Page 13

CHAPTER

EIGHT

ERIN

“Places, everyone!” Mr. Meyer paces backstage. His wild, bloodshot eyes keep darting back and forth, while he mutters under his breath about symphonies, sheet music, and checks to see if the instruments are tuned. “We’re almost ready to start.”

Ten students are performing in the concert showcase for the academy board, parents, other students, and a select group of college recruiters. The academy’s main auditorium stage is transformed for the occasion, now sporting thick red curtains and spotlights.

A violinist next to me turns gray and bolts to the restroom for the fourth time.

The pressure is high. A few of the musicians, including the barfer, are scholarship kids, so tonight has the potential to decide their entire future.

Even if I got offered a full ride on a program of my dreams, I won’t be allowed to go.

A knock on the door interrupts Mr. Meyer’s musings. A pimply freshman enters with a giant bunch of flowers in his hands.

“I have a delivery for Erin Acacia,” the freshman says.

“Give them here!” Mr. Meyer snatches them from him and throws the purple carnations at me. “Is that all?” he snaps at the flower delivery boy. “Why are you still standing here? Out!”

The bouquet is gorgeous. Understated yet elegant. I hunt around in the petals for a note, but there’s nothing.

“Someone has a secret admirer,” a performer whispers in my ear. “Is it true you’re dating Nate Holt?”

I blush. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure you are,” she replies sarcastically, checking the strings on her violin. “That totally looks like flowers you send to someone you’re ‘just friends’ with.”

Mr. Meyer glowers at me. “If we’re done with interruptions, we have a concert to play…”

He runs through the lineup for the millionth time, then hurries away to check whether the first performer has finished emptying his stomach.

I’m up last, so I’ve got plenty of time to kill. The atmosphere in the waiting room offstage is tense. Others practice tricky chords, but there’s nothing I can do when the grand piano is already onstage.

“Psst!” Mia pops her head inside the room.

She’s lucky Mr. Meyer isn’t here, otherwise he’d combust.

“What’re you doing here?” I grin, turning to another musician. “Tell Mr. Meyer I’ll be right back if he comes looking for me.”

He grunts like he doesn’t give a shit whether I come back at all, until he looks up, and his eyes almost pop out of their sockets at Mia’s low-cut neon pink top.

“Mr. Meyer will freak out if anyone else disturbs our preparations,” I explain, grabbing her hand and tugging her down the corridor. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

“And miss this?” She shakes her head. “I have to be there for your big moment. It’s not every day your best friend is about to steal the show.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say. “And you hate classical music, remember?” For someone whose mom is a legend, Mia hasn’t inherited her love for it. “I’m closing the show, so you’ll be waiting a while.”

“I’ll be here for ages anyway,” she says. “Principal Wire convinced my mom to come as a guest of honor to impress the scouts. I told her to put in a good word for you.”

“We both know my dad wants me to focus on academics, remember?”

“You can be whatever you want to be,” she says. If only it were that simple. “You’ve worked so hard, and I’ve hardly seen you while you’ve been slaving away in the practice room. I want to be here to support you.”

“Hey, Erin!” Nate calling down the hall startles me.

“It looks like I’m not the only one who came to support you.” Mia nudges me playfully. “Break a leg!”

She slips away before Nate reaches me. His crisp white shirt and smart gray pants make him look like a magazine model.

I smooth down my black dress that Mom insisted was fitting for the occasion.

It has long, lacey sleeves, and a scalloped neckline.

Apparently, it’s very ‘French chic’, whatever that means.

“Hey,” I say, smiling nervously. “If you’re looking for the football field, it’s that way.” I point behind him.

“Funny,” he says. “My mom dragged me here to ‘become more cultured’. I was about to bail until I saw your name. I didn’t realize you played piano.”

“Uh-huh. Ever since I was five years old,” I say. “But I don’t blame you if you want to disappear at the intermission. An evening of Bach and Mozart is a lot for anyone.”

