Into the Dark: The Shadow Prince Part 16

"Funny," I say. "But I didn't do anything. It was some hotheaded kid. Just came out of nowhere and tried to pick a fight."

"Unprovoked?"

"Yes, but it must have had something to do with Daphne. I saw her with him on Sat.u.r.day."

"Aha."

"She tried to get in the middle of the fight, you know?"

"Nice!" He taps his pipe on his desk. "I told you I liked this girl."

"She definitely doesn't like me. She accused me of stalking her!"

"But you are stalking her, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but she's not supposed to know that." I throw my hands up. "This girl makes no sense.

First, she calls me a perv and a creep, but then she tries to stop her friend from beating me up? But two seconds later, she's calling me a stalker. How does that make any sense? And I don't think being mean to her is working at all."

"Wait, why are you trying to be mean to her?"

"Because I'm trying to get her to like me, as you said I should. This Web site said that girls like guys who are mean to them, so-"

"What? Haden, I thought I told you not to ask the Internet for dating advice!"

"You forget that I don't even know what dating is!"

"Oh no, no, no, no, no," Dax says, rocking back in his chair. "How mean were you?"

"I implied her virginity in front of our entire humanities cla.s.s," I say sheepishly.

"Oh harpies, we're going to have to do some major damage control now."

"I am all for suggestions."

Dax chews on the end of his pipe for a moment and I can barely resist the urge to rip it away from him.

"That's not helping," I say.

"Oh, hmm. You don't know something she's really interested in, do you? Something you could get involved in to show a common interest?"

"Music. I think she's in the music program," I say, though I have no idea how I am supposed to use music to get close to Daphne when I know even less about it than love.

Dax cringes. "It had to be that," he mumbles under his breath. "I'll see what strings I can pull from my end, and if all else fails, I'll call on Simon-though I'd like to avoid that as much as possible." He moves around a stack of papers and then stands up, with his pipe. "Now, perhaps you should scamper off to cla.s.s now, young Master Lord. No more fighting, you scallywag," he says with a British accent.

"I think Mr. Drol should be from Yorks.h.i.+re, don't you think?" I shrug. "One more thing . . . The guy I got in a fight with . . . He gave me this look that made it seem almost as if he might know who I am."

Dax drops his pipe and it plinks across the table. "He what? How? Who was this kid? What did he look like?"

"Short. Part Asian. j.a.panese, I think. Wears a stupid hat."

"Hmm, doesn't ring a bell," Dax says, but a dark look crosses his face. He walks me to the door.

"I've changed my mind. You shouldn't go back to cla.s.s. I'm suspending you for the rest of the week.

Go home and lay low."

"Dax, you can't do that. I'm just getting started!"

"I mean it. Let's let this kid simmer down for a few days while we think about what to do next. It'll probably take me a couple of days to arrange this music program business anyway." Waiting. More waiting. I think I might go insane.

Dax ushers me out the door just as that Tobin guy and his mother exit the other office with the man I a.s.sume is the vice princ.i.p.al. "I trust we won't have any more issues with you after your suspension," the vice princ.i.p.al is in the middle of saying to Tobin. "I would hate to tell Mr. Morgan that he needs to recast your part in the musical."

The mother barely even gives me a glance as they pa.s.s us, but Tobin seems to look right through me- as if he's trying to get a better look at Dax, who stands behind my shoulder in the doorway. Tobin comes to a complete stop, his face white as ash. Dax steps back into his office and closes the door.

"Are you okay, Toby?" his mother asks.

Tobin turns away. "Yeah. Whatever. I'm fine." But I can tell from his tone that he's clearly not.

I watch them pa.s.s by the gla.s.s windows of the office, fighting the urge to follow them. Instead, I turn toward the chairs where I left Garrick, to find that he's already gone. I can only hope he isn't getting himself into more trouble.

That's the last thing any of us need right now.

chapter twenty-four.

daphne

The landline phone in my room rings. I can hear it from my private bathroom, where I stand in front of the large, oval, Swarovski crystalaencrusted mirror that hangs over the marble-countered vanity. I'm not used to having my own bathroom-there was only one in the bungalow that I shared with my mom and the varied guests or strays we occasionally had staying with us-let alone one so opulent. If I were in a better mood, I might be tempted to pretend I am some sort of diva in my dressing room before a big show. Instead, I am inspecting the faint red mark that stretches across my right cheekbone. It almost looks like I'd merely gone too heavy with my blush, but the pain that pulses under my skin reminds me of a burn. It is almost exactly the same as the marks left on my arm when Haden had tried to grab me in the grove.

The strangest thing is that I'd thought that boy, who I a.s.sume is Haden's cousin, based on Bridgette's description, hadn't actually touched me. Haden had stopped him before his fist collided with my face -and yet, I felt a burning heat slap against my face. I guess it is possible he'd grazed me with his fist after all, but it had happened so quickly, I wasn't sure.

The phone starts ringing for a fifth time since I got home. I'm in no hurry to answer it. I am home alone, and it is most likely someone for Joe-probably a reporter trying to get a statement about his new musical endeavor with the high school-and I am in no mood to talk about it. I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face. When I look up in the mirror again, the mark is gone, but my skin still stings. I prod at my cheek with the tip of my finger, suddenly wondering if I'd imagined the mark there in the first place.

I've never had to question if I am just imagining things back in Ellis.

Something weird is definitely going on in this place.

Maybe Olympus Hills is dumping hallucinogens into their water supply. Maybe that was the big theory Tobin had been wanting to share with me. I laugh at the mirror. Yeah, right.

The phone finally stops ringing, and I a.s.sume the call has gone to voice mail. It's probably better to let Marta get Joe's messages anyway, I think as I wander back into my bedroom and sit on the edge of my plush bed.

