The Darkest Note: Dark High School Bully Romance by Nelia Alarcon

Author:Nelia Alarcon [Alarcon, Nelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CADENCE

Dutch Freaking Cross is a maniac. I seriously doubt his head works like a normal human being because no one could be this psychotic in real life.

My cell phone chimes at four a.m. in the morning with an instruction from my evil overlord.

Get us lattes before first bell. Double whip. No foam.

Not only is that an inhumane latte order, but it’s also a never-going-to-happen order.

It’s becoming abundantly clear to me that Dutch really thinks he’s a god. Last Saturday, I made sure to remind him that he wasn’t… by standing him up for our ‘date’.

What did his face look like when he realized I wasn’t coming?

I roll over in my bed, dreaming of Dutch’s misery, only to wake to another chirp from my phone.

It’s a new order from Dutch.

We’d like peach muffins too. The best you can find.

I shudder. He didn’t find out about my peach allergy, did he? If Jinx knows that much, I’m going to have to ask Breeze if she’s the secret agent who knows all of Redwood’s dirty laundry.

At six, I get another message but this time I’m fully awake thanks to Dutch’s cruel harassment. It’s hard for me to go to sleep when I’m piping mad, which is exactly what this Redwood Prep jerk makes me.

I groggily tap my screen. Dutch’s third instruction makes my entire body tighten with fear.

Find this girl.

Beneath the text is a picture of me at the showcase. My red hair looks like it’s on fire beneath the stage lights. My head is bowed over the keys and my expression is pure confidence.

One of my first assignments as Dutch Cross’s servant is to find myself. And not in the figurative, go on a trip to Italy and kiss a cute foreigner to fall in love way.

My knee starts thumping and I run a hand through my hair, letting my fingers tangle in the braid I sleep with every night. How the hell am I going to get out of this one?

A nervous wreck, I toss the phone away and stumble to the kitchen. I need to find a way out of this restlessness.

By the time Viola rouses from her beauty sleep and totters down the hallway like Frankenstein’s daughter, I’ve got toast, spam and fried eggs laid out on the counter.

Her mouth freezes mid-yawn and she stares at me. Her dark hair’s a bird’s nest piled on top of her head and there’s still a pillow crease under her left eye cheek.

She looks messy and adorable when she lights up. “Is it my birthday?”

“No,” I snort.

“It has to be my birthday. Why else would you make all this stuff for breakfast?” She giddily skips to the small kitchenette table and plunks her pajama-clad legs into a seat. “Whoa. When did you have time to make all this?”

“I got up early,” I say simply.

My baby sister doesn’t need to know that I was chased out of my sleep by King Butt-hole who’s only purpose in life is to squeeze me out of Redwood Prep like an unwanted pimple.

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