Page 92 of The Ruthless Note

I only know that he has a point.

It’s not a piano and maybe I have a chance at taking control of that fear. I might as well use the opportunity.

Dutch steps back while I run my fingers over the tight guitar strings. The song is an absolute mess. I don’t remember where to place my fingers and I only know two chords anyway.

But Dutch nods proudly.

The cafeteria ladies stop to applaud for me.

Warmth fills my chest, spreading out to the tips of my fingers and toes. I turn to look at Dutch, but my eyes catch on someone in the doorway of the cafeteria.

It’s Miller. And he has a giant frown on his face.

My internal alarm goes off.

“Miss Cooper,” Christa’s dad gestures with two fingers, “I need to see you in the principal’s office. Now.”

* * *

Jinx: Cinderella and Prince Charming Charm The Cafeteria Ladies

With all the sex, blood and betrayal lurking within Redwood Prep’s precious halls, it’s always nice to take a little moment and appreciate the sweeter things in life.

Like our resident will-they-won’t-they couple who serenaded the lunch ladies today, warming us all up with their stolen glances and their flirty little smiles. Has anyone ever seen the stony Prince Charming so proud?

But be careful. In Redwood, happiness is fleeting and monsters are always lurking, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

Until the next post, keep your enemies close and your secrets even closer.

- Jinx

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

CADENCE

Sol and Serena are sitting in the chairs across from Principal Harris and Miller. They both twist their necks around, looking surprised to see me there.

The guidance counselor, Mr. Jefferies, a man who spends more time drinking secretly from his flask than guiding anything, stumbles in a minute later, bumbling out apologies.

“Nathan,” Principal Harris says in a hard voice, giving Jefferies the stink eye. I heard that the guidance counsellor was Principal Harris’ nephew. I’m starting to believe that’s true.

Jefferies falls into the chair across from me, his hair disheveled and his face scrambled in confusion. Given his doe-in-the-headlights look, he has no idea what this is about either.

“I called this meeting today,” Miller begins, drumming his fingers steadily on the table, “because it involves the music program and your future studies here at Redwood Prep.”

Du-du-dum.

His fingers keep drumming.

It’s a low percussion. Like the rattle of fists against the toms on a drum kit.

Miller’s voice has a dark thread of disdain that thickens when he glances at me. “Redwood Prep has a long and vibrant history of giving back to our community. It’s why we’ve opened our doors to anyone. No matter your past…” He looks at Serena, “… your bank account,” he looks at Sol, “or your neighborhood.”

I lift my eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. Whatever this is about, Miller’s grandstanding isn’t going to throw me off.

A long, tense silence passes.

The air conditioner rattles. It mingles with Miller’s finger drumming.