Chapter 10
Ten
The hallway between third and fourth period the next day is a war zone.
I press myself against the lockers, clutching my books to my chest as bodies surge past. The crowd is worse than usual. A pep rally announcement has everyone moving in the same direction at once.
I try to time my movements, waiting for a gap that never comes. Just get to history class. Just get through the day.
My nervous system is still fried from this morning’s English class.
For fifty-three minutes, I was convinced Ryder Hamilton was going to destroy what’s left of my life.
All I could think about was how vulnerable I was during yesterday’s tutoring session.
How I revealed truths to someone I shouldn’t have.
The thunderstorm ripped me apart and left me unfiltered. I can’t believe the things I told him about my parents’ accident, and how I was supposed to be in the car. That I wasn’t because I faked being sick.
I spent the entire class playing out the worst scenarios in my mind. I was sure he’d tell everyone my horrible, selfish secret. That he’d describe my panic attack in horrendous detail. That he’d label me a killer and tell perverse stories about my parents, ruining their memory forever.
But he didn’t.
He sat behind me in complete silence. Not a word to Brooks, or a comment to anyone.
Just the sound of him settling into his chair. The rustle of paper as he pulled out the novel. The scratch of his pen against notebook paper.
Every small sound made me flinch. Each one felt like the moment before he’d speak and weaponize what I’d told him.
Instead, I used the fifty-three minutes to torture myself.
But I don’t trust that he’s not saving the information. Waiting for the most damaging moment to reveal what he knows.
Someone shoves me from the side, forcing me back inside my body. I push forward, apologizing as my backpack bumps someone’s shoulder. The crowd shifts suddenly, and I stumble sideways.
My elbow hits something hard. There’s a sickening crash of metal and glass hitting the floor, and the noise cuts through the hallway chaos.
Conversations stop.
Bodies freeze.
I look down and my stomach drops.
A professional camera lies on its side, the lens separated from the body. Pieces of what might be a filter scatter across the polished floor.
“Are you kidding me right now?”
A boy with perfectly styled blond hair crouches down, his face going red as he assesses the damage.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasp, dropping to my knees. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t mean to…”
“Didn’t mean to?” the boy’s voice rises, carrying down the hallway. “Do you have any idea how much this camera costs?”
People are gathering now and forming a circle. I see phones coming out.
“I’ll pay for it,” I stammer, even though I have no idea how. “I’m sorry, I’ll...”
“Who even are you?” he demands, holding up the separated lens like evidence. “I’m the editor of the school paper. I know everyone at this school, but I’ve never seen you before.”
“She’s new.”
The voice comes from behind him. Female and familiar.
Jasper moves out of the way, and my heart sinks.
Jessa. One of the horrible girls from art class who called me a gold digger and a stalker.
“Jasper, this is the girl who’s obsessed with Ryder Hamilton,” Jessa says loudly, making sure everyone can hear. “She lives in his house.”
“Oh, perfect,” Jasper, the school paper editor, says bitterly. “You’re busy chasing after rockstars, and you don’t care who or what gets in your way.”
The crowd laughs. My face burns.
“I’m not… that’s not…” I can’t get the words out.
“She literally stalks his band practices,” Jessa continues. “It’s actually kind of pathetic. Like, take a hint, you know?”
“I don’t…” My voice comes out strangled. “That’s not...”
“She’s already destroyed expensive equipment, Jasper,” Jessa continues. “And now she’s wrecked the school camera. It’s like her thing.”
Phones are pointed at me now, recording. I’m kneeling on the floor, surrounded by broken pieces, while Jessa narrates my humiliation to an eager audience.
“Is that true?” Jasper asks, his expression hardening. “You have a history of destroying things that don’t belong to you?”
“It was an accident,” I whisper, but my voice is too small.
“She’s basically using Ryder for clout,” Jessa says. “Trying to get close to the band and get her name attached to his. Classic gold digger move.”
“That’s not… I would never…”
But the damage is done. The crowd is eating it up, and whispers ripple through the circle.
“Desperate much?”
“Imagine living with a guy and throwing yourself at him like that.”
“No wonder he can’t stand her.”
