The Shadow Prince (20 page)

I shake my head, thinking I am being overly paranoid. A doctor had determined that what happened to Pear was caused by a heart attack. Why would the medical center have any reason to put out a false report?

“That’s the thing,” I hear someone say, coming into the room. I recognize the voice as Lexie’s. “If Pear had a heart condition, I would have known about it. We’ve been friends for, like, ever. And besides, I know all my competitions’ weaknesses.”

The word
frenemy
comes to mind and I make a snerking sound. Lexie sends a glare in my direction before sitting in the
front row with her posse of girls. I imagine they’re the infamous Sopranos I’ve been hearing about.

A few minutes before the bell is supposed to ring, Tobin appears in the doorway. The dark circles under his eyes make me wonder if his nights have been just as restless as mine since the grove. I lift my hand to give a little wave to him, but find myself holding my breath, wondering if he’ll respond. I had contemplated looking up his number and calling him to share the good news about my getting into the music department, but I hadn’t because I was unsure of where our budding friendship stood after Saturday evening. Finding a nearly dead girl together could serve to either cement our friendship status or crumble it before it even began. And with the crazy story I told the security guards and my omission of the truth—okay, lie—regarding my nonschollie status, I wouldn’t blame Tobin if he’s decided to have nothing to do with the wacko newbie. But before I can decide whether or not to wave, he sees me and waves first. I respond with a smile.

Tobin slips into the seat next to mine. “I was afraid we’d scared you out of town,” he says. “Glad to see you’re still here.”

“I don’t scare away that easily.”

“Neither do I.” Tobin hooks his backpack over the back of his seat, showing that he’s not planning on moving to a new spot before class. Today, he’s wearing a periwinkle fedora with a darker blue ribbon above the short brim. “Have you heard what they’re saying about Pear having a heart attack?”

I nod. “Kind of impossible not to.”

“I know what you mean.” Tobin’s warm tone drops lower, colder as he leans in close to me. “But do you believe it?” he asks. “I mean, I guess Pear could have had a heart condition and nobody knew it. This place is pretty competitive, so she may have been
afraid to show any weakness. I couldn’t fathom why Pear would have gone to the grove until I overheard my mother talking on a conference call this morning. Pear’s housekeeper said that Pear had forgotten her sheet music for the auditions. They’re saying she must have rushed home to get it and cut through the grove as a shortcut. They’re saying the stress of it all was too much for her heart and she collapsed.… But the thing is, some of those gashes in her arm sure didn’t look like they were caused by tree branches.”

Relief washes over me, knowing that I am not the only one questioning the weirdness of the situation. It makes me feel a little bit less crazy. “I was thinking the same thing. But why would there be some sort of cover-up going on?”

Tobin looks at me, the strangest notes coming off him.

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t think what happened to Pear is the only thing this place is covering up.”

This is the third time Tobin has indicated that something less than perfect is going on in this town. What exactly had I gotten myself mixed up in by agreeing to move here? I give Tobin a look, telling him to go on.

“You’re going to think I’m nuts—” Tobin stops abruptly. I look up and see that Lexie and Bridgette are standing right next to us, with a couple of Sopranos standing behind them. Bridgette holds a basket of giant muffins.

“I understand you’re the one who pulled Pear from the lake,” Lexie says to Tobin. She flicks her hand, and Bridgette sets the basket of muffins in his lap. “Consider this our thank-you.”

“Um … you’re welcome,” Tobin says. “But it’s Daphne you should be thanking. I wouldn’t have found Pear if it weren’t for her.”

“Oh.” Lexie blinks at me as if this is the first time she’s noticed me sitting there, despite giving me a death glare only minutes before. She picks up one of the giant blueberry muffins from Tobin’s basket and offers it to me. “Thanks,” she says. “Maybe you’re not as useless as I thought. If Pear doesn’t recover soon, we will have to consider taking on a new Soprano. We’ll be watching you.” Lexie drops the muffin in my open hand and returns to the front row with her Sopranos.

“They really are kind of like the mafia, aren’t they? ‘Consider this our thank-you,’ ” I say, mimicking the low, raspy Godfather-esque voice.

