The Right Kind of Wrong
Read The Right Kind of Wrong Online
Authors: Jade Eby
THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG
Jade Eby
Copyright © 2013 Jade Eby
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to
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and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Editing:
Alfie Thompson
Cover Design:
B Design
and
Kyle Troutman
Photo: ©
Masson
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN-13: 978-1484031841
ISBN-10: 1484031849
For Grandpa Hankes—Without you, this story would not exist.
and
For Eric—Without you, this book would've slipped through the cracks forever, never to be seen by anyone. Thank you for pushing me harder than anyone has ever pushed me in my life simply because you believed in me. I love you.
and lastly
For Christie—The writing gods were watching out for me when they brought you into my life. Not only have you endlessly supported me, you’ve listened to me cry, whine and talk about the trials and tribulations of being a writer. My gratitude to you runs deep and I can say without a doubt that I love that you’re my critique partner.
C
HAPTER
O
NE
I'm late. Not nine-months-comes-a-baby late. This is way worse. Dr. Brandish's unnatural obsession with punctuality is famous across campus so of course, I'm a half hour behind.
Figures.
I race across campus, pissed my source wanted to meet me on short notice. But I couldn't say no. And now, I can't stop thinking about my story lead.
It's bound to land me a reporter position at
The Sacramento Bee
. I mean, really, when the Chief Editor, hears all about the scandal I've unearthed, he'll clap me on the back, congratulate me on chasing down such a fantastic story and the rest will be history. The piece will earn me awards and esteemed recognition as I make a name for myself in the world of investigative journalism. The headline will read:
Lies and Fraud Rampant Among Sacramento State College Students
.
The congratulatory claps in my mind fade when I trip up the front steps of Maroney Hall.
Out of breath and wheezing, I reach the classroom but a booming voice filters through the door.
Great.
I inch the door open, praying it won't make a squeak and step inside. The voice stops cold. Every single eye turns in my direction. My neck catches fire and radiates to my cheeks. I look to Dr. Brandish and his gaze penetrates through me. Being late has never made me feel so…criminal.
"Nice of you to join us." His British accent is sophisticated. And particularly intimidating right now. "Find a seat."
I scan the classroom, desperate to find an open seat among the thirty desks crammed together. I spot one near the back of the room and rush toward it. The chair creaks when I slide into it and I slink as far down as I can go. Maybe Dr. Brandish will forget about me if he doesn't have to see my face the rest of class. I reach for my notebook but a chill runs down my spine.
Someone is watching me.
I twist my head ever so slightly and lock eyes with a pair of baby blues. I know those eyes. They've haunted me for the past year and a half. If I didn't know who they belonged to, I might think they were the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen. But nothing about Vince Gage is gorgeous. Despicable, maybe, but not gorgeous.
He's wearing coffee-stained carpenter pants and a shirt that doesn't look like it's ever been washed. Five o'clock stubble darkens his neck and jaw, and he's smirking. I draw in a slow, steady breath but it doesn't do anything to stop the current of fury that's coursing through me.
I don't have time to stare him down because Dr. Brandish picks up at the spot where I presumably interrupted.
"After today, you and your partner will base your project around a unique story lead. I'm leaving the details to you, but by the end of the semester, you must present your project to the class as well as a panel of judges."
The class buzzes with whispered excitement but Dr. Brandish holds up a hand, signaling he's not done.
"Perhaps you create a compelling print piece, or maybe you will blow your fellow classmates away with a fresh, original film. I don't really care what you do, my bright students. All I care about is that you simply do. There's never enough ‘doing’ in this world."
His voice. His vision. His theories. If Professor Brandish wasn't so much older than me, I might love him. He's practically a household name at
The Sacramento Bee
and Kyle David, the reporter I'm interning under says he owes his success to the man standing before me. Rumor says, if you impress him enough, he has the right connections to take you to the top. He's the reason I signed up for this class. Well, that and it's my only class left to take. I want to be his next prodigy. The next big thing since Katie Couric. Get the anchor chair ready; Kara Pierce is ready to take it all.
"I should mention that the judges will award the winners a fellowship at
The Schuster Institute for Investigative Journalism
and $20,000. Let me make myself crystal clear—this project is worth your entire grade. I wouldn't put it off if I were you. You made your partner selections at the beginning of class, so
most
of you should be good to go. His gaze dances around the classroom and lingers on me long enough to bring the heat back to my cheeks. "Check your email periodically. I'll be sending updates on presentation times as they draw near. I assume most of you know that I run this class differently than most. This is the only lecture of the semester and I only require check-ins from here on out. Good luck."
