The Right Kind of Wrong Read online

  I answer him with silence.

  "I'm trying really hard to feel bad for you, right now, but I warned you about him. He's the type girls dream of being with until he fucks you over. You're a big girl. You knew what you were doing when you started sleeping with him."

  My breath catches in my throat. Who the hell does he think he is? We aren't friends. We don't even like each other. "Go to hell." I'm dangerously close to hanging up.

  "Don't hang up."

  "What do you want? I don't need to be scolded and I definitely don't need a lecture. From you of all people! So, unless you have something important to say…"

  He's quiet for a second and I think maybe he's hung up, but he clears his throat and his words come out clipped. "Fine. When do you want to leave?"

  "The sooner the better." I just want it over with.

  "You can pick me up at my place on Friday and we'll leave from there. I'll text you the address." Then the phone goes dead. No goodnight, no other snarky remarks. Just silence.

  It's the loudest silence I've ever heard.

  I try to distract myself with another chapter of Kerouac, but it's not working, so I dial my grandmother's number. She's always up late. Her voice fills me with enough love to burst.

  "Hello?"

  "Grandma?"

  "Kara! How are you, sweetheart? How's the weather?"

  "It's hot, Grandma. Hey, I wanted to ask you something."

  "Anything, dear."

  "You know how I always told Grandpa that I'd write about him one day?"

  "Of course I do."

  "Well, I'm finally going to do it. I'm working on a project for my multi-media class and I've chosen Grandpa and World War II as my topic."

  "That's fantastic! Your grandfather would be so proud."

  Proud? No. He would be disappointed it took me this long to do something I've always wanted to do. And at the insistence of some silly boy, too. I take a deep breath. "I'm coming back home to do some research. I need to look through some of Grandpa's old war stuff and I wondered if you'd be up to some interviews."

  She coughs in surprise. "You're actually coming home?" My chest constricts so tightly, I wish I could reach inside myself and pull my lungs to safety. This is why I don't go home. "Yeah, Grandma. I'm coming home."

  "Oh Kara, I'm so happy to hear that. I've missed you so much. I didn't..." She stops for a minute. "I didn't think you were ever coming back. Your father even—"

  "I miss you, too. We'll be leaving here next week. Okay? We only have a week and a half to get everything done, so I won't have a lot of time to hang out."

  "Who is we?"

  Oops. "Oh. Well. I kind of have a project partner."

  "That's great, honey! I'm excited to meet her."

  "It's a guy. His name is Vince."

  "Oh."

  I told her very little when the whole almost-getting-kicked-out-of-college thing happened but I made it abundantly clear that it wasn't my fault. "The thing is, Vince is the same partner I had when all that plagiarizing stuff happened."

  "You mean he's the boy that almost ruined your entire college career? And you're working with him again? Why would you do that?"

  "I didn't have a choice. The professor wouldn't let me switch. Trust me, I tried."

  "And you're going to bring him into my home?"

  Huffing, I say, "He cheated Grandma, it's not like he killed someone. He's actually an okay guy. . . once you get to know him." Even I can't believe the words coming out of my mouth.

  "Well. It's settled then. You'll be staying here at the house. You just make sure he's on his best behavior while he’s here. Or else."

  I hope she can hear the grin in my voice. "I'll let him know. I have to go now, but I'll call before we leave. Love you."

  The minute I press ‘End’, my body relaxes. I take slow, steady breaths. One of the hardest parts is over. Grandma knows I'm coming. The only thing left to worry about now are the dreams; the ones that have been chasing me since I left Iowa three and a half years ago. The ones that take me back in time to save my grandfather.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Vince's house is off campus in the ghetto. I pass boarded up, abandoned houses with spray paint graffiti, peeling white vans with no windows and front yards that look like they haven't been mowed in years.

  I slink down in my seat when I pull up to a tan house. It's missing half of its siding. The grass is cut haphazardly. The weathered couch sitting on the front porch may have something to do with its sag. I scope the lay of the land for the nearest exit. If a crime goes down somewhere, I'll be the first one out of here.

