The Shadow Prince (25 page)

Maybe Mr. Morgan
had
given me the part because of my audition. Tobin and Iris had said that I’d done an amazing job. But the suspicion (in both my mind and every other student’s) would always be there—that I’d gotten the part only because I am Joe Vince’s daughter.

I want people to hear my voice when I sing. Not his.

I want them to see me. Not just a shadow of Joe.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I’m sure the play will be great.”

I suddenly feel the urge to put a little distance between the two of us. I pull the car’s emergency brake and open the door. “I’ll find you when I want to go home,” I say, and exit the Porsche.

There are luxury cars galore lining the street in front of the mayor’s mansion, and I’m not the only one who’s showing up with an escort, based on the number of adults who mill about in suits and fancy gowns. I don’t see one maxi-skirt in the group of students who are all dressed more like they are going to the Metropolitan Opera than a school party. Clearly, no one is going to be eating chips and dip.

I walk through the house at the behest of the doorman and follow orchestra music out into the backyard. The mayor’s house isn’t as large as Joe’s, but the yard is at least ten times the size, large enough to accommodate the band
and
space for a dance floor on the stone patio alone. The decor of the party is a modern fusion of ancient Greek and Japanese influences that would make a designer like Jonathan drool. Glowing, cube-shaped lanterns hang from
every tree, and lotus blossoms cupping tea-light candles float on the surface of the pool. Partygoers fill the yard, some dancing, others talking in small groups, their happy chatter mixing with the music from the orchestra.

I look for Tobin but I don’t see him anywhere in the crowd, so I make my way to the long buffet tables that take up most of the north side of the yard. A spread of every kind of food imaginable sits on elevated tiers on white satin tablecloths. Floral arrangements of orchids, tulips, cherry blossoms, hyacinths, and narcissus cascade from tall Grecian-looking urns on the buffet. I pick up a plate made of thin bone china, from the stack at the end of the table, and make my way through the culinary paradise in front of me. I don’t even know the name of some of the foods, but I do recognize the sushi rolls, because Jonathan has a weakness for late-night infomercial shopping and once bought a “create your own sushi” kit. I use silver tongs to pick up pieces from two rolls that look familiar, and then a third one that looks scary. Like it has spider legs sticking out of the ends.

I take two desserts. One is a piece of baklava, and the other is something a waiter informs me is a mini taiyaki—a traditional Japanese fish-shaped treat made from a crispy waffle on the outside with sweet jam on the inside.

Another waiter in a tux offers me a flute of champagne.

“Um, I’m only sixteen,” I say, waving the glass away.

I hear tittering notes from behind me. I turn and see Lexie and the Sopranos nearby, each holding a glass of champagne. I look around and notice they’re not the only underage drinkers at the party. Considering this is a school-related event, hosted at the
mayor’s
house, I am surprised that none of the adults seems to care. That sort of thing would never fly in Utah.

Lexie’s eyes seem trained on my every move, like she’s judging the way I’ve arranged the veggies from the sculpture of crudités on my plate. I shove a piece of rainbow roll in my mouth and give her a sarcastic little wave. She drains her glass of champagne, takes a second glass from the waiter, and then says something I can’t hear to her friends. I gather the meaning, when two seconds later, she and the Sopranos turn on the heels of their designer shoes in a coordinated move, so all I can see of them are their backs. I swallow my bite of sushi—almost sighing at how amazing it tastes compared to Jonathan’s homemade creations—take my plate, and leave the buffet.

I nibble my food and wander the party for a while, looking for Tobin. When my efforts prove to be fruitless, I make my way through the crowd toward the patio and the one somewhat friendly face I’ve seen all evening.

“I see I’m still being stonewalled by the Sopranos,” I say to Iris, and bite off the pointy end of an asparagus spear. “And it seems to be contagious.” I use my veggie to point out a line of short freshman girls who have followed Lexie’s example and have turned their backs toward me.