“Even a football player can branch out from time to time,” he says with his lopsided, dimpled grin that makes girls’ knees go weak. “What other talents are you hiding? Every time we talk, I learn something else.”

Nate’s probably used to saying that line hundreds of times, but I can’t deny that it feels good to be noticed. He’s chosen to seek me out. That has to mean something.

“I’m really not that interesting.”

He arches an eyebrow. “So, you’re not hiding any dark secrets that I should know about?”

“If I told you, they won’t be secrets anymore,” I say.

He chuckles and scratches his chiseled chin. “There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Nervous butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“I’m not allowed to date during the football season, but I wondered if you’d like to go to the Harvest Ball together? You know, as a non-date date.”

“Um…” I hesitate. Like Nate’s parents, Dad sees dating as an unwelcome distraction. However, if we’re not technically going as a couple, it doesn’t break any of his rules. “As a non-date date? Sure.”

“Great.” His face lights up, then he shrugs it off and acts casual again. “I mean, cool. That’d be cool.”

“Erin!” Mr. Meyer’s frantic voice reaches me like a ringing cowbell. “Erin! Where are you? I need you!”

“I won’t keep you,” Nate says, his eyes twinkling. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I reply. As he turns to leave, I call after him. “Oh, and, Nate? Thanks for the flowers.”

“Flowers?” His brow crinkles in obvious confusion. “What flowers?”

“I thought…” My voice trails off, and I shake my head. “Never mind. Just ignore me. Pre-show jitters.”

I have no time to dwell on the mysterious flower delivery as the night ticks on. Before I know it, I’m waiting in the wings and getting a last-minute pep talk from Mr. Meyer. It’s a miracle he hasn’t had an aneurysm with how stressed he’s been. Luckily, it only happens once a year.

“On the third part, take it slow,” he instructs. “Don’t rush it. Remember what I taught you. Light touch. Feathery fingers. Then build up…”

“I’ve got it,” I say, although it doesn’t put him at ease.

“It’s time!” He shoves me through the curtains. “Go!”

The spotlights warm my skin as I stride across the stage. I scan the audience, picking Mia out in the crowd because of her neon top. I try to pretend I’m alone, but my father’s judgmental gaze still manages to burn into me. He’ll accept nothing less than perfection.

Once seated, I inhale deeply and stroke the familiar white keys.

My mind gets transported to another place when I play.

I forget about the people watching and travel to my private bubble.

A safe place. The song, Moonlight Sonata, is sad.

As I play, I make up stories in my head.

With this one, I think about doomed lovers.

They push and pull as the piece progresses, vying for each other’s attention.

They resist and fight, but circumstances keep drawing them together, culminating in an explosive chorus.

They’re not meant to be, yet they can’t be apart.

No other love can compare, but they’re doomed.

I’m halfway through when the atmosphere changes. A stir in the audience causes people to shuffle and turn in their seats. I stay focused, closing my eyes and letting the music flow, but gasps and scathing whispers grow louder.

A bloodcurdling scream from the back brings me back to reality. A woman clambers onto her chair, almost tripping over her long skirt.

“Rats!” she screeches like a banshee, pointing at the floor. “There’s a rat!”

Chair legs squeal, while another whimper comes from the opposite end of the room.

“Another one!” someone else yells. “Look! There!”

“They’re everywhere,” another person says.

Light floods the auditorium, and I freeze in horror. An army of rats, at least fifty, make their way down the aisles. They scuttle under seats, their pink tails leaving a trail of destruction behind.

Complete chaos engulfs the hall. Women wail and hop on their heels, knocking into chairs as they jostle to the exit.

Some lose their balance, toppling over in their bid to escape.

Accompanying husbands in smartly dressed suits try to stay composed, but many faces have paled, and they charge for the doors, shoving anyone who stands in their path.

Mr. Meyer runs onto the stage and grabs the microphone. “Everyone, if you’ll please stay calm…”

“Calm?” A college scout in the front row scoffs. “This school is overridden with vermin!”

A large man next to him stumbles. To catch his fall, he grabs a handful of the red curtains around the stage.

The fabric can’t hold his weight. It tears with an almighty rip all the way up to the ceiling until it detaches.

The thick velvet falls and buries people beneath it with the rats.

They fight their way out quickly, but a woman insists her ankle was bitten.

“I…” Mr. Meyer stammers. “I don’t understand. How is this possible?”

I look past the hysterical hordes and see a figure dressed in black at the back of the room.

They stand frozen in place, a black mask covering their face.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach, and all of my instincts scream that danger is here.

As soon as I blink again, the figure vanishes, leaving me questioning if they were ever there at all.

“Get up, Erin.” Mr. Meyer takes my arm and heaves me from my seat. “We need to leave.”

My parents are waiting outside the auditorium. Thankfully, neither of them has been mauled by furry concert crashers.

“Is this what you call a show, Meyer?” Dad snarls in accusation. “My daughter’s performance was ruined.”

“I…” My poor teacher’s shoulders slouch. “I don’t know what happened.”

“The board will discuss this,” Dad warns. “We’re leaving, Erin.”

Dad storms off, and Mom puts a gentle arm around my shoulders to lead me away. I smile apologetically at Mr. Meyer. Whatever happened here wasn’t his fault.

“Rats,” Mom whispers scathingly. “Can you believe it? I’m sorry about your show, honey. For what it’s worth, you were brilliant.”

“Thanks,” I reply, although no one will remember my piece after what came after.

“Would you like to go out for dinner?” she asks. “We can try the new Italian everyone’s talking about?”

“Can we just go home?” I sigh. “I’m not that hungry anymore.”

On the drive, my phone blows up with messages from Mia.

MIA: That had to be the best classical concert I’ve ever been to.

MIA: Have you seen the videos?

Footage from the concert has taken off on social media.

Rydell Prep students, in particular, are taking great pleasure in sharing it.

Stonybridge will need to work extra hard to erase this scandal.

As well as videos, someone even created a meme of me playing with the caption Pied Piper . Witty, but unoriginal.

“Can I make you some food?” Mom offers when we get home.

“Thanks,” I say, trudging up the stairs. “But, after tonight, all I want to do is to finish my book report and go to bed.”

Finally alone, I slump down at my desk, thoughts abuzz with giant rats.

I watch every video I can find of the concert, slowing them down to study each face in the crowd.

No one looks out of place. I scour the background, searching for the masked man, but find nothing.

If I’d really seen him, surely there’d be evidence somewhere? No one can be that good at hiding.

After endlessly scrolling for a few hours, I mentally shake myself. There has to be a logical reason to explain the figure I saw—a shock-induced hallucination, perhaps? Yes, that has to be it. Finally more at ease, I pull back my bedsheets.

“Fuck!” I gasp and stagger backward.

Nestled underneath the comforter is a rat skull with purple flower petals neatly scattered around it. A note rests next to it, written in the same cursive that I’ve seen before.

Did you really think you’d got rid of us?

We live in the walls, Little Ghost.

I race to my en suite and throw up. I hug the toilet, consumed by uncontrollable shakes. Fear takes hold. It’s no coincidence my performance was targeted. It was them. They’ve broken into my school before, but their latest message changes everything.

They’ve been in my space.

In my home.

My bed.

It’s not over.

Yet, the police claim they found all the missing patients.

My father was adamant about the number of patients that escaped.

He can’t have got it wrong, could he? I could tell him what happened, but that’d mean explaining what happened after he left me in Sunnycrest. I could go to the police, but they won’t take me seriously.

They’d take one look at my past, a history of depression and a missing sister, and take me straight to Sunnycrest for a permanent vacation.

The men have to know that, otherwise they wouldn’t be so brazen.

No one will believe me, so I have no choice but to stay silent.

What do they want? Maybe if I don’t give them a reaction and continue like everything is normal, they’ll get bored and move on? What alternative option do I have?

I rinse the acidic bile from my mouth and scrub my face clean. They think they have all the power, but they’ll only break me if I let them.

If they return, I have to be ready…