Part 14 (1/2)

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 a.s.signed out 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 I 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 cla.s.s. 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, a.s.suring her she's a shoo-in for the lead-especially now that Pear is hospitalized. The cla.s.s 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 cla.s.sroom door?

”In the role of Orpheus, we'll have Tobin Os.h.i.+ro-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 Sinatraaesque 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 c.r.a.p,” 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 from the small stage at the front of the cla.s.sroom. 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 cla.s.s, and head for the door, and escape out into the hall.

I b.u.mp 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; I 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 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 cla.s.s. 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 cla.s.s 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 n.o.body 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 donations 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.”

”What else do you know about them?”

”There are two of them going to school. One is a freshman, named Garrick, and the other is a junior. Since this is junior humanities, I'm a.s.suming that means this one is Haden. Oh, and they're staying at that really big house on Athena Way.”

I nod, even though I don't know which house she's talking about.

All of the houses in Olympus Hills seem big enough to hold half of Ellis Fields in their main floors.

Before I can ask any more questions, someone pushes between me and Bridgette, knocking my shoulder into the doorjamb. ”Bridgette,” Lexie snaps at her friend.

”Oh yeah. I'm not supposed to talk to you anymore,” Bridgette says, and hurries after Lexie. They sit with a group of Sopranos in the first row. Each one deliberately not looking at me.

The bell rings and the only seat left is in the second row. It's directly behind Lexie. Great. But the worst thing about it is that it means I can't see this Haden guy unless I deliberately turn back to look at him. I pause before sitting, to watch him. I wish he'd look up. I want to see his eyes again. I want to know if they're bright and fiery like I remember. I need to know if he's the same person I met in the grove.

”If everyone will sit, we will get started,” a tall, thin woman with red, curly hair says. I a.s.sume she must be Ms. Leeds, despite the leopard-print miniskirt she's wearing.

I turn my back to Haden and slip into my seat.

”I trust last night's events did not prevent anyone from finis.h.i.+ng the reading.”

I pull out the iPad Marta had presented me with yesterday afternoon-she said it was preloaded with all of the books I might possibly need at OHH-as a collective groan echoes through the cla.s.sroom. I would have joined in if I hadn't turned to studying in an attempt to lull myself to sleep at 3 a.m. last night. I ended up reading a third of the book before my morning alarm went off.

It was either that or call Jonathan again, and I didn't think he'd appreciate that.

Ms. Leeds makes a tsking noise. ”I was hoping now that Mr.

Morgan has announced the subject of the school musical, your interest in our Greek mythology unit would have heightened. Mr.