Page 22 of The Darkest Note

“Oh, by the way. One of your buttons popped.” She points to my shirt.

I glance down and realize she’s right. With a gasp, I curl inward and clutch the fabric. “Thanks. I-I didn’t notice.”

A corner of her lips hitches up. Without another word, she strides past me and leaves the bathroom.

I shift my glance away from the strange girl and point it at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is long, almost to my butt. I haven’t had a chance to cut it. My eyes are brown and my face is a little too round to be eye-catching.

My ordinary looks is directly responsible for my ability to blend in at Redwood. But that might change if people figure out I’m wearing worn, hand-me-down uniforms.

I fumble with the gap in my shirt. How embarrassing. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do. The ill-fitting outfit was all the office had in my size.

Since I had to borrow money from Breeze just to get my electricity back on, ordering brand new Redwood prep threads is not possible for me.

Thinking quickly, I take out a safety pin from the dusty corners of my school bag and close up the gap. That’ll have to work for now until I can locate a button along with a needle and thread.

My heart thuds when I push the door open. Glancing both ways to make sure The Kings are gone, I hurry to my next class.

Thankfully, I’ve got music next. I push the door and spot a middle-aged man in a sweater vest, flipping through the pages of a sheet book.

When I clear my throat, Mr. Mulliez looks up and smiles.

“Cadence.” He nods, his thick hair flopping forward. “What are you doing here?”

I stare at the empty chairs. “Where is everyone?”

“It’s Unconventional Theory day. Your assignment is to go out and make music using things around the school that we don’t consider instruments.” His glasses slides down his nose and he raises his chin to wiggle it in place again.

I laugh and scratch a fingernail against my bag. “Your idea?”

“My idea.” He bobs his head, eyes sparkling.

“Why am I not surprised? Only you would think of something that out of the box.”

Mr. Mulliez crosses his arms over his plaid blazer. It’s a hundred degrees outside, but he doesn’t seem to be breaking a sweat at all. “Being inside the box is boring. You should know,” he leans forward, “Miss Sonata Jones.”

A flush spreads up the back of my neck.

“Besides,” he flails his hands, “it’s this brilliant mind that got you into Redwood Prep. Let’s not forget.”

He’s right. I owe him for being my advocate and working out my scholarship here.

Coming to Redwood Prep came with a bunch of strict rules about my conduct and grades, but it also included a generous work stipend. I used it to pay most of Viola’s school fees.

“I didn’t know we weren’t having class,” I tell him, taking a step back. “When’s the Unconventional Theory assignment due?”

“You should have gotten a notification about it.” He nods to my phone. “Don’t you have the school’s app installed?”

I lift the screen and navigate to the fancy Redwood Prep app. “My phone is really old. I haven’t been getting a lot of notifications lately.”

He nods and studies me, rubbing his whiskered chin. “There’s something I wanted to speak to you about.”

This can’t be good.

I stiffen. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing wrong per se.” He waves a hand. “As you requested, I changed your name at the showcase and allowed you to perform as someone else. You said it was the only way to work around your stage fright.”

I dip my chin, an uneasy feeling coiling in my stomach.