Page 56 of The Darkest Note

Since Dutch didn’t automatically storm my piano and Finn and Zane were going around asking for me even though I was right in front of them, it means my disguise worked. I’m totally invisible to them.

However, if they keep staring at me, they’re going to see the similarities between this costumed version of me and the one they terrorize at Redwood Prep.

I can’t let that happen.

Throwing myself into the dressing room, I slam the door shut. There’s a small mirror on the dresser and I catch sight of my reflection.

Do I really look that different?

I lift the glass and stare at my face. Vi does my makeup before I leave for the lounge. She takes it as practice and will throw a temper tantrum if I ever attempt to do it myself.

Normally, when I look in the mirror while she’s working, I’ll see bronze-colored glops that look like war paint. But by the time she smoothes it all out, my cheekbones look sharper, my jaw looks slimmer and my nose looks like I did plastic surgery.

Makeup is a scary thing.

Paired with the green eye contacts and the red wig, I’m safe. As long as none of the boys see me up close.

My fingers climb to my wig and I start to wrench it off when there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey, I’m looking for the pianist? The manager told me I could find you back here,” a familiar voice says.

A rush of panic surges through my veins.

It gets ten times worse when I see the doorknob turning.

I have seconds to fix my wig back in place.

Dutch walks in and by now, I should be prepared for the way he fills up the room.

I’m so not.

Without his Redwood Prep uniform on, he looks bigger and taller and more dangerous. I wish I could stop time somehow so I could check him outandedge around him, leaving him in an empty room alone.

His hair’s flopping all around his face and I realize that I like the messy look. Which is disturbing because he’s a menace and a life-ruiner and I shouldn’t be liking anything about him.

Appraising amber eyes study me.

I feel warm all over and quickly avert my gaze.

The more time I spend around Dutch, the more I realize why he doesn’t bother with macho displays of violence. Hisstareis violent. It’s heavy and dark and commanding.

Unnerved, I lower my voice to a husky pitch and ask, “Did you chase me all the way back here just to stare at me?”

His eyebrows quirk and I hope it’s not because he recognizes my voice.

Since I was a kid, I’ve been able to do great impersonations. Just like music notes, voices each have their own unique pitches.

When Viola was younger, she’d beg me to read bedtimes stories for her.‘Voices, voices’, she’d insist. And I would get into character for her, changing up my tones to bring the fairytale characters alive.

I lean heavily on that skill now, hoping that Dutch doesn’t see through it.

He slides a hand into his pocket. “I came to—”

“Ask if I’ve seen some girl named Cadence?” I butt in.

My anxiety’s through the roof. I need to get him out of this room, out of this lounge, out of mylifeas soon as possible.

“I haven’t seen her.” I turn away from him, hoping he takes the hint and backs away on his own.

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