“I know. I’d better be careful. I could get totally blacklisted by the Sopranos just for talking to you.” Iris smiles, but I can tell from the shaky notes coming off of her that it’s something she’s actually worried about. She’s being polite to me because she’s too nice not to be.

I clear my throat. “Have you seen Tobin?” His assertion that he had something to show me is the only reason—besides the food, I’ll admit—that I’m still here. I’ve been waiting almost a week to see what it is, after all.

Iris glances over her shoulder at the Sopranos to see if they’re
watching. “Haven’t seen him yet. Maybe he’s in the kitchen with the caterers?”

“Thanks. I’ll leave you alone now,” I say, and start to turn away.

“Hey,” Iris says. “I don’t think they’re right, you know. I heard you sing at the auditions. You might not have seniority, but you still deserve the part. I … I just can’t afford to make enemies. Being a schollie and all.”

I nod. “Thanks, and I get it.” Being a scholarship kid in a world populated by the spawn of the rich and famous is probably anything but easy. I can’t blame her too much for being afraid of Lexie and her mafia.

“They’ll probably move on to a new target soon,” Iris says, trying to sound reassuring. “Like the new guy. Once word gets out that Mr. Morgan let him into the program without an audition, they’ll be out for his blood—no matter how hot he is.”

“New guy?” I ask.

A weird feeling rushes through me—I can’t tell if it’s anticipation or dread.

“Over there.” She gives a quick nod toward the large magnolia tree that’s dripping with shimmering lanterns, near the pool.

I follow her quick gesture. I’m not sure if I expected to see anyone else, or if I knew it would be him all along.

But there is Haden, standing under the tree, nursing a glass that looks like it’s filled with Coke, right in Tobin’s backyard. There had been one nice thing about the last week: Haden’s suspension meant that I hadn’t had to think about him—much—in the last few days.

“
He’s
in the music department now?” I ask.

But where the heck is Tobin? I have a feeling this party will go south pretty quickly if he sees this unexpected guest.

“That’s what Bridgette said.”

I don’t wait for her to fill in any more details and head toward the tree where Haden stands. He doesn’t look at me. Just takes a sip of his Coke and lifts his glass toward a few sophomore girls, who pass him, giggling. The girls are giggling, that is, not Haden. The way his lips are set on his stony face, I wonder if he ever laughs. Or smiles, for that matter.

I stop and watch him for a few minutes, all the time wondering if he’s ever going to look up at me, until a girl in a purple satin gown stumbles into him. He catches her before she falls over. She laughs, and I realize it’s Lexie. Obviously, no Soprano memo to blackball Haden has gone out yet. She smiles up at him—way up, considering she’s way more than a foot shorter than he is, even when she’s wearing heels. She tries to wrap an arm around his neck, but he politely pushes her hand away. In her other hand, she holds a champagne flute, and I wonder how many of those she’s drained since the two I saw her with.

I’m guessing quite a few, from the way she’s swaying in her pumps.

Having a biological father who clearly has a problem with alcohol, I’d always resisted the temptation to sneak a beer behind the Ellis Filler-Up on Friday nights with some of the kids from my old school. And watching Lexie make a fool of herself as Haden walks her over to Bridgette and deposits her nonchalantly with the Sopranos, I still don’t see the appeal of getting drunk.

I’ve watched too many
Where Are They Now
? specials on VH1 at CeCe’s apartment to know that talent won’t get you very far without a little bit of self-control. It’s a miracle Joe hadn’t washed up years ago.

Haden returns to his tree, glass of Coke in his hand. He takes
another sip and pulls a slight gagging face, like he can’t stand the taste. I wonder why he keeps drinking it. And why does he seem to look at everyone here except me?

I scan the party again for Tobin and when I look back at Haden, I catch his eyes on me for a split second before he looks away at the pool.

So he has seen me.

“You’re being too obvious,” I say, approaching him.

