Page 87 of The Darkest Note

“Then get your butt up there.” He juts his chin at the stage.

My stomach froths with nerves and I break out in a cold sweat. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I moan. Even though I know. It’s because he hates me.

“You need to get over your stage fright.”

“Dutch, Ireallycan’t.”

He leans down, meeting my gaze. “Don’t think of the crowd. Imagine it’s just you and me, hm? Beat that triangle the way you want to beat my head in with a hammer.” He pauses and seems to think about it. “But beat it to time.”

“I refuse.”

“Not an option, Brahms.” He shakes his head.

Outside, the MC is announcing the band. A cheer goes up from the freshmen.

“It’s time.” Taking my hand, Dutch drags me toward the stage.

“Can you just drop it?” I grip his shirt, twisting it for dear life. I never thought I’d be begging Dutch for anything but here I am. Practically on my knees.

“Since when did you back down from a challenge, Brahms?”

I focus on his stubborn gaze. “This is different. I haven’t played on stage as myself since I was twelve.”

This time, the hand he closes around me is patient. Slowly, Dutch rubs circles on my wrist as if to calm my racing pulse.

“Don’t look at them, Brahms.” He leads me through the door. “Look at me. Keep looking at me.” He glances back. “Because if you run, I’m going to find you and you’re not going to like what I do to you.”

My eyes narrow in distaste, but I can’t snap at him because we’re already stepping on stage.

The instruments are set up. Guitars. Drum set. Multi-colored lights. Big balloons are held back by a net canopy. And then there are the eyes.

A sea of faces sweep before me, all dressed beautifully and shrouded in shadows. I can’t see Viola but, honestly, I can’t see anything beyond my own haze of fear.

I think I’m going to throw up.

Dutch releases my hand and I make a move to run off the stage when Finn steps into my path. He’s got a bass guitar slung over his shoulder. His eyes are intent on me.

I give him a desperate look. “Finn, please.”

He shakes his head and juts a chin at the triangle.

Zane is sitting behind a set of impressive looking drums. His raven hair falls into his face and he shakes his head to toss it out of his eyes. Smirking at me, he points a drumstick in my direction.

I’m hollowed out by fear and confusion. Why are they doing this to me? Do they want to see me choke? Is this their final plan to push me out of Redwood Prep for good?

“Sit there.” Finn points to a chair that’s all the way at the back of the stage.

I race over, my heart hammering in relief and my trusty triangle tucked close to my chest.

As I get comfortable, Dutch nods at me. I hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for me to sit down. That little hint of thoughtfulness makes something shift in my chest.

I nod back and watch as he grabs his guitar from the stand and swings it over his head with effortless grace. He looks so at ease. The bastard.

My entire body’s on fire and I’m trying hard not to hyperventilate. The last time I stood in front of a crowd, I was twelve, crying, and afraid.

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