CADENCE
Music is my escape.
Until fourth period when it becomes something close to nails on a chalk board thanks to Ms. Eunice, our sub who’s sticking around for a lot longer than anyone thought was possible.
Sneaking a peek through the window, I take note of the clouds gathering in the sky. The stormy weather outside perfectly matches my mood. I just want this class to be over already.
A glance at my watch gives me some relief. Only one minute until the bell—or the ‘end of class chimes’ according to my Redwood Prep handbook.
“Um, Cadence and Christa, I’ll need you both to come up here after class,” Ms. Eunice croaks.
Everyone shifts in their seat to stare at me. Then they glance around to stare at Christa. The loud-mouthed cheerleader who probably has ‘future wife of Dutch Cross’ tattooed on her boobs, casts me a smug look.
I have no idea what the smirk is about, but I’m immediately uneasy. The last thing I want to do is walk up there and find out what has Christa so happy.
The chimes go off, indicating the end of the period. With a deep breath, I slip out of my chair and approach the older woman at the front.
I can feel the eyes burning into my back as I make the trek. After my humiliating dash during the practical assignment, my peers have been clamoring to see a part II.
It’s no secret that everything I do at Redwood Prep sticks longer in everyone’s memories thanks to Dutch’s unusual interest in me. My background as a scholarship kid makes this alleged ‘love story’ even juicer to these rich kids.
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 accuse me when you’re the 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.
If he’s determined to become more devious to run me out of Redwood Prep, then I have to up my game too if I intend to stay.
“We won’t escalate it then,” I say simply. “Let’s solve it right here.” Our teacher opens her mouth.
“Ms. Eunice is a substitute. She can’t make decisions like this,” Christa says, interrupting her.
“It makes no sense to take this to the principal when we can solve it here.”
Ms. Eunice lifts a finger.
Christa frowns. “I don’t trust you. Anyone devious enough to steal my song would find a way out of it.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not a thief.”
“You’re poor,” she says dismissively, “so of course you’re a thief.”
I give her a long, dark stare, hoping my gaze alone can intimidate her into telling the truth. But since she’s Dutch’s current hook up, it basically guarantees that her heart is as black as his.
There’s not an ounce of sympathy on her face.
Ms. Eunice smacks a hand on the table. “Ladies, if I may have an opportunity to speak.” She gives each of us a sharp stare before continuing, “I know a way to find out who really wrote the song.”
Christa’s eyes turn shaky. “How?”
Ms. Eunice smiles, allowing her thin lips to stretch over her papery skin. “Let’s re-write it.”
She slaps fresh music sheets on the desk. Christa turns pale.
I start grinning hard. Yes. I can totally do this.
“And then you’ll both perform it,” Ms. Eunice adds.
My victory crumbles to ash before my eyes. “What do you mean perform it? Like… in front of people?”
“Yes.”
I lean forward. “Miss Eunice, I told you I can’t… I can’t do that.” “I agree. There has to be another way,” Christa argues.
Ms. Eunice lifts a hand. “The person that cannot write and perform the song accurately is obviously not the one who wrote it.”
Nervous, I pick at the hem of my uniform skirt. “That’s a waste of time,” a voice says.
I swing my gaze around and spot Dutch leaning against the wall at the back of the class. At the sight of him, a slow, burning sensation sweeps the bottom of my chest.
Dutch’s painfully intense stare bores right through me.
I wish I could run away from it and the memories they inspire.
Instead, I keep staring at his chiseled jaw, the straight nose and the wickedly glowing amber eyes and remember our kiss in the changing room. The mere memory of his lips burns so hot that I can’t look him in the eyes. Not without practically tasting his mouth and the way it teased and
then parted mine.
In fact, I can still feel the weight of his kiss. Like a tattoo.
My hands band around my waist and I hug myself to get my body in check.
Dutch is a hurricane, designed to destroy me until I’m nothing but a stub. He wakes up every morning thinking of the sneakiest ways to inflict pain on me. Sure, he may not have beaten me or assaulted me, but his psychological warfare is ten times worse.
Every nerve ending in my body might be standing up right now, but there’s no way I’ll allow myself to sink this low.
“We’re supposed to be in free period.” Dutch checks his watch. “But everyone is still sitting here.”
A flush spreads on Ms. Eunice’s cheeks. She looks flustered. “I dismissed the class long ago—”
“But they haven’t left,” he says pointedly.
Ms. Eunice clears her throat and rises. “Everyone leave. Except you.” She points at Dutch. “You come here.”
He ambles lazily towards her desk, his body moving almost rhythmically. He’s a predator on the prowl, totally in control of his side of the jungle. He’s the highest on the food chain. What would he have to fear?
Christa gives Dutch a look of blissful relief. The moment he gets close, she wraps her hands around his biceps.
