Chapter 4 #2
Just a crack. It won’t hurt. Just open the door a crack to hear better.
My hand is on the doorknob before I can talk myself out of it.
The rehearsal room is more impressive than I had imagined.
It’s large and soundproofed, with professional equipment set up like a real studio.
Ryder stands center stage with his electric guitar, completely lost in the music.
To his left, a guy with shoulder-length brown hair attacks a bass guitar with focused intensity.
Behind them, a drummer with a buzz cut pounds out a rhythm that reverberates through my bones.
They’re running through a song I don’t recognize, and it’s incredible.
Ryder’s fingers move across the fretboard with fluid precision. But even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders and the exhaustion in the way he holds himself.
The bassist hits a wrong note and immediately stops playing. “Dude, can we take five? Dad was on my case this morning, and my head’s not in the game.”
“Chase, man, I’m with you,” the drummer says, setting down his drumsticks. “My arms are about to fall off.”
“We can’t afford to take breaks,” Ryder says with stress-fueled tightness in his voice. “The showcase is in two weeks. If we’re not perfect, we may as well quit now.”
“Dude, we know,” Chase, the bassist, says with a hardened sigh. “Like I said, Dad made it very clear what’s at stake.”
“Then you know we can’t slack off.” Ryder runs a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “Brooks, the last run-through of ‘Fractured’ was sloppy.”
“That was one missed beat,” Brooks, the drummer, protests.
“One missed beat in front of executives could cost us everything.” Ryder says harshly. “You guys don’t get it. Before I joined this band, you were…”
“We were nothing,” Chase finishes flatly. “Miranda found you, replaced our basically non-existent frontman, and suddenly we’re on the Late Show. We’re not idiots, Ryder.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“We know what you meant.” Brooks picks up his sticks again. “And you’re right. So let’s run it again.”
“Yeah, we need to get as much practice in as we can,” Ryder says bitterly. “Miranda’s making me do that stupid tutoring thing at two.”
“Oh, right,” Chase says with a smirk. “Miranda’s new house guest. How’s that going?”
“It’s not,” Ryder grunts. “It’s a complete waste of time. I should be practicing, not babysitting Miranda’s little charity case.”
“Dude, harsh,” Brooks says, though he’s grinning.
“I’m serious. She shows up here, and suddenly Miranda’s got divided attention. We’ve got two weeks until the most important performance of our lives, and now I’m supposed to spend my afternoons with some girl who—“ He stops himself, shaking his head. “It’s BS.”
“Your English grade is pretty bad though,” Chase points out. “My dad mentioned it.”
“Tutoring shouldn’t be a priority right now. The band should be our sole focus.” Ryder adjusts his guitar strap, frustration creasing his brow. “I need Miranda to focus on the band. On me. Not playing foster mom to her dead sister’s daughter.”
The palpable bitterness in his voice sends a vicious sting to my chest.
“Whatever, man,” Brooks says. “Let’s just run through this before you have to go play student.”
Perfect. I’m going to be forced into a room with a brooding musician who completely resents my existence.
As if my life wasn’t messed up enough.
The trio get back into their positions, and I accidentally lean on the door and the hinges creak.
All three of them turn toward the sound.
Frazzled, I make a break for it and use the door as leverage.
In my haste, I shove the door open, and gravity yanks me into the room.
As I hurtle towards the heavy rugs covering the floorboards, the energy drink flies from my hand and spins like a throwing star.
Time slows down as sticky liquid sprays in an arc, drenching an amplifier.
Ryder’s hand slips on the guitar strings, creating a jarring discord that makes everyone wince.
I scamper to stand upright, but my foot catches on a black cable snaking out from underneath a thick rug. My flailing arm catches the edge of a keyboard on a stand. The whole thing topples and crashes to the floor with a sickening crunch.
I land hard on my hands and knees, surrounded by the evidence of my destruction.
For a moment, there’s only silence and the sound of liquid dripping from the amplifier onto the floor.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Ryder’s voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.