Tobin laughs. It’s nice to hear a tone coming off him that doesn’t sound so dark. I want to bring up the topic we were discussing before Lexie interrupted, but at the moment, I want to let him be lighthearted. “ ‘We’ll be watching you,’ ” I say in my Godfather voice.

“I wouldn’t put it past her to leave a severed My Little Pony head in your bed if you refuse their membership offer,” he says, and takes a bite of a muffin.

“Friendship
is
magic,” I say.

Tobin laughs harder, accidentally spitting bits of muffin on my shirt. He clamps his hands over his mouth, still laughing. Which makes me lose it, too.

“What’s so funny?” Iris says, taking the seat on my right.

Neither Tobin nor I can stop laughing long enough to answer her. She rolls her eyes at us. Tobin squeezes my shoulder. I love the sound of his laugh. It’s infectious, just like CeCe’s.

“Quiet down,” Mr. Morgan calls, entering the classroom from his office. “I have a special announcement!”

“Ooh,” Iris says. “I bet he’s finally going to give us details about
the musical. Maybe he’ll even announce the leads.” She reaches behind me to smack Tobin on the shoulder in a knowing sort of way. His laughter dies down immediately and he puts his full attention on Mr. Morgan.

“I know many of you were upset that I didn’t announce what musical we would be performing this year
before
this week’s preliminary auditions,” Mr. Morgan says, standing on the small stage before the semicircle of chairs. He sounds far more like a teacher today, rather than the tyrant he was at the auditions. “But that is because some very special circumstances came up just after the beginning of the school year, and I would have been a fool not to have accepted. I am going to end your suspense and tell you all now, as well as introduce our surprise guest.…” He stops to straighten his tie, but based on the happy tones of anticipation buzzing in the air, I suspect he’s just pausing for the dramatic effect. He smooths down his tie and smiles, practically beaming. “This year, Olympus Hills High will be performing the debut production of a brand-new rock opera. But not just any rock opera—one composed by none other than the ‘God of Rock,’ Mr. Joe Vince himself!” Mr. Morgan sweeps his hands out dramatically, as if presenting us all with a gift as his office door opens, and Joe—
my Joe
—comes swaggering out to the sudden, uproarious applause and cheers of everyone else in the classroom.

I, however, am completely speechless.

“No way!” Iris practically shouts.

Lexie stands up, clapping, and some of her Sopranos have their hands pressed to their faces like they might just cry. Girls make that gesture a lot when my father is around. At least according to the pictures I’ve seen in
Us Weekly
.

Joe clasps his hands together and shakes them at the crowd of
students. “Thank you, thank you for your warm welcome.”

Tobin turns to me. “Why didn’t you say something about this yesterday, you big fibber?”

“I had no idea.”

“I know holding auditions before announcing the play was unconventional, but we had our reasons,” Mr. Morgan says. “As Mr. Vince tells me, the play is a work in progress, and we will be helping him develop the songs over the next few months. In order to do this, he asked me to select the two best singers in our program, and he will then write the songs specific to their vocal range. The rest of the parts will be assigned over the next few weeks to those who impress Mr. Vince with their hard work and abilities.”

“I am sure the decision will be very difficult,” Joe says, “which is why I left the decision of the lead parts to your instructor. I trust he has chosen the best and the brightest of your group.” He looks right at me and gives a little wink.

A redheaded girl in front of me practically swoons, as if the wink were meant for her.

What on earth is going on? Since when did rock stars write high school musicals? Even for high schools their estranged daughters go to? A school she’s starting because he just showed up out of the blue and insisted on taking her to for no apparent reason she could discern …

And then it hits me. I know
exactly
what Mr. Morgan is going to say next.

And all I want to do is run away.

Mr. Morgan holds out his hands to quiet the class. Everyone is in a tizzy, speculating who will be chosen, or what it will mean to be the star of an original Joe Vince musical production. I can hear the Sopranos fluttering around Lexie, assuring her she’s a shoo-in
for the lead—especially now that Pear is hospitalized. The class finally falls silent at Mr. Morgan’s and Joe’s bidding.

“Without further ado,” Mr. Morgan says, “I am pleased to announce the leads for the debut production of Joe Vince’s rock opera version of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth:
Into the Dark
.…”

How quickly could I cross the room and get out the classroom door
?

