Page 15 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
All three of them turn toward the sound. Frazzled, I make a break for it and use the door as leverage. In my haste, I shove the door open, and gravity yanks me into the room. As I hurtle towards the heavy rugs covering the floorboards, the energy drink flies from my hand and spins like a throwing star.
Time slows down as sticky liquid sprays in an arc, drenching an amplifier.
Ryder’s hand slips on the guitar strings, creating a jarring discord that makes everyone wince.
I scamper to stand upright, but my foot catches on a black cable snaking out from underneath a thick rug. My flailing arm catches the edge of a keyboard on a stand. The whole thing topples and crashes to the floor with a sickening crunch.
I land hard on my hands and knees, surrounded by the evidence of my destruction.
For a moment, there’s only silence and the sound of liquid dripping from the amplifier onto the floor.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Ryder’s voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.
I look up to find all three of them staring at me. Chase and Brooks look shocked. Ryder looks like he wants to throw his guitar at my head.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, scrambling to my feet. My hands are sticky with energy drink, and there’s a burning pain in my already-cut palm from scraping it on the floor. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean…”
“Didn’t mean to what?” Brooks stands from behind his drum kit, his face red with anger. “Didn’t mean to crash our practice? Didn’t mean to destroy our equipment?”
“Is that the amp making that weird noise?” Chase moves toward the equipment, his expression darkening. “If that liquid gets into the electronics…”
“It’s ruined,” Ryder finishes, and there’s something dangerous in his voice now. He sets his guitar down with deliberate care, as if he doesn’t trust himself to keep holding it. “That’s a two-thousand dollar amplifier.”
My stomach drops. Two-thousand dollars?
“The keyboard,” I say weakly, hoping against hope. “It’ll still work, right? It just fell…”
“Look at it!” Brooks points with his drumstick at the keyboard lying on the floor. “The casing is completely cracked!”
I stare at the damage I’ve caused. The keyboard’s plastic housing has a jagged crack running along one side, and the amplifier is making ominous crackling sounds.
“I’ll pay for everything,” I stammer with crippling fear. “I’ll replace whatever’s broken, I promise.”
“With what money?” Ryder takes a step toward me, and I see exhaustion and fury warring in his expression. “You’re living off Miranda’s charity because your parents—“ He stops himself, but the words hang in the air anyway.
Because my parents are dead.
It’s like I’m shivering from the inside out. It’s possible I could puke at any moment.
“Typical.” It comes out of Ryder like ice. “You think you can just stumble into places you don’t belong, break things that don’t belong to you, and someone will fix it for you.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, tears burning behind my eyes.
“You never mean to.” Ryder’s voice is cold. “Just like the crystal vase at dinner last night.”
My chin drops as I look up at his looming figure. Last night, he inspected my hands for damage. He didn’t act like it was my fault. But now…
Now, he glares at me as if he hates me.
“This is exactly what we were worried about,” Chase mutters to Brooks. “I told you rehearsing at the house was a risk.”
“Miranda promised us a dedicated space,” Brooks adds. “She said it would be professional. She didn’t mention any walking disasters.”
“At least if something breaks at a real studio, they have insurance,” Chase says pointedly. “And backup equipment.”
“We’re not at a professional place though, are we?” Ryder’s voice is tight. “We’re here because—“
“Because it’s free,” Chase finishes. “Yeah, we know.”
