Page 162 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
Miranda stills, and then the front door opens.
Ryder makes his way into the house, carrying his guitar case. His head is down until the voices reach him too, and then his head tilts up with recognition.
The guitar case hits the floor with a resonant thud.
“Mom? Dad?”
Ryder bolts past Miranda and me, through the hallway and toward the sitting room.
I follow into the sitting room, just in time to see Ryder embracing his parents.
“What are you doing here?” he asks in a rush. “I didn’t think either of you could take the time off work.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Mrs. Hamilton says, cupping the side of Ryder’s face.
“Yeah, we’ve gotta see ya perform,” Mr. Hamilton says, throwing an arm around Ryder’s shoulder. “This is your big break.”
“Yes, they just showed up,” Miranda says beside me, flashing a fake smile. “But they promised they wouldn’t get in the way of your commitments, Ryder.”
Ryder keeps his back to us, instead focusing on his parents.
“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Hamilton asks, studying her son’s face. “I know you must be stressing out. Are you sleeping enough? Drinking enough water?”
“Mom, I’m fine.” Ryder pulls his face away from his mother’s grip. “More than fine. I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
The family embraces again, and the reunion sends something aching through my chest. I let it move through me, not trying to push it away.
“Miranda.” I whisper. “Let’s give them a minute.”
I back away toward the kitchen, because walking through the sitting room to get to the staircase feels monstrously awkward.
Miranda shifts reluctantly. I can tell she hates the fact that her precious schedule has been ruined. She huffs and moves toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
In the kitchen, Miranda sets her planner on the counter and doesn’t open it, which is unusual enough that I notice.
“I’ve got plans this evening,” I tell her, before she can reopen the tutoring conversation. “On my own. I’ve got my own essays to work on.”
“Alice…”
“I mean it,” I say quietly. “I’m not willing to be used anymore. By anyone. You have plans for me, and I understand that, but they’re your plans. I need to start making my own.”
“And how exactly do you think you’ll survive?” Miranda asks, her gaze flicking over me from head to toe. “You’re under my roof, remember? You need me to succeed in order to take care of you.”
“Not if I’m emancipated.”
Her mouth forms an ‘o’ and her eyes turn almost circular. “Emancipated?”
“I’d rather be on my own than be treated like this.”
As Miranda sizes me up, I hear voices fading into the hallway. The heavy swing of the front door, and then the crunch of gravel outside. Ryder’s leaving with his parents.
Miranda groans in frustration. “Where does he think he’s going? I need that essay written. Can’t one thing go my way?”
“Not everything is about you, Miranda.” I stomp my foot on the tiled floor. “Ryder and I can’t help that we’ve had good relationships with our parents. It’s not our fault you ruined your relationship with your father.”
Miranda’s nostrils enlarge, and her eyes slit. “What did you just say to me?”
“I found the letters, Miranda. I know what you did to your family. Why they had to shut you out of their lives.”
