Chapter 8
Eight
It’s silent this morning. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that presses against your eardrums and makes you hyper-aware of every breath, every shift of fabric, and every creak of the old house settling around you.
Miranda and Ryder never came home last night.
I stayed up until almost midnight, listening for the sound of tires on gravel, footsteps in the hallway, or voices echoing from downstairs. But there was nothing. Just me and the occasional groan of old pipes in the walls.
I pull myself out of bed and pad across the cold floor to my window. The driveway is empty. No sleek black sedan. No sign that anyone came back while I slept.
They’re still gone.
My phone shows 7:15 a.m. and no messages. No text from Miranda explaining where she is. Nothing.
Just that vague message she left with the school yesterday: she needed to take an early meeting with a client and record label executives.
The bitterness rises in my chest like bile. Miranda made such a big deal about tutoring Ryder. How important it was. How his grades were everything. How I needed to help him or the showcase was in jeopardy.
But they just left.
They probably went to the city, had a fancy dinner with record executives in a hotel with a penthouse suite. Maybe they’re still there now, ordering room service and discussing Ryder’s future while I’m here, alone.
My parents took me everywhere with them. Every catering event, every consultation meeting, and every food tasting. I was always included. Always wanted. Always loved.
I wander downstairs in my pajamas, my bare feet slapping against the cold stairs. The sound echoes through the empty house, bouncing off the high ceilings and wood-paneled walls.
The kitchen is spotless. I certainly didn’t come in here last night, and Mrs. Gallagher didn’t prepare anything. Some rule about her not being here without Miranda present. So weird. Why didn’t my aunt make sure I had dinner last night? I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t have eaten it, but still.
I open the fridge, hoping my stomach might rumble.
Fresh produce and bottles of sparkling water stare back at me.
My appetite is still in hiding, so I close the fridge and lean against the counter, looking around the enormous kitchen.
I should probably get ready for school. Face another day of whispers, stares, and people avoiding me like I’m contagious.
But why bother?
Miranda clearly doesn’t care where I am. She didn’t bother to check if I made it home okay yesterday. I’m less than an afterthought.
I wander into the dining room, and the long table stretches out before me, lined with empty chairs. The chandelier overhead catches the morning light, casting prismatic shadows across the walls.
I remember my first dinner here. The crystal vase I broke. The way Ryder tried to help me, holding my hands, and asking if I was hurt.
That feels like a lifetime ago.
Now he hates me. He called me Miranda’s charity project and warned everyone at school to stay away from me.
I could stay home and skip school. No one would notice. Miranda’s gone, and the school probably assumes I’m sick after leaving early yesterday. I could just... disappear for a day.
But the thought of staying in this house alone all day gives me goosebumps. Every shadow feels wrong. Every creak sounds like footsteps. Every gust of wind sounds like whispers.
I’d rather face the stares and rumors at school than spend another minute in this cold, empty house. Besides, if Ryder’s not at Ashworth today, maybe the school day will actually be bearable.
I force myself upstairs to get dressed, moving through my morning routine on autopilot. Uniform. Hair. Minimal makeup.
I catch my reflection in the mirror, and it’s tired and pale.
I lift my phone and find two missed calls from my social worker, Mrs. Rodriguez. There’s a voicemail, and my stomach flips as I hit play.
“Good morning, Alice. It’s Lucia Rodriguez from social services. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing in your new home. I also wanted to mention I’ve arranged your new grief counselor. The first appointment I could book was this coming Saturday.”
My stomach clenches and my mouth waters in the most revolting way. No way am I going to see another counsellor.
“I’ll send you the details in a text later. I’ll pass the details on to your aunt as well,” the voicemail continues. “I’m sure she’ll want to be kept in the loop and drive you to your first appointment. Okay, that’s all for now. Call me if you need me, and I’ll be back in touch soon.”
Great. Maybe I can tell Aunt Miranda I don’t need counseling. Maybe she won’t make me go.
I blow out a breath and try to stay grateful I didn’t actually need to speak to Mrs. Rodriguez.
Back downstairs, I grab my backpack from where I left it by the door. My stomach growls, finally realizing I only ate potato chips yesterday.
