Chapter 11
Eleven
Tonight Miranda sits at the head of the table, eating her linguini with precise, controlled movements. Fork to plate. Small twirl. Chew exactly fifteen times. Glance at the leather-bound planner beside her plate. Dab her napkin at the corner of her mouth. Repeat.
The silence stretches between us like a living thing. I try to fill it by making a hole in my plate of linguine. Maybe it’ll look like I’ve eaten more than I have.
Any moment now, she’ll say something about the camera. About the incident in the hallway. I’m sure a video exists somewhere because there were at least twenty phones pointed at me.
Or maybe the school called. Maybe they reported I skipped most of my afternoon classes, cycling through bathrooms and empty alcoves.
Getting that first hall pass was too easy, and I kept doing it every period.
Most teachers asked me if I was sick before I spoke.
I guess there’s no harm in taking advantage of my gaunt appearance.
I take another bite I don’t taste.
Miranda’s phone buzzes against the table.
I flinch.
She glances at the screen, and something flickers across her face. Irritation, maybe?
“Excuse me a moment,” she says, though she’s not asking my permission. She answers the phone with, “Miranda Knox.”
Standing from her seat, she walks toward the tall windows overlooking the valley, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
I’m left sitting with my fork suspended halfway to my mouth.
Her voice drifts back to me, and there’s a tone shift. Measured patience giving way to thinly veiled annoyance.
“No, that’s not what we discussed... I specifically said natural lighting, not...”
When it’s clear the conversation isn’t about me, I set down my fork and reach for my phone in my lap.
My hands shake slightly as I unlock the screen and open the browser. I type the brand and model of the camera I broke at school. As a photography nerd, I recognized it immediately.
The results load.
Body Only: $2,399.00
I scroll down.
Lens Kit: $4,098.00
My stomach drops as if I’m falling through the floor.
I stare at the numbers, hoping somehow I misread them. I know this school has a lavish reputation, but this is ridiculous.
I quickly check my bank account.
Balance: $347.16
Not even close. Thoughts of my parents’ home and business for sale jump into my mind. Maybe I should check that email from the commercial realtor?
Miranda returns to the table, making a note in her planner. “That was the photographer from Ryder’s shoot.”
I fumble to lock my screen, setting it beside my plate as casually as possible.
“I really should be there, but I’ve got so much to catch up on. You wouldn’t believe the amount of sheer voicemails I need to go through. Anyway, they’re running behind schedule,” she continues, twirling pasta with her fork. “Ryder won’t be home until late.”
I nod, relief washing over me that he’s not coming to dinner.
Miranda takes a sip of wine, then sets the glass down with deliberate care. “How was your day at school, Alice?”
The question hangs in the air like a trap.
Now she wants to know? Today of all days?
“Fine,” I force my voice to stay steady. “It was fine.”
Miranda raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Just fine?”
“Still adjusting.” I move food around my plate again. “It’s a lot different from my old school.”
“I’m sure.” Her tone suggests she’s not sure at all. “Ashworth has much higher standards. Both academically and socially.”
It’s getting harder and harder to fake eating. “I guess so.”
“So, do you want to explain the video I saw today?”
I choke on a lack of oxygen. “The… The what?”
“Jasper Whitmore, son of Grayson Whitmore,” Miranda says to her dinner more than to me. “The Grayson Whitmore who founded BitStart and WhitTech. Why was his son on social media, talking about writing a report on you for the Ashworth Gazette?”
I wince. “You’re worried about a school paper?”
Miranda frowns. “No, I’m worried about someone attached to my name being labeled a stalker.” Miranda shivers in revulsion. “A stalker of my client.”
I sit up taller, and my heart hammers in my chest. “You know I’m not a stalker. Ryder and I barely spend time together.”
She looks down her nose at me. “Alice, dear, did I not find you wreaking havoc in his practice room?”
I strain for breath. “Miranda, I…”
Miranda lifts a hand, silencing me. “The truth is irrelevant. This is PR. This is why I didn’t want to take you in.”
I sit back, beaten by her casual disdain.
Miranda sighs. “I don’t mean it like that. I just mean it’s bad timing.”
Tears seep into the corners of my eyes, and I sniff through my response. “My parents didn’t choose to leave me.”
“I know that, Alice.” There’s still a matter-of-fact tone to Miranda’s words.
“But my life hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing.
There was a lot of turmoil leading up to me selling my label.
” Miranda lifts her goblet of dark red wine and gestures at the walls with it.
“Do you think I had my heart set on living in this place? This was a means to an end.”
I sit back, confused. “What does that mean?”
“Nevermind that.” Miranda takes a measured sip of wine and sets the glass back on the table. “Look, if there are things you need to work through, you can do it during therapy on Saturday.”
“Oh. You got that call?”
Miranda taps a note in her planner. “Got a voicemail from your social worker. Come to think of it, there are voicemails from your school I haven’t listened to yet. I assume they’re about the camera, yes?”
I suck in a breath and force myself to nod.
