The Shadow Prince

chapter four DAPHNE

I don’t know why I called him that. Dad. The man who stood in front of me now may have been my biological father, but he had never been my dad. That title is supposed to be reserved for the man who teaches you how to ride a bike, or who picks the splinters out of your skin, helps you with your homework, and argues with you about your curfew. Not for the person who married your mom in a Vegas drive-thru chapel after one date, only to leave her three days later to become a rock star. I wouldn’t have even recognized Joe if I hadn’t seen his face splashed all over the covers of tabloids in the grocery store checkout stand.

I’m so stuck on this dad detail, I don’t follow what Joe is saying. I can see his lips moving and I can tell he’s using the same practiced tone of voice that he employs during TV interviews, or while accepting awards at the Grammys, like he’s giving a rehearsed speech. But I don’t actually hear the words he’s saying until he places one of his hands on my shoulder and says, “That’s why we have to leave tonight.”

“What?” I step back abruptly, and my heel makes a squeaky noise against the linoleum floor. Upon Joe’s request, we and the glossy woman moved our conversation to my mother’s small office in the back of the shop for privacy, but I know Jonathan, CeCe, and probably Indie, are listening at the grate on the other side of the wall. I wish one of them could fill me in. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?” I ask Joe.

The grin my father has plastered on his face falters at the edges. “We need to go tonight,” he says. He waits for a moment, probably for some sign of understanding from me. When I don’t respond, he goes on. “To your new school. In California. The one we’ve been talking about for the last few minutes.”

“What?” I take another step back. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

He loops his fingers behind his giant—and, no doubt, real platinum—skull-shaped belt buckle, and rocks back on his heels. “Bugger. I thought you were taking this too well.” He runs his fingers through his long hair and clears his throat. “I know I haven’t been there for you, Daphne,” he says, starting his little speech over again. “I want to make things up to you. This school—Olympus Hills High—can open up opportunities for you that I never had and that you can’t possibly get here. The training you could get for your voice alone, and the education is top notch. It’s what you deserve. Your voice is amazing.…”

He would think so. He claimed that I had his voice.

“You can only attend the school if you’re a resident of Olympus Hills, and I just happened to have finalized the purchase of a home there last week. You would live with me. We could get to know each other.”

I probably look like some kind of dead fish with the way my mouth is hanging open. I don’t even know what to say to this … this proposition.

My father checks his watch. His smile vanishes altogether. “This is a big deal, Daphne. You have no idea how many strings I had to pull to get you in.” His voice is edged with a pleading tone that surprises me, and I notice for the first time how much older he seems in person than in the images I’ve seen of him in the Star Tracks section of People magazine. “If we don’t go tonight, you will lose your place.”

“Tonight?!” This isn’t happening. “But there’s this talent competition tonight. I’m supposed to audition for scholarships for college.” And school is starting, and CeCe’s birthday is next week, and Mom needs her flower cooler fixed, and I’m supposed to start teaching guitar lessons for the kids in my neighborhood to help bring in extra cash. All I’ve ever wanted is to graduate and get out of Ellis, but suddenly I can think of a million reasons why I need to stay. Why I’m not ready to leave. Not yet.

Joe clasps his hands. “Daphne, darling. If you’re Joe Vince’s daughter and you graduate from a place like Olympus Hills, you won’t have to audition for scholarships anywhere. Schools will throw money at you to attend. Not that you’ll even need it now. But only if you come with me—”

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

My mother sweeps into her office, and Joe stops speaking midsentence. He looks at her wide eyed, almost as if he’s a little afraid of her, and I can’t help but notice that even the glossy woman with the briefcase and the slick chignon is taken aback by my mother. The two are polar opposites. While the woman is petite, and gives off a very even, uncluttered tone, my mom stands over six feet tall and is wearing her signature green maxi dress and the pollen-stained apron I’ve rarely seen her without. Instead of heels, Mom’s feet are bare. My mother never wears shoes, as if all those NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE signs don’t apply to her. It’s like she believes the grass won’t grow and the flowers won’t bloom if she doesn’t glide over the earth with her naked feet each day. Her hair tumbles about her shoulders like waves of golden wheat, and her eyes, bright blue like the color of delphinium blossoms, pierce right into Joe. The tone that comes off her is like the crescendo of a symphony. I’m tall like my mother, and people say I look just like her, but I don’t know how I can even compare when it comes to presence. She’s like a force of nature.

“Don’t even try me,” she says to Joe.

He clears his throat. “As I told you on the phone, Demi, I have a court order.”

