Don’t let them see you sweat.
Redwood Prep rises in the distance like a house of nightmares. I half expect shadow monsters to come raging down the stairs.
Fear sends a shiver down my spine, but I tuck my fingers in the strap of my school bag and force myself to keep going.
Brahms’ Wiegenlied is playing loudly in my ears. My mom wasn’t the type who’d ever sing lullabies. Instead, it was Brahms, a dead man, whose melody chased my hardships away and lulled me to sleep.
No matter what they try to do today, Cadence, you will not break. You can handle anything. Don’t let them win. They can’t win.
The front steps are crowded with students. A few are still pouring in from the parking lot. One of the greatest displays of wealth at Redwood is in that gated yard. Sometimes, Redwood Prep’s parking lot looks more like an exclusive car dealership than anything. Tinted windows, shiny paint jobs, fancy rims—the guys in my neighborhood would drool if they ever saw this. I’ve been here a month and it still takes my breath away.
People are starting to notice me now. I set my foot on the sidewalk and the response is instantaneous. Eyes swing around and train on me. Girls exchange loaded looks. Conversations stop mid-sentence, abandoning whatever juicy gossip was being exchanged.
I turn Brahms up in my ears and let the music drown the disdain dripping from my classmates’ rich, privileged faces.
I look down to make sure there are no wardrobe blunders. The button is still there. I sewed it on last night after my shift at the diner.
Now, there will be no more opportunities for cold-hearted boys with hazel eyes to dig their fingers in my shirt and yank me closer.
My hair is brushed and braided neatly down my back. I even dotted a bit of Viola’s lip gloss on my mouth. My sister almost snapped my neck in half when she saw me fiddling around in her makeup stash, but I managed to escape unscathed.
A group of girls walk by, laughing and giving me weird glances. I pretend not to notice. With Brahms’s soothing lullaby tickling my ears, it almost feels like their intentions are good.
The pointing and gawking comes from all directions once I’m inside and shuffling down the hallways.
It reaches its climax when I stop in front of my locker and see the word ‘slut’ spray-painted over it.
I glance over my shoulder and notice phones lifted high to take in my reaction.
My lips tremble with rage.
Did Dutch do this?
I grit my teeth and try to keep my face calm as I open my locker. I won’t give them the privilege of seeing me ruffled.
Do not lower your head, Cadence.
“Did she sleep with Mulliez?”
“The whore.”
“You think he’s the only one she screwed to get into Redwood?”
The volume of their laughter is rising and it’s drowning out Brahms. My fingers twitch. If I make the song any louder, I’m going to burst an eardrum. Maybe that would be better than enduring their stares and ridicule.
The loneliness hits me hard and fast. I don’t belong at Redwood Prep and though people knew it, they didn’t care. Now, not only do they know who I am, but they all hate me.
I keep breathing in time to the rhythm of the song. With a patient sigh, I yank my books out of the locker and slam it shut.
When I glance up, I see three tall figures entering the hallway. The Kings all stop and watch, staring at me with pride.
They want to be seen.
They want me to know that they did this.
Dutch is at the front, as he always is. He’s standing with his feet apart, hair disheveled and eyes like molten lava. The shirt he’s wearing today is short-sleeved and shows the ink climbing over his arm.
Brahms’s lullaby ends abruptly as if even he fears the cold monster who has me in his line of sight.
Dutch strolls toward me. If I were smarter, I’d turn the other way.
But I’m not afraid of him right now. I’m pissed.
So I storm toward him too.
We collide in the middle of the hallway, neither of us stepping aside. I can feel everyone watching us, but I don’t care. I’m boiling with righteous indignation.
“Mulliez is innocent, you bastard,” I snap.
He gives me a bored look. “Teachers who meet students in night clubs aren’t my definition of innocent.”
“It wasn’t a nightclub. It was a lounge.”
He scoffs as if I’m mentally challenged and he refuses to listen to whatever I have to say. When he moves to side-step me, I know I’m being dismissed.
