I missed the days at Redwood Prep when I was completely invisible. Now, I can’t walk down the hallway without people gawking at me, waiting for the next ugly surprise from Dutch and his minions to unfold.
The Kings are as creative as they are cruel. This week alone—apart from getting carted over Dutch’s shoulder like a caveman’s dinner—my locker got hosed and my books were ruined, my practice keyboard got slathered in honey, and I was locked in the bathroom. Twice.
It’s all middle-school level pranking, but it’s frustrating as hell.
At this point, I’m looking forward to the weekend so I can have a break from this hellhole.
I shuffle to the music room, frowning at the substitute behind Mr. Mulliez’s desk. She’s an older woman with greying hair and bug eyes behind thick window glasses.
Most of the time, she seems scared of everyone in the classroom and doesn’t do much more than drone on about music theory while the rest of us doze off.
As usual, I take a seat at the back and start gazing out the window, dreading the moment when class is to begin.
It’s hard for me without Mr. Mulliez here. There’s still a burning in the bottom of my stomach because of how unfair his termination was. Every time I look at the substitute, I’m reminded of Dutch’s evil.
For the sake of my sanity, I have no choice but to tune out during class.
I’m counting clouds and trying to figure out how Redwood Prep pays for all that lawn maintenance when the door bangs open.
I glance up along with the rest of the class and then I hold my breath as they stroll into the room. Dutch, Zane and Finn are flanked by their groupies in cheer uniforms. Aren’t dancers supposed to be hanging on the arms of athletes? Why are they so obsessed with these rock stars?
“Excuse me,” the substitute adjusts her glasses, “do you students belong in this class?”
Zane steps forward. His raven hair is brushed back rather than flopping all over his forehead today. Blue eyes sparkle with an incandescent light.
“We’re not on the attendance sheet because we’ve been touring, but we have this class.”
“Ah, I see.” She adjusts her glasses and bites her bottom lip, clearly charmed.
Ugh. Even grannies fall for Zane’s smile. I guess I shouldn’t feel too foolish for following him straight into a trap that day in the Cross’s practice room.
Just ignore them, Cadence.
I’m trying my best to disappear into my chair when goosebumps start prickling on my skin and waves of awareness charge over me. I look up and notice Dutch glaring in my direction.
He’s in black pants and a dark vest today. The black ensemble against his ivory skin and golden-blonde hair is something close to poetry. Amber eyes slice through me, glinting like a predator’s.
He’s so dangerously beautiful that it’s impossible to believe he’s around my age. His eyes, his face, his confidence belongs to someone who’s experienced far more of the world than any regular eighteen-year-old.
He quirks an eyebrow at me and I know, instinctively, that he’s not here to follow the curriculum.
They’re here to terrorize me.
My fingers tighten around my pen. I glare at him, refusing to let him see me squirm.
Dutch has got some nerve showing up in Mulliez’s class after what he did. I’m sure if someone were to take an X-ray of this guy’s soul, they’d find nothing but sulfur and brimstone.
Dutch smirks when he sees me glowering at him. He’s taunting me without saying a word.
My heart churns with bitterness. It takes everything in me to stay seated. Storming over and slapping him would play right into his hands, which is why I refuse to give in to the impulse.
It’s a well-known secret that Jarod Cross, Dutch, Finn and Zane’s dad, has donated generously to the music program and to the school in general. To say the teachers are on the Cross payroll would not be an exaggeration.
The brothers are more powerful than ever now. If someone was going to do something about Dutch, Finn and Zane, they’ve certainly been scared back into their holes after what happened to Mulliez.
If I give Dutch the swift kick up the butt that he deserves, he’ll have me flying out of Redwood so fast my head spins. The only way to get back at them is to endure. And to do that, I can’t give in to my temper.
Time seems to stop while the brothers saunter to their desks. I lower my head, sure that they’re not going to sit beside me since all the seats in the back row are already taken.
But they just keep walking.
And walking.
And walking.
Until they get to the desks that surround mine.
Dutch taps his fingers on the table and the student immediately pops up, grabs his bags and hurries to the front row.
His eyes slide lazily down my face when he takes the seat in front of me. “Brahms.”
“What do you want?” I hiss. “Why are you here?”
He just smirks.
Christa, the blonde I’d seen at the showcase, sashays past Dutch and stops in front of my table.
She slams her hands on her hips and looks down her perfectly straight nose at me. “Excuse me. You’re in my seat.”
