Page 50 of The Darkest Note

When five minutes pass, I set the phone away. “Look at that. He can’t be bothered to respond. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Or maybe he’s not a big social media guy.” Breeze thumbs the screen. “He hasn’t updated his socials for over a year now.”

“Can we please stop talking about Hunter and go back to a relaxing spa day?” I beg. “This is my only time off from work and I don’t want to spend it thinking about boys.”

Breeze tosses the phone. “Fine. Viola, cucumber me.”

We enjoy the rest of our time together. Breeze even sleeps over and helps me get ready for school before taking off with Vi to catch the bus.

I’m so refreshed from spa day that, on Monday, Redwood Prep’s massive buildings and castle-like spires look more like a fairy tale than a haunted mansion.

I even manage to smile at the cheerleaders who pass me in the hallway and glare at me with their icy eyes. They don’t get in my way though, which is a small miracle.

The good keeps on rolling when I get to my locker and open it up to see it’s free of water, frogs, or any other childish things Dutch can think of.

Speaking of the royal jerk, I don’t see him or his brothers for most of first period. I hope they’re gone on another tour and won’t return until graduation.

Three blissful hours roll by without incident. Feeling good, I bounce into the cafeteria to get my lunch. Since I’m on a scholarship, I have a special meal card. With limited options, I skip over the sushi bar, gourmet burgers and vegan trays and choose a tuna sandwich and a bottle of orange juice.

Satisfied, I turn to carry my tray outside.

That’s when a guy wearing a football jacket slams into my shoulder.

I wobble on my feet, gripping the tray while stumbling forward. I barely manage to keep myself, along with my sandwich and juice, upright.

“Watch it, slut,” he murmurs.

My temperature rises and I can’t hold back. “Excuse me?”

The jock turns smoothly on his feet and stares me down.

I return the glare.

He scoffs, tosses his ragged-looking hair and gives his friends a ‘can you believe this chick’ look.

“I was having a freaking good day.” My voice trembles from my anger and irritation. It feelssogood to finally lash out at someone. Even if that someone isn’t Dutch. “So the least you can do is give me an apology.”

“Why would I apologize,” he breathes, “to awhore.”

I can feel the heat climbing in my cheeks. Everyone is watching us and it only makes the humiliation worse.

I tighten my fingers on the tray, wondering if I should bash his head in with it. Then I think of Viola and the sacrifice Mr. Mulliez made to keep me here at Redwood. I think of the money I’ll have to pay back if I lose my scholarship.

Deciding this douchebag isn’t worth a fight, I suck in my rage.

“Whatever,” I mutter. And then I try to walk past him.

He steps into my way. “Where are you going, sweetie?” He shoves me and I skitter back. “Since you’re here, why don’t you give me the same treatment you gave Mulliez?” He sticks his groin out toward me so I can’t miss his meaning.

“Yeah,” a voice says, “why don’t you get on your knees right here, Brahms?”

Every nerve in my body pulls tight when I hear that raw and silky voice.

It’s Dutch.

CHAPTERTWELVE

CADENCE

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