Page 31 of The Broken Note

In the reflection of the mirror, Paris and her cheerleading minions prance around me. Tan skin. Bouncy hair. Expensive highlights. Caked on makeup. Redwood’s idea of perfection.

The air trips with danger and I straighten, my eyes locked on Paris. She smirks at the mirror, revealing bright white teeth. Veneers. They’re way too perfect to belong to her naturally.

I glare at her.

Paris sashays forward, hips swaying in her tiny skirt. She stops at the sink, pulls out a fancy makeup kit, and rummages inside for a tube of lip gloss.

I don’t want to stand there and watch her, but two of her minions press themselves beside and behind me, locking me in place.

Paris smears the gloss on her lips and smacks obnoxiously. “You know,” she murmurs, admiring herself in the glass, “Jinx wrote a post about you today.”

At the mention of Jinx, my mind snaps to that vague text she sent me last night.

I have a deal for you. It involves something you want and something you don’t.

Why would Jinx want to strike a deal with me now?

I brush the curiosity away.

Jinx is the last thing I’m worried about right now.

“She said you were holding Dutch’s leash.” Disbelieving laughter spills out of Paris’s mouth. The sound lacks any warmth or joy. “But we both know the one who’s holding the leash is him, don’t we,Brahms?”

She plops her lip gloss in her open makeup kit and turns to me. Her eyes are dark. Frigid. Full of spite as they drag down my secondhand uniform.

“No matter what, you can’t chase thestinkof poverty on your skin and you can’t change the fact that you’re a charity case. You will never be good enough for him.”

I bob my head. “You’re right.”

Shock ricochets through her eyes.

I gesture to her. “Since I’m so beneath him, why don’t you take him from me?”

Her eyes widen.

“Seriously. I’m begging you.” I grab her hand. “Flash some skin. Pledge your undying devotion. Have at it.”

Her eyelashes flutter and she wrenches her arm back. “You think I’m joking?”

“I’ve been trying to get away from Dutch Cross for months. I’d be so grateful if you could do what I couldn’t.” My eyes slide down her outfit. I quirk a brow. “But… word of advice, ease back on the desperation. I may be poor, but you, Christa 2.0,” I step toward her, “you’re just cheap.”

Paris’s eyes narrow. Her mouth twisting cruelly, she raises her hand to slap me.

I grab her wrist before she can and drive her into the wall near the mirror. She screams and tries to grab my hair. I struggle to keep her from scratching me in the eyes.

She’s surprisingly strong, but I’m stronger.

And pissed off.

I wrestle both her arms down, breathing heavily.

“South side trash!” Paris spits in my face.

My patience cracks like a twig and all the frustration that had been lashing in my chest explodes out of me.

“Listen you piece of crap,” my voice snaps, “my life is such a train wreck that this petty high school drama means literally nothing to me. Your brain’s the size of a grape, so I’ll speak slowly. I havebiggerthings to worry about than whether you got your feelings hurt because Dutch didn’t choose you as his prom queen.”

Paris’s mouth goes slack.