Page 88 of The Darkest Note

I squeeze my triangle tighter.This is different. You’re not behind a piano.

The self-talk helps. I start to calm down a bit. Dutch is here. So is Finn and Zane. And though they’ve been awful to me, at least I’m not alone. I’m tucked all the way at the back, safe and sound, playing an instrument that has no weight in the performance.

Just breathe, Cadence. Just breathe.

Dutch is facing the crowd. He wraps long, slender fingers around the mike. His voice booms through the auditorium as he introduces the band and I see several girls swooning. Poor things are already under his spell, which is no surprise. Dutch is tall and beautiful under the lights.

Staring at him is better than getting lost in my head. I notice his cocky smirk when he unhooks the mike. He prowls the stage while Zane starts playing a catchy drum beat. His head bobs and he unleashes another confident grin. This is his world and he owns it.

Zane stops playing.

Then he lifts his sticks and counts down.

One, two, three.

I’m so close to the drums that when Zane bangs on the cymbals, I almost tear out of my own skin. Finn comes in with a funky riff on the bass and Dutch matches it on the electric guitar beat for beat, his face tense in concentration.

I gasp in astonishment when I hear Dutch play. He’s using music like a weapon, tearing apart everything I thought I knew about him and building it all back again.

The roars get louder as the sea of freshmen grin and bounce in excitement.

I’m at the back, so all I can really see is Dutch’s profile, but it’s powerful enough to keep my attention. Sharp cheekbones. Strong jaw. Pouty lips. He rips through the guitar piece the way I pour my soul into a piano, like this might be his last night and nothing else matters but this moment.

It’s a thousand degrees on stage, but my arms sweep with goosebumps.

Dutch’s lips part, his hair flopping as he keeps his attention on the guitar. He’s got us all spell-bound, waiting.

And then…

He puts his mouth on the mike and a note trembles through the air.

The screams that pour from the crowd nearly shatter what’s left of my eardrums.

Dutch sways from side to side, giving himself totally to the song. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before and it’s appealing as hell.

I love the rasp in his tone and the realness that he brings to his performance. It’s raw and vulnerable, even if the tempo is upbeat.

His confession the other night trips through my mind.I don’t know what I play for.It’s hard to think that he’s struggling so much when he’s so good at it.

The Kings begin their first song and the kids erupt into cheers.

I’m reminded in an instant why music is so universal. It doesn’t matter that Dutch has way more in his bank account than any of these students could dream of. It doesn’t matter that he drives a fancy car or lives in a mansion or has a famous music legend for a dad. Right now, in this moment, he’s speaking the language that everyone understands.

I bob my head to the rhythm, connecting with every line, every verse and every chord. Not because they’re perfect but because the singer isn’t giving me a choice but to come alive.

Eventually, I graduate from head-bopping to dancing in my seat. Sometimes, I even forget where I’m supposed to play the triangle.

Towards the end of the set, the band erupts into a music break. Dutch plays a complicated solo on his guitar. Finn pounds out a rhythm on the bass and Zane goes to town on the drums, getting the biggest reaction from the high schoolers.

I see Dutch gesturing to me.

My eyes nearly bug.

I keep shaking my head.No.

He juts his chin at me as if to sayyou’re next.

I shake my head again.

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