Page 12 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
Mom and Dad’s voices called my name through sheets of rain. Their catering van spun on the mountain road as I helplessly watched from the passenger seat I should’ve been sitting in.
I check my phone. 2:17 becomes 2:27, then 2:29. The digital numbers mocking my attempt at sleep.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
But it’s not a remnant of my nightmare.
It’s actual thunder, making my whole body go rigid.
I pull the heavy comforter over my head, but it doesn’t block out the sound of rain, pattering against the tall windows.
“It’s just rain,” I whisper under the covers. “You’re safe. You’re inside. It’s just rain.”
But my body doesn’t believe me. Every rumble of thunder hits me like a car crash. Every gust of wind sounds like voices calling for help.
I surface from under the comforter and check my phone again. 2:53 a.m.
Creaks and groans settle around the house. Probably nothing more than old house noises. But I can’t help wondering if there are footsteps in the hallway. Or perhaps a door closing? I strain my ears, but all I hear is my own ragged breathing.
I must drift off again, because I’m back in the van. There’s another car looming towards us in the storm. I try to grab the steering wheel, but my hand passes right through it, like I’m a ghost.
I wake up at 4:26 a.m. with tears on my face and Mom’s name on my lips.
The rain has stopped, but the silence that follows feels worse somehow. At home, I could always hear something. Traffic on the main road. The neighbor’s dog barking. The familiar hum of the refrigerator downstairs. Here, there’s nothing but oppressive quiet.
I try to fall back asleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see the van spinning. I unlock my phone and appreciate the blinding backlight. I hit play on the Sky Chaos clip and my nervous system settles. The alt rock track plays on a continuous loop, and I watch the darkness fade as pale gray light seeps around the edges of the heavy curtains.
7:43 a.m.
I think I know every lyric off by heart now.
At least it’s morning. Not that it matters much. I don’t have anywhere to be. Tomorrow I start at Ashworth Academy, but today is just an empty Sunday.
Like the rest of my life will be.
Empty.
I’m staring at the crack in the ceiling, trying to work up the energy to face another day, when sharp knocking jolts me upright.
“Alice?” Miranda’s voice is crisp through the door. “I’m coming in.”
She doesn’t wait for a response. The door swings open, and my aunt strides in wearing yoga pants and a fitted athletic top. She looks like she’s already been up for hours, probably working out in some home gym I haven’t discovered yet.
In her arms is a stack of books and papers that she dumps unceremoniously onto my writing desk.
“Good morning, darling,” she says, reefing the curtains open to let light into the room. “I hope you slept well.”
I didn’t, but I’m not about to tell her that.
“I’ve arranged everything for this afternoon’s tutoring session,” she continues, gesturing to the pile of materials. “I called the school on Friday and had them courier over everything you’ll need to help Ryder. You’ll be working primarily on English. That’s where he’s struggling most.”
I blink at her, still foggy from lack of sleep and unable to think of anything besides Ryder singing the chorus of my apparently new favorite song. I force myself to pause the song in my head and manage to sit upright.
She had this arranged on Friday? The day of the funeral? When I was barely standing, she was making calls to ensure I’d be ready to tutor her precious musician?
“Two o’clock sharp. The boys are rehearsing all morning. They have a showcase coming up that’s absolutely critical for their careers.” She taps a book with a manicured finger. “Ryder’s teachers are losing faith in his ability to improve his grades. Tomorrow is a fresh start, and I need him walking into those classrooms ready to impress them. That means you need to get him up to speed today.”
My stomach churns. “But I haven’t even…”
