Page 37 of The Darkest Note

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, lightningfury.My nostrils flare like a bull and my chest inflates with every breath.

The Kings are going to pay for this.

Dutchis 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.”

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