Chapter 9 #3
“The way your hand has been shaking, I’ll never be able to read your notes.”
The pen drops out of my hand, and I stare at my open palm, watching the slight tremor that remains.
“Oh, you don’t have a bandage anymore.”
I shut my palm and suck in a breath. “Huh?”
He nods at my closed hand. “Has it healed now? After the vase incident.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Good.” He snaps his fingers again. “Now, seriously, pass the notebook.”
I pass the pen and notebook back to him. “Do you want me to dictate to you?”
The muscle in his jaw flexes. “I guess it wouldn’t be a terrible thing if I had your help to work out what to write.”
My eyebrow raises with skepticism. “Like, teach you?”
His eyebrow mirrors mine. “Yeah. Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
“But you don’t want to learn.”
“But I have the ability.”
“What changed?” I swallow again as my stomach warns of something being launched up my throat. “You… you pity me now?”
He groans, rolling his gaze toward the ceiling. “Don’t be like that, Alice. But yeah, it feels crappy to make you write my essay after that display you put on.”
Display?
Like I chose to fall apart in front of him? Like my grief is some kind of performance?
His dark eyes land on me again, unimpressed. “Can you stop looking at me like that and just help me?”
Help him? The last thing on earth I want to do is help this stupid boy.
But I need this to be over with.
“Fine.” I grit my teeth and then force myself to release. “What did you actually understand about the book?”
“That Sophia’s grandfather helped build the church, that the town wants to tear it down, and that she feels like she has to save it.”
“That’s the basic plot, but what do you think the church represents?”
Ryder considers this. “Family legacy?”
“Yes. What else?”
“Um... the past?”
“Also yes. Keep going.”
“I don’t know. That’s all I’ve got.”
“What about identity?” I suggest. “Her grandfather has passed, so she’s figuring out who she is in the community while being in his shadow.”
“Oh.” Something pensive takes over Ryder’s expression. “Like she’s finding herself?”
“Yeah, and choosing her own path.”
“Does she? Because she does save the church.”
“Does she?” I flip to the final chapter. “She hands the keys to the priest. To someone else. She doesn’t keep running it herself.”
“So she... lets go?”
“What do you think?”
Ryder reads the final page. Actually reads it. His brow furrows in concentration. “Yeah. She lets go. Letting someone else carry it forward.”
“Exactly.” I feel a small smile forming despite everything. “That’s growth.”
“So the essay should argue that it’s growth, not obligation.”
“What do you think?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I think it’s both. She starts from a place of obligation, but by the end, she’s making her own choice. Even if that choice is to honor the past, it’s still her choice.”
“That’s actually a really strong thesis.”
“Yeah?” he sounds almost uncertain, like he’s not used to getting things right.
“Yeah. Now you just need evidence to support it.”
For the next hour, we actually work. Ryder reads passages I mark as important, and we discuss character motivation and symbolism. He takes messy, barely legible notes, but they’re his notes.
“Cool.” He writes something in his notebook, then looks up at me. “This actually makes sense now.”
“I’m glad.”
He closes his notebook. “This is actually enough to get started on the essay, right?”
“More than enough. Now you just have to write it.”
“Yeah, the hard part.”
“I can look it over when you’re done, if you want. Give you feedback before you turn it in.”
“That would be...” he trails off. “That would actually be helpful.”
I give him a closed-mouth smile and nod gently.
“Alice?” Ryder says as he stands from his seat.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about planning to leave you at school.”
My chin drops in surprise.
“It was a crappy thing to do,” he continues. “You didn’t deserve that.”
I want to say thank you, but his admission keeps me on mute.
He moves away from the table, tapping his notebook. “This didn’t feel like a total waste of time.”
His footsteps echo down the hallway. My head still pounds, and my eyes feel gritty from crying. I should go to my room, lie down in the dark, and try to forget this entire day.
But as I gather my materials with shaking hands, Miranda’s voice carries from the foyer.
“Ryder, wait. How did it go?”
I freeze with my notebook clutched to my chest.
“Fine,” Ryder’s response is clipped. “She helped me outline the essay. I’ve got what I need.”
“Well, that’s a good start,” Miranda replies. “There’s a car outside. Did you call for it?”
“Yeah, I texted my driver earlier. I’m heading over to Chase’s to work on the bridge for the new track.”
“Don’t stay out too late. You have school tomorrow.”
“I know.”
Ryder’s heavy footsteps fade into the hallway, and nervous tension bubbles inside me as Miranda’s heels click my way.
“Alice?” she calls and then appears in the doorway. “How’d everything go?”
“Fine,” I squeak.
Miranda looks over her shoulder and then back at me. “He was… cooperative?”
I purse my lips, unsure of my voice, and nod.
Satisfaction blooms on my aunt’s face. “Good. That’s what I needed to hear.”
She leaves, and suddenly I feel lost at sea. The house is more enormous and empty than ever before.
She didn’t ask how I am. How I’m doing.
Just that Ryder did the required work.
Maybe she really wouldn’t care if I wrote the entire essay for him?
I trudge upstairs to my room. I drop my materials on the desk and collapse onto the bed without changing out of my uniform.
My phone buzzes with a text from Jill: “How was day 2? Any better?”
I stare at the message, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. How do I even begin to explain? That I had a panic attack in front of the boy who hates me? That I confessed I think my parents’ death is my fault?
I set the phone down without responding.
Outside my window, dark clouds still linger on the horizon. The storm has passed, but I can still feel it in my chest. That tightness. That fear that any moment thunder will crash and I’ll break apart all over again.
Tomorrow I have to face school. Face Ryder in English class. Face the possibility that he’ll tell everyone what I said. That my grief and guilt will become just another rumor circulating through Ashworth Academy’s perfect halls.