“Breeze!” I make a running leap at my best friend and wrap my arms around her. She stumbles back, her blonde hair flinging into my face.
Breeze laughs and pushes at me. “Girl, you’re smothering me to death.”
I cling even harder to her. “Don’t care. Put up with it.”
Seeing my best friend after the incredibly long week I’ve had is perfect bliss.
Lately, every day at Redwood feels like I’m living a lifetime in the space of twenty-four hours. Now that the clock is ticking down, we’ve got only two days to make that stupid choice. It’s like I can feel the life-force draining out of me with every second that passes.
I made a promise to save Serena, but I keep running into brick walls. I keep getting reminded of just how inconsequential I am at Redwood Prep.
And it’s starting to get to me.
Since that meeting with Miller, it’s just… I’ve been feeling like I can’t breathe. Like all of the mean, horrible people who are out to get me just want an opening, a tiny crack that they can push until they break me.
It’s overwhelming. Today, I kept darting into the bathroom thinking I have to scream, but the scream gets stuck inside my throat, choking me to death.
Redwood Prep is a beautiful, lavish, elitist prison.
And I don’t have the key.
My best friend tuts at me. Thick eyelashes surround sapphire blue eyes that sparkle with excitement. “Halloween concerts are not worth this much fuss.”
I chuckle. “What are you talking about? What Halloween concert?”
She gives me a stunned look. “Did you forget?
“Oh crap.” I scrunch my nose. “I have to play tonight.”
The music sub, Ms. Eunice, signed me up.
‘You need to get out of your shell, Cadence.’
I wanted to tell her that my shell is freaking awesome and there are all kinds of sharks out there just waiting for me to stick my head out.
But all I said was ‘yes’.
That was before I found out that I only had a couple days to live until Miller flipped my Redwood Prep life support.
“You asked me to come and help you tonight since Vi’s going to her school’s haunted house.” Breeze’s blue eyes shift around. “Has she already left?”
“No, she’s getting ready.” I smack my forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot about this gig.”
“Are you that busy being Cinderella that you’ve forgotten you’re also the greatest musician of all time?”
I toe out of my white sneakers. I’ve been on my feet all evening at the diner and my feet are throbbing. “Greatest of all time is an exaggeration.”
“Fight me.”
I laugh. The moment my feet are free, I breathe out in relief.
Breeze follows me to my bedroom, her eyes narrowing on me. “Is something going on? You seem stressed.”
“Nope. Just missing you.” I hug Breeze again, tucking my head into her shoulder and letting out a little sigh of gratitude.
She knows me better than anyone else. And I don’t want her to see that Redwood is beating the crap out of me.
As I hide my face from her, I think of Jinx’s last text message.
Sorry, New Girl. The secret you gave in exchange for the Christa video is too valuable. Nothing can top that. Not unless you have a steamy vid you can share.
Not unless you have a steamy vid.
It’s deplorable—despicable, really—the thoughts her words conjured. It would be so easy too. Dutch hasn’t made it a secret that he wants me.
And I…
No, I can’t.
It’s not like she’s actually going to help me if I deliver that kind of video.
But it’s a chance…
One I desperately need.
Breeze shrugs me off. “It’s too hot for all this hugging. Go shower and change.”
“I’ll be right out.”
When I pass Viola’s room, I see her playing around with her makeup and ring light. She’s got so much makeup caked on her face that she looks way older than thirteen.
It alarms me.
I knock on the door. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“I, uh, wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh no.” She blinks rapidly.
“You and your guy friends will be at that event tonight. It’s the perfect environment for them to put their arms around you and try to, you know, touch you.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “Please stop.”
“You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, okay? And if you have any questions, you can come to me. I’d rather you talk to me about those things than try to experiment with boys—”
“Ew.” She sucks her cheeks in and runs a makeup brush over the hollows of her face. “I’m not doing that.”
“Doing boys?”
“Talking to you about sex.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s gross.”
“You can though.”
This conversation is awkward for the both of us, but I can’t deny my own experiences. A haunted house sets the mood for people to find comfort in each other’s arms.
My sister hasn’t been around boys a lot without my supervision and I don’t want her to go in with her eyes closed.
If she meets someone as intense as Dutch…
Flames lick at my chest. I can still feel Dutch’s heat. His slender, sure fingers scorching my skin and sending flickers of pleasure through my core. I can hear his breath and feel the overwhelming urges it inspires in me.
