Page 66 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
A store selling hand-blown glass art catches my attention, and I struggle for the right words. “It’s very...”
“Pretentious?” Ryder supplies with a slight smile.
“I was going to say curated.”
He smirks. “Same thing.”
“Why do I get the feeling you don’t like it here?”
“It’s just tiring being around snobs all the time,” he admits. “But I’ll be graduating soon, and then I can get out of here.”
“Will Chase’s dad let you leave?”
“We’re only here for the school.”
“For the connections, right?” I clutch my backpack straps tighter. “Won’t he have a plan for where you’ll go after school? To keep those connections?”
For a moment, Ryder goes slightly green, and then waves it off. “Not helping, Alice. Thinking about graduating from here is the only thing getting me through.”
“Then I hope your grades improve.”
His expression hardens, clearly unimpressed. “Thanks for rubbing it in.”
“Well, it’s for your career. I’d assume you’d want to take it seriously.”
“I take the music seriously.” His voice gets sharper. “I’m doing all I can not to let this place suck the life out of my songs.”
I shouldn’t push my luck, but I can’t help it. “Then why did you move here? Why aren’t you with your family?”
His pace quickens, and I’m sure he’s about to leave me behind. I watch his shoulders bunch and then slump. He turns back to me, his backpack swinging against his side.
“I’m hereformy family.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can think of to say. It feels like I should have a follow-up question, but the gold flecks warm his dark eyes with a vulnerability I haven’t seen before.
We continue walking in silence until Main Street opens up onto a small park area with benches and trail paths. Tall evergreens provide natural shade, and there’s a small pond where ducks paddle lazily.
“Wow, it’s so chill here,” I say, settling onto a bench that faces the pond.
“Yeah.” Ryder sits beside me, setting his guitar case on the ground. “This place feels more real.”
Ryder dumps his backpack on the ground, and then his phone buzzes. His face scrunches up as he reads the text message.
“Crap,” he mutters. “I forgot I’m supposed to post something today.”
“Post something?”
“Social media content.” He says it as if the words taste bad. “I had a photo shoot yesterday. Three hours of standing in different positions while someone told me to look ‘authentically brooding.’”
He scrolls through his phone, and I glimpse the professional shots. An assortment of Ryder in different poses and carefully styled.
He huffs, shaking his head. “Like there’s anything authentic about a staged photo shoot.”
He pauses on an image in his feed, and I notice his thumb hovering as he checks engagement numbers.
“Sounds exhausting,” I say.
“It is.” He locks the phone quickly. “Having to perform off stage is the worst part. But if we want the showcase to lead to a real deal… Ugh. Nevermind.”
