked in tight as I think how to answer him. “I played tennis, rode horses…” As an afterthought I add, “Swam a lot during the summer time…”

“So, rich kid stuff,” he says his words condescendingly.

“What did you do, besides reading?” I challenge.

The minute he puts his hand up, I know he’s getting ready to rub his neck. Whatever his answer is, it makes him nervous.

My childhood was fun. I was a typical, carefree child. The way Macsen speaks about his past is just depressing.

“You didn’t have any fun hobbies?” I ask.

“We moved around so much. My mom went through husbands like a pack of cigarettes.” He smiles over his confession, but I find nothing funny about it. “Just when I got settled, we moved.”

“How many times did you move?”

“I lost track. My favorite place was Virginia.” He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “That’s where I started swimming.” 

I stop asking questions right there because I already know this story. Immediately, I offer something about myself. My plan doesn’t require that. I tell myself that I’m doing this to lighten the moment. “I used to go to concerts. Wait outside in the freezing cold, have the tent … you know, the whole nine yards.”

Macsen’s eyes widen and he turns his head slowly to look at me. “What kind of concerts?”

“You know … bands.” I shrug evasively and look at our lane. “Boy bands.”

His face is solemn but I see the mischief in his eyes. Macsen takes a step closer in interest. “Did you have t-shirts, and posters? Wait
… did you have a favorite singer?”

His chest
is right in front of my face. I look away. “Yes, yes, and no—they were all my favorite.”

“Wow…” He shakes his head. “Emilia likes boy band
s. I can’t believe it.”

“Relax,” I shrug
it off as nothing, but I’m smiling, “I was twelve.”

For the next hour we go back and forth. I talk to him like I don’t have a Burn List, like I’m after no one. And during that hour, I laugh more than I have in the longest time.

“I can’t bowl anymore,” I confess. I sit in the chair across from Macsen and relax my legs in front of me. “My arms ache.”

“The way you bowl, that doesn’t surprise me.” A sigh escapes him. “But I’m ready to go, too.”

Bending down, I slip out of the shoes and anxiously put my boots on. Macsen is already finished and has both of the bowling balls back where we found them.

I don’t want tonight to end, and I’m afraid it’s coming to a close. “Are we going somewhere else?” I ask nervously.

He rubs the back of his neck and finally gives me a thoughtful nod. “Yeah, but let’s get our shoes turned in.”

There’s no reason I should be so relieved that our night is continuing, but I am.

All for revenge
, I remind myself.

A smile on my lips shouldn’t be a part of revenge. But as we drop our shoes off and walk toward the exit, there’s still one firmly planted on my lips. His hand rests against my lower back, guiding me out the door. That touch goes through my layers and burns my skin. I don’t pull away like I should.

We get to the passenger side of the truck and I lean against the door to look at him. “Where are we going?”

Tucking his hands into his jeans, he hunches his body closer. “My apartment.”

I stand taller because that wasn’t what I had in mind. When Macsen sees my alarm, he laughs and shakes his head. “My roommate has a party starting right now.”

Quickly, I backpedal and move away from the truck. Macsen turns his body and steps with me. “No, thanks. I never go to parties.”

“You have also never bowled until tonight,” he points out. “Granted, you looked ridiculous, but you had fun, didn’t you?”

Because of the person I was with
. I give him a quick nod. “Yeah.”

He smiles charmingly. “Great, then let’s go.”

I wasn’t going to the party. Watching people get drunk and making horrible decisions was meant for reality television. I’d be a buzz kill.

I walk cautiously back to the truck and try to reason with him. “Let’s go anywhere else.”

Macsen looks confused. “Why?”

“Parties are not my thing,” I confess.

“They’re not mine either,” he shakes his head.

I open my mouth to say more but his hands grip my hips tightly.
I stop breathing and look down at his large hands. My blood suddenly feels warm, and I instantly look him in the eye. He’s staring down at his hands thoughtfully before he easily lifts me up and places me into the truck. It takes only a few seconds, but my skin is on fire. I want more.

Macsen looks unaffected. He leans against the truck and crosses his arms. His cheeks are red from the cold
and his dark hair is tousled from the wind. When he smiles at me, I forget about my list.