“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.
“If something is wrong in the grove,” Tobin says, huffing with Gibby in his arms, trying to keep up, “shouldn’t we be running away, not toward it?”
“Not in the grove. With the grove. I can hear it.”
“You’re kind of weird, Daphne Raines.”
“I know.” I pass between two poplar trees into the dark grove of aspens and laurels. I gasp. This place barely resembles the beautiful grove I had sung in this morning. Several of the smaller trees are broken, and mounds of earth have been upturned. One of the aspens looks like it’s been struck by lightning: its trunk is scorched, and one of its large branches has been turned to ash.
“What happened here?” I whisper, more to the grove itself than to Tobin.