Page 34 of The Darkest Note

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’Wiegenliedis 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 evenhefears the cold monster who has me in his line of sight.

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