Page 21 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
I press my palms against the sides of my head and dig my fingernails into my scalp. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to be here.”
Ryder taps the table, but I refuse to give him eye contact. “Join the club, princess. No one in this house wants to be here. But we’ve gotta make the best of it.”
“I can’t just write your essay,” I murmur.. “That’s... that’s cheating. I could get in trouble.”
His laugh is harsh, cutting through the quiet library. “Oh,nowyou care about getting in trouble? You should’ve thought about that before you crashed into my practice room.”
I flinch as if he’s slapped me.
“Look,” Ryder says, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I get that you’re dealing with... stuff. But so am I. So forgive me if I’m not interested in your moral crisis about homework.”
The tears start before I can stop them. Hot and humiliating, sliding down my cheeks.
“I’m not asking you to write the whole thing,” he continues, his voice hard. “Just give me an outline. Some quotes. Themes. Whatever. Something I can work with.”
I swipe at my face with trembling hands. “But that’s still…”
“Good lord, it’s not that hard.” His frustration is palpable. “You’re supposed to be some genius student, right? Straight A’s, advanced placement, and all that. That’s the only reason Miranda even wanted you here.”
“That’s not...” My voice cracks. “She’s my family.”
“Sure.” Ryder’s voice is flat, almost bored. “Keep telling yourself that. But we both know why you’re really here. Miranda needed a tutor, and you needed a place to live. It’s a transaction.”
“Stop it.” Fresh tears blur my vision. “Please, just stop.”
“I’m not trying to be mean. I’m being realistic. I’ve blown off tutors in the past. I guess she thinks if we’re under the same roof that maybe I’ll get the work done.” He taps the novel. “Now, can you please just help me outline this essay so we can both get through tomorrow?”
I pull the novel toward me, and the words swim on the cover. I can’t think. Can’t focus. Every breath feels like it’s cutting my throat.
I pick up my pen. Press it to paper.
My hand tremors and skitters the pen across the page, leaving a jagged line instead of words.
A sob escapes before I can muffle it.
“Are you seriously crying right now?” Ryder’s exasperation is clear in every syllable.
I press my hand over my mouth, trying to stop the sounds from escaping. But my shoulders quake, and the tears won’t stop. Everything from the past three days crashes over me at once. The funeral, the drive through the storm, Miranda’s fakewarmth, the equipment destruction, Chase and Brooks’ cruelty, Ryder’s hatred.
“Hey.” His voice softens slightly. “Look at me.”
I can’t. I keep my eyes fixed on the tear-stained paper in front of me.
“Alice. Look at me.”
Slowly, I lift my head. His dark eyes fix on mine, and there’s something in them that might be sympathy. Or pity. I can’t tell, and I’m not sure which would be worse.
“I know you lost your parents,” he says, and his voice is gentler now, like he’s talking to a child. “I know that sucks. I’m not... I’m not trying to be a jerk.”
Hope flickers in my chest. Maybe he understands. Maybe—
“But you can’t fall apart every time something’s hard,” he continues. “The world doesn’t stop because you’re sad. Life keeps moving, and you have to move with it.”
The hope dies instantly, replaced by humiliation that burns hotter than my grief.
He’s patronizing me. Treating my parents’ death like I’m just being dramatic about a bad grade.
“My parents are counting on me,” Ryder says, leaning back in his chair. “My band is counting on me. I don’t have the luxury of falling apart, and neither do you. Miranda’s expecting results, and if I don’t deliver, I’m screwed.”