“In the role of Orpheus, we’ll have Tobin Oshiro-Winters!”

“Sweet!” Tobin smacks his hands together.

Iris cheers for him, but I’m still too panicked to react.

“And in the role of Eurydice, we have another special treat.…”

I feel like my throat is about to close in.

“My very own daughter,” Joe says, cutting Mr. Morgan off in his excitement, “will be playing the part.” He claps his hands out toward me. “Stand up, Daphne, so the others can meet you!”

All I want to do is hide under my chair, but I’m pretty sure Joe isn’t going to stop clapping until I stand up. I do so, pulling Tobin up with me so I won’t be the only one in the spotlight. Tobin gives a salute to Joe and Mr. Morgan, and then a Frank Sinatra–esque bow to his fellow students, who call out their congratulations to him. There’s not a single congrats thrown my way, but there are plenty of dagger stares coming from Lexie and her Sopranos.

“This is crap,” she says, not so quietly, to her friends. “Isn’t nepotism illegal?”

Even Iris is staring at me, with her mouth looking like her jaw has come unhinged. “Why did you say you were a schollie?” she finally asks.

This is exactly what I was afraid of all along. I don’t even want people to think I’d gotten into the program because I’m Joe Vince’s
daughter, and now they all believe I’d gotten the lead because my father is writing the play.

Joe gives me a big thumbs-up. So this is what he had meant the other night when he said he was going to make it up to me. If he thinks he is helping me win friends and influence people, he is as delusional as he is a drunk. I can tell from the murmurs and glares being exchanged that my social standing has just gone from New Girl to downright most hated.

Joe and Mr. Morgan go over some of the details of how the next few months are going to work with preparations, but honestly, I tune them out. When the bell rings, a few girls rush the stage. Joe signs autographs for them as he makes his way in my direction. The last thing I want to do is talk to him right now, so I grab my bag, ignore Tobin’s offer to help me find my next class, head for the door, and escape out into the hall.

I bump into several people as I try to find my way through the unfamiliar halls of Olympus Hills High, fighting tears of frustration that sting the backs of my eyes. The last seventy-two hours had been anything but ideal. I’d been ignored by my father; accosted in the grove; had found the body of a girl who may or may not have been attacked because of me; was treated like I’m delusional by a couple of rent-a-cops; and now I had earned the ire of almost every student in the music program, and the program was my only reason for being here.

I can’t imagine how things could possibly get any worse
, I think as I round the corner and find room 108, my humanities class. I push open the door and almost drop my backpack. Because sitting right there in the back row is the boy from the grove.

I can’t believe it. There
he
is, looking through a textbook and
tapping his pencil against the top of a desk. Just like any other student waiting for class to start. Except he’s scanning the pages of his book so quickly, he can’t possibly be reading anything.

“What is he doing here?” I say under my breath.

“
You
know Haden Lord?” The question comes from behind me. I glance back and see Bridgette standing there.

“Yes,” I say quietly.
But do I know him? Is this even the same boy
? He looks so different under the fluorescent school bulbs—so normal. If the contours of his face hadn’t been etched into my thoughts for the last day and a half, I might not have recognized him. His hair is still dark, but more the color of rich coffee than the midnight black it seemed in the grove. It’s shorter, too, and waves and curls slightly around his ears, rather than hanging to his shoulders like before. “No. I mean … do
you
know him?”

Bridgette shrugs. “I heard they were here.”

“They?”

“The Lords are some hoity-toity extended family from the East Coast or something. They send a few of their kids here every few years. These new guys must be younger cousins to the ones who came last time. I guess there was some kind of mix-up, because nobody knew they were coming to school until yesterday. There wouldn’t have been room for them if it hadn’t been for the big ole donation checks they showed up with.”

I raise my eyebrows at this flood of coherent information from Bridgette, who had seemed a little vacant up until this moment.

“What?” she asks. “My dad is on the school board. You didn’t think I got into this school because of my smarts, did you? My mom’s movies aren’t
that
good.” She smiles. “Dad was in a tizzy over the Lord boys at breakfast this morning.”