Page 82 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
Her tone makes me pause. The caring implies she does understand. She has to understand. She lost her family, too.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Miranda smiles. “Of course, darling. Which brings me to my next point. Mrs. Rodriguez will be coming for a follow-up visit next Thursday.”
My stomach tightens.
“It’s a routine procedure,” Miranda assures me, her tone still light. “She’ll want to see that you’re adjusting well. Attending school, keeping up with your coursework, and settling into your new environment.” She looks up from her planner, meeting my gaze. “I need you to present well during her visit, darling. Answer her questions appropriately and show her you’re coping.”
I swallow hard. The words sound nice, but each sentence was unequivocally a command.
Miranda holds my stare, and I manage, “I will.”
“Good.” Miranda makes another note. “Which brings me to something rather concerning, Alice.”
My chest tightens.
“I finally had time to go through my voicemails.” Her tone is still measured, but the warmth has cooled. “There were calls from your school, but not about the incident with Jasper Whitmore. Care to explain?”
Crap. “I… I…”
“Darling, I looked at your transcripts before agreeing to take you in. Honor roll. Advanced placement courses. Academic excellence. I was quite impressed with your record.”
Double crap.
“So imagine my confusion,” Miranda continues, “when I learn you can’t even manage to stay in your classes for a full period.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Was your academic recordaccurate, Alice? Or were your parents perhaps...generouswith your last school and your grades were inflated?”
The implication hits me like a slap. “My grades were real. My parents didn’t bribe anyone.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Miranda’s patience frays at the edges. “If you’re capable of that level of work, why are you skipping classes?”
“I’m just... I’m having trouble adjusting.”
“Adjusting.” Miranda repeats the word like it tastes sour. “Darling, Mr. Kensington expects you to tutor Ryder. That was our agreement. How exactly do you plan to help him when you can’t even manage your own attendance?”
“I know, but...”
“And what do you think Mrs. Rodriguez will say when she learns about this?” Miranda’s voice sharpens. “Truancy reflects poorly on both of us. It suggests I’m not providing adequate supervision, and that you’re not thriving here.”
“I’m trying—“
“Are you?” Miranda cuts in harshly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re wallowing. Life doesn’t stop because you’re sad, Alice. Responsibilities don’t pause for grief.”
My throat tightens. “I just need more time.”
Miranda stands, walking to the window overlooking the gloomy valley. “You know, this reminds me of someone.”
I don’t want to ask, but the words come anyway. “Who?”
“Sarah.” She says my mother’s name as if it’s a diagnosis. “She was the same way. Talented at convincing herself that softness was a virtue.”
“What are you…”
“Your mother called it love.” Miranda’s voice doesn’t rise. It drops. “I called it an inability to cope with reality.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
Miranda turns to face me, her expression unreadable. “It’s true. Your mother couldn’t separate feelings from responsibility.” She shakes her head and murmurs a faint laugh. “It’s funny. Our little talk last night brought some memories back.”