  I sift through my purse for my cell phone and catch movement in the window of the house from the corner of my eye. I focus and squint to get a better look. It's Vince walking back and forth in front of the window—shirtless.

  I should look away, but the body that usually lives underneath that shapeless clothing transfixes me. He's tall, but shirtless, he looks even taller. He isn't broad shouldered. He doesn't have a tantalizing six-pack or Kyle’s sculpted muscles, but a tattoo stretches from his right hip all the way up his ribs. I find myself sizing up every inch of visible skin until the trill of my phone pulls me away.

  "Hello?"

  "Are you here yet?"

  "Vince?"

  "Who else were you expecting?"

  "Uh, no one? I'm…outside your house."

  "You can come in if you want."

  "Nah, I'm good. Just come out when you're ready."

  His laugh over the phone sounds much deeper than it does in person. "Whatever. Be out in a few minutes."

  I watch the window as he hangs up. He strides to his closet, pulls clothes off hangers with reckless abandon and throws them in his bag. Minutes later, his front door slams and Vince appears with a huge duffel bag and a ton of camera equipment.

  Thank God, he put a damn shirt on.

  I pop the trunk and watch him struggle with the bag and attached equipment until he yells. "Hey. You wanna help me out?"

  I don't move. "Put down the seats and try again."

  He's able to shove everything in. He slides into the passenger side seat.

  "You know, if you wanted to check me out, you could have just asked. I'm not shy." He smirks as he puts his camera to his face. He points the lens at me. The red light blinks bright.

  I blush and swat at the camera. "You don't need this footage for the project."

  "Who said I planned to use this for the project? I want to document this disaster in the making."

  And a disaster it will be. I pull away from the curb and head for the nearest gas station.

  "You might as well stock up on food while we're here. We have a long drive and I don't want to stop unless we absolutely have to. We also need to set some ground rules." I pull up at the gas pump. "One, we'll take turns driving, and two, under no circumstances will you change my radio unless you ask my permission. Oh and no backseat driving either. I hate when people do that. Got it?"

  Vince opens his door, steps out and salutes me. "Ay, ay captain."

  Minutes later, he leaves the store with both hands full of food. Pizza slices, chips, cookies and God knows what else. This is going to be the longest drive of my life. He tosses me a Mountain Dew. The green liquid sloshes and foams inside the bottle.

  "How'd you know what to get me?"

  He smirks. "Jenkins' class. You always had one with you. I don't know how you drink that shit."

  I replace the gas cap and slide into the car. "Like the pizza and cookies are any better?" I fiddle with the GPS system and set the destination for my grandmother's house.

  Vince slumps in his seat, stuffing a slice of pizza in his mouth. "Gon be ong rive."

  "Huh?" I pull into rush hour traffic.

  Vince swallows his pizza. "I said, it's going to be a long drive."

  "Duh." I look behind me and swerve into the right turn lane. Green arrow. I speed up so we pass the line of cars in the merge lane leading onto the highway. W
hen we're far enough ahead, I set the cruise control. Vince's hands grip the handle on the dashboard .

  "Jesus, you trying out to be a Nascar driver?"

  I roll my eyes. "Didn't I tell you I don't want a backseat driver?"

  "What you want and what you're gonna get are completely different if you drive like that."

  "You want to drive the entire way?"

  No answer.

  "That's what I thought." He reaches out for the radio dial, but I slap his hand away before he can touch it.

  "Can we please change the station? Please. I can't stand this pop shit."

  I push the third preset button and a female voice filled with twang and sass blares from the speakers.

  "I didn't mean change it to country. I hate country."

  "You better get used to it. This is the only thing they listen to in Iowa."

  That's not true. But I like pressing his buttons.

  "Great." He slumps into the seat and messes with his camera.

  I flip off the radio all together.

  "Hey, what'd you do that for?"

