DAPHNE

“Wow, this place is perfect, isn’t it?” I say to Tobin as we walk on one of the lake paths.

He’d given me a tour of most of the places in town that could be reached on foot. I wheeled my old bike along as he carried Gibby and pointed out different places of interest. My favorite so far is a street of small, boutique-style shops that Tobin said is called Olympus Row. Each of the stores had been designed to look like a shop you would find in a Greek village, with the white stucco walls and blue roofs and doors. It made me feel like I’d been transported to another world. We’d stopped for gelato, and ate it while we watched a group of kids splashing in a fountain before heading for the trails that wind around the lake.

“Don’t let it fool you,” Tobin says.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing is ever as perfect as it seems,” he mumbles. A strange black note drifts off him. It clashes with his warm vibe.

“What, is this town ripe with conspiracies and secret societies?” I say, trying to lighten his mood.

“Hey, I’m just saying you never know.…” Tobin strums a few bars on Gibby. The sound muffles whatever emotive notes he might be putting off at the moment. He sings a couple of lines from a song I don’t know and then stops walking. “Hey, speaking of secret societies,” he says, his voice much lighter now, “there’s this party next week.…” He trails off, and I’m not sure I’m following his segue.

“Are you telling me that the Skull and Crossbones are holding a recruitment meeting? Or is it a Masons sort of shindig?”

“Aliens,” Tobin says. “It’s an alien rave.”

“Ohhhh,” I say with a laugh. “Hey, what’s over there?” I point at the smaller island of the lake, even though I know very well it’s the grove. “You haven’t shown me that place yet.”

“What? Oh, that’s the grove. I thought you said you went there earlier today?”

Oh yeah. I had. “I must be all turned around,” I say, sheepishly. “Let’s go check it out again.”

“Uh,” Tobin says. “It’s just a bunch of old trees. Once you’ve seen them, that’s kind of it. Nobody even goes there. Anyway, about this party …”

“The alien one? Come on, let’s cross the bridge.”

“Yeah, that one. Except without the aliens. I was kind of hoping.…” He lets his sentence trail off again, like he isn’t sure what to say next.

I’m not sure what to say, either. Crap, had I totally been oblivious again? I’d read Tobin’s vibes toward me in nothing but a friend-zone sort of way. But as CeCe had already established, I totally suck at this sort of thing. So much so that I don’t date. I’d always been too focused on my music to care whether or not I got asked out, and I never felt like I had the time to spare when I did. Truth is, the idea of dating has always seemed like it’s in opposition to my goals. My mom had let herself get sidetracked by a guy, and look where that landed her. I know I’m hesitating too long, so I say what comes to mind first. “I, um, don’t really date.… It’s got nothing to do with you.” I cringe, knowing I sound completely lame. “I just feel like I need to stay really focused on the music department.…”

“Oh. Yeah, I get that,” Tobin says. “Totally focused here, too. The party is for the music department. My mom likes to throw a big shindig for them after the first month of school. It’s supposed to help everyone bond as a group, you know. She’s kind of overly invested in my social life. I just wanted to make sure you knew about it.… So you could come. Alone. Of course.” He gives me a sheepish grin. A tinge of pink highlights his cheeks. I listen carefully to make sure his friendly tone is still there, and feel relieved when I still hear it under the wavering notes of embarrassment. I would hate it if my social lameness had messed up my first—and possibly only—potential friendship in this place.

“In that case, I’ll be there. Assuming I even get into the department, that is.”

“Believe me, you’re getting in.”

“So let’s go explore this grove place,” I say, eager to change the subject. I grab Tobin’s arm and try to pull him down the path toward the grove, but he literally digs in his heels to stop me.

“Seriously, Daph. Nobody goes there. That place gives me the creeps.”

So Marta hadn’t been making it up that nobody ever went there.

“Why? Do weird things happen there or something? Or are you just chicken?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant and jokey, but I really do want to know. Maybe I wasn’t the first person to have encountered something strange there.

“Call me a chicken all you want. It’s starting to get dark. How about we go get cupcakes back at the row. My treat.”

“Come on, ya dork. It’ll be an adventure.” Tobin’s resistance is starting to freak me out, but I need to go back to the grove. I’d left Gibby’s case behind—which, yeah, I could probably easily talk Joe into replacing for me—but I had also left my tote bag. Along with it, my cell phone, wallet, my school registration forms, and various other bottom-of-my purse junk. Which means Mr. Creepy Eyes could possibly have access to the contact information for all of my friends in Ellis Fields, my Pomegranate Bliss lip gloss … and my new address. I could only hope he hadn’t noticed my tote and had left it there. I need to get it back before he, or anyone else, happens upon it.

“Then I guess I’ll have to check it out on my own,” I say, and head toward the bridge that leads to the island. Tobin could either follow or let me go alone. I’m pretty sure he’ll follow.

“This place has the creepiest vibe ever,” he says as we get closer, his reluctant melody echoing on the bridge.

I don’t know what he is talking about. The only thing creepy I had found about the grove was the stranger. Its vibe had been what had drawn me to it. I don’t know how it can repel anyone else. Then again, they can’t hear it singing the way I do.…

As we near the grove, I notice that something is different about the grove’s song this evening. I stop and listen for a moment. Instead of being a soothing lullaby, it sounds off. Like it’s full of broken, discordant notes.

“Something’s wrong,” I say, leaning my bike against the bridge’s railing. “With the grove.” I jog toward the ring of poplar trees.