Page 169 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“He’s fine, Trish,” Mr. Hamilton’s voice has a comfortable rumble to it. “He looks good. Doesn’t he look good?”
“He looks tired.”
“He looks like a performer before a big show.”
I’m carrying my study prep, ready for a tutoring session I’m not sure Ryder will show up to. I hope I can edge around the sitting room and disappear into the library unnoticed.
“Oh, hi there.”
I freeze, hugging the books and papers in my arms, and pivot to see Mrs. Hamilton smiling and waving at me.
The sitting room feels different with the Hamiltons in it. The fireplace is less chaotic and is actually homely. The armchairs and chaise actually look comfortable against the backdrop of Mrs. Hamilton’s bright cardigan and Mr. Hamilton’s broad, relaxed presence.
“Hi,” I say. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Mrs. Hamilton replies. “Come over here. You’re Alice, right?”
I glance at Ryder. He’s sitting on the settee across from his parents, and he’s giving me the same neutral expression he’s been wearing since Monday.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Mrs. Hamilton pats the seat beside her. “Sit down for a minute. We feel terrible that we’ve spent an entire evening here and haven’t properly met you.”
I move closer to them, but I don’t sit. It feels too intimate to join his parents when I’ve barely spoken to Ryder for days now.
“Ryder was telling us you’ve only just moved to Victoria Falls,” Mrs. Hamilton says. “How are you finding it?”
“It’s a lot to take in,” I say honestly. “But the school has an incredible reputation.”
“Oh, Ashworth is something else, isn’t it?” She leans forward. “I told Ryder, I said, this is the kind of place that opens doors. You get your diploma from a school like this and people notice.”
“Trish,” Mr. Hamilton says, the word carrying a specific weight.
“I’m just saying what’s true.”
“School isn’t everything,” Mr. Hamilton says, nodding at his son. “But I want better for you. I didn’t graduate and look where I ended up.”
“But I’m going to make it, Dad,” Ryder says, standing. “I’m going to get that record deal, and I’m going to retire you.”
“Ryder, you don’t…”
“Dad, I do worry about you,” Ryder says, his hand pressing against the space above his heart. “And Mom, I’m going to get you back into nursing school. I know it’s where you want to be. But guys… I can do it without school. I promise.”
“I just don’t want you missing out on an opportunity,” his mom says softly.
“And I don’t want to be distracted from my biggest opportunity,” Ryder answers.
I back away, cradling my study materials. “I should leave you.”
“Ryder?” his mom sends him a questioning look.
Ryder grabs his copy of the novel and his tablet from the small table near the settee. “Alice, wait. I’ve got my stuff if you still want to help me.”
I can’t help glancing at the hopeful faces of Ryder’s parents before I land on him. “Do you even want to do the work?”
“If I finish it, I won’t hear about it again, and I can just focus on the showcase.”
A voice inside me tells me to refuse him help. To tell him to fix his own mess. But another voice, deeper and closer to my core, reminds me of the way he pieced my music box together, and the way he held me while I cried.