There’s no way I want my thirteen-year-old sister anywhere near those complicated and insatiable feelings.
Do as I say, not as I do, right?
My sister scrunches her nose. “I really don’t want to hear this right now.”
I lick my lips and shuffle my feet in front of me.
I have no problem with most of what it means to be a parent to my sister—working, paying all the bills, and making sure Vi is safe, clothed and focused on her studies. It stretches me to my limits, but I can make all the effort.
Sadly, when it comes to this part of parenting…
“I know you don’t want to, but it has to be said. I need you to be safe.”
“Hmph.”
I lean against the door. “You know why I’m so protective of you, right? You have so much potential. I couldn’t bear to see you waste it on someone who’ll just get you pregnant and leave the way Rick’s dad did to mom.”
Her eyes roll up until they meet mine. “I got it.”
There’s a little more attitude in that statement than normal, which probably means she’s as uncomfortable with this topic as I am.
I start to leave and then turn back. “By the way, did you find your necklace?”
“No.” She uncaps a tube of lipstick and pushes her mouth toward the mirror. “You know what else is weird? I can’t find my tablet either. I thought I left it on the kitchen table, but when I got back…” Her eye roll is pure, tween perfection. “It’s been hell trying to edit my social media posts without it. You didn’t hide it from me, did you?”
A note of alarm runs through my mind. “No, I didn’t.”
She sighs. “I guess I must have left it somewhere. I’ll ask around at school tomorrow. Maybe I took it there and forgot.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Uneasily, I back away from Viola’s bedroom and enter my own.
Is someone stealing from us?
My eyes jump to the dresser. My school laptop is on the desk. My jewelry is all there.
I purse my lips in thought. If it was a burglar, they would have taken my things too. Maybe Viola really did misplace her stuff? Maybe the front door really was left open by accident?
You’re safe. Hunter changed the locks.
Shaking my head and rubbing my arms to chase the goosebumps, I move my laptop off my dresser and log into my school email.
There’s a new message from the admin department about my work study. I click on it eagerly and then pump my fist when I see my request to change to early morning shifts was approved.
It’s been hectic trying to leave school in the evenings and make it to my shift at the diner on time. Sometimes, after school, students will be hanging around the classrooms. I have to either wait until they’re done before I can clean or clean around them, which is slightly awkward and embarrassing.
Thankfully, that won’t be a problem anymore.
I’m in a good mood when I change into my wig and the clothes Breeze picked out for me. Tonight, I’m wearing a Daphne from Scooby Doo costume. Breeze said something about switching my wig from red to orange permanently because it suited me so well.
I heavily disagree.
“I look like a flight attendant,” I murmur when we get to Redwood Prep’s fancy music theatre.
“No.” Breeze fixes the little scarf around my neck. “You look like a slutty flight attendant. There’s a big difference.”
I roll my eyes. Breeze looks adorable in a Playboy bunny costume, complete with the ears and the silky pink outfit. Her hair is straight around her face and her big blue eyes glisten with sultry innocence.
“Are you nervous?” she asks.
Not about playing piano. I know I’m good at what I do.
Plus, I’m safe from having to perform as Cadence Cooper. Tonight’s concert is Halloween themed. It’s a given that I’m going to play dressed up as something other than myself.
I guess that’s kind of a blessing in disguise.
What has me shaking and feeling flustered is the fact that the last time I was backstage, it was the end-of-summer showcase.
My first night in Redwood Prep.
My first text from Jinx.
The first time I laid eyes on Dutch.
I turn slightly, reliving the moment when his amber gaze cut sharply through me. If I had any idea how deeply that look would wreck my life, I probably wouldn’t have been so giddy about locking eyes with the gorgeous prince of Redwood Prep.
“Are The Kings playing tonight?” I ask Breeze as casually as I can. I didn’t see them on the event list.
“Not that I know of. The Kings had a real club event last night. They’re bigger than these school events you know.” Breeze quirks an eyebrow. “Why are you asking about The Kings?”
“Just wondering,” I mumble.
Her expression gets even sterner.
I’m glad when one of the organizers comes to tell me I’m next in the lineup. After I nod my understanding, he wanders off. I crane my neck, wondering if Serena is working today. But I guess not.
Taking out my phone, I text her.
Me: Are you still going to the dance?
Serena: No, something came up.
Weird. She’d seemed so excited when we spoke about the dance at lunch. Is this thing with Miller making her feel defeated before the war even starts?
