Page 6 of The Darkest Note

And there’s safety in that.

I’m not Cadence Cooper.

In this red wig and heavy makeup, I’m braver than her. Cooler. And this audience doesn’t have to like me, but they will respect me. They’ll listen to what I have to say.

The curtains roll back and a spotlight bursts to life, aiming right at my head. I feel the warmth of the light and hear the shuffle of bodies packed close together in front of the stage.

I keep my eyes on the piano.

The first few notes are a haunting melody. Dark. Oily. They flow through the auditorium like imps set loose from the darkest depths.

I shift octaves, taking the crowd on a journey. Faster. Faster. I pound the keys with all my heart, throwing myself into the moment because that’s the only way I know how to play.

And then I pause.

The lights go dim.

A new, heavy beat pours from the speakers. It’s the track I gave to the sound guys. The music is heavy on the bass and kick. Hip-hop to the max. I layer my melody on top of it. The threads intertwine like lovers who are opposites in every way yet helplessly drawn to each other.

The crowd starts to come alive. I hear their distant cheers and astonished gasps from somewhere outside of myself.

I knew that would happen. I chose this piece based on data. It’s the song that raked in the most cash when I bussed in the park.

My fingers dance above two black keys as I hold out the crescendo, building to a climax along with the backing track. My back is bent over the keyboard. My hair’s all in my face.

Adrenaline pounds in my veins. My soul moves right across the keys, dancing in the flames and blowing heat all over my face.

At last, I strike the keys once. Twice. Three times.

The note suspends and then bursts like a bubble, leaving nothing but silence. I push the red strands out of my face and stand.

Someone starts a slow applause.

It catches on like a flame.

Then it sweeps through the auditorium, building to a roar.

The rich folks of Redwood approve.

Whistles follow. The roar strips me of my joy and leaves something nasty in its place. The shame comes swiftly, drenching my skin. It doesn’t matter how many layers of clothing I have on. I feel naked and vulnerable.

Breeze is to my right, in the wings. She’s gesturing for me to come her way. Clipboard Guy is standing behind her, clapping. An impressed look is on his face.

I struggle to breathe.

Out.

I need to get out of here.

I rush to the opposite side of the wings where the sound booth is set up. Skating past the crew who give me wide-eyed stares, I tear through a long, concrete hallway and crash through the exits.

It’s only when I’m outside and far from the crowd’s prying eyes that I feel the oxygen hit my lungs. A second later, the door bursts open and spits out Breeze.

She stumbles toward me. “Damn, Cadence. You were… that was… holy crap. You were incredible. Even the Kings stopped and took notice. I saw Dutch staring you down like he wanted to pick you up and,” she curls her tongue, “lick your face.”

“Dutch?” I don’t know why, but the name sends a tingle down my spine.

“The lead singer of The Kings. The blond one. His brother’s Zane.” She fans her face. “Hotness personified. He’s the drummer and the social media king. Finn, he’s their adopted brother but he’s just as sexy with his eyes and his mouth…oh.” She chews on her bottom lip. “I’ve been listening to their music for months.” Breeze clutches her hands and does a little hop. “I can’t believe I got to stand so close to them tonight.”

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