Page 57 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
I stare at the numbers, hoping somehow I misread them. I know this school has a lavish reputation, but this is ridiculous.
I quickly check my bank account.
Balance: $347.16
Not even close. Thoughts of my parents’ home and business for sale jump into my mind. Maybe I should check that email from the commercial realtor?
Miranda returns to the table, making a note in her planner. “That was the photographer from Ryder’s shoot.”
I fumble to lock my screen, setting it beside my plate as casually as possible.
“I really should be there, but I’ve got so much to catch up on. You wouldn’t believe the amount of sheer voicemails I need to go through. Anyway, they’re running behind schedule,” she continues, twirling pasta with her fork. “Ryder won’t be home until late.”
I nod, relief washing over me that he’s not coming to dinner.
Miranda takes a sip of wine, then sets the glass down with deliberate care. “How was your day at school, Alice?”
The question hangs in the air like a trap.
Now she wants to know? Today of all days?
“Fine,” I force my voice to stay steady. “It was fine.”
Miranda raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Just fine?”
“Still adjusting.” I move food around my plate again. “It’s a lot different from my old school.”
“I’m sure.” Her tone suggests she’s not sure at all. “Ashworth has much higher standards. Both academically and socially.”
It’s getting harder and harder to fake eating. “I guess so.”
“So, do you want to explain the video I saw today?”
I choke on a lack of oxygen. “The… The what?”
“Jasper Whitmore, son of Grayson Whitmore,” Miranda says to her dinner more than to me. “The Grayson Whitmore who founded BitStart and WhitTech. Why was his son on social media, talking about writing a report on you for the Ashworth Gazette?”
I wince. “You’re worried about a school paper?”
Miranda frowns. “No, I’m worried about someone attached to my name being labeled a stalker.” Miranda shivers in revulsion. “A stalker of my client.”
I sit up taller, and my heart hammers in my chest. “You know I’m not a stalker. Ryder and I barely spend time together.”
She looks down her nose at me. “Alice, dear, did I not find you wreaking havoc in his practice room?”
I strain for breath. “Miranda, I…”
Miranda lifts a hand, silencing me. “The truth is irrelevant. This is PR. This is why I didn’t want to take you in.”
I sit back, beaten by her casual disdain.
Miranda sighs. “I don’t mean it like that. I just mean it’s bad timing.”
Tears seep into the corners of my eyes, and I sniff through my response. “My parents didn’t choose to leave me.”
“I know that, Alice.” There’s still a matter-of-fact tone to Miranda’s words. “But my life hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing. There was a lot of turmoil leading up to me selling my label.” Miranda lifts her goblet of dark red wine and gestures at the walls with it. “Do you think I had my heart set on living in this place? This was a means to an end.”
I sit back, confused. “What does that mean?”