Acting on impulse, I slide into his path and slam my hands on his chest. A gasp erupts from the student body.
Zane and Finn arch their eyebrows.
“Keep Mulliez out of this,” I snarl.
“Might I remind you,” Dutch advances, causing my arms to get squished between his chest and mine, “that you’re not in any position to make demands.” He bends down so we’re eye-to-eye. “Things will only get worse from here. You ready to say goodbye…” his eyes catch on my cell phone, “Brahms?”
“You ready for my fist to meet your face,” I snarl, hauling my arm back so I can paint his perfect jawline.
Dutch captures my wrist and holds it in his grasp. “So violent.”
I’m not sure, but I think Finn’s lips curl up.
Zane coughs into his hand.
I bite down on my bottom lip and try to squirm my hands free, but he’s much stronger than me. It’s hopeless.
When I realize I’m trapped, I give up and glare at him. Rage burns through my chest and my heart thumps like crazy.
“Screw. You.” I punctuate each word.
Dutch’s gaze drops to my lips and he crowds my personal space, practically breathing on top of me. Then he blinks. A wave of something dark crashes through his eyes. His jaw flexes and he tosses my hand aside like it’s moldy bread.
“Get out of Redwood before things get worse.”
Dutch hikes the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder, steps past me and continues his royal parade down the rest of the hallway.
Finn and Zane follow on his heels.
I whirl around, my chest heaving and my vision turning red. I did absolutely nothing to those boys and neither did Mr. Mulliez. Why are they trying so hard to destroy us? Is this what rich people do when they’re bored? Do they destroy lives for the fun of it?
Before I can think it through, I start rushing down the hallway, fully intending to leave my footprint on the back of Dutch’s pristine vest. For Mr. Mulliez’s sake.
“Ms. Cooper.” A voice calls to me before I can lunge into a flying kick.
I stop abruptly and turn to find Miss Jamieson, the youngest teacher at Redwood Prep, standing in the middle of the hallway.
She glances at me and there’s a hint of understanding in her gaze. Then she hurls a look at the brothers. Her eyes narrow. I get the feeling there’s a part of her that would like to deliver a flying kick to The Kings too.
“Come with me.” She flings her head, indicating the stairwell.
I frown. I haven’t been particularly engaged in her lectures since I’ve been here and I’m surprised to find out she knows my name.
After a second of hesitation, I follow her.
She leads me down the hallway, her steps swift and urgent. I have no idea what’s going on and the secrecy is starting to get to me.
Finally, Miss Jamieson opens the stairwell door for me and gestures for me to walk in first. I pass her by slowly, taking note of her beautiful face.
One of the reasons Miss Jamieson gets the best participation out of all the teachers at Redwood Prep is her immaculate beauty.
She’s got long, spiral curls, dainty, pageant-queen-esque features, and a lean body. Her clothes are always professional but stylish and she isn’t afraid to wear short skirts or funky blazers on campus.
I’ve heard more than a few boys talking about how much they’d like to—ahem—experience her.
When she steps in after me and closes the door, she smiles. “I’m sorry for all the cloak and dagger, but Harry really wanted to see you before he left.”
“Harry?”
“That’s my first name,” Mr. Mulliez says, stepping out of the shadows.
Tears press at the back of my eyes when I hear his voice. “Mr. Mulliez.”
I fly over to him. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes have dark bags beneath them. Despite the obvious weariness, he musters up a smile for me.
I notice the box in his hands. It’s got sheet music, a few awards, and the plaque he hung above the door that says ‘music is the language of the soul’.
The moment I see that box, I know what it means.
Guilt springs its mighty claws and rakes a bloody trail from my throat to my spine. I’ve never experienced a feeling like this before and it sucks.
Mr. Mulliez was the first person who looked out for me, gave me a chance and expected nothing in return. Yet it cost him everything.
“No.” I shake my head. “You did nothing wrong,” I insist. My voice is climbing and the natural reverb in the hallway causes it to bounce back to me. I can hear myself getting more and more unhinged. “You have to stay. You have to fight them. You can’t let them win.”
