Page 37 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
I open the fridge, hoping my stomach might rumble. Fresh produce and bottles of sparkling water stare back at me. My appetite is still in hiding, so I close the fridge and lean against the counter, looking around the enormous kitchen. I should probably get ready for school. Face another day of whispers, stares, and people avoiding me like I’m contagious.
But why bother?
Miranda clearly doesn’t care where I am. She didn’t bother to check if I made it home okay yesterday. I’m less than an afterthought.
I wander into the dining room, and the long table stretches out before me, lined with empty chairs. The chandelier overheadcatches the morning light, casting prismatic shadows across the walls.
I remember my first dinner here. The crystal vase I broke. The way Ryder tried to help me, holding my hands, and asking if I was hurt.
That feels like a lifetime ago.
Now he hates me. He called me Miranda’s charity project and warned everyone at school to stay away from me.
I could stay home and skip school. No one would notice. Miranda’s gone, and the school probably assumes I’m sick after leaving early yesterday. I could just... disappear for a day.
But the thought of staying in this house alone all day gives me goosebumps. Every shadow feels wrong. Every creak sounds like footsteps. Every gust of wind sounds like whispers.
I’d rather face the stares and rumors at school than spend another minute in this cold, empty house. Besides, if Ryder’s not at Ashworth today, maybe the school day will actually be bearable.
I force myself upstairs to get dressed, moving through my morning routine on autopilot. Uniform. Hair. Minimal makeup.
I catch my reflection in the mirror, and it’s tired and pale.
I lift my phone and find two missed calls from my social worker, Mrs. Rodriguez. There’s a voicemail, and my stomach flips as I hit play.
“Good morning, Alice. It’s Lucia Rodriguez from social services. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing in your new home. I also wanted to mention I’ve arranged your new grief counselor. The first appointment I could book was this coming Saturday.”
My stomach clenches and my mouth waters in the most revolting way. No way am I going to see another counsellor.
“I’ll send you the details in a text later. I’ll pass the details on to your aunt as well,” the voicemail continues. “I’m sure she’ll wantto be kept in the loop and drive you to your first appointment. Okay, that’s all for now. Call me if you need me, and I’ll be back in touch soon.”
Great. Maybe I can tell Aunt Miranda I don’t need counseling. Maybe she won’t make me go.
I blow out a breath and try to stay grateful I didn’t actually need to speak to Mrs. Rodriguez.
Back downstairs, I grab my backpack from where I left it by the door. My stomach growls, finally realizing I only ate potato chips yesterday.
I check my phone. 7:40 a.m.
The car should be here soon. At least the driver was kind to me. He smiled.
I pace the foyer, my shoes clicking against the hardwood floor, until I hear the sound of tires on gravel. Relief floods through me so suddenly I almost laugh. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter and rush to the door.
The driver is already standing beside the car, smiling kindly as I approach.
“Good morning, Miss Winter,” he says, tipping his hat. “How are you feeling today? Better than yesterday, I hope?”
“Better,” I lie, clutching my banana like a lifeline. “Thank you.”
He opens the door for me, and I slide gratefully into the back seat.
As we pull away from the house, I glance back at it through the rear window. It looms against the morning sky, all sharp angles and Gothic architecture. It looks exactly like what it is. A place where I don’t belong.
I turn away and peel my banana, staring out the window as we wind down the mountain road.
***
At school, I don’t locate my locker. I just want to get to English in a timely manner and not give anyone a reason to gawk at me.
