Page 55 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“You don’t think Miranda will hear about this?” he cuts me off. “I don’t need her taking her focus off the band because you can’t keep your limbs in check. I need you to keep it together. I need you to be functional enough to help me pass English, not falling apart in hallways.”
The words sting, but I force myself to meet his eyes. “Then why did you help me?”
“I didn’t help you.” His voice is flat. “I got you out of a situation that was going to become my headache. There’s a difference.”
He’s close enough now that I can see the stress in his face.
“I need you to stop breaking things,” he says, somewhat softer. “I need you to stop causing problems that cause everyone to get their phones out. Can you do that?”
It’s not a kind request. It’s barely even a request at all.
“I’ll try.”
“Try harder.” He steps back, creating a distance between us. “Your classroom is down that hall.”
Then he turns and walks away, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.
I make my way to history class on shaky legs, hyper-aware of every stare from students in the hallway.
“Did you see Ryder Hamilton literally drag her out of there?”
“He looked furious.”
I slide into my seat in the back of the classroom, my arm still feeling the ghost of his grip.
Ryder didn’t defend me. Didn’t stand up for me. Didn’t care about Jessa’s cruel comments or Jasper’s humiliating taunts. He just wanted me out of there because my problems were becoming his problems. Because he needs me to stop being a distraction. And somehow, that feels worse than if he’d just left me there.
But I’m not still on that floor because I have one tiny piece of value.
I can help him pass English.
My heart wants to break in two as it really dawns on me that my academic abilities are the only reason I have a roof over my head.
I’m a commodity.
Right now, people might be whispering and wondering if there’s something going on between me and Ryder. But I couldn’t care less. What do silly rumors matter when you realize your aunt doesn’t love you? She wants me around only to help her precious client.
Although I can’t be surprised. My parents were warm and loving people, and there was a reason they cut Miranda out of their lives.
Did she use them too, and they’d had enough?
Around me, students pull out notebooks and textbooks. The teacher talks about the French Revolution, and I write the date at the top of my page and try to focus. But all I can think about is the way Ryder’s hand felt on my arm. Too tight. Almost bruising. Pulling me forward with a force that said move without room for argument.
He maintained his silence in English class and kept what I told him private, at least for now. But he couldn’t stay silent in that hallway. Not with Jessa and Jasper igniting flames. Not with phones recording, and the risk that it would blow back on him and get Miranda riled up.
So he was forced to use his voice.
The teacher is saying something about the Third Estate, and I write it down mechanically. My hand moves across the page even though my brain isn’t processing the words.
I just need to keep my head down. Stop being a problem. Be invisible except when Ryder needs help with English.
That’s what Ryder wants.
That’s what Miranda expects.
That’s what I need to do to survive.
The teacher’s voice drones on about revolution, and I try not to think about how my own system is breaking down around me.