“Cadence.” He approaches me and stresses my name. “Cadence. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” I sniff. “I’ll go talk to the principal. I’ll explain everything. They haven’t even gotten my side of the story.”
“I’m not leaving because of you.”
“Yes, you are,” I insist. The world is turning blurry because of the tears that I can’t keep back.
“I’m tired of this school, the politics, the way powerful families think they can control everything.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been considering moving for a long time. I’m just glad I got to leave a gem in Redwood before I did.”
“A gem?”
“You.” His eyes are soft and caring. “I didn’t fight for you to get into Redwood just so you could study here. You have the talent to do music and be successful at it. And all the tools that you need to go far are within these walls.”
“No.” I shake my head. “If they’re kicking you out unfairly then I’ll—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.” He sticks up a finger. “Besides, your contract has a clause that says you’ll have to pay back for the scholarship and the termination fee. Do you have that kind of cash?”
I blink unsteadily. I’d completely forgotten about those terms. At the time, I thought completing senior year would be easy. I didn’t account for Dutch crashing into my world and trying to burn it to the ground in a week.
Mr. Mulliez glances up. “I asked Miss Jamieson to help me meet you here because I don’t think it’s the best idea to meet in public, whether inside or out of Redwood. After everything, I don’t think it would be proper.”
I lower my head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He pats my shoulder. “Just… try to stay out of the boys’ way.” Mr. Mulliez pauses. “And don’t make enemies with Jinx.”
“You know about Jinx?”
He nods. “Try to make friends where you can. That’s how you’ll stay above their schemes.”
The knob on the door rattles. “Why is this locked?” Someone pounds on the door. “What’s going on back there?”
Miss Jamieson gives me a frightened look. “Time’s up.”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Mr. Mulliez. I won’t let you down.”
He smiles and nods his goodbye. In a second, he blends into the shadows and takes the stairs, leaving me behind.
The tears are back again, but they’re not from sorrow this time. They’re from pure, lightning fury. My nostrils flare like a bull and my chest inflates with every breath.
The Kings are going to pay for this.
Dutch is going to pay for this. I just don’t know how yet.
Miss Jamieson gestures for me to go out first and makes an excuse to the students about why we were taking up the hallway. I barely hear her over the roaring of my own heart.
In fact, I don’t hear anything for the rest of the morning.
It’s not until I get to lunch, where the staring, the mean whispers, and the jeers are multiplied, that I come back to my senses.
There’s not a friendly face in the cafeteria. Not that I’d want to eat among the pretentious bastards anyway.
I take my tray, keep my head down, and hurry outside to my usual table.
Except someone’s already there.
“Welcome, fellow slut.” She raises a fist and pumps it against her chest twice. “Mind if I crash.”
I blink in surprise, taking note of her jet-black hair, thick eyeliner and leather jacket.
“Aren’t you the one I ran into in the bathroom?”
“Am I?” She tilts her head. “Or am I just a figment of your imagination?”
I scrunch my nose.
She laughs and even her goth look can’t hide the twinkle in her eyes. “I’m just messing with you. Yeah that was me.”
“Nice to formally meet you,” I say, setting my tray down at the table.
She sticks out a hand, showing off her long nails with stars painstakingly painted into the gel. “Serena.”
“Cadence.”
“Oh, I know. You’ve gotten famous overnight.”
“For that stupid rumor about me and Mr. Mulliez?”
“No.” She snorts. “No one cares about you and Mr. Mulliez. Teachers and students are a thing here.” She peels a banana and makes a big chomp. “It’s because of you and Dutch.”
My muscles go rigid at the very mention of his name.
Her eyes pore over my face as if she’s taking note of each one of my expressions. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Rumor has it that you were seen being escorted by The Kings yesterday. They even let you into their practice room.”
She has no idea. I wasn’t being ‘escorted’ like an important guest of honor. I was being kidnapped.
