Page 101 of The Forbidden Note

I swallow hard and put the frame back.

Undeterred, Viola follows me. “Do you know about Jinx? Is the school trying to find out who she is?”

“I think a lot of people want to know who Jinx is.”

Viola laughs. “Honestly, I think all the boys want to know her real identity. Especially Finn. He has a crush on her without even knowing what she looks like. Isn’t that funny?”

“Mm-hm.”

“By the way, do you know who Sexy Teach could be? Like… who’s the sexiest female teacher at Redwood?”

I start fidgeting with the ring around my finger. No wonder Zane is always flipping his drumsticks. I need something to keep my hands steady. “I-I really don’t know.”

Her gaze turns a little more intense and she studies me again. “How old are you, Miss Jamieson?”

“Uh…”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Well…”

Suddenly, her eyes widen. “Oh my go—are you ‘Sexy Teach’?”

Horror tears through my veins.

Viola looks me over. “You’re her, right? The one Jinx has been writing about. The girl Snare King is obsessed with.”

It feels so crass hearing this thirteen year old who’s never been to Redwood discussing the highly toxic and extremely dangerous situation I’ve been caught in like it’s the latest plot twist in a Disney Channel show.

Popping to my feet, I smile shakily. “Is it okay if I look around the house?”

“Sure. I can give you a tour and you can tell me all about how you and Zane met.”

“How about you show me what Zane’s taught you on the drums?”

Her expression falls. “I’m really not that good.”

“It’s okay. However you play, you’ll be better than me.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when she drops the subject of Jinx and ‘Sexy Teach’. That stupid moniker. Could the secrets tradernothave been more creative?

Viola leads me to a separate garage—it’s insane that rich people needtwogarages in the first place—and climbs behind a shiny drum set. She looks so slim and frail behind those giant instruments. I almost want to scoop her out of there and rescue her.

“Um…” She beats one of the drums nervously. “He taught me a song, but I forgot.”

“Someone hasn’t been practicing.” Zane’s deep voice curls around us. I whirl around and spot him watching me, tatted arms folded over his chest.

He looks freshly showered. The blood-stained hoodie is gone. So are the blood spatters on his knuckles. The black undershirt he’s wearing exposes all the ink on his arms. Grey sweatpants hug his muscular legs and hang low over his hips. The gold chain dangling from his neck makes the edges of my fingers tingle.

Viola shoots to her feet. “I practiced. I swear.”

“Go ahead then. Play,” Zane challenges.

“Just… give me a minute.”

While Viola flits around, I glance at Zane.

Our eyes meet and linger.

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