Chapter 12
Twelve
The kitchen is empty when I walk in the next morning. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and set my backpack on the granite counter.
I should eat it. I know I should eat it.
I set it down instead and unzip my backpack, checking that everything’s there for school.
Books. Notebooks. Pens.
The camera.
I pull out the padded case and carefully unzip it. My hands move mechanically as I check that I put in the battery. I charged it early this morning when I couldn’t sleep. There’s only so many times that listening to the same song can work.
I check the lens and wipe a smudge off with my sleeve. Everything looks good.
I hold my breath and pop open the SD card slot.
Nothing.
I blow out my breath and rest against the kitchen island, grateful I already took it out.
I didn’t check the screen before I did it, or flip through the photos. It’s just something I can’t fathom doing right now.
I set the camera back in its case and move on to reorganizing my books.
Heavy footsteps near in the hallway, and I don’t need to look up to know they belong to Ryder. Without a word, he moves into the kitchen and straight for the coffee machine.
“What’s that for?” he asks while stabbing at buttons on the machine.
My stomach clenches, wishing I’d already hidden the camera in my backpack. “School.”
Ryder shifts his feet. I refuse to look up at him, but I can tell he’s checking out the camera.
“Oh, yeah?” he says with the mildest hint of curiosity. “You take photography?”
Yes, but I haven’t stepped foot inside my photography classroom all week. “Mm-hmm.”
Ryder clangs his travel mug against the coffee machine. “It’s an impressive-looking unit. The photographer from last night’s shoot had something similar. Heck, it looks a lot better than the school camera you cracked in half.”
My teeth grit so hard that a lightning bolt of pain rushes through my jaw. I sit taller with curled fists and a coiled spine. “That’s why I’m replacing it.”
Ryder sets his mug down with a thud. “Huh?”
I gesture at the camera as if it’s nothing. “I’m giving it to the school. To Jasper.”
“Absolutely not.”
The words come out so sharp, they force me to look up at him. “What?”
“No.” Ryder abandons the coffee machine and faces me fully. “I forbid you to give that moron your camera.”
I scoff in offense. “You forbid me?”
“Yes.” He steps closer to the kitchen island, his dark eyes fixed on my camera. “That idiot Jasper can deal with his own problems. You’re not handing over your property to fix his stupidity.”
“I broke the school’s camera. I should replace it,” I argue, though my voice lacks conviction. “It’s not my property to keep.”
Ryder leans in, examining the camera without touching it. “How is this not yours to keep?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It absolutely matters.” His voice has that same edge as yesterday. Protective but frustrated. “Why do you even have something this expensive if you don’t want to use it?”
The question hits exactly where it hurts, but I don’t let myself react. “I just... I don’t.”
I reach for the camera to put it back in my bag, but Ryder’s hand gets there first, sliding it across the countertop and away from me.
“Either way, you’re not handing over your property to Ashworth Academy.”
“It’s not your decision to make.”
“Alice, look at me.”
I keep my eyes on the shiny, smooth surface.
“Alice.” Firmer this time. “Eyes up.”
Swallowing my fear, I reluctantly meet his eyes.
“You only brought two suitcases when you moved in,” he says quietly. “Whatever you brought with you has to be important. This means something to you.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.” The lie comes out flat and unfeeling. “I never want to use it again.”
“Then why do you have it? Why didn’t you just leave it behind at your parents’ house?”
“Because I...”
The question hangs between us.
“Because someone important gave it to you,” Ryder says, and there’s an understanding in his voice that I don’t want to hear.
I force myself to keep burying the emotion that’s trying to break free.
“Look, I don’t care if you never want to take another picture in your life,” he continued in a gentler tone. “But you’re not giving away something valuable just to satisfy some prep school jagoff. He’s too stupid to function. He shouldn’t have had his tripod sitting in the middle of the hallway.”
“Miranda wants this problem resolved.”
“This isn’t your only solution.”
“The school will expect me to replace it.”
“Let them expect it. That doesn’t mean you have to comply.” He slides the camera back toward me, careful not to touch it directly. “Put this away. Jasper created his own problem. Don’t let him bully you just because he doesn’t want his daddy finding out the pricey camera got totalled.”
I stare down at the camera case.
“Are you okay?”
The question makes me look up. Ryder’s watching me with an expression I can’t read.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
I gesture at the camera. “I have to fix this.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“I do. I have to.”