The woman in the suit dress snaps open her briefcase and pulls out a document that supposedly proves that Joe is my new legal guardian. How he got a judge to grant him custody of the teenage daughter he’s seen only four times since I was born is beyond me. I mean, Joe doesn’t make the tabloids because of his more sober exploits. Then again, he probably has enough money to keep half the lawyers in California on retainer.

Mom doesn’t even look at the paper. “I don’t care what that document says. You can’t just waltz in here and take my daughter away.”

“Our daugh … ter,” Joe says, but Mom gives him a look that makes him stammer.

“I don’t care what I have to do to block your so-called court order. I don’t care if I have to sell my shop to pay for it. I will not let you take Daphne out of Ellis Fields.”

It’s at this moment that I make up my mind. The shock and numbness of the situation have started to wear off, and I know what I have to do. Because there’s no way I’m going to let Joe destroy my mother’s dreams all over again. There’s no way I’m going to let her sell her shop—her paradise—because of me.

“I’ll go,” I say, stepping between my feuding parents.

Through the grate, I can hear Jonathan and CeCe gasp. Indie makes some sort of high-pitched, hiccuping noise.

My mother turns toward me. “Daphne, no.”

I square my shoulders and look right at her. “I’m going,” I say as definitively as I can. “I want to go. This school is everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m going.”

My mother looks as though I’ve smashed one of her prized oleanders onto the floor and then kicked the dirt at her feet, and a low, disappointed tone comes off her.

Joe blinks at me in relieved surprise.

“We need to leave,” the glossy woman says. She taps the screen of her phone. “We’ll lose our spot for takeoff if we don’t get to the airport ASAP. Daphne, you have seventeen minutes to pack your essentials. We’ll send for the rest later—assuming there’s anything worth sending for.” She puts her phone into her briefcase and then takes me by the elbow to escort me out of the office. I look back at my mother, but she’s turned away from me.

“Wait,” I say, breaking away from the woman’s grasp. “Mom, look at me, please.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Little Miss Glossy says.

“Yes, we do.” I stand next to my mother. I place my hand on her shoulder. I’ve always been able to read people by the tones and sounds that come off them—but at the moment, I wish I couldn’t. There’s a raging ensemble of emotions behind my mother’s stiff expression, a chorus of anger, feelings of betrayal, remorse, and fear.

“I’m sorry, Mom. But I have to do this. As much as this store is your life, music is mine. And just as much as it would be impossible for me to stop singing, it would be even more impossible for me to watch you lose this place. Not when the solution is so easy.”

“Leaving your home is that easy for you?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” I squeeze her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Mom. I’ll be back for Christmas break.” I glance at Joe and he nods, confirming that this would be part of the plan. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Bad things happen out there. Believe me, Daphne, I know.” More remorse wafts off my mother, and I know she’s thinking of her one excursion outside of Ellis Fields as a teenager—spring break, her senior year, with some high school friends. That trip was how my mom ended up with an ex she barely knew, and a baby she’d never planned on. Not to mention one of her best friends had run off to New York City with some guy, never to be heard from again.

“Some good things happen out there, too,” I say, and give her a look that says, “How else would you have gotten me?”

All the stiffness in my mother’s face melts away. Water fills her eyes and she grabs me in a close hug. “I know,” she says. “You are my everything. That’s why I don’t want to ever lose you.” Her grip on me tightens. “Please, my little sprout, stay here.”

I bite back the urge to tell her that I’ve changed my mind, that I am never going to leave, but I can’t fight the tears that roll from my eyes as I let my mother hold me like I was a little kid who’s fallen and skinned her knee.

“We now have thirteen minutes until we need to leave,” the glossy woman says.

I break away from my mother’s hug. Anguished notes fall off her like teardrops as she realizes that her pleading won’t keep me here.

“You know, you could always come with me,” I say. “Open up a new shop in California?”

She shakes her head, with a sad little smile. “Who would take care of all of Ellis’s strays?”

I’d known she’d never go for it, but I had to at least ask. “Okay, then, cross my heart and hope to die, I swear I will never run off with some random guy.” I make an X over my chest, and my mother laughs tearfully at my corny rhyme.

“Twelve minutes,” the woman says and takes me by the elbow again. I have no choice but to let her drag me out of the office.

We pass Jonathan, who gives me a sad frown, and CeCe, who acts as though she wants to try to stop me, but rethinks it when Glossy Woman throws her a look that could melt ice. Indie, ever oblivious, gives me an enthusiastic double thumbs-up.

The wall of heat outside the oasis of the shop’s AC hits me and I suddenly feel overwhelmed—not just by the prospect of packing up my life in such a hurry, but also by knowing that, in twelve short minutes, I have to figure out how to say good-bye to the only life I have ever known.