Page 145 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“Like,togethertogether?”
“Obviously. Did you see them walk in holding hands?”
We weren’t holding hands. But facts don’t matter here.
“She’s totally using him for his connections.”
Each whisper is a knife, confirming everything I already knew. These people will twist anything into ammunition.
Chloe nudges me, holding out her phone under the desk. “Were you at this gig?” she whispers, showing me the screen.
It’s Sky Chaos’s social feed, and Chloe has tapped on one of my photos from Saturday night. It’s Ryder mid-song, and the stage lights catch the intensity in his expression. I’ll never forgettaking that shot. It’s one of my best from the night, and for a moment, pride swells in my chest.
I lean in and scroll down to read the caption. At the bottom lies the credit line, and it’s a blue clickable link.
‘Photo: @M_Knox_Mgmt’
My vision tunnels.
Not ‘Alice Winter.’ Not even ‘Alice W.’
M_Knox_Mgmt.
Miranda took credit for my work.
The pride curdles into fury so intense that it makes my hands shake.
“It’s a sick photo,” Chloe says, oblivious to my reaction. “Whoever took it is really talented.”
“Yeah,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Really talented.”
“But this one is way hotter,” Chloe says, tapping on another image.
My blood boils so fast that the steam screams out of my ears.
It’s a photo of Ryder, leaning against the window, on an overcast afternoon, in my bedroom.
My bedroom.
That was a private shot. That was me getting my courage back. That was a moment only for Ryder and me to share. Okay, maybe I didn’t clear the SD card, but surely that marketing woman knew only photos from the performance were up for grabs.
‘Photo: @M_Knox_Mgmt’
“I’m going to kill her,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
Chloe sucks in a breath, pulling her phone back to her chest. “What?”
I wave it off, turning to face front. Ryder shifts behind me. Maybe he saw the interaction. Maybe he didn’t. But I don’t need him playing protector right now.
Right now, I just want to get far away from him.
He told me in the car that some of my photos had been posted online. Did he know about that one? Did he say it was okay? Because he should know it’s not okay.
The bell rings, cutting through the classroom noise. I shove my notebook into my backpack with violent force. My movements are sharp and angry as Miranda’s social handle hangs like a neon sign inside my mind.
“Alice, wait,” Ryder starts behind me.
But I’m already up and moving. I push past desks and bodies with single-minded determination.