I check my phone. 7:40 a.m.
The car should be here soon. At least the driver was kind to me. He smiled.
I pace the foyer, my shoes clicking against the hardwood floor, until I hear the sound of tires on gravel. Relief floods through me so suddenly I almost laugh. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter and rush to the door.
The driver is already standing beside the car, smiling kindly as I approach.
“Good morning, Miss Winter,” he says, tipping his hat. “How are you feeling today? Better than yesterday, I hope?”
“Better,” I lie, clutching my banana like a lifeline. “Thank you.”
He opens the door for me, and I slide gratefully into the back seat.
As we pull away from the house, I glance back at it through the rear window. It looms against the morning sky, all sharp angles and Gothic architecture. It looks exactly like what it is. A place where I don’t belong.
I turn away and peel my banana, staring out the window as we wind down the mountain road.
***
At school, I don’t locate my locker. I just want to get to English in a timely manner and not give anyone a reason to gawk at me.
My stomach settles when I’m in Ms. Patterson’s classroom. Ryder’s desk behind mine is empty. Brooks is also absent from class. So my suspicions were correct. They’re still on official band duties, leaving school lower on the priority list.
The need to throw up lessens as I get through each of my classes. It’s like my connection to Ryder has faded, and I’m just a background extra in the movie about more popular students.
Suits me fine.
Just to be on the safe side, I avoid the cafeteria at lunchtime, and soon I’m in my afternoon classes. The ones I skipped out on yesterday.
My art teacher is super chill about my no-show yesterday and encourages me to find an empty seat. The classroom is made up of five large, communal tables, which are covered in paint splatter. It almost feels inspiring if the volume of my peers weren’t dialed up to eleven.
There’s a distinct atmosphere in this room. Like there’s a secret language I’m yet to decode. Hairs stand on the back of my neck, urging me to be vigilant to a threat I’m yet to discover.
I swallow hard, watching notes circle around the desks. Please, don’t be about me. Please, don’t be about me. But all hope is dashed when a note lands in front of the girl across from me.
She puts the note down and leans across the table. “You want to date him, don’t you?”
“What?” I gasp. “Who?”
She smirks. “Like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”
I sigh hard, sitting back on my stool. “Ryder?”
She elbows the girl beside her. “Knew he’d be the one thing on her mind.”
“You’re in love with him.” The other girl stares at me with wild eyes. “Aren’t you?”
There’s a deep ache in my temples, and I scrunch my eyes closed. “Please, don’t.”
“Oh my gosh, Kimberley. She’s not denying it.”
Kimberley leans further forward. “You’d, like, drape yourself all over him if you could. Wouldn’t you?”
I open my eyes, scared they’ll water. “I don’t know him!”
The girl beside Kimberley scrunches up her face. “Why would she say that?”
“I’m not wrong, am I, Jessa?” Kimberley double takes at her friend. “This girl is so off.”
Jessa stares me down. “To freak out a guy like Ryder, she’s gotta be bad news.”
“I don’t know him!” I repeat, but my voice cracks on the words.
Kimberley and Jessa exchange a look, and then they both start cackling.
“Right. That’s why when we asked about you at lunch today, he totally went off on a rant,” Jessa continues.
I gulp hard, feeling my throat dry out. “Ryder’s back?”
“Oh my gosh.” Kimberley rolls her eyes, sarcasm growing thick in her tone. “You’re so obsessed with him. But, no, you two don’t know each other.”
“Come on, we heard all about you stalking his band practices,” Jessa says. “No wonder he can’t stand you. How are you allowed to be in the same house as him? Did you blackmail him or something?”
“Blackmail?” I shout in shock, and every head turns my way.
Our art teacher clears his throat but doesn’t break up our confrontation.
Jessa and Kimberley hold their stares, and I find the words tumbling uncontrollably out of my mouth. “I’m just living there to be with my aunt. That’s all there is to it.”
“Your aunt?” Jessa questions.
“What the actual…” Kimberley trails off, shaking her head. “Why would…”
Jessa cuts her off. “Oh my gosh, her aunt is the band’s manager. That’s how she weaseled her way into Ryder’s life.” Jessa throws a cutting stare my way. “Gosh, girl, get the hint. He’s not interested.”