  "I'm not going to change the station and you are going to sit there pouting until I do. We still have a long drive ahead of us. We might actually, you know, have to talk to each other."

  "Yeah, that sound like so much fun," he says, huffing. "How many times have you made this drive, anyway?"

  I hesitate. "Once. When I drove here to start college."

  "Didn't you say something about going back for a funeral?"

  "Yeah, last year. I flew though. Didn't have time to drive."

  Vince nods. A silence falls between us and I welcome it. I focus on the rumble of tires on pavement. I turn off the A/C and roll down the window. The wind gushes in and tickles my skin. For a moment, between the silence, sun and wind that surround me, I'm almost content.

  Almost.

  "We'll be driving through Nebraska, won't we?" Vince asks when we cross the Utah border.

  "I think so. According to MapQuest, we'll go through Nevada, Utah, Colorado and then Nebraska to get to Iowa."

  "Why’d you check MapQuest when you have a GPS?"

  I shrug. "Electronic failure. Good to be prepared?"

  He laughs. "Right. Well, there's a killer World War II tank museum in Nebraska. I think we should check it out."

  "Where in Nebraska?"

  Vince pulls out his phone and scrolls through until he finds what he's looking for. "Lexington."

  "Check the map. If we have time, we can stop."

  "What to do until then?"

  "Get comfortable. Take a nap. I don't really care."

  He leans his head against the glass and shuts his eyes. It takes him all of ten minutes until his deep breathing turns into volcanic eruptions of snores. They're so loud I actually have to turn on the music.

  Alone with my thoughts, I'm free to think.

  What's Kyle doing? How pissed is Roderick? I want to hate Kyle and his fucking 'antiquated notions.' Why did I fall for his stupid lines? And those lips! My God, if I'd stayed away from the lips, I wouldn't be where I am right now. No, I can't hate him. Everything was my fault.

  Just like leaving my grandparents when they needed me the most. The last conversation with my grandfather is a soundtrack in my head. Usually I can push it away, but not today. I let it replay on high volume.

  "Kara Pierce, you are not withdrawing from college. I won't have it." His eyes were bloodshot and his breathing waned with his agitation. He'd been relegated to his bed.

  "Well, I'm not leaving you here like this. Who's going to take care of you? The house? Grandma? Sacramento State isn't going anywhere."

  "What about your scholarship? Is that still going to be there for you when you decide to go? This isn't how I raised you. What have I always told you?"

  I throw my hands in the air. "This isn't about how you raised me. I'm not leaving you, end of the story."

  "What have I always told you?" he persists.

  I sigh. "When opportunity knocks, answer the door."

  He nods. His smile is pained. "That's right. Opportunity has been knocking for a while. You were born to answer that damn door, Kara. I want you to listen to me real good now." He waits expectantly.

  "I'm listening, Grandpa."

  "I'm telling you that I have lived a good life. You've been one of the best parts of it. Your grandmother and I are lucky to have raised such an exceptional young woman. You will not be withdrawing from college. You're going to walk up those stairs and pack your bags. You're going to get in your car on Sunday, drive to California and you're going to be the best damn reporter you can be. You hear me?"

  I don't answer. I can't. My eyes fill with tears and my heart feels as heavy as the bricks I used to help him carry from his truck.

  "Kara, do you hear me?"

  I look him in the eye and he stares back at me with more love than I can possibly handle. "I hear you, Grandpa."

  "You promise me you'll go? I want to hear you say it."

  I think about lying. I try to come up with an excuse but I can't.

  The worst part is, I want to go.

  I've never wanted anything more in my life than to get out of this shitty town, away from my father and start over. But starting over means leaving my grandparents behind.

  "I promise I'll go."

  My grandfather is not the kind of man to cry. I've seen him cry only a handful of times but this moment, this terrifying moment, he does. They are not my kind of tears, the kind that fall in steady streams. His few tears stain his wrinkled cheeks but they are the most beautiful tears I've ever seen. I put my arms around his neck and memorize the scent of cedar oil and peppermint.

  "I love you, Grandpa."

