Page 63 of The Darkest Note

My steps slow down and I wrack my brain to figure out what this meeting is about. I’m pretty sure that Ms. Eunice isn’t calling me out for another practical assignment.

After that embarrassing day, I tucked my pride deep in my chest and went to speak to her. I explained my phobia and asked if she could allow me to do the practical when it was just me and her in the class.

She agreed and, when she heard me play, she gave me a high score on the assignment.

I don’t see her dragging that issue to light again.

The chimes go off a second time, warning everyone that free period has officially begun, but no one moves from their seat. They’re too eager to watch the show.

It’s no wonder someone like Jinx has such a hold on these rich kids. They love gossip and scandal just as much as the old women in my neighborhood do.

The silence is expectant and heavy.

I pretend not to notice and stop in front of the teacher’s desk. Ms. Eunice doesn’t seem interested in chasing anyone out of class. Her dull eyes linger on both me and Christa and her lips are pursed.

She taps the music sheets on the desk in front of her. Then, without a word, she slides her fingers together, sets her chin on them and waits.

At first, I’m confused about why she’s showing us our past assignments. Then I take a closer look and my heart drops to my toes.

Our last project from Mr. Mulliez was the Unconventional Music Theory assignment. Before we handed in our song, we were to show our sheet music. I did the homework all on my own since my last attempt at joining a group got me kidnapped, locked in a secret practice room, and threatened by The Kings of Redwood Prep.

But no one would know because the music sheets in front of Ms. Eunice are completely identical. Down to the rests, the crescendos and the rhythm.

I cringe. My first thought is that this has to be a mistake. And then I remember who I’m dealing with and I realize that there’s a zero percent chance the similarities are a coincidence.

Dutch is always meddling in my locker. If he’s not throwing trash in, he’s throwing water and ruining all my books. There’s a chance he found my notes, photocopied them and offered them to the dance captain.

“I have no idea how this happened, Ms. Eunice,” I say intently, “but I assure you that I didn’t copy from anyone.”

“Me either,” Christa insists.

I slant angry eyes at her. “Stop lying. You know you didn’t write this song.”

“How can you accuseme whenyou’rethe one who stole my work.” She folds her arms over her chest. Her tone is snooty and condescending. “As you know, we have a zero tolerance policy for cheating at Redwood Prep.” Her smile is the definition of evil. “So I’m afraid we’ll have to escalate this to the board that my daddy chairs.”

Once again, I feel like a tiny bug beneath the boot of a giant. Normally, I’m always in control. Even when things go wrong, I’m the one who pushes up my sleeves and solves it. Mom couldn’t. And Viola was depending on me to keep her safe.

Ever since I got to Redwood Prep, I keep slamming against a brick wall. It makes me burn with hatred, anger, and steals all my hope. I’ve seen the worst of the world, but where I come from, filth looks like filth. It’s a junkie, eyes vacant and skin sallow, taking one last hit even if it costs him his marriage, his job and his life. It’s that kid on the block who knows there’s no other life for him than the one where he eventually gets gunned down trying to line his gang leader’s pockets.

Where I’m from, evil looks like what it is.

But in Redwood, the most cruel are drowning in jewels and good looks. They flaunt their status and power. They smirk and make champagne toasts and slap black cards on counters.

I’m nothing like that. And it seems everyone here wants to remind me of my true value. Because I come from nothing, I have no power.

And helplessness sticks.

Christa blinks ridiculously long lashes. The stench of smugness is so thick on her that it would give even Dutch a run for his money.

What bothers me more than this obvious attempt by Dutch to run me out of Redwood is the accusation. Music almost destroyed me, but it ended up saving me and my family in the end. I might become a different person to play in front of crowds, but my music is always honest.

If Dutch wants to run me out of Redwood, fine.

But he seems hellbent on turning music against me, first by taking Mr. Mulliez away, then by stalking out my lounge job last night, and now by lying about my work.

I won’t let him win.

Not this way.

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