Page 59 of The Ruthless Note

You already took her money, Cadence. You gotta do the job.

“Can I see your piano?” I ask in a low voice.

“It’s right up there.” She points. “I’d like you to play as people come in. This is a classy event.” She gestures to her shimmery dress. “I want that underground, ‘smoky jazz bar during the prohibition’ finish, you know?”

I pin my lips together.

“Paris!” One of her fellow cheerleaders flounces through the door.

“Just a sec!” Paris gives me the rest of the instructions in a rush. “You’re gonna play for about an hour and a half and then we're gonna crank this party up. Feel free to stick around if you want.”

I nod again.

Paris stalks away to greet her guests.

I mount the stairs to the dazzling ‘stage’ made up of shimmery curtains and fancy tapestries.

It’s all so… excessive.

I scrunch my nose.

Redwood Prep parties are nothing like the raves in the southside. In my neighborhood, there’s lots of beer, chaos and wild revelry. Forget live music. You’re lucky if there’s even a DJ.

Every party I’ve attended at Redwood Prep—which admittedly is only two—has a certain class. Sure, there’s alcohol, beer pong, and pairing up in the bedrooms, but the snacks are premium, the wine is expensive and there's always a pretentious theme.

Even their parties are on another level.

My heart burns with jealousy. I’ve never wanted their world, but I’ve always envied the ease in which they move around in it. Since my first day at Redwood, I’ve always been reminded of my place on the totem pole.

The only time I feel like I have any sort of control is when I’m playing piano.

A soft light glows atop the instrument. I hover my fingers above the keys, hesitating.

The last time I tried to touch a piano, it didn’t work out so well.

Panic bubbles under my skin. What if I have a meltdown again? What if I can’t play… even in disguise?

Closing my eyes, I try to find my center.

Inhale. Exhale.

New memories whisper through my brain. The tightness of Dutch’s jaw. The sharp flare of his nostrils as he leaned in for a kiss. The moistness of his lips. The heat of his palm. The taste of his tongue…

It pulls me away from the darkness, just as he did that day in the theatre.

I fight to shake the memory. When did thoughts of Dutch become my safe place?

Dutch isn’t the prince of a fairytale. He’s the evil king out to destroy all of my happy endings.

I despise him, but the imprint of him won’t go away. It’s like he’s sitting at the piano with me.

Breathe, Cadence.

I tuck my skirt under me, exhale, and place my hands on the keys. It’s with a sort of reverence that I begin to play. Hesitantly at first. And then more confidently as the music inside me comes pouring out.

The room falls quiet. All the waiters and the caterers are watching me, but I’m not looking at them.

The music moves through me, a powerful force. The energy I feel inside fuels the rhythm.