“Put it somewhere safe,” Ryder says, “until you figure out what you want to do with it.”
“I’ve already figured it out.”
“No, you haven’t. You’re not thinking straight.”
“Don’t tell me how I’m feeling.”
“Alice, you don’t want to give this away.” He then leans in and lowers his voice to a whisper. “They only just died.”
He didn’t. He didn’t just say that.
I snatch the camera and stuff it into my backpack. Outside, the familiar crunch of gravel tells us our car has arrived. I’m out of the kitchen before Ryder can speak another word.
Thankfully, the ride to school is silent. I hugged my backpack the entire way, scared he’d rip it out of my hands in another attempt to force me to do what he wants.
At school, Ryder is quick to disappear into the crowd.
I make my way through the foyer, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Pieces of conversation prick my ears. Yesterday’s hallway-camera debacle is still a juicy topic.
Bets on whether I’m actually stalking Ryder are getting extreme.
And it’s best to block out the ranking of whose video about me was best.
Gosh, I’m gonna hurl. Just how many videos are there?
I move toward the staircase and clock Jasper out of the corner of my eye. I hold my breath, hurrying my pace to the stairs. He’s weaving between people to reach me.
“I haven’t forgotten about the camera! You can’t hide from this!”
I grip my backpack straps, feeling the weight of the camera inside. It could all be over. I could fix the damage I had caused, and maybe some of my guilt would leave with it.
I step off the bottom stair and slowly turn around, ready to surrender.
Ryder appears behind Jasper like a shadow.
Jasper doesn’t see it coming. Ryder’s shoulder connects with his back, and Jasper goes toppling forward onto the polished floor.
“You have a habit of standing in the middle of the hallway,” Ryder says, stepping over Jasper without breaking stride.
Trailing behind Ryder are his bandmates and a cluster of giggling girls. Ryder doesn’t respond to them. Instead, meeting my eyes for just a second and giving a slight shake of his head.
He’s telling me no. Stopping me from interacting with Jasper.
Forbidding me, again.
Jasper groans and peels himself off the floor. If he were angry before, I don’t want to be around him now. I spin around and flee up the stairs, whispers and laughter chasing me.
Just get to class. Just get through the day.
I slip into my seat in English just as the bell rings.
Jasper’s voice rings through my head. Does he really want me to pay for the camera?
His father donated it. Okay, yes, that’s rich people code for Mr. Whitmore paid for it.
But couldn’t Jasper’s dad just pay for another one?
Or does he not want his dad to know because he doesn’t want to disappoint him?
I sigh and sink lower in my chair. He can’t possibly disappoint his parents more than I have.
Ms. Patterson launches into a discussion about symbolism in ‘What We Carry,’ and I can’t help noticing Ryder hasn’t entered the classroom yet.
As the minutes pass, whispers rumble from the back row.
Ms. Patterson hushes them the best she can, but since there are videos of yesterday’s humiliating scene, the theories and speculations are high.
The girl beside me, Chloe, I think her name is, taps my desk. “So, where’s Ryder?”
I keep my focus on the novel in my hands. “I dunno. At his locker?”
“I heard you, like, keep tabs on him.”
That’s a nice way of saying, ‘I heard you’re a crazy, delusional stalker.’
“Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” she whispers, leaning in even closer. “You must see so much of him at home. What’s he like? He must practice his music twenty-four-seven.”
“Well, he does practice… a lot.”
“Does he walk around shirtless?” There’s a dreamy look in Chloe’s eyes, and I wouldn’t discount the chance she starts drooling. “I feel like rockstars probably walk around shirtless a lot.”
The image of Ryder wandering through Miranda’s gothic mansion without a shirt makes my face burn. “No, he... we barely see each other.”
“That’s so weird.” Chloe leans back, sniggering as she looks off into the distance. “If I lived with Ryder Hamilton, I’d be following him around and filming everything he does. You could make serious money by posting candid videos online.”
The idea churns my stomach. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not? There’s already video of you and him together. This is your moment to really cash in.”
“Chloe,” Ms. Patterson interrupts just as my half-eaten banana swirls around inside my stomach. “Get back to the subject at hand, please.”
Chloe shifts in her seat, frowning. When Ms. Patterson moves back to the board, Chloe turns to the girl on her other side and whispers, “No, she didn’t say anything.”