Page 6 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
Miranda steps between us smoothly. “Ryder is one of my clients. He’s staying here while we work on his career. Alice, you’ll be seeing quite a bit of him. He attends Ashworth Academy as well.”
“Oh,” I manage.
“Ryder, don’t you have practice?” Miranda’s tone is light but firm.
He nods, gives me one last unreadable look, and heads down the hallway.
Miranda continues the tour, showing Mrs. Rodriguez and me to my room. The room is bigger than my bedroom back home, with high ceilings and tall windows that look out over the valley. The furniture is antique, including a bed that sits high on dark wood, a roll-top writing desk, and a closet that’s big enough to hide a body in.
But it’s cold. Not just temperature-wise, though the stone walls do seem to leach warmth from the air. There’s nothingpersonal here, nothing that suggests a teenager might live in this space. At most, it’s a nice hotel room, despite the creepy artwork. Across from the bed are two landscape paintings, both featuring twisted trees in wild storms.
“What a lovely room,” Mrs. Rodriguez says, though she sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself. “Alice will be very comfortable here.”
“I’ve made sure of it,” Miranda says warmly. “And the bathroom is through there. It’s quite spacious. Alice, I want you to think of this as your home now. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but we’ll make it work, won’t we?”
The way she says it makes it impossible to disagree.
Miranda opens the antique closet and gestures at a blazer, blouse, and skirt, all in dry-cleaner’s plastic. “Your uniform, Alice,” she informs. “You couldn’t find a finer school.”
“Thank you for arranging Alice’s transfer,” Mrs. Rodriguez says. “I’ve never seen paperwork get finalized so fast.”
“It’s all about connections,” Miranda says with a satisfied grin. “Dinner is at seven, Alice. I hope you’ll join Ryder and me. It’ll be a good chance for us all to get to know each other better.” She turns to Mrs. Rodriguez and says, “I think we’re all set here. Would you like to finish up the paperwork downstairs? I can make us some tea.”
Mrs. Rodriguez clearly feels satisfied with what she’s seen. “That sounds wonderful.”
As they head toward the door, Miranda pauses and looks back at me. “Why don’t you get settled in, darling? Take a shower and rest, if you need to.”
After they leave, I’m alone in this cavernous room that’s supposedly mine. I can hear their voices fading down the hallway, Miranda saying something that makes Mrs. Rodriguez laugh.
I set my suitcases near the bed and look around, trying to imagine living here. The windows face east, so I should get good light in the mornings, but right now with the storm clouds still hanging low, everything looks gray and gloomy.
I close the heavy curtains, shutting out the anxiety-producing sky.
The bathroom is twice the size of my old one, with a clawfoot tub and a shower that has more nozzles than I know what to do with. The mirror above the sink is antique, with a silver backing that’s spotted with age, making my reflection look distorted.
I splash cold water on my face as I process what just happened. Miranda was so... nice. Too nice. The way she smiled at Mrs. Rodriguez, the way she called me darling, the way she talked about making this my home… None of it felt real.
And then there’s Ryder. A school student who lives with my aunt in order to work on his career. My mind boggles at the logistics of that, and I let the headache win.
I unpack my suitcases, hang my few good clothes in the closet, and put my everyday stuff in the rickety dresser. My belongings look pathetic in this grand room. A few photos of my parents, my old music box that’s held together with tape, and the stuffed elephant I’ve had since I was three. These days Ellie is more comforting than ever.
The camera stays buried at the bottom of my suitcase. I’m not ready to deal with it yet.
With my pit stop in the rain, we ended up arriving here at midday. I have six hours to kill until dinner. Though Miranda had phrased it as an invitation, I don’t get the impression it’s optional. She also didn’t leave me breathing room to ask her any questions. Am I supposed to keep myself locked in this room until then?
I size up the double bed, shrug, and fling myself on top of it. I didn’t want to wake up today, anyway. A nap sounds like thebest thing in the world. That is until I take in the oil paintings across from the bed. The skeletal trees twisting in dark wind storms send me into hideous shudders. I inhale deeply and shut my eyes.
***
It’s complete darkness in my mind, having not had a dream since the accident, but something pricks my ears. I wriggle awake, hearing something faint like a ghost whispering through the walls. As I lift my head, noting the time on my phone at 6:05 p.m., the sound becomes clearer. Someone is playing the guitar, and they’re good. Really good. The melody is haunting and goosebump-inducing, like something you’d hear on a movie soundtrack.
There’s something about the melody that makes my chest ache. Not with panic this time, but with a different kind of pain. The kind that comes from hearing something beautiful when you’re not sure you deserve beauty anymore.
I force myself out of bed and focus on getting ready for dinner. The nicest thing I packed is a dark blue dress that Mom bought me for last year’s freshman-sophomore mixer. It’s simple, flattering, and wrinkle-free.
The shower has so many settings, I accidentally spray myself with freezing water twice before figuring out how to make it merely cold. After freshening up, I manage a ponytail with only two small bumps atop my head.
It’ll have to do.