I look up to find all three of them staring at me. Chase and Brooks look shocked. Ryder looks like he wants to throw his guitar at my head.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, scrambling to my feet. My hands are sticky with energy drink, and there’s a burning pain in my already-cut palm from scraping it on the floor. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean…”
“Didn’t mean to what?” Brooks stands from behind his drum kit, his face red with anger. “Didn’t mean to crash our practice? Didn’t mean to destroy our equipment?”
“Is that the amp making that weird noise?” Chase moves toward the equipment, his expression darkening. “If that liquid gets into the electronics…”
“It’s ruined,” Ryder finishes, and there’s something dangerous in his voice now. He sets his guitar down with deliberate care, as if he doesn’t trust himself to keep holding it. “That’s a two-thousand dollar amplifier.”
My stomach drops. Two-thousand dollars?
“The keyboard,” I say weakly, hoping against hope. “It’ll still work, right? It just fell…”
“Look at it!” Brooks points with his drumstick at the keyboard lying on the floor. “The casing is completely cracked!”
I stare at the damage I’ve caused. The keyboard’s plastic housing has a jagged crack running along one side, and the amplifier is making ominous crackling sounds.
“I’ll pay for everything,” I stammer with crippling fear. “I’ll replace whatever’s broken, I promise.”
“With what money?” Ryder takes a step toward me, and I see exhaustion and fury warring in his expression. “You’re living off Miranda’s charity because your parents—“ He stops himself, but the words hang in the air anyway.
Because my parents are dead.
It’s like I’m shivering from the inside out. It’s possible I could puke at any moment.
“Typical.” It comes out of Ryder like ice. “You think you can just stumble into places you don’t belong, break things that don’t belong to you, and someone will fix it for you.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, tears burning behind my eyes.
“You never mean to.” Ryder’s voice is cold. “Just like the crystal vase at dinner last night.”
My chin drops as I look up at his looming figure. Last night, he inspected my hands for damage. He didn’t act like it was my fault. But now…
Now, he glares at me as if he hates me.
“This is exactly what we were worried about,” Chase mutters to Brooks. “I told you rehearsing at the house was a risk.”
“Miranda promised us a dedicated space,” Brooks adds. “She said it would be professional. She didn’t mention any walking disasters.”
“At least if something breaks at a real studio, they have insurance,” Chase says pointedly. “And backup equipment.”
“We’re not at a professional place though, are we?” Ryder’s voice is tight. “We’re here because—“
“Because it’s free,” Chase finishes. “Yeah, we know.”
The word “free” hangs in the air like an accusation.
“Look, I’m just saying,” Chase continues, “maybe we should talk to my dad about getting us actual studio time. Someplace where people can’t just wander in.”
Ryder runs a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. “Great. So what? You’re just going to tell your dad that my equipment got destroyed? That’ll be a good look.”
“I mean, it’s not like you can just replace it,“ Brooks says, and there’s an edge to his voice. “No offense, Hamilton, but two thousand dollars isn’t exactly—“
“I know,” Ryder snaps. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Whatever,” Chase grumbles. “The point is, we’re two weeks out from the showcase and our setup is trashed.” He looks at me with pure disgust. “Because some people don’t know how to stay out of places they don’t belong.”
“Seriously,” Brooks agrees, his anger redirecting back to me. “What were you even doing here? You know we’re practicing.”
“I heard the music,” I whisper. “I just…”
“You just what? Decided to crash in and ruin everything?” Chase’s voice is sharp. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake here?”
Before I can answer, quick, purposeful strides echo from the hallway.
Miranda appears in the doorway, her yoga clothes replaced by a pencil skirt and a silk blouse. Her hair still perfect, her makeup flawless, but there’s tension around her eyes.
“What happened?” she demands, taking in the scene. “I heard shouting from my office.”
“Your niece happened,” Ryder says, and his voice could freeze blood. “She destroyed my equipment.”
