Chapter 5
Five
“Two hours,” Miranda told me. “I need you to work with him for at least two hours.”
She loomed over me while I gathered all the materials from the desk in my bedroom.
“Mr. Kensington will not budge on his stance that all three band members need to graduate from Ashworth Academy,” she went on. “Believe me, it’s worth the effort. That school breeds winners. The boys will be making career-long relationships that will benefit them long into the future.”
She continued to prattle on about prestigious school alumni who can open every door in the world. But it became white noise as I made my way to the library. The papers in my hands may as well have been shackles, my estranged aunt my warden, and Ryder’s hateful glare my prison sentence.
The library is a small room, lined floor to ceiling with leather-bound books that have probably never been opened. A large mahogany table takes up the middle of the room, and I sit facing two large windows that overlook the misty forest.
It’s been thirty-seven minutes since Miranda moved up our tutoring time.
Thirty-seven minutes since Ryder called me that girl.
I arrange my materials on the scuffed and chipped tabletop with obsessive precision.
My copy of ‘What We Carry’ sits perfectly aligned with my stack of worksheets.
They’re lined up neatly beside my notebook and gel-ink pen, everything at exact right angles.
Like if I make everything perfect enough, it will somehow undo the disaster in the music room.
Voices echo from the hallway, tugging me further into my anxiety spiral. The library doors burst open with enough force to make me jump.
Ryder strolls in with Chase and Brooks flanking him. All three have their instruments with them. Chase carrying his bass case, Brooks with his drumsticks in hand, and Ryder with his guitar strapped across his shoulder.
They’re continuing their practice.
Here.
“I’m telling you, that bridge progression is sick,” Brooks says, dropping into one of the leather chairs like he owns the place. “Way better than the original arrangement.”
“Yeah, we could’ve really sunk into it before someone destroyed our practice space,” Chase adds pointedly, his eyes flicking to me for just a second before looking away.
My face burns, and I straighten my pen against my notebook like it’ll help.
“The showcase is going to be insane if we can nail that bridge live,” Brooks continues, completely ignoring my presence. “Chase, your dad’s bringing executives from distribution, right?”
“That’s the plan,” Chase says, his voice tight. “Assuming we can actually get our practice sessions sorted before then.”
Ryder hasn’t looked at me once. He sits on the edge of the mahogany desk, right on top of my carefully arranged worksheets, and pulls out his phone. His guitar rests against a table leg.
“Hamilton,” Chase says, setting his bass case against a bookshelf with a loud thud. “When are you gonna get your equipment sorted? We can’t come back to rehearse here if this stuff isn’t figured out.”
“I dunno, man. I didn’t budget to buy new gear,” Ryder replies flatly, still staring at his phone.
“Don’t forget, Chase,” Brooks leans back in his chair, balancing on two legs. “Ryder’s not from around here. He needs to send home for money.”
Chase and Brooks snigger at each other. That is until Ryder lifts his head, silencing the pair.
Chase clears his throat. “Dude, just get it done. Okay? Because if Dad thinks we’re not taking this seriously, if he thinks we’re messing around with broken equipment because some girl can’t watch where she’s going—“
“He won’t,” Ryder interrupts sharply. “Miranda will fix it. That’s what she does.”
Fix it?
Fix me?
Am I the problem that needs solving?
I clear my throat softly, hoping to remind them why we’re here.
Nothing.
They continue talking about the showcase like I’m invisible. Like I’m just another piece of furniture in this dusty library.
“The setlist needs work too,” Brooks says, still balancing his chair precariously. “We can’t open with a slow song. We need something that grabs attention immediately.”
“‘Fractured’ isn’t slow,” Ryder argues, finally setting down his phone. “It builds. That’s the whole point.”
“Builds too slow,” Brooks counters. “You need to hook people in the first thirty seconds. Executives don’t have patience.”
“My dad especially,” Chase adds. “He’s bringing suits who’ve never heard us play before. First impressions matter.”
Ryder slouches, setting his palms behind him on the tabletop. “Then what do you suggest?”
“The new track,” Brooks says immediately. “The one you finished last night. That opening guitar riff is killer.”
“It’s not ready.”
“It’s ready enough,” Chase insists. “And it shows range. Shows you’re not just some kid who Miranda found at an open-mic night. Shows you joined the band for a reason.”
I check my phone. We’re now forty-three minutes into our two-hour session, and they’re treating the library like the perfect place for a strategy meeting.
