The Shadow Prince

chapter thirty-four DAPHNE

I can’t find Tobin in the cafeteria, so I carry my lunch tray out to the courtyard. I sit under a statue of some Greek poet or whatever. I pull out the stack of homework I’m supposed to finish in order to catch up on the three weeks of classes I missed at the beginning of the year. Between that, rehearsing for the play, my current course load, and now Tobin’s “investigation,” I am starting to feel a bit underwater.

I try a couple of math problems and then give up. Instead, I pull out a notebook, and decide to make my own dossier of things I know about Haden Lord.

Name: Haden Lord.

Age: 16? 17?

Hair: Dark brown, almost black

Eyes: Jade green (but sometimes look like they have bright amber rings around the pupils?)

Occupation: Part-time pirate

I tap my pen on the paper, realizing what I know about Haden isn’t very much at all. I take a bite of my chicken salad sandwich, trying to think of something else to add to my list.

“Hello, Daphne,” Lexie says as she sits down right in front of me.

“Um, hi,” I say. I look around, trying to figure out what she’s up to. None of her Sopranos is around, so I’m not sure if this is an ambush waiting to happen.

Lexie tucks her legs under her and opens a prepacked salad, like she’s planning on staying for a while. She stabs a cucumber with a plastic fork. Eats it. And then looks at me. “Do you want to know why I hate you?” she asks.

I almost choke on a bite of chicken.

“Not particularly,” I say when I’ve recovered. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

Lexie shakes a little tub of dressing, opens it, and dips the tips of her fork tines into the dressing before taking a bite of salad. She chews it neatly and then repeats the tiny bit o’ dressing, lot o’ bit of lettuce process before she decides to enlighten me.

“I hate you because you’re a natural,” she says.

“A natural what?”

I expect the next words that come out of her mouth to be something like a natural-born loser but instead she eats another cucumber and says, “A natural at everything I want to be.” She scoots an olive off her salad with her fork. “You’re a natural blond, naturally fit—hello, all the mayonnaise on that sandwich—and most of all, you’re a natural singer. I, on the other hand, have to go to a stylist every six weeks to keep my hair color fabulous, do an hour of Pilates every morning to look this rocking, and I’ve had six different vocal coaches since I was five years old. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m talented, but I’ve had to work to get this voice. You just have it.”

“I work hard, too, you know,” I say, putting down my sandwich. “And I would have killed for the voice coaches you’ve had.”

“And yet here you are, in one of the best music programs in the country without an ounce of professional training. Don’t deny it, Daphne, you know you’re special. You’ve just got it, and people can see it. They can hear it.”

“So you hate me because you’re jealous?”

“No, I hate you because you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“I saw the look on your face when your dad announced that he’s writing a freaking opera—just for you. He threw the biggest opportunity in the world at your feet. And you didn’t want it. You would have thrown it back at him if you could. Meanwhile, I work my ass off trying to get a big enough part so my parents will even bother to come. Which means you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to propose a truce. I’ll call my Sopranos off if you help me get what I want.”

“Let me guess, my part in the play?”

“We both know your daddy wouldn’t go for that. No, I’ll let you play the damsel in distress. I want to be the queen. Put a bug in your dad’s ear that I’d make a good Persephone, and I’ll make sure you have a nicer time at this school.” She packs up her salad and stands. “Sound good?”

“I guess,” I say.

“Cool. I like your … um”—she scans her finger over my outfit—“barrette, by the way. Très chic.”

“Thanks,” I say, and watch as she walks through the courtyard back into the school.

I pick up my sandwich and take a couple of bites, wondering how this lunch break could get any weirder than Lexie proposing a truce, when someone very large steps in front of my sun, casting a shadow over my food.

I look up. Way up. And see Haden Lord, with a purple paisley tote bag on his arm, standing over me.