I am not in her seat and usually, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell her where she can take her scrawny butt and her prissy attitude, but I’m grateful for an excuse to get away from the Cross boys without it appearing that I’m running.
“Sure.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder.
“You stay,” Dutch’s voice rings with quiet authority.
My nostrils flare, but I pretend not to have heard him. “You can have this seat.” I gesture to my desk, sidestepping out of the chair. “I’ll find another—”
Before I can blink, long, hot fingers slide around my wrist. Then, in a flick, he tugs me so I lose my balance and fall into the chair again.
Without looking at me, Dutch commands his groupie, “Go sit somewhere else.”
Her eyes fill with hurt, but she hides it quickly. Shooting a murderous look in my direction, she turns with a flounce of her skirt and stomps to the front.
“Get your hands off me,” I hiss, snatching my wrist away from his firm grip.
Dutch arches an eyebrow.
I lean forward and whisper angrily as the substitute starts her boring lesson. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“You know what I want, Brahms.” He turns slightly so I can only see his striking profile.
It’s disgusting the way he doesn’t have a single bad angle. A hard jaw line gives way to hair the color of wheat in the summer sun. His nose is straight and his lips are full and distracting.
Why are the beautiful ones always the most evil?
“Is this our weekly check-in?” I hiss. “Are you going to ask me to leave Redwood after every five days?”
“I’m here to remind you that it’s not going to get better.” He swivels fully and his eyes fall into mine. “Because I’m never going to stop.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the threat and at the cold look in his eyes. He means that. Means it with every part of his being.
But why? This obsession with getting rid of me feels way too intense to be a rich kid’s escape from boredom. What could I have done to Dutch to make him target me?
I’ve wracked my brain for days and I still can’t figure it out. I’m sure we have never crossed paths in our lives. For one thing, a guy like him—with status and wealth—would have no reason to be on my side of the tracks. For another, I’d remember a face like his.
“Miss Cooper?”
The sound of my name coming from the substitute teacher makes me sit up, alert.
“Is there a Miss Cooper in here?” the sub says again.
Every head swings in my direction.
Nerves tightening in my stomach, I slowly raise my hand.
“I have here,” she glances at a sheet of paper, “that you’re the only one who hasn’t done her practical assignment.”
“W-what?”
“According to the office, your assignment needs to be done today.” She smacks her lips together and adjusts her glasses. “Come on then.”
Fear grabs hold of my heart like a dog with a rag doll. I quiver in my seat. “Mr. Mulliez exempted me from that assignment, ma’am.”
“Probably because she was his sugar baby.” The statement comes from Christa, who shamelessly tosses her hair over her shoulder and grins at her own brilliance.
An outburst of laughter pours from the classroom and I feel the anger climbing its way up my chest. I’m willing to bet money that Dutch the Douche set this entire thing up.
My legs tremble when I push myself to a standing position. It doesn’t help that I can feel Dutch’s gaze drilling into me. He slings his arm over the back of his chair and watches me intently as I make my way to the front. One leg is thrown over the other and his expression is smug. He’s enjoying this, while I hate it with every breath in my body.
A lump forms in my throat and I approach the teacher rather than the piano.
“Excuse me,” I tell her, giving my back to the class, “but I’m not prepared for the practical assignment. A few days ago, my school-assigned keyboard was tampered with and I haven’t—”
“It doesn’t matter. You can use this keyboard.” She points to her own instrument.
“Please. I… I have stage fright.” It’s embarrassing to confess, but I absolutely cannot perform in front of people as myself. The last time I tried messed me up for life.
“It says here that you need to finish the assignment to get the grade,” the teacher insists.
“I…”
“Come on, Miss Cooper. Time is wasting.” She nudges me toward the piano.
Sweat breaks out on my neck when I fall into the seat. I can feel everyone staring at me, judging me. My heart threatens to explode.
Tapping my foot on the ground, I hover forward and set my hands on the keys.
Come on, Cadence. It’s not that different than when you’re in costume. Just pretend you’re someone else.
My eyes twitch and I struggle to breathe.
It’s not working.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” I mumble. Lunging to my feet, I sprint past the frightened teacher and away from the sound of cruel giggles. Dutch’s heavy stare lingers on my back until the door slams shut behind me.
Cadence: Were you the one who told Dutch I have stage fright?
Jinx: A secret for a secret, Newbie. I’m the one who asks the questions. You’re the one who answers. Are you finally ready to play?
