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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 classroom. 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, and 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; 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 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
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 assuming 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 assume 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 finishing
the reading.
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