Miranda’s gaze fixes on me with laser intensity. “Alice. Explain. Now.”
“I heard the music,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I just wanted to listen, and I tripped.”
“She threw her drink all over the amp,” Chase interrupts, gesturing at the sticky mess. “And broke the keyboard.”
“It’s not broken,” I try to say. “It’s just cracked.”
“We can’t play the showcase with it on the stage, looking like that,” Brooks cuts me off. “It’s wrecked. And that amp is making weird noises. If the circuits are fried…”
“This is exactly why we need a proper studio space,” Chase says, his voice rising. “Somewhere professional. My dad could—“
“Could what, Chase?” Miranda’s voice cuts through the room like a knife. Her tone is pleasant, almost sweet, but there’s something behind her eyes. “Your father could pay for studio time? Rent you space in town?”
Chase hesitates. “Well… yeah. I mean, it would make sense. We’d have proper security, backup equipment…”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Miranda says, her smile never wavering. “Why don’t you call him right now? Tell him you need him to invest more money in the band. See how it goes for you.”
Chase’s face flushes. “Look, I didn’t…”
“It’s okay, darling.” Miranda’s smile widens.
“You’re just concerned about the band. I understand completely.
But let me be very clear: I’m your only hope right now.
Before me, you couldn’t even get a gig playing the school dance.
I’m the one who found Ryder, brought him here, and got you on the Jameson Late Show.
I’m working on getting you a spot with Sound Nation.
So, I ask, does involving your father right now sound like a good idea? ”
“Well, no,” Chase mumbles, properly chastened. “I just…”
“Good.” Miranda’s attention shifts back to me, and her expression hardens. “Now, as for this situation.”
“She needs to be banned,” Brooks interjects, still glaring at me. “She can’t come near our practice space ever again.”
“Oh, she’ll be staying far away from your rehearsals,” Miranda assures him. “Won’t you, Alice?”
I nod frantically, barely able to catch my breath.
Chase locks his bass in its case. “Maybe we should call it for today.”
“Chase,“ Ryder barks. “You can’t just go.”
Miranda raises a flattened palm, silencing Ryder. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’ll call for Mrs. Gallagher to clean this up.”
Ryder rolls his eyes. “I don’t want the freaking cook wiping down my equipment.”
Miranda throws her hands up and huffs. “What else do you want me to do? She’s the only person on staff right now.”
Brooks points a drumstick at me. “Make Cinderella clean it up.”
Miranda stomps a high heel on the rug. “No. Boys, get home and recenter yourself before your next practice. Chase, I’ll call your father. And Ryder, get yourself to the library with Alice.”
“Miranda!” Ryder snaps, his volume making me flinch. “You can’t be serious! I’m not going anywhere with that girl.”
Miranda glares at him right back. “You’ll go, or I’ll have no choice but to tell Mr. Kensington your grades are toast. It’s then bye-bye showcase.”
The muscle in Ryder’s jaw flexes, and I watch how his hands roll into fists. Ouch. The sound of his knuckles cracking makes my skin crawl.
When Ryder’s dark eyes lock onto me, it makes me gasp for air.
No. No, I can’t do this. I can’t be locked in Miranda’s library with this boy. I won’t survive.
Miranda snaps her fingers at me. “Alice, go to your bedroom and collect the materials I gave you. Your study session is being moved up in priority.”
“But, I…”
Miranda’s eyes widen with fury. “Now, Alice.”
I suck in a breath and turn on my heels, careful not to knock over anything else with a hefty price tag.
“Miranda, this is bogus,” I hear Ryder snipe from inside the practice room.
With each hurried step to my bedroom, the boom of my heart quakes against my ribs and ricochets off my eardrums.
What have I done?
Huge gasp for air.
Where the heck am I?
Another gasp.
Who are these people?
I need a paper bag or I’m gonna faint.
This can’t be my life. I can’t be stuck with these people.