And the invite to their super-secret private room was just so they could threaten me.
Who’s making this stuff up?
Her smile is curious. “And today, Dutch almost kissed you.”
“Whoa. That is not what happened,” I snap. “I’d knee him in the nuts before I let him kiss me.”
She laughs. “Eh, don’t let the brainless princess zombies at this school hear that. They’d start gathering their pitchforks.” She stuffs the rest of the banana in her mouth and talks through the food. “Being seen with one of those guys is the pinnacle of popularity around here. And talking to them?” She rolls her eyes. “A pipe dream.”
They sure had a lot to say to me yesterday. I rip the plastic covering my sandwich apart. “Trust me. The rumors are false. There’s nothing going on between me and those monsters.”
“Hm.” She lifts her knee on the table, showing off the ripped jeans under her plaid skirt. “Is that why Dutch and his brothers are sitting at the table directly across from us?”
“What?” I glance up quickly. Like a ghost summoned after calling its name three times, Dutch rises in the distance, flocked by his brothers and a pack of giggling cheerleaders.
I dig my fingers into my sandwich until the cream center globs out of it.
“Whoa. Need a napkin?” Serena asks, opening her bag and rustling through it.
No, what I need is for Dutch to get out of my sight. It’s taking everything inside me to stay seated. I owe that bastard a flying kick to the face and it’s looking really appealing right now.
Deep breaths barely calm my heart rate. Mr. Mulliez reminded me about the consequences of losing my scholarship. I don’t have the money to pay back Redwood Prep, so I have to keep my cool.
Dutch sees us watching. He arches an eyebrow in my direction and offers up a toast with his bottle of water.
His smugness makes my blood boil. It’s like he’s aware of how close I am to kicking his butt and he wants to push me over the edge.
I clutch the table in front of me, jerking my gaze away before I give in to my impulses. The best thing I can do right now is pretend that he’s not getting to me. I won’t give him the satisfaction of getting under my skin.
“You still expect me to think that nothing’s going on?” Serena’s finger volleys between our table and Dutch’s. “After all that eye-flirting?”
It’s more like eye-gouging if you ask me. But we’re each entitled to our opinions.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I say, picking up my tray.
She grabs my arm. “Wait. Are you going to throw this away? Because you might as well give me rather than waste it.”
“Uh, sure.” I give her a funny look and set the tray back on the table.
Serena tears into what’s left of my sandwich like she hasn’t eaten for days.
I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“Oh, I am,” she says with her mouth full. Despite my throbbing urge to punch Dutch in the face right now, Serena makes me smile. There’s something real about her. A total lack of pretension that makes being around her appealing. Just to see what crazy thing she’ll do next.
But it’s clear she’s a loner and since I am too, I don’t see us hanging out too much.
I fling one leg away from the bench and feel a prickling sensation on my back. When I turn around, I see that Dutch’s entire table is staring at me.
Dutch, Zane and Finn are wearing hard expressions. But the most ferocious scowls are coming from the cheerleaders. The blonde from the showcase looks at me like she wants to stab me repeatedly.
I’m starting to wonder if she’s the one who left the word ‘slut’ on my locker?
So the kids at Redwood are more offended that I ‘might’ be dating one of The Kings than that I might be involved with a teacher?
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Were rich people always so messed up?
Either way, Blondie has nothing to worry about. There is no way I’m ever joining their Kings cult. In fact, I find the way they worship and fawn over Dutch absolutely disgusting. Do they realize who they’re rushing to please? Do they know how black his heart is?
Ridiculous.
But if they want him, then they deserve him.
Dutch lifts a hand and crooks his finger at me.
My eyebrow arches.
He nods and then lounges back, like a king on his throne, waiting patiently for me to obey his command.
I scowl, flip him off, and turn around. My steps sink into the grass as I march toward the cafeteria.
I’ll spend the rest of lunch practicing piano and trying to forget that Dutch Cross exists. That’s the only way I’ll survive the rest of this crap-tastic day.
