Page 115 of The Broken Note

“Dutch, he is good boy. He never like a girl this much. I’m happy he’s smiling and worrying about you. It makes this heart very full.” She clutches her chest.

I cough. “I think you’re mistaken. Dutch and I aren’t together.”

“Of course.” Her smile freezes on her face. She stares at me like I’m talking another language. “Of course. The kids, they don’t date anymore,noh?It’s not cool to admit you love someone. Yes, yes. I understand.”

No, I don’t think she does. “We’re really not together.”

Martina grabs her purse and hurries toward the door. “You do not have to worry about washing the plates. Pack them back in the bag and set it outside your door. Someone will come to pick it up.”

“Wait.” I don’t know why I’m so desperate to convince her, but I find myself stalking her to the living room. “Did Dutch say we were together?”

“No, no, no.” She gives me a nervous smile.

I force myself to change gears. “Martina, before you go, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it, señorita?”

“I heard you were at Redwood Prep the morning of the fire.”

At once, her face turns pale. She bats away a lock of her wavy hair. “I… need to go.”

“Go? All of a sudden?” I follow her to the door.

Martina quickens her steps like I’m a scary psychopath with a hacksaw. “Enjoy!”

It’s the last thing she says before she slips out of the apartment and slams the door shut. I stand in the silence, my mind churning.

According to Miss Jamieson, Martina was the one leaving The Kings’ practice room. Why did she look so guilty when I asked just now?

Was it because she played a part in setting the fire…

Or was she covering for the person who did?

“Oh my go—Cadence!”

I whirl around, alarmed, only to find my sister flopping back in the chair, her mouth full of food and her eyes bright.

“Can we have salmon every morning?”

“We can barely afford cereal and you’re talking about salmon.” I stomp to the kitchen-slash-dining room area.

My stomach growls. I haven’t eaten anything since dinner yesterday.

After grabbing a fork, I join my sister around the table and find myself—in the space of twelve hours—moaning because of Dutch Cross.

Again.

“Why is this so good?” I whimper as the fish melts in my mouth.

“I thought the cafeteria food at Redwood was amazing,” Vi admits.

I meet her eyes and nod. Ever since Dutch upgraded my meal card, I’ve been eating half of my meals, secretly shoving the rest into doggy bags and bringing food home for my sister to enjoy.

“Butthis,” Vi wipes away a tear, “this is heaven.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She sticks out her tongue.

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