The phone starts ringing again. The sound echoes in my large, lonely room. That has to be a reporter.

n.o.body I know would be that persistent.

I realize it could possibly be CeCe. I'd left her three messages since I'd gotten here, telling her to call me back on this number.

I reach for the phone, and another possibility hits me. Another person might know this number.

Someone who might have picked up my bag in the grove and who now has my cell phone-and all my contact listings-in their possession . . .

The phone's shrill ring makes me jump. Despite my better judgment, I pick up the receiver.

"h.e.l.lo?" I ask tentatively.

"Daphne?" says a male voice on the other end, and my shoulders relax so much at the syncopated, friendly tone that accompanies it that I almost forget I'm mad at him.

"Tobin," I say, trying not to show too much relief in my voice.

"You're a hard bird to get a hold of," he says. "I would have come by your house to see you in person, but I'm kind of grounded. Also, I was worried you might slam the door in my face."

"You deserve both the grounding and the door slamming," I tell him.

"Yeah. I know." He's quiet for a moment. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," I say, brus.h.i.+ng my hand over my cheek. "But I might hang up on you if you don't tell me what you thought you were doing in the cafeteria. That Haden guy might be dangerous. Why would you try to take him on like that?"

I would never have confided in him that I think Haden Lord is the guy from the grove if I'd thought that would cause Tobin to go after him. It just hadn't crossed my mind that a guy like Tobin would try to pick a fight. I might expect something like that from some stereotypical jock or something, but starting a confrontation like that seemed so against Tobin's nature. But then again, I'd only known him for a couple of days. I'd a.s.sumed he was like CeCe because they share a similar inner song, but maybe I don't know as much about his nature as I'd thought.

And the fact that this Haden guy hadn't even tried to fight back when Tobin attacked made me question-ever so slightly-if my a.s.sumptions about him had been incorrect, too.

"I'm sorry," Tobin says. "I wasn't planning on starting anything with him, but it's like I saw him and something came over me." I hear strange notes coming off him-the same low, cold tone I'd noticed in music cla.s.s. Right before he was about to confide in me.

"Does this have something to do with what you were going to tell me before?" I ask him.

"Yes. It's just that . . . ," Tobin trails off and I hear someone else's voice in the background. "Yeah, Mom. In a minute," he says away from the receiver. "I've got to go, Daph. I'm not supposed to be on the phone."

"It's just what?" I ask before he can hang up, my curiosity edging into my voice. "You can't say something like that and not finish. Again."

"You're still coming to the party Friday night?" he asks.

For half a second, I don't know what he's talking about, and then I remember that he was in the middle of inviting me to a party for the music department when we discovered Pear Perkins in the lake. "Stop trying to change the subject."

"I'm not. Are you still coming?"

"Your mom is still having the party?" I thought she might cancel, considering what had happened to one of the invitees.

"She's even more determined to throw it after what happened to Pear. She thinks it will be nice for the music department to come together and collectively send their goodwill vibes to Pear. That and she already paid the caterer. Besides, she wants to meet my costar."

"I don't know. . . ." The last thing I feel like doing is celebrating my part in the play, and considering Tobin is the only one in the music department who is willing to talk to me, I'm pretty sure everyone else probably feels the same way. But then again, since Tobin is the only one of them still acknowledging my existence, it might not be the best idea to alienate him by not accepting his invitation.

"Come, okay?" Tobin whispers into the phone. "I'm suspended through Friday, so I won't get a chance to see you until then."

"You're still trying to change the subject."

"The subject is the reason I want you to come. I need to show you something."

"Okay. I'll be there. But this had better be worth the wait."

"It is," he says, and hangs up.

chapter twenty-five.

haden

"A party?" I ask Dax as he pulls a glossy pair of shoes from a box and sets them in front of me. "Are you sure this is the best next step?" It has been four days since I have seen Daphne. Four long, mindnumbing days in which I have been forced to stay inside Simon's house while on suspension, and now Dax wants my second sanctioned excursion into the world to be at a party. "And while wearing this around my neck? I'll look like a fool," I say, tugging at the long, striped length of cloth that he has tied so tightly around my collar, it feels like a noose.

Dax swats my hand away and fixes the knot I've loosened. "Everyone will be wearing ties. You're going to the party of the year."

Simon worked his magic, or pulled some strings, or whatever it is he does, and managed to procure me an invitation to the mayor's party-along with a spot in Olympus Hills High's coveted music program. But I don't know which one makes me more anxious at the moment: the thought of pretending to belong in a music cla.s.s or the idea of going to a human party. I have been trained in the art of combat, not in singing, dancing, and making small talk with teenage girls.

"Someone really needs to make a few adjustments to Master Crue's lesson plans," I say, slipping my feet into the stiff shoes. "I have no idea what I am doing."

"Just play it cool," Dax says.

He has forced me to don a pair of dark gray slacks and a white b.u.t.ton-up s.h.i.+rt. Contrary to his protests, I have pushed the sleeves of the s.h.i.+rt up past my elbows, but I make sure the scars on my arm, which spell out Daphne's name, are still covered. I feel overly warm and suffocated in these clothes. "I don't understand. You want me to pretend to be cold?" I fake a s.h.i.+ver. "Like this? What's the point?"

Dax tries to stifle a laugh-not very well-and I realize I've been tripped up by another one of these "figures of speech" that I keep running into. I'm beginning to hate the English language.

"No, I mean, don't go following Daphne around the party. Pretend you barely remember who she is."

"I thought you told me not to be rude to her. Isn't indifference the same?"

"No, what I'm saying is don't act all stalkery. Let her come to you. Let her be the one to engage."