Dammit. Of course I missed something as important as partner selections. Falls right in line with my day. As Dr. Brandish packs his things, my classmates pair off. I bolt from my seat. There has to be someone good left. God wouldn't punish me for being late. Would he? The pairs filter out of the room until there's only one person left.
You
are
punishing me, God, aren't you?
I close my eyes tight and pretend this is just a nightmare. When I open them, I'll be cocooned in my bed, waking up from this horrendous pairing. I open my eyes. No cocoon. No warm bed. Instead, I'm face to face with Vince.
"Looks like we're stuck together." His raspy voice hits a nerve and my fists burn red hot. Not again. Not with this project. Not when my entire future is at stake.
"Don't even think about it, Vince. I don't care what I have to tell Dr. Brandish. We're not working on this project together. Not after the disaster you caused in Jenkins' class."
A chuckle escapes his lips. A freaking chuckle.
"Good luck with that. You're already on his shit list. Although, you
do
like to blame other people for your own mistakes."
I could kill him, but murder is not the way I want to make headlines.
Breathe in. Breathe out. I repeat it until I'm calm enough to talk.
"Get out of my way."
He doesn't move at first but then he steps out of the way. "After you, Princess."
I wish hatred could knock someone out because it's oozing out of me right now.
I walk down the hall toward Dr. Brandish's office. I reach him just as he's locking up.
"Dr. Brandish?"
"Yes?" He turns around and when he sees it's me, the one and only person who dared to be late to his class, his smile morphs into a scowl.
"I was wondering if it would be possible to do this project with another group of students, or by myself?"
"Miss... ?"
"Pierce. Kara Pierce."
"Well, Miss Pierce, I believe this is a prime example of why punctuality is essential."
"Yes, I know, but I've actually worked with Vince in a prior class. Let's just say it didn't work out too hot." I don't even know why I'm arguing. Do I need to give this man another reason to hate me?
Dr. Brandish stares at me and I will him to grant me another chance. His gaze moves behind me, and I glance back. Vince is leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed.
Dr. Brandish sighs. "I'm sorry, Miss Pierce. No can do. You have to learn to work with many different people. Perhaps this will be good practice. Good luck." He turns his back and I know there's no use fighting him. I regret even coming to him in the first place.
I turn to leave and Vince's smirk taunts me. "Guess you're stuck with me."
I grit my teeth and count to ten since it's the only thing distracting me from decking Vince in the jaw.
"Let's get one thing straight. This project? It's a big deal. I'm not going to let you fuck it up. If I have to do the whole damn thing myself, I will. I'm not letting you drag me down this time around."
He looks indifferent. "Guess you better keep tabs on me then." There's an edge of condescension in the statement.
I'm dangerously close to following through with my previous thought and I dig my nails into the palms of my hand until it hurts.
"God. You are so infuriating."
There's beat of silence between us while I study his expression. "Meet me at
The Bee
around seven, tonight. My number is—"
"I think I still have it." Vince pulls out his cell phone and scrolls down the screen. "Yeah, I do."
"So then I'll see you later?"
"I'll think about it."
It takes all of my willpower not to pull his phone from his hands and throw it against the wall. Before I can say anything, he chuckles. "Jesus, Kara. Lighten up. I'll see you tonight."
"Don't be late."
He snorts as he walks away. I throw up my hands and look toward the ceiling.
"Hey God, you there?"
No response.
"You must fucking hate me up there, don't you?"
C
HAPTER
T
WO
"So what do you think?"
Roderick Daniels, Chief Editor at
The Bee
stares at me from behind his desk, one hand on his forehead, his other flipping through my story proposal. He doesn't look impressed. But he should.
"I think absolutely not. I commend you for chasing after what you thought was a good idea, but there's no story here. Identity fraud happens everywhere, every day, Kara. It's not an unusual thing."
I shake my head. "I understand that, but half of us in college don't even have enough credit to get a car loan—"
"And yet, most of you carry around credit cards and purchase things online, right?"
"Well, yes, but the number of police reports being made on campus in the last six months is suspicious. And there's a pattern emerging. I even have a source that believes these cases aren't coincidence. We believe there's a good chance more of these reports will pop up in the next few weeks. Look at page six."