I’m drowning. The hallway spins around me. Too many faces. Too many phones. Too many voices.
“Hey, Freddy, you saw what happened, right?” Jasper calls out.
Freddy stands behind Jessa. I remember his name from my first day at school. The class president, who was supposed to give me a tour of the school.
“I, uh...” Freddy shifts his weight, looking anywhere but at me. “I didn’t really see. I was facing the other direction for the photo, so...”
“Come on, man,” Jasper presses. “You were right there.”
“I really didn’t see it happen.” Freddy’s voice is apologetic but firm. “Sorry, Jasper.”
“Oh my gosh, Jasper,” Jessa says in a low tone. “Your dad’s gonna be pissed. Didn’t he donate everything in the photography lab? Including that camera?”
Jasper huffs in frustration and turns back to me. “Get up. This is your fault. No way am I taking the blame for this.”
I try to stand, but my legs won’t cooperate. My hands are shaking too hard to gather my books.
“Wow, look at the act she’s putting on,” Jessa says with a laugh. “Such a convincing performance.”
“Whoa. What’s going on here?”
The voice cuts through the noise, and I don’t have to look up to know who it is.
But I do anyway.
Ryder stands at the edge of the circle, his expression shifting from casual curiosity to visible discomfort as he takes in the scene.
“Ryder!” Jessa’s voice brightens artificially. “Perfect timing. Your stalker just destroyed Jasper’s camera.”
“Look what she did!” Jasper shouts, holding up the lens. “No wonder she came to school with such a bad reputation. Was she a wrecking ball at her last school too?”
Ryder’s face closes off immediately. He takes a step back, raising one hand as if he’s physically pushing the situation away.
“Nope,” he says flatly. “Not my problem.”
My stomach drops.
“Doesn’t she live with you?” Jasper asks and then looks back at Jessa for confirmation. “Don’t you think you should…”
“Should what?” Ryder’s voice is sharp. “Handle your drama for you? No thanks.”
Jessa steps forward. “But she…”
Ryder shakes his head and fires a look of clear irritation at Jasper. “Clean up your equipment and deal with it. I’m sure the school has insurance. File a report or whatever.”
Jasper scoffs. “Well, maybe I need to report on this for the school paper.”
Ryder turns his back on Jasper. “Whatever.”
As I’m trying to remember how to breathe, Ryder’s eyes land on me.
“And you.” His tone is almost harsh. “Get to class.”
Still kneeling on the floor, I stare at him, frozen.
“Now, Alice.”
But I can’t move. The crowd, the phones, the whispers; it’s all too much. My body won’t respond.
Ryder’s jaw clenches. He steps into the circle, ignoring the way people lean in with their phones.
“Where’s your next class?” he demands.
“I...” My voice barely works. “History. Room 308.”
“Get up.”
I try. I really try. But my legs are shaking too badly.
Ryder mutters something under his breath that sounds like a curse, then reaches down and grabs my arm.
Not gently.
His grip is firm, almost too tight, pulling me to my feet with more force than necessary. The strength of it makes me stumble, and my books nearly slip from beneath my other arm.
“Let’s go,” he says, already walking.
He doesn’t let go of my arm. Just tugs me forward, through the circle of onlookers, his pace fast and purposeful.
I have to hurry to keep up; my feet tripping over themselves as he pulls me down the hallway.
Behind us, the whispers explode.
“Oh my gosh, did you see that?”
“He’s totally walking her to class.”
“She’s probably loving this.”
Ryder’s grip on my arm doesn’t loosen. If anything, it gets tighter.
We turn a corner, leaving the crowd behind, and he finally lets go. But he doesn’t slow down.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, trying to keep pace.
“What does it look like?” His voice is clipped with irritation.
“You’re walking me to class. People are… they’re watching, they’re going to think…”
“I don’t care what they think.” He takes the stairs two at a time. “Right now, I care about getting you out of that hallway before you cause an even bigger scene.”
“I didn’t mean to cause a scene; I just…”
“You knocked over a pricey camera.” His tone is harsh. “In the middle of the busiest hallway in school, during the most crowded passing period. That’s a scene, Alice.”
My face burns. “It was an accident.”