But I can’t just sit here. Miranda made it crystal clear that Ryder needs to be prepared for school tomorrow.
The headache that’s been building since this morning pulses behind my eyes, made worse by their loud voices and casual cruelty.
I just want to go home.
I just want my parents back.
Except there is no home anymore.
I can’t do this. I can’t sit here while they ignore me. I can’t pretend this will work when Ryder clearly has no intention of studying.
My hands shake as I gather the novel, my notes, and the pen I’ve been gripping so hard my fingers ache. I shuffle them into a messy pile, careful not to draw attention, and ignoring the worksheets that Ryder’s using as a seat cushion.
I stand up, barely breathing, clutching everything to my chest.
They’re still talking. Still ignoring me.
I take a small step toward the door. Then another.
Almost there.
My hand reaches for the doorknob.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Ryder’s voice cuts through the room like a whip.
I freeze, my fingers millimeters from the handle.
All three of them are looking at me now.
“I... I was just...” My voice comes out shakily. “I thought maybe…”
“You thought you’d just sneak out?” Ryder stands up, his expression darkening, and the worksheets slip off the table and form a nest on the floor. “Seriously?”
“You were... you were talking, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“So you were just going to bail?” His voice rises. “Without saying anything?”
“I’m sorry, I just…”
“You just what?” Ryder takes a step toward me. “Decided tutoring wasn’t worth your time? That you’d rather hide in your room than actually do what Miranda asked?”
“No, I…” My materials collapse in my arms, and I clutch them tighter. “I have a headache, and you were busy with your friends, and I thought…”
“You thought wrong,” Ryder snaps. “You can’t just leave.”
“I wasn’t... I mean, I didn’t...” I feel my face burning. “You weren’t paying attention anyway, so I figured…”
“So you figured you’d just disappear?” His jaw is tight. “Do you have any idea what Miranda will do if she finds out you bailed?”
“I’m sorry.”
He points at the desk. “Stop apologizing and sit down.”
“But you don’t want me here,” I whisper. “You’ve made that really clear.”
Ryder grits his teeth and manages, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Dude, let her go,” Brooks says with a smirk. “She obviously can’t handle it.”
“Yeah, if the charity case wants to run away…” Chase starts.
“Shut up,” Ryder snaps at them, but he’s still glaring at me. “Both of you, out.”
“What?” Chase looks surprised. “You wanted us here.”
“And now I want you gone.” Ryder doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Get out.”
“Dude, you sure?” Brooks asks, standing slowly. “Because she looks like she’s about to cry, and that’ll be super awkward.”
“I said, get out.”
“Whatever, man.” Brooks twirls his drumsticks. “Good luck with the scared little mouse.”
Chase grabs his bass case, pausing at the door. “Don’t let her break anything else, Hamilton.”
They laugh as they leave, the door closing behind them with a soft click.
I’m still frozen, with my materials clutched to my chest like a shield.
Ryder crosses his arms, looking at me with barely contained frustration. “Sit. Down.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, moving back toward the table. My hands shake so badly I nearly drop everything. “I wasn’t trying to... I didn’t mean to...”
“Just sit.”
I sink into the chair, setting my materials down in a messy pile. Nothing is organized anymore. The crumpled worksheets are acting like a small rug. I’m too scared to pick them up, and instead I shiver in place.
Ryder scoops the papers from the floor and dumps them on the table. He then drops into the chair across from me with a heavy sigh.
My eyes itch with the threat of tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
I press my lips together, staring at the table.
“Look, I could be doing something much better with my time,” Ryder says pointedly. “But I need to get these teachers off my back. So just write the English essay for me so I can pass.”
A small gasp hiccups out of me, and I shake my head as if I didn’t hear him correctly. “Write it for you? That’s not how this works. You can’t plagiarize…”
“Miranda doesn’t care if I do the work,” Ryder interrupts. “She just needs Kensington off her back too. It’s a win-win.”
“I wasn’t brought here just to do your assignments.”
Ryder smirks. “Oh, weren’t you?”
His words sting, and a small tear escapes my eye. “Miranda’s my family. That’s why she took me in.”
“And the fact that she saw your academic records had nothing to do with it?”
I press my palms against the sides of my head and dig my fingernails into my scalp. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to be here.”
Ryder taps the table, but I refuse to give him eye contact. “Join the club, princess. No one in this house wants to be here. But we’ve gotta make the best of it.”