I chew on my bottom lip. Through the wings, I see a violinist playing her heart out for the crowd. No one is paying attention, poor thing.
I can see now why the organizers forced students to attend the concert before the dance. At least then, us music majors would have an audience.
It looks like the horde that attended the end-of-summer showcase that night was because The Kings were on the docket. Without them, it’s hard to draw a crowd.
Dropping my eyes back to my phone, I check if Sol responded to any of my messages.
He hasn’t.
“What are you looking at?” Breeze asks, bouncing on the tips of her toes.
“Nothing.” I turn my phone off and shove it into my side pocket. “Can you hold my purse?”
“Sure.” Breeze accepts the bag.
I shake my fingers out at my sides, struggling to get my mind in gear for the performance, but my thoughts are rushing too fast. I’m stuck with a puzzle to put together.
Miller’s goal is revenge—it doesn’t matter if all three of us or just one of us gets hit.
Dutch’s goal is to control me and protect Sol—it doesn’t matter to him if Serena gets the short end of the stick
No matter where I turn, Serena’s going to get dragged.
Unless I do something.
And I have to do something.
But how on earth do I gain the upper hand?
I can’t do it without Jinx.
And Jinx won’t do it.
Not unless you have a steamy video…
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart burning at the thought.
“You’re up,” Breeze says. Her voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.
I stumble forward, still not finding that quiet place. That space in my head that’s just for music. There’s too much crap in the way.
The stage is set up like a cemetery. Fog rolls over the ground. Skeletons with their jaws dropped lean against large jack-o-lanterns. It’s the high-end of creepy. Like someone with a professional design background tried to ‘interpret’ Halloween decorations, stripping all the fun out of it.
I don’t look at the crowd when I sit behind the piano. They expect a show. A performance. They don’t care who I am under this wig, even if they know my name now. Even if I’m a little more of myself than I was when I played in the past.
Maybe I can do this because of Dutch.
Maybe Redwood Prep toughened me up, made me fearless enough.
But I really don’t care when the announcer calls my name and the gasp goes up from the crowd.
They’ve never heard me play.
Not as me.
Not as Cadence.
Without waiting for their applause, I set my fingers to the keys and let the first note scrape at the callous on my heart.
A#
Spreading out into a diminished chord, I press in and let the chord sustain.
D
I move into the thick of the silence, letting the heat of the moment scrape and scrape and scrape on my heart until I’m bleeding again. Until music can get through and fill the space between my soul and my instrument.
The music envelops me, sucking me into a heat that’s almost unbearable. A place that… well, it doesn’t feel safe as much as it feels like mine. Like I own it. Like no one can take it away from me if they tried.
No matter how tainted, how dirty, how frightening, it’s still mine.
The fog swirls around my ankles as I run my fingers up the keys, eking out a song from the highest octaves. Head bent, curled over, sweat rolling down my chin.
It’s hot up here.
Or maybe it’s the heat from inside me blasting out. Torching everything within a five-mile radius.
I don’t know how to play.
I really don’t.
I only know how to explode on the keys. I only know how to use that pain to charge forward because the music is too much for me to contain within myself.
The music builds and builds until I slash the volume in half. Abrupt. Unexpected. Not everything has to end in a big bang. Sometimes, it can just be a flutter, one so powerful that it tears the heart out of the chest without a sound.
I dance my thumb and little finger over two notes, letting it rattle in the air, trilling and gaining ground before it ends, shattering the sharp-edged tension I’d been nursing since the first bar.
When I’m done, I’m breathing hard. My wig is a mess around my face, sticking to my neck like a second skin.
I rise unsteadily on my feet.
That damn naked feeling sweeps through me again. Like I’m standing in front of all these Redwood Prep pricks wearing nothing. Not even a bra and panties.
It’s the worst part of playing music.
The worst part of not playing as myself.
When the applause starts, it barely penetrates my focus. I stumble off the stage, not toward Breeze who’s waiting for me. The other direction. Past the sound guys.
Just like I did that night.
Out.
I have to get out.
I crash through the door and suck in a deep gulp of air.
My heart is racing so fast I think I might pass out.
The door opens again. And then it crashes shut.
“Breeze,” I whisper.
But when I hear boots crunching against loose stones, I know it’s not my best friend.
I whirl around and fall into a pair of dangerous hazel eyes.
Dutch.