“Yeah, well, your accidents are becoming a real problem for me.”
We reach the second floor. He finally stops, turning to face me, and there’s genuine frustration in his expression.
“I have a showcase coming up,” he says, his voice low and intense. “I only have a few weeks to nail down the performance that could make or break my entire career. I need to focus. I need to practice. I need every ounce of concentration I have.”
“I know.”
“And instead, I’m dealing with this.” He gestures back toward the stairs, toward the hallway of chaos we left behind. “Whatever that was back there. More drama, and more of your messes that somehow become my problem.”
“I didn’t ask you to...”
“You don’t think Miranda will hear about this?” he cuts me off. “I don’t need her taking her focus off the band because you can’t keep your limbs in check. I need you to keep it together. I need you to be functional enough to help me pass English, not falling apart in hallways.”
The words sting, but I force myself to meet his eyes. “Then why did you help me?”
“I didn’t help you.” His voice is flat. “I got you out of a situation that was going to become my headache. There’s a difference.”
He’s close enough now that I can see the stress in his face.
“I need you to stop breaking things,” he says, somewhat softer. “I need you to stop causing problems that cause everyone to get their phones out. Can you do that?”
It’s not a kind request. It’s barely even a request at all.
“I’ll try.”
“Try harder.” He steps back, creating a distance between us. “Your classroom is down that hall.”
Then he turns and walks away, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.
I make my way to history class on shaky legs, hyper-aware of every stare from students in the hallway.
“Did you see Ryder Hamilton literally drag her out of there?”
“He looked furious.”
I slide into my seat in the back of the classroom, my arm still feeling the ghost of his grip.
Ryder didn’t defend me. Didn’t stand up for me.
Didn’t care about Jessa’s cruel comments or Jasper’s humiliating taunts.
He just wanted me out of there because my problems were becoming his problems. Because he needs me to stop being a distraction.
And somehow, that feels worse than if he’d just left me there.
But I’m not still on that floor because I have one tiny piece of value.
I can help him pass English.
My heart wants to break in two as it really dawns on me that my academic abilities are the only reason I have a roof over my head.
I’m a commodity.
Right now, people might be whispering and wondering if there’s something going on between me and Ryder. But I couldn’t care less. What do silly rumors matter when you realize your aunt doesn’t love you? She wants me around only to help her precious client.
Although I can’t be surprised. My parents were warm and loving people, and there was a reason they cut Miranda out of their lives.
Did she use them too, and they’d had enough?
Around me, students pull out notebooks and textbooks.
The teacher talks about the French Revolution, and I write the date at the top of my page and try to focus.
But all I can think about is the way Ryder’s hand felt on my arm.
Too tight. Almost bruising. Pulling me forward with a force that said move without room for argument.
He maintained his silence in English class and kept what I told him private, at least for now. But he couldn’t stay silent in that hallway. Not with Jessa and Jasper igniting flames. Not with phones recording, and the risk that it would blow back on him and get Miranda riled up.
So he was forced to use his voice.
The teacher is saying something about the Third Estate, and I write it down mechanically. My hand moves across the page even though my brain isn’t processing the words.
I just need to keep my head down. Stop being a problem. Be invisible except when Ryder needs help with English.
That’s what Ryder wants.
That’s what Miranda expects.
That’s what I need to do to survive.
The teacher’s voice drones on about revolution, and I try not to think about how my own system is breaking down around me.
I try not to think about the fact that, in less than a week at Ashworth Academy, I’ve become exactly what everyone says I am.
A walking disaster.
A problem no one wants to deal with.
A girl who breaks things.
Everything I’ve written down on the page turns to squiggles and jumps across the ruled lines. I blink at the spots clouding my vision, and my hand shoots into the air.
“Yes?” our teacher responds.
“Can I have a hall pass?” I murmur squeamishly. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Thankfully, he approves my request, and I’m quick to pack up my belongings. The teacher gives me a questioning stare as I leave my desk with my backpack, but I’m out the door too quick for him to take back the pass.
I need a break. I can’t be in another classroom. I know I can read a textbook and get myself caught up. I just want solace. I just want a quiet moment in this hellishly over-crowded school.