“Pardon?” he asks, his eyebrows raised, breaking up the stoniness of his features.

“You’re still stalking me, and you’re being quite obvious about it.”

“You’re being very flattering of yourself,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“What makes you think I’m here to see you?”

“Maybe the fact that you tried to grab me the other night?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you are talking about.”

“Whatever,” I say. “I want my stuff back, by the way.”

He raises his eyebrows again, as if he really doesn’t have any idea of what I’m referring to. Like he’s not the one who took my tote from the grove.

“So we’re still playing that game?” I ask.

I don’t break eye contact with him until he holds out his hand and asks, “Will you dance with me?”

I am so startled by this proposition, I don’t know how to respond. Luckily, the screech of a microphone as the music stops saves me from having to do so. I turn toward the sound.

“May I have your attention?” A woman in a red gown calls into the microphone from the bandstand on the patio. The crowd of students and parents quiet down and turn their attention to her.
Tobin and a very dapper-looking Japanese man, who I assume is Tobin’s father, stand by her side. “I am happy to welcome you all to our home today,” the woman who must be Mayor Winters says. “You’ve all worked so hard to get here, and I am as proud of you as I am of my own son. However, I do think Tobin deserves a round of applause for landing the lead in this year’s play.”

She starts the applause and everyone in the crowd—except Haden, who has retreated behind the magnolia tree, I notice—joins in. Next, the mayor leads the crowd in a rollicking welcome for Joe, who seems to be enjoying the company of several women in short cocktail-length dresses near the bar.

“And where is your costar, Toby?” she asks. “I hear she’s quite lovely.”

Even from where I stand, I can see the blush in Tobin’s cheeks. He finds me in the crowd and points me out to his mother. The mayor attempts to start a round of applause for me, but I am not surprised that it sounds much more feeble than for Tobin.

“I hope you will enjoy the party,” Mayor Winters says. “We will be sending the floral arrangements to Pear Perkins’s hospital room, so please be sure to sign the get-well card that is circulating the party. We want to do everything we can to take care of our own here in Olympus Hills.” She smiles, showing gleaming white teeth behind her ruby red lipstick. “Oh, and do be sure to help yourselves to the spider rolls; they’re an Oshiro family specialty.”

And with another round of applause, Mayor Winters and her husband head down the patio steps, shaking hands with party guests as they go. The orchestra strikes up again, and couples head out onto the dance floor. I slip past them and head for Tobin, who is accepting the congratulations of a man wearing a pale yellow
scarf. Tobin smiles when he sees me approach and excuses himself from the conversation.

“Yowza, Daphne,” he says, looking me over. “I take it back. I
was
asking you to be my date tonight.”

“Too late,” I say with a smile.

He looks even more Frank Sinatra–esque in a black suit, bow tie, and a black fedora sitting on his head at a rakish angle. With my heels on, I tower over him even more than usual, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wanna dance?” he says.

“No,” I say. “I want to hear about this big secret of yours.”

He takes my hand and gestures me toward the house. “Like I said, it’s something I need to show you.”

chapter twenty-seven

To my utter astonishment, Dax’s plan to get Daphne to come to me seems to be working. Daphne moves closer and closer as the party progresses. She’s standing only a few feet away now.

Between trying to dodge the disgusting-smelling food at the buffet, warding off the attention of some short girl named Lexie, and pretending to be overly fascinated by the tree that grows near the pool, I’ve done a rather decent impression of being aloof. I don’t follow her, and I don’t look at her unless I am sure she isn’t watching. Which is an experiment in self-control, considering how she looks in that dress.

I had already been fascinated by the curves of her body, but the way that dress hugs and emphasizes them makes me wonder why everyone at this party isn’t staring at her. I am astonished that people are actually turning away from her. She reminds me of the paintings of our goddess that adorn the walls of the palace. The blue of her dress brings out the color of her eyes and complements the tanned skin on her exposed shoulders.…