he classic brick architecture of the rest of the campus. It was named the Bentley Center

it looked painted. She needed to cut through the building

olin before she

price No. 24. A piece that required fi

thing wa

agged. It sounded frantic, breathless. It sounded like

turpentine and clay. The music was coming from the main rec

. She peered t

allas's entire wardrobe. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She was sweating. Be

n. The note screamed-a sharp, ugly

Erika

the expensive instrument, but the socialite in her took over. Instead of breaking the bow, she swung her empty left hand a

like a weapon. Her face was twisted in a mask of pure, unfiltered rage.

e. She leaned her should

the rage instantly evaporated, replaced by a smooth, plastic m

th artificial sweetener. You're not suppo

ed inside. She didn't look at Erika.

, Dallas said. And your bow hold is

lash of genuine hatred cu

ld you know about Paganini? You can't even pass a math te

looked at her. She saw the trembling in

rika, Dallas said qui

alone in the silence. Behind her, the violin start

small, cramped, and currently smell

her vanity, spraying something pink and noxious into the air. Sloan

and in front of her nose. The smel

wn at her hands

-the one by the window, the one with the t

plying lip gloss, her mouth making a popping sound. My dad says peo

pulled her knees up to her

llective narcissism index, Dalla

Her mouth hung op

er headphones. Large, noise-canceling, batte

on the side. Static

nning the nodes... Se

. It was the voice of the underground. Dallas c

ilent movie actor overacting a scene. She stood up, stomped her foot, and grabbed Slo

oor s

her eyes. The

f her laptop. It wasn't the clunky school-issued device. It was a matte bl

glowed with a terminal p

P detected probing

d at the cur

k Ea

re. In he

ed. She was supposed to

l, hollow twist. She hadn't e

ed the lapt

iet room. She took a bite. It tasted like sawdust and chemicals. She chewed slowly, sta