Page 176 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
I hadn’t thought about it directly. I’d been so focused on uncovering my past and finding my place in this house, I didn’t leave room for what happens after today.
“Miranda will probably want me there,” I say carefully.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I look at him. He’s still looking at the tablet, but his jaw has that particular tension that means the question cost him something to ask.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
He nods once, and the tension in his jaw releases. He starts typing.
I watch him for a moment longer than I should, then pull my notes closer.
“Ryder.”
“Yeah.”
“When you’re done with the heritage paragraph, you need a line that pivots. Something that holds the loss and the necessity in the same sentence without canceling either out.”
He thinks for a second, then types something and turns the tablet to face me.
“To mourn the church is not to condemn the council. It is simply to be human.”
I read it twice.
“That’s your conclusion,” I say. “Right there. That’s how you end it.”
He looks at the line as if he’s surprised it came from him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I slide the tablet back. “Everything else is just the argument that earns it.”
Ryder reads it one more time, then sets the tablet down. “Could almost be a song lyric.”
“You really can’t concentrate on anything but music.”
“Wrong,” he says softly. “When I try to concentrate on music, I think of you.”
I’m immediately flushed with heat.
“I’m going to be better,” he says with purpose. “I don’t want you to be afraid I’ll abandon you again.”
“I can stand on my own two feet.”
“Clearly. But I want to stand behind you in case your knees give out.”
I smile before I can stop it. The moment at the pond. The moment on the staircase. Every time he has caught me plays through my mind. “You’re good at that.”
He taps the tablet. “What about this? Is it good?”
“Yes, but actually submit it. I don’t want to do this a third time.”
“Sorry. I was preoccupied last time.” He smirks. “I had a cute girl all to myself, and the last thing I wanted to think about was schoolwork.”
Before anything else can be said, Ryder’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and stops an alarm.
“I’ve gotta go,” he mutters. “Rehearsals.”
Not letting my body react, I’m quick to say, “Submit it. No more edits, just submit it.”
