“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 class,” 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 a stack of papers around and then stands up, with his pipe. “Now, perhaps you should scamper off to class, young Master Lord. No more fighting, you scallywag,” he says with a British accent. “I think Mr. Drol should be from Yorkshire, don’t you?”
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. Japanese, 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 class. I’m suspending you for the rest of the week. Go home and lie 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 assume is the vice principal. “I trust we won’t have any more issues with you after your suspension,” the vice principal 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 pass 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 pass by the glass 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 needs 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 crystal–encrusted 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 didn’t think the boy, who I assume is Haden’s cousin, based on Bridgette’s description, had actually touched me. Haden had stopped him before his fist collided with my face—and yet, I had 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 the 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’d never had to question if I was 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 wanted to share with me. I laugh at the mirror. Yeah, right.
The phone finally stops ringing, and I assume 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. Nobody 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.
“Hello?” 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 ahold 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, brushing 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 hadn’t crossed my mind that a guy like Tobin would try to pick a fight. I might expect something like that from a stereotypical jock or something, but starting a confrontation seemed so against Tobin’s nature. But then again, I’d known him for only a couple of days. I’d assumed he was like CeCe because they share a similar inner song, but maybe I don’t know as much about his nature as I 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 assumptions 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 class. Right before he was about to confide in me.