  "I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do."

  Vince clears his throat and I let the memory fade. Vince is watching me.

  "You okay?"

  I'm not really okay but I smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

  "Are you sure? You were crying."

  I wipe the evidence from my cheek. "I'm fine, really. How was your nap? You only slept a half hour or so."

  "Are you drunk? Look at the clock. I've been asleep for, like, two hours."

  I glance at the dash. He's right. "Oh."

  "You want me to take over? You look tired."

  I crack my neck and shift in my seat. My ass is numb and my hands are sore from gripping the wheel. I slow the car down and stop on the shoulder.

  I get out and stretch. The sun is setting and the horizon looks like it's on fire. I get in the passenger seat.

  "Why don't you try to sleep? We're about two hours from the Utah state line. You wanted to stay in Salt Lake City tonight, right?"

  I close my eyes and mumble a "yeah," though I'm not sure I say it loud enough before everything fades out around me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I wake up to my car alarm blaring. I snap to attention, disoriented. Vince is missing and the car is parked under a hotel awning.

  Through the glass hotel doors, I see Vince fiddle with the car key. Finally, the locks click open and the warning beeps disappear.

  I get out as Vince walks to me. "Sorry. I hit the panic button somehow and it wouldn't shut off."

  "I guess we made it to Salt Lake City?"

  Vince rubs his bloodshot eyes and exhaustion practically drips off him. "Yeah, we made it. One problem though..."

  "And that is?"

  "This is the third hotel I've stopped at and it’s the only one with a vacant room. Apparently, there's some big rodeo in town."

  "So, what's the problem?"

  "I said there's one vacant room." He emphasizes the ‘one.’ "With one queen bed."

  "Oh. That is a problem."

  "That's what I thought you'd say."

  I try to think about it logically. We've been cramped in the car all day and most of the night. I'm still groggy from sleep. Vince looks like he couldn't drive another mile and we have another fifteen hours or so ahead of us. I hold Vince's gaze. "A
lright. Let's do it. We're both adults, we'll make it work."

  Vince's expression reflects his surprise. "Really?"

  I yawn and stretch my legs. "It's not like we have another choice, do we?" I'm too tired to worry about it.

  "Right. I'll check us in, then. Why don't you park the car and I'll help with the bags in minute?"

  "Okay." I park the car and grab what I can.

  I meet him in the lobby and he takes the luggage and gestures for me to follow him to our room. When we get there, he just stands in front of the door. "Shit. The key is in my back pocket." He shifts his position so his ass is near my hand.

  His same fantastic ass is in front of me, asking to be looked at, again. His right back pocket has a slight bulge in it. Just grab it and be done with it, Kara.

  I reach in.

  "You totally touched my ass," he says as I unlock the door.

  I groan and roll my eyes. "You want to sleep in the car?" But the minute his back is to me, the corners of my mouth tug upward. I look around the room and note that it does in fact have only one bed but it sure as hell doesn't look queen sized. More like full. The more I stare at it, the smaller it gets. Now, it's twin sized.

  "Not a terrible room, I guess." Vince sets his camera equipment in a corner. I toss our bags on the bed and look around. Small. Everything is small. Even the window looks miniscule. Maybe I'm just too damn tired to see things for what they really are.

  Vince unzips his bag and pulls out a bundle of clothes. "I'm gonna jump in the shower."

  Vince closes the bathroom door and I hear the steady ping of water falling. I change into my favorite sweats and t-shirt. I grab the extra pillow and blanket from above the hanging rack by the door and move by instinct to set up camp on the floor. We're not going to be here long, and I don't want to mess with a cot. I cocoon myself in the scratchy blanket. Don’t think about the grime and organisms crawling over the fabric, I tell myself.

  Several minutes later, I'm in that dream-like state between barely awake and almost sleeping. I vaguely hear the shower shut off. One minute I'm on the floor and the next, I'm being lifted and set down on clouds. At least that's what it feels like—fluffy, hovering clouds.