Violetta (Violet) Jackson has big dreams. None of which happen to include sitting in detention for a week straight for a lab disaster that wasn't even her fault. That's all thanks to Will Hawthorne, his friends (one of whom she unfortunately used to...
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All that night, I tossed and turned, On the Run playing over and over in my head, plaguing me incessantly. Sometimes, just as I was dropping off into sleep, I would get a sudden vision of Ethan's smirk flashing in front of my eyes, and then my eyes would fly open, anger pumping through me again and keeping me wide awake.
By the time I got to school the next day, I was exhausted and fed up. I dragged my feet over to the bike rack to lock up my bike, then pulled out my phone to call Danny.
He answered on the first ring.
"How's the plagiarism front going?" I asked, even though I knew I didn't have to. He must've known immediately what I was calling him for, because he starts talking almost before I even finish my words.
"Not so well. I've called the Berklee Music Department several times and talked with three different people, including the chairwoman of the entire department. They all hit me with the same thing — if we don't have solid proof of Midnight Thunder plagiarizing the song, they won't do a thing about it."
I swore. "So there's nothing we can do about it?"
"Not unless we can find a way to get evidence of it. Or get Ethan to 'fess up."
I shook my head. On the Run was our song, but we hadn't officially released it on any streaming platform. I had my lyric notebook, but no actual evidence that the lyrics were mine in the first place. We had run into a dead end.
And Ethan was just planning on getting away with it. Claiming the song as his without repercussion. The thought of it made my blood boil.
"I gotta go, talk to you later" was my curt response before I hung up the phone and shoved it in my pocket, Danny's words form before ringing in my head. We declare war.
All right then, I thought grimly as I stepped inside the school's double doors.
If war was what we needed, I knew exactly how to get it.
☼ ☼ ☼
I kept an eye on Ethan all through lunch, glancing his way every minute or so, feeling strange for doing so, but ensuring that I didn't lose sight of him. He was surrounded by his friends, of course, so I stayed far away. With every exchange and laugh, my anger toward him only rose, and I clutched my fork in a death grip. Finally, Ethan dipped out of the cafeteria, and since none of his friends followed him this time, I went out after him.
He strolled down the hallway, hands in his pockets, and I found myself slowing down behind him just a bit. The way he was walking so nonchalantly just then reminded me a bit of Will — carefree and unaffected. But no, this was Ethan, it was different — Will was not easily fazed, almost always looking untroubled and cheerful, whereas Ethan's indifference was arrogant and egotistical, as if nothing could possibly be good enough for his attention unless it was to hurt or degrade. I swallowed and forced myself to call out to him in the middle of the empty hallway, loud and clear, enough to make him stop in his tracks and turn around to face me.
