Bridgette squeaks from the doorway, “Where the heck is she?”
“That’s it. I’m calling it,” Mr. Morgan says, his voice filled with annoyance. “Next up. Miss Rain. Miss Rain, are you here?”
No answer comes from the auditorium.
“Miss Daphne Rain? Do we have another no-show?”
“Isn’t that you?” Tobin asks.
“What?” I’d been distracted by the nervous little melody wafting off Bridgette.
“Daphne Rain, you have sixty seconds to appear on my stage or your audition is also cancelled,” shouts Mr. Morgan.
“Oh, that is me,” I say, a little dumbfounded. My audition isn’t supposed to be for another ten minutes. I haven’t had time to finish my relaxation exercises. My throat is still dry. I need more water. I’m not quite ready.
“Fifty seconds!”
I must look panicked, because Tobin takes my arm. “Don’t worry,” he says, and leads me down the hall several yards to another door. He swings it open. “Backstage,” he says. “Just go up those stairs and follow the curtains. Break a leg!” he says, and pushes me through the doorway—which he might have meant literally, because as the door swings shut, I am engulfed in utter darkness.
“Thirty seconds, Miss Rain!”
I stumble forward and hit the stairs. I find the handrail and pull myself up the steps. I grip my guitar tightly in one hand and stick the other out, feeling for the curtains. Something rustles past me, and I hear that low, hissing sound from before. I spin around, looking for what—or who—is with me in the darkness. I can’t see anything but blackness all around. My old fear of the dark had started during that hospital stay when I was thirteen. Every time one of the nurses would shut off the lights, it would seem like someone was standing in the shadows. Watching me. It was probably just the painkillers messing with my mind—the sensation had gone away once we went home and I could sleep in my own bed—but it had taken me months before I could sleep without the lights on. For some reason, that old fear comes rolling over me again. I take another step. Something brushes my arm, and I almost scream. Another half step and I realize I’m standing in one of the curtains.
“Fifteen seconds!”
I push at the curtain and see a sliver of light dance between its folds. I trail my hand along the fabric until I come to the opening. I think I hear someone let out a breath behind me. I look back, sure I’m being watched, and step out into the light of the stage.
“I’m here,” I say, holding my hand up to block the sudden brightness of the spotlight that is trained on center stage.
“Nice of you to decide to join us, Miss Rain,” the teacher says curtly.
“It’s Miss Raines.”
“Noted,” he says, making a mark in his binder. “You were almost too late.”
“Sorry. I was told my audition was at three thirty.”
He purses his lips for a moment. “I expect my students to be prepared for anything.”
“Well, I am,” I say.
“Do you have sheet music for the pianist?”
I stifle a smile. CeCe had always thought that was the funniest word. “I thought I’d play my own accompaniment.” I place my fingers on the right chords and prepare to start playing, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice the curtains at the side of the stage rustling. I stand still for a moment, trying to see if anything is really there. Maybe I hadn’t been imagining things when I was backstage. Maybe someone had been there.
Maybe the stranger from the grove had followed me.…
My muscles tense. I wonder if I should say something, but my voice is caught in my throat.
“Well, then, what are you waiting for?” Mr. Morgan asks, clearly still annoyed.
I look at him and then to the expectant faces of the students in the crowd. Some of them looked embarrassed or nervous for me, and I can tell by the tone that titters off Lexie and the cluster of friends sitting with her that they’re highly amused. I see Lexie pull her iPhone from her pocket and stealthily train it on me.
Do they think I’m going to throw up on the stage like that freshman girl? Or do I look as mentally disturbed as I feel at the moment?
“If you don’t want to be in my music program, Miss Rain, then I suggest you get off my stage,” Mr. Morgan says.
For half a second, I find myself wondering if I do want to be in his music program.
If I want to be here at all. I could just walk right off this stage, bike back to Joe’s mansion, and demand that he fly me back to Ellis.