I feel my entire body bristle and I tell myself it’s not because Dutch was kissing me yesterday and plotting my ruin with his girlfriend twenty-four hours later. It’s only because the sight of him disgusts me. Believe me. That’s all it is.
“I do expect you both to turn in new assignments. Copying will not be tolerated in my class.” She slants a hard stare at Christa. “Even though I’m just a substitute teacher, I can still do this much.”
Christa blinks rapidly.
Way to go, Ms. Eunice.
I start to like her a little more.
“And you,” she points at Dutch, “since you’re so concerned with this matter, I’m giving you the responsibility of helping Ms. Cooper with her stage fright, so if there’s a need to handle cases like this in the future, she’ll be able to participate.”
“What?” My jaw drops. “No, you can’t let Dutch help me.”
“Why not?” Dutch asks smoothly. There’s a cocky smirk on his lips as he watches me.
I point my furious gaze on him. “Because I’d rather choke on a basket of peaches.”
“Peaches?” He arches a brow.
I’m deathly allergic to them, but it’s not like I’m going to give him or Christa that information so they can try to murder me in the future.
“I heard Dutch and his band are acclaimed in their own right.” Ms. Eunice gestures to him. “And since he and his brothers can’t be bothered to come to class,” her aggrieved look in his direction tells me Ms. Eunice isn’t too thrilled about that, “he can contribute to the lesson by helping a fellow student during class.”
“No!” Christa stomps her foot. “I object.”
“This isn’t a courtroom, young lady.” Ms. Eunice rises and collects the copied music sheets. “Have the new projects turned in to me by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I squeak.
“Tomorrow?” Christa blanches.
“Or would you like me to go with my previous plan?” She arches an eyebrow.
We both shake our heads.
When Ms. Eunice is gone, I turn and find a furious glare pointed at me. But it’s not from Christa.
Dutch folds his arms over his chest. “Looks like you’re my problem now, Brahms.”
“You’re not seriously thinking about helping her, are you? Eunice is clearly out of her mind if she thinks you can do that.” Christa scoffs. “She needs a therapist.”
What I need is for the two of them to get out of my face.
“I know you stole my music sheet.” I point a finger in Christa’s chest. “And I know you,” I glare at Dutch, “set her up to it.”
His eyebrow quirks and her lips twitch guilty. The confusion on Dutch’s face sends doubt skittering through my head. Am I jumping to conclusions here? Did Christa try this stunt on her own?
The moment I start to soften, I shake my head. Whether or not Dutch was involved doesn’t matter. He’s made his position clear and I’m not going to trust him. Everything he’s ever done has been to push me out of Redwood Prep. This time is no different.
“I don’t care what you think, Brahms. Just be ready for my brand of therapy.”
I think gouging my own eyes out with sharp pencils would be less painful than having Dutch as my therapist.
“I don’t think so,” I snap.
“It’s too late. You already wormed your way into my responsibilities, Brahms.” He tilts his head and smirks at me. “It’s not a good feeling when you push yourself somewhere you don’t belong, right?”
I despise him. From deep down in my soul, to the place where music flows through my veins, it all abhors him.
The urge to punch his smug little face nearly overwhelms me.
Christa grits her teeth and says, “Dutch, can I talk to you? Outside?” “No you may not.” He crooks a finger at me. “Leave. I need to talk to
Brahms. Alone.”
I snarl at him. “That’s not happening.”
When I start to walk off, Dutch grabs my hand. The moment he touches me, I feel a zip up my spine. His eyes flicker and he drops my hand as if he
felt it too. The look he gives me next is almost disdainful. Christa lingers, not knowing when to leave. “Dutch.” He ignores her pouting. “Out. Now.”
We say nothing while she storms out and slams the door behind her. For a second, our harsh breathing is all that fills the room.
I fold my arms over my chest, not missing the way Dutch’s eyes drop there. So much for being so in love with me and my music yesterday. He’s wasting no time leering at me now.
His gaze jumps back to mine and he snarls, “If I’m stuck with curing you, then you’ll have to do something for me too. I’m not a freaking charity.”
“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m going to follow you—”
I’m cut off when Dutch swoops in and gets so dangerously close to my face that my body turns to jello.
Eyes darkening, he growls, “Then you can pay for my wallet. It’s a custom piece worth over five thousand dollars.”
“It isn’t,” I screech. “I don’t believe you.”
His lips curl up, making him look both dangerous and disgustingly beautiful. “I’ll have my lawyers call yours.”
My heartbeat picks up. I don’t have lawyers. I don’t even know a lawyer.
I gulp. “What do you want me to do in exchange?”
“You’re going to be my servant until you’ve paid off the debt.” He straightens to his full height.
“I will do no such thing!” I yell, aghast and seconds away from bludgeoning him with my sheet music.
He walks backward, his lips tilting up. “We’ll see.”
Furious, I can only watch him as he stalks out of the room, taking all the air with him.
