Page 92 of The Silent Note

“You think the kids care about that? He beat out everyone in his party who was running for that seat. He’s Jarod Cross, the biggest rockstar of our time.His fame makes him more popular than anyone on the ballot.”

“Doesn’t he have to beat the opposition first? The guy he’s up against was a cop for thirty years and a teacher for fifteen. Plus, he won the mayoral seat and chaired for the national orchestra certification board. The kids aren’t the only ones voting. Cross has to convince the adults too and they don’t give a damn about his music.”

Laughter breaks out.

“Jarod Cross might have the popular vote, but he won’t have the sensible one. Not unless he comes up with something big.”

My thoughts are moving faster than a tornado. I knew dad was eager to teach a class at Redwood and snag the chairman of the board title from Miller to win a governor seat.

But it makes more sense that he was trying so hard to convince the old men in his party that he’s governor material first. He’s got enough fans to carry him straight to political glory, but he’ll need his name on the ballot first.

I push away from the door, deep in my thoughts but, as if she’s a magnet and I’m steel, I suddenly spot Grey up ahead. She’s got her hands fisted at her sides as she charges down the hallway.

Even from this distance, I can tell she’s not herself.

It’s enough to send me running through the crowd.

Dad can wait.

So can my search for Slavno’s evidence.

I need to catch up to Grey before someone’s head lands on a spike.

Because I know that face.

My wife has the look of a woman who’s about to destroy something.

Chapter Twenty-Two

GREY

Sloane is a couple inches taller than me but she struggles to keep up with my determined stride.

“Grey, can you slow down?”

I ignore her.

All around me, students are watching. Whispering. They step aside. To remain in my way would mean meeting the pike-end of my sensible black pumps.

Do not cry. Do not cry.

“Grey, please. This is so awkward. Everyone is staring.”

Let them.

Who the hell cares?

I hate fighting with mom, but I hate thinking about those helpless years watching her grind and beg and scrape for a dollar even more. Hate it enough to want to tear my skin off, dunk it in bleach and then hang it out in the sun to dry. I want to climb out of my own body and pretend none of it matters.

Because really… what the hell does? What am I storming through Redwood to do? Fight a beast like Jarod Cross and theshady people he’s covering for? For what? So that when I’m done, I can do what?

Crawl back to mom? Live in my own happily ever after as Jarod Cross’s ex-step-baby?

What does my happily ever after look like? Do I even get one?

No, of course not. Those don’t happen to girls like me, scholarship kids turned glorified servants to the elite, women from the wrong side of the tracks who get caught up in the webs of filthy rich boys.

“I get that you’re upset, but you should take a moment. Take a couple breaths. You look like you’re about to do something stupid.”

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