Miranda studies me for a beat too long. “Anything else I should know about, Alice?”
No, you don’t need to know I’m skipping classes. “You don’t need to check the voicemails. I’ll handle the camera situation at school.”
“You’d better not start more trouble with the Whitmore boy. His father donated the entire photography lab at your school.”
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you get it, Alice? This town is filled with important people.
This is why I’m here. This is the reason Ryder is here.
And now, you have a reason to be here.” Miranda straightens in her chair, calming her composure.
“Please, Alice, I can’t deal with any more stress right now.
My phone is already filled with emails, texts, and calls about Sky Chaos and my other clients.
I have no more bandwidth left for your problems.”
“My problems?” My chin drops and my bottom lip quivers. “I’m sorry social services called you. But you are my guardian, and you need to...”
Miranda cuts me off with a weary sigh. “I’m aware. Look, parenting you isn’t something I planned on. I just assumed a student with your aptitude would be self-reliant.”
My hand lands on the space above my heart as it cracks in two. “Miranda, my parents are gone. I need time.”
“Alice, I lost my parents too. I’m well aware.”
“If you know what I’m going through, can’t we talk about it?”
Miranda shakes her head and resumes twirling her linguine. “I can’t do that. If I backtrack through my life, I might get back to the part that had your mother in it.”
For a moment, all I can hear is my own ragged breathing. “What… what happened?”
Miranda lifts her gaze from her food and hits me with a cutting stare. “You don’t want me speaking ill of the dead.”
I claw at my sweater as if it will protect my failing heart. “You still think badly of her? Even though she’s gone? Was it really that bad a fight?”
Miranda’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches. “Did you see us exchange holiday cards in the past twelve years?”
“No, but… she’s gone, Miranda. Don’t you miss her?”
Miranda sets her fork down, defeated. “Don’t you understand? To me, she was already gone.”
The tears that were tight in their ducts now stream down my face. I wipe them away, but more fall down the same path.
Miranda turns in her seat to face me fully. “She was your mother. Obviously, this is hard for you. But don’t make this harder by making me talk about her. You don’t want that. Okay?”
With nothing else to do, I nod.
Miranda’s phone rings again, and she excuses herself from the table, tucking her planner under her arm.
“Yes, I saw the rough cuts from today’s shoot...”
Her voice fades as she disappears down the hallway. I’m left at the dining table, my plate still mostly full, and my hands trembling.
Mrs. Gallagher appears from the kitchen. “Finished, miss?”
I nod, even though I’ve barely eaten anything.
She clears the plates efficiently, not commenting on how much food I’m wasting.
When she’s gone, I sit there for another moment in the empty dining room. The silence presses against my eardrums until I hear the blood rushing through my head.
“To me, she was already gone.”
The words echo in my mind as I push back from the table and leave the dining room.
My legs feel heavy as I climb the stairs to my bedroom. Scratch that. My whole body feels heavy.
I close my bedroom door and lean against it, staring at the unfamiliar space. The chunky wood around the bed. The worn, antique furniture. Nothing here is really mine, except Ellie. I half-smile at the stuffed blue elephant near my pillow.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out and find a new text from Jill. “Haven’t heard back from you in a while. You okay?”
My thumb hovers over the screen.
I should respond. Should tell her... what? That my aunt barely wanted to take me in? That she won’t talk about my mom? That there are secrets I’ll never understand?
I set the phone down on the nightstand without replying.
What would I even say? How do I explain any of this?
I change into pajamas, brush my teeth, and wash my face. Go through all the motions, hoping it’ll bring on sleep faster.
But when I climb into bed, sleep won’t come.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling’s peeling paint, and my mind replays dinner over and over.
“To me, she was already gone.”
Twelve years. Mom and Miranda didn’t speak for twelve years. And now I’ll never know why. Never understand what broke them apart so completely that even death didn’t soften it.
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin, and hug Ellie.
The house is too quiet, too big, and too empty.
I reach for my phone again, knowing I shouldn’t.
Knowing it’s probably a bad idea.
I open my browser anyway and find the clip. The one I watched that first night here when I couldn’t sleep. When everything felt overwhelming and impossible.
Sky Chaos on The Jameson Late Show.
My finger hovers over the play button.
Part of me says don’t. Don’t watch it. Don’t think about Ryder, or the band, or any of it.
But I press play anyway.
My heart zings to the imperfection of the opening guitar riff. My shoulders relax as the drums and bass join in. Then Ryder’s voice has me finally settling against the pillow. Raw, intense, and somehow vulnerable all at once.
I close my eyes and let the music wash over me.
It shouldn’t comfort me. Not when everything about being here is complicated. Not when Ryder has actively made my life harder at every turn.
But it does.
The music drowns out my thoughts, fills the silence, and makes me feel like I have company even though I’m more alone than I’ve ever been.
I let the clip play through once. Then again.
By the third time, my breathing has eased, and my body has unclenched.
Miranda’s words have escaped my mind, and I just listen.
Somewhere in the loop of replays, Ryder’s music lulls me to sleep.