“The feeling’s mutual!” I lean forward. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”
The girls face each other, pause for a beat, and then turn to me with more laughter.
“Oh, please,” Jessa says with a cruel smile. “It’s so obvious you have this pathetic little crush on him.”
What is happening? Is this plain jealousy? Do they think I’m a roadblock to them being with Ryder themselves? How many other ways can I say I don’t like him?
“She’s a total gold digger, Jessa.” Kimberley’s exaggerated nods seem to make her eyes enlarge. “She’s trying to get in with the band just as they’re blowing up.”
Jessa smirks at me. “It’s pathetic.”
“And her delusions are dangerous,” Kimberley adds as if I’m not even here. “She’s wrecking band practices, hoping the negative attention will draw Ryder in. He should get a restraining order.”
I’ll give them the fact that I ruined one practice, but why are they pluralizing it? What exactly did Ryder say to them at lunch? I haven’t seen him since lunch yesterday, and I kept my distance as per his instructions. What could’ve happened for him to be on my case again?
Ugh. Even when he’s not in my presence, he’s still ruining my day!
Just as the room spins out around me, the bell rings.
Jessa and Kimberley are quick to pack up their materials, giggling and gossiping for all to hear. I, on the other hand, wait for everyone else to leave with their insane theories about me.
“Miss Winter,” my teacher calls as I leave my desk.
I make my way over to his paint-splattered desk. “Yes, sir?”
“I know it’s only your second day,” he says, annoyingly clicking a pen, “but if you’re feeling overwhelmed by... the attention of others, I hope you know there’s a guidance counselor you can speak with.”
Hard pass.
“Thank you,” I manage, and leave the classroom.
Geez, what a stupid suggestion. I hated every conversation I had with the grief counselor who social services made me see. There’s no way I’m volunteering my time with a private school guidance counselor.
I get into the hallway and my vision doubles. I lean against the wall, and the dizziness drags me sideways.
Just one more class.
One more class and I’m out of here.
I force my feet forward, and with jitters controlling my hands, I lift my schedule to check where I’m headed, and my heart drops like a stone.
Photography.
The classroom is a few doors ahead, and I watch students file in. There’s a teacher standing by the door, greeting students. At least I think it’s only one teacher. My double vision could convince me that the teacher has a twin.
I scuff my feet forward, and the teacher waves with a blur of multiple hands. “Are you Alice? I was told I had a new student joining us.”
On my approach, I’m hit with the familiar scent of developing chemicals. My headache pulses at the thought of seeing a red-tinted dark room and hearing a class discussion on composition.
“Whoa. Are you okay?”
The teacher reaches for me as I sway back and forth.
I shake my head, my cheeks ballooning out at the thought of stepping inside the classroom.
The teacher squeezes my shoulder, steadying me in place. “You should see the school nurse. You’re fading from pale to green.”
I’m quick to tell the teacher I know where the nurse’s office is, and he excuses me from class.
I practically run down the hall and fly down the staircase.
Nope. No way.
I need to change my schedule. I’ll do literally anything instead of photography.
My stomach spasms, causing me to swallow salty acid.
Photography used to be my bliss. It didn’t feel like homework, like the other subjects.
It was the fun thing I got to do on weekends.
My parents used to boast about how artistic my shots would turn out.
Gosh, they spent so much money on that camera that’s wasting away in the bottom of my suitcase.
Nope.
Not doing this.
Ms. Thornesmith in administration needs to change me into another class. There’s no other option.
I race across the first floor as if my shoes are on fire. I’ve left it until the last minute to ask about swapping classes, and I imagine the school administrator looking down her nose at me with those half-glasses.
The last thing I want to do is answer questions about why I don’t want to take photography. I don’t want them to read my transcript and see my good grades. I don’t want them to encourage me to continue.
I can’t continue.
I won’t.
I—
SMACK.
Someone slams into me from the left, hard. I let out a stunned gasp as my body jerks sideways, thrown off balance.
“Crap, are you…” The voice trails off until, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.”
My thoughts exactly.
Ryder.