A few minutes before the bell is supposed to ring, Tobin appears in the doorway. The dark circles under his eyes make me wonder if his nights have been just as restless as mine since the grove. I lift my hand to give a little wave to him, but find myself holding my breath, wondering if he’ll respond. I had contemplated looking up his number and calling him to share the good news about my getting into the music department, but I hadn’t because I was unsure of where our budding friendship stood after Saturday evening. Finding a nearly dead girl together could serve to either cement our friendship status or crumble it before it even began. And with the crazy story I told the security guards and my omission of the truth—okay, lie—regarding my nonschollie status, I wouldn’t blame Tobin if he’s decided to have nothing to do with the wacko newbie. But before I can decide whether or not to wave, he sees me and waves first. I respond with a smile.
Tobin slips into the seat next to mine. “I was afraid we’d scared you out of town,” he says. “Glad to see you’re still here.”
“I don’t scare away that easily.”
“Neither do I.” Tobin hooks his backpack over the back of his seat, showing that he’s not planning on moving to a new spot before class. Today, he’s wearing a periwinkle fedora with a darker blue ribbon above the short brim. “Have you heard what they’re saying about Pear having a heart attack?”
I nod. “Kind of impossible not to.”
“I know what you mean.” Tobin’s warm tone drops lower, colder as he leans in close to me. “But do you believe it?” he asks. “I mean, I guess Pear could have had a heart condition and nobody knew it. This place is pretty competitive, so she may have been afraid to show any weakness. I couldn’t fathom why Pear would have gone to the grove until I overheard my mother talking on a conference call this morning. Pear’s housekeeper said that Pear had forgotten her sheet music for the auditions. They’re saying she must have rushed home to get it and cut through the grove as a shortcut. They’re saying the stress of it all was too much for her heart and she collapsed.… But the thing is, some of those gashes in her arm sure didn’t look like they were caused by tree branches.”
Relief washes over me, knowing that I am not the only one questioning the weirdness of the situation. It makes me feel a little bit less crazy. “I was thinking the same thing. But why would there be some sort of cover-up going on?”
Tobin looks at me, the strangest notes coming off him.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t think what happened to Pear is the only thing this place is covering up.”
This is the third time Tobin has indicated that something less than perfect is going on in this town. What exactly had I gotten myself mixed up in by agreeing to move here? I give Tobin a look, telling him to go on.
“You’re going to think I’m nuts—” Tobin stops abruptly. I look up and see that Lexie and Bridgette are standing right next to us, with a couple of Sopranos standing behind them. Bridgette holds a basket of giant muffins.
“I understand you’re the one who pulled Pear from the lake,” Lexie says to Tobin. She flicks her hand, and Bridgette sets the basket of muffins in his lap. “Consider this our thank-you.”
“Um … you’re welcome,” Tobin says. “But it’s Daphne you should be thanking. I wouldn’t have found Pear if it weren’t for her.”
“Oh.” Lexie blinks at me as if this is the first time she’s noticed me sitting there, despite giving me a death glare only minutes before. She picks up one of the giant blueberry muffins from Tobin’s basket and offers it to me. “Thanks,” she says. “Maybe you’re not as useless as I thought. If Pear doesn’t recover soon, we will have to consider taking on a new Soprano. We’ll be watching you.” Lexie drops the muffin in my open hand and returns to the front row with her Sopranos.
“They really are kind of like the mafia, aren’t they? ‘Consider this our thank-you,’ ” I say, mimicking the low, raspy Godfather-esque voice.
Tobin laughs. It’s nice to hear a tone coming off him that doesn’t sound so dark. I want to bring up the topic we were discussing before Lexie interrupted, but at the moment, I want to let him be lighthearted. “ ‘We’ll be watching you,’ ” I say in my Godfather voice.
“I wouldn’t put it past her to leave a severed My Little Pony head in your bed if you refuse their membership offer,” he says, and takes a bite of a muffin.
“Friendship is magic,” I say.
Tobin laughs harder, accidentally spitting bits of muffin on my shirt. He clamps his hands over his mouth, still laughing. Which makes me lose it, too.
“What’s so funny?” Iris says, taking the seat on my right.
Neither Tobin nor I can stop laughing long enough to answer her. She rolls her eyes at us. Tobin squeezes my shoulder. I love the sound of his laugh. It’s infectious, just like CeCe’s.
“Quiet down,” Mr. Morgan calls, entering the classroom from his office. “I have a special announcement!”
“Ooh,” Iris says. “I bet he’s finally going to give us details about the musical. Maybe he’ll even announce the leads.” She reaches behind me to smack Tobin on the shoulder in a knowing sort of way. His laughter dies down immediately and he puts his full attention on Mr. Morgan.
“I know many of you were upset that I didn’t announce what musical we would be performing this year before this week’s preliminary auditions,” Mr. Morgan says, standing on the small stage before the semicircle of chairs. He sounds far more like a teacher today, rather than the tyrant he was at the auditions. “But that is because some very special circumstances came up just after the beginning of the school year, and I would have been a fool not to have accepted. I am going to end your suspense and tell you all now, as well as introduce our surprise guest.…” He stops to straighten his tie, but based on the happy tones of anticipation buzzing in the air, I suspect he’s just pausing for the dramatic effect. He smooths down his tie and smiles, practically beaming. “This year, Olympus Hills High will be performing the debut production of a brand-new rock opera. But not just any rock opera—one composed by none other than the ‘God of Rock,’ Mr. Joe Vince himself!” Mr. Morgan sweeps his hands out dramatically, as if presenting us all with a gift as his office door opens, and Joe—my Joe—comes swaggering out to the sudden, uproarious applause and cheers of everyone else in the classroom.