Page 185 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
He looks at me for one more moment, as if he’s memorizing it.
He nods, straightening as he pushes off the wall.
Ryder Hamilton puts himself back together, and then I watch him go.
My hands press against my sternum as my heart does something undignified. I take a deep breath and want so badly for him to do well. Nothing matters at this moment but him.
Shaking out my clammy hands, I find my spot in the wings.
He finds me the moment he walks out. Stage left, exactly where I said. The corner of his mouth lifts. It’s just slightly, and it’s just for me. Then he faces the audience, and the room erupts. Now, he is someone else entirely.
Or maybe he’s the version he was always meant to be.
The version I know is underneath his armor.
The version he’s worked so hard to become. To retire his parents. To make it on his own, no matter what his grade point average is.
I let myself feel every single ounce of love for him and soak up every second of the solid opening riff, unbothered that I left my camera on the seat beside Madison.
Thirty-Three
It’sonthethirdsong when Miranda appears beside me. She lifts my camera, not like it’s an obligation, but perhaps a missing part of me.
I thank her and place the strap over my head.
We stand together for a moment without speaking. There’s something different about Miranda as she watches the boys play. There’s an investment she has in Ryder that’s different from the other two. There’s something softer when she watches him, and an easy smile curves her lips.
I raise my camera and find Ryder in the frame. Stage lights catch the line of his jaw, and I unapologetically zoom in. In another shot, I catch the movement of his hands on the strings. Then I capture a moment between songs when he drops his head briefly. Something private moves across his face before he looks back up.
Then I lower the camera and just watch, because some things shouldn’t be photographed. Some things should just be witnessed.
Miranda steps in close, so I can hear her over the music. “I spoke to an attorney yesterday.”
I look at her.
Her eyes stay on the stage. “Your inheritance. The money from your parents’ estate.” A pause, measured and deliberate. “We will have it moved into a trust. It will sit there for as long as you need it to. Until you know what you want your future to look like.”
On stage, Ryder’s voice lifts into the chorus, and the room lifts with it.
“Miranda,” I start.
“I’m not asking you to trust me because of it. I’m just telling you it’s done.”
I look back at the stage. At Ryder, who is somewhere in the middle of the best performance of his life. Right now, I don’t want to make any decision that doesn’t involve staying close to him.
“Thank you,” I say.
Miranda nods once, as if the matter is settled. Then she says, so quietly I almost miss it. “Your mother would have liked him.”
Her words move through me. Comforting yet painful, and I feel every part of it.
We stand in the wings together until the set ends, and the encore brings the room to its feet.
The last note hangs in the air for a long moment before the crowd takes it.
Then the room erupts. The kind of sound that starts in your lungs. Real and unmanufactured.
As the band gives a final wave to the crowd, Ryder is grinning large. There’s sweat on his face and his chest is puffing, and I’ve never been more attracted to him.
