Chapter 12 #2
Halfway through class, Ryder and Brooks stride in. Our teacher is obviously peeved, but doesn’t give them detention. I’m sure Miranda and Mr. Kensington have made sure small things like tardiness get overlooked.
Conversation moves from yesterday’s video to students wanting to know all about the Sky Chaos photo shoot last night. Apparently, some images were already published on their social media accounts. After the videos of me, the Sky Chaos photos are the last thing I want to check out.
I go through the rest of the day with my head down.
I’ve spent my high school career excelling in classes to the point I could graduate in my junior year.
What’s the point of getting ahead if you can’t take advantage of it?
I zone out, only coming back into my body when the bell rings and I need to move on to the next classroom.
At lunch, I avoid the cafeteria at all costs. On my first day, influencer-wannabe Madison Pierce tried to befriend me in order to probe information about Ryder. Now, after yesterday’s incident with school journalist Jasper Whitmore, Madison has also made a video about me.
I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m not here.
My hand brushes against the imprint of my phone in my skirt pocket.
I still haven’t replied to Jill. I hate that I’m making her worry.
I just don’t want to admit what’s happening right now.
This life is so foreign to the one I knew with her.
Even if there weren’t mountains separating us, I still think there would be a divide in our friendship.
She doesn’t know how to console me, and I don’t know how to let her.
In art class, I try my best to zone out Kimberley and Jessa’s cackles and snide comments. With Jessa having eye-witnessed the camera fiasco, everyone’s waiting to see if something will go down between me and her.
I’d rather eat glass than give any of them the satisfaction.
I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m not here.
The day progresses, and it’s my last class of the day.
Photography.
I’m nauseated at the thought of pretending to be interested in f-stops and composition. I should’ve seen Ms. Thornesmith about this already and asked about transferring out of photography. I’d do literally anything else.
I edge toward my photography classroom with the sheepish intention of telling my teacher I won’t be in class today or ever again. The familiar aroma of developing chemicals tickles my nostrils, and I dodge the classroom completely.
Who am I kidding? I’m too numb to articulate anything. Instead of making my way to the administration office, I head toward a small alcove near the library.
Not a perfect solution, but it beats an impromptu panic attack in front of my classmates. I hug my knees, the exhaustion of barely sleeping pressing down on me. Four counts in, hold for four, four counts out.
My temples throb. All I want to do is go home.
I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m not here.
“Skipping class again?”
I look up and find Ryder leaning against the alcove entrance. The hallway light casts a halo around his dark hair. Although his expression is somewhat blank, there’s something playful in his tone.
I can’t be bothered to deny the obvious and stay seated on the floor. “How did you find me?”
“Saw you bolt back there, clearly avoiding a classroom.”
My chin rests on my knees as I watch the dust bunnies in this forgotten space. “Well done, Sherlock.”
Ryder sets his guitar case down and folds his arms. “Still as feisty as you were this morning, I see. I hope that means you still have your camera with you.”
“Ryder, why are you standing here?”
He nudges the guitar case. “Band practice got canceled. Chase is out car shopping with daddy.”
It makes me look up. “The daddy who specified graduating high school is part of your record deal?”
Ryder shrugs. “Chase can buy his graduation.”
“Oh.”
“So, why are you skipping class?”
“Because I don’t want to be there.”
“I was about to call my driver.” Ryder pulls his phone from his trouser pocket. “You wanna head home?”
Home.
What a joke.
“Okay.” He sighs. “By the sullen look on your face, I take it home is the last place you want to be.”
I pat the tiled surface below me. “I’d rather sit here all night.”
Ryder picks up his guitar case. “No way. There are better alternatives than that.”
My eyebrow crooks with mild curiosity. “Like what?”
“Have you checked out the town yet?”
“Only from the car window.”
“It’s only a few blocks to Main Street. Why don’t we go?”
My stomach twists. “Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why are you offering? You’ve made it pretty clear you want nothing to do with me.”
The muscles in Ryder’s jaw tighten. Here it comes. The stony indifference before he walks off, leaving me behind without another thought.
“Because you look miserable.” He steadies the guitar case against him, his fingers tapping against it. “And I know you’re having a tough time with everything. It can’t be easy being reminded that they’re gone.”
My fingernails embed in my palms. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
“Look, I feel bad,” he says quietly. “I’m the only kid at school who knows what happened to your parents. Unless you’ve told somebody else?”
I swallow hard as my insides quiver.
“The other day I saw you talking to Madison Pierce in the cafