Page 11 of Monster

I blinked against the blinding sun through my sunglasses and fixed my hair to make sure I was presentable before walking up to the two-story house that I would never be able to afford in my adult life, in one of the nicest parts of the city.

I rang the doorbell and there was some scuffling from inside just before the door opened to reveal a lady, probably in her mid-forties, wearing what could only be described as a housewife get-up.

Sleek brown hair came down to her collarbones and curved inward around a face with natural makeup that enhanced her features. Her clothes were impeccable and expensive.

She looked put together and happy.

I blinked up at her and forced a small smile onto my face.

“Hi, Mrs. Newman. I’m here for Freddy’s piano lessons.”

She offered a polite smile back. “Emmy. How nice to see you again. Please, come on in. Freddy is in the music room.”

I nodded.

She always sounded pleasant, but with a note of condescension in her voice.

She moved out of the way for me to enter her beautiful home, and I went to the music room, trying not to let the weight on my shoulders show from the outside.

Despite the bad start in the morning, I had decided that today would not be the day I fell apart.

* * *

Exactly one hour later,Mrs. Newman came in to remind me the lesson was finished.

There was always a cold politeness that made me feel she might not like me very much. It wasn’t really a problem whether she liked me, considering I only saw her once a week when I came to teach Freddy, and our interactions were always brief.

Still, I wondered why she didn’t like me.

I patted Freddy on his little shoulder. “Good job today. I can see you’ve been practicing.”

Freddy’s chest puffed up in pride, and I wondered what his home life really was like outside of the weekly piano lessons.

He was a quiet, introspective boy.

It had taken him some time to warm up to me, but when he did, I could see the way he bloomed from my praises and compliments.

He seemed to love these music lessons, which was good because there was nothing worse than teaching music to kids who only did it because their parents made them.

I quickly gathered up my stuff, said my goodbyes, and walked out the door.

The heat seemed to have magnified tenfold since an hour ago, and I couldn’t remember it being so hot in California this early in the year before.

I slung my backpack up over one shoulder and trudged to my car, not looking forward to getting in. It was probably roasting since I parked it directly in the sun. I opened the rear door and stashed my stuff before climbing in and starting the car, rolling down all the windows immediately.

I stared ahead of me, debating what I should do now that the only thing I had planned for the day was done when a boy zipped past me on his bike.

I followed him with my gaze, swearing that the boy looked a hell of a lot like one of my students.

It wouldn’t be surprising. I lived in the same neighborhood as the school district. Freddy was an exception—he didn’t go to my school because his parents wanted him to go to another private school, about forty minutes away. I heard the school had an amazing music program, and it was the first place I applied.

I obviously wasn’t hired.

I put the car into drive and took off.

It wasn’t until I was about a block away from Freddy’s house that I found the boy on the bike once more, and this time, I was sure he was a student from school.

It was Braxton Madden.

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