Page 27 of The Broken Note

When we step inside, the algebra teacher stops mid-sentence.

I motion for him to continue his lecture.

He goes red and stammers out the rest of his lesson.

Cadence heads down the row of desks but, when she sees that her usual chair is already occupied, she tightens her fingers around her book bag and turns the other way.

I watch the punk in her seat smirk as if he won something and my blood pumps faster. How dare this bastard take my woman’s chair and gloat about it?

I grab Brahm’s elbow to keep her in place.

She glances at me, her eyebrows pinched.

Wordlessly, I lead her to the chair she usually occupies. Why the hell should she walk away? Why the hell isn’t she demanding what she wants? She always freaking sits here. Since that first day of algebra, she’s always taken a seat in the back.

No freaking way is that changing.

Not while I’m around.

Cadence realizes what I’m doing and her eyes widen. She pushes at my hand. “Dutch, I’m fine. I’ll sit somewhere else.”

“You.” I point to the punk.

He trembles like an idiot. Now isn’t the time to be scared. He should have thought twice before acting smug.

“Dutch,” Cadence hisses.

In the background, the math teacher is droning on about calculus.

I tune them both out.

Pointing a finger, I draw an imaginary line from the first chair in the row to his. “This all belongs to her.” I jut my thumb at Cadence. “No one sits here until she decides what chair she feels like occupying that day. Understood?”

“Dutch!” Cadence is whispering, but she might as well shout her objections.

The kid hops to his feet, grabbing his bag to his chest. In his haste to get away, his books fly out of his unzipped backpack and thud to the ground.

Silence falls.

Everyone in class stares at us.

The kid’s face turns red and he scrambles to put his books away.

Cadence drops to her knees to help him.

My eyebrows knot. I reach down to grab her hand and haul her up.

“Get off!” She snarls.

My eyes widen.

Cadence gives the kid his books back, mumbles an apology (for what, I have no freaking idea) and shoots me a glare so frigid, it would make Siberia feel like a Caribbean cruise.

I gesture to the seat she usually likes, indicating that she should take it.

Cadence pulls her lips into her mouth as if she’s trying not to curse me to space and back. She whirls around sharply and takes the only unoccupied seat at the front of the class.

The hell?