Page 46 of The Darkest Note

But they just keep walking.

And walking.

And walking.

Until they get to the desks that surround mine.

Dutch taps his fingers on the table and the student immediately pops up, grabs his bags and hurries to the front row.

His eyes slide lazily down my face when he takes the seat in front of me. “Brahms.”

“What do you want?” I hiss. “Why are you here?”

He just smirks.

Christa, the blonde I’d seen at the showcase, sashays past Dutch and stops in front of my table.

She slams her hands on her hips and looks down her perfectly straight nose at me. “Excuse me. You’re in my seat.”

I amnotin her seat and usually, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell her where she can take her scrawny butt and her prissy attitude, but I’m grateful for an excuse to get away from the Cross boys without it appearing that I’m running.

“Sure.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder.

“You stay,” Dutch’s voice rings with quiet authority.

My nostrils flare, but I pretend not to have heard him. “You can have this seat.” I gesture to my desk, sidestepping out of the chair. “I’ll find another—”

Before I can blink, long, hot fingers slide around my wrist. Then, in a flick, he tugs me so I lose my balance and fall into the chair again.

Without looking at me, Dutch commands his groupie, “Go sit somewhere else.”

Her eyes fill with hurt, but she hides it quickly. Shooting a murderous look in my direction, she turns with a flounce of her skirt and stomps to the front.

“Get your handsoffme,” I hiss, snatching my wrist away from his firm grip.

Dutch arches an eyebrow.

I lean forward and whisper angrily as the substitute starts her boring lesson. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“You know what I want, Brahms.” He turns slightly so I can only see his striking profile.

It’s disgusting the way he doesn’t have a single bad angle. A hard jaw line gives way to hair the color of wheat in the summer sun. His nose is straight and his lips are full and distracting.

Why are the beautiful ones always the most evil?

“Is this our weekly check-in?” I hiss. “Are you going to ask me to leave Redwood after every five days?”

“I’m here to remind you that it’s not going to get better.” He swivels fully and his eyes fall into mine. “Because I’m never going to stop.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the threat and at the cold look in his eyes. He means that. Means it with every part of his being.

But why? This obsession with getting rid of me feels way too intense to be a rich kid’s escape from boredom. What could I have done to Dutch to make him target me?

I’ve wracked my brain for days and I still can’t figure it out. I’m sure we have never crossed paths in our lives. For one thing, a guy like him—with status and wealth—would have no reason to be on my side of the tracks. For another, I’d remember a face like his.

“Miss Cooper?”

The sound of my name coming from the substitute teacher makes me sit up, alert.

---