Page 76 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
Actually, it’s better than not bad.
I keep reading, taking bites of burger between paragraphs.
His analysis is thoughtful. The quotes are relevant. The structure mostly works, and there are a few places where the argument wanders, and others with awkward phrasing, but overall it is solid work.
I’m about to tell him when his phone buzzes.
He glances at it, frowns, and then lifts it to his ear. “Yeah?”
I watch him listening as he picks at the burger bun, and then his gaze meets mine.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispers, and then leaves the table, phone attached to his ear.
His broad shoulders hunch as his tall frame weaves between tables. His jaw doesn’t move, suggesting he’s stuck listening to someone drone on the other end.
He disappears around the corner, and I’m left at the table with half a burger, his tablet, and his guitar case.
I pick up a fry, no longer hungry, and force myself to keep reading. I make in-line suggestions for tightening arguments, questions where he could go deeper, and corrections for a few grammatical issues. By the time I reach the conclusion, I’ve eaten most of the burger without thinking about it.
I set the tablet down and look around. At the table nearest me is a family of four. The dad cuts up a younger kid’s burger, and the mom wipes sauce off the older one’s face. Both kids talk over one another about something that happened at school.
I remember eating out with Mom and Dad. It wasn’t often because they were usually busy with work. But sometimes, after a particularly successful weekend, they’d take me somewhere like this.
Dad would always order too much food and say, “A growing girl needs fuel, Sprout.”
Mom would steal fries off both our plates and pretend she didn’t.
We’d talk about everything and nothing. I didn’t know how limited those moments were. I didn’t know I should’ve memorized every detail.
The twinkle lights flicker on overhead, and I realize just how dark it’s gotten. With a shiver, I pray it doesn’t start to rain. I check the time, and Ryder’s been gone fifteen minutes. That’s a long call. Is it Chase? Or Miranda? Or a marketing person making sure he posted a photo?
Oh my gosh, I’m so dumb. It probably was Miranda, taking him to another last-minute meeting. Dang, I’m stranded here, aren’t I? How do I call the driver? Would a taxi even take me out to Miranda’s creepy old house?
“Whoa, you actually ate most of the burger.”
I jump as Ryder slides back into his seat across from me.
Ryder sniggers. “Sorry. Did I scare ya?”
I shake my head, feeling my face grow hot.
“Anyway,” Ryder says, gesturing in front of me. “I’m impressed by your effort.”
I frown. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“That’s something you say to a little kid.” My stomach flips with embarrassment. “Like I should get a gold star for finishing my vegetables.”
“That’s not what I…” He stops himself. “I just meant, I’m glad you ate. You looked like you were going to pass out earlier.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. It was scary.”
I blink at him.
He rubs his lips together, cautiously taking his time to speak again. “You barely eat and you’re…” He sighs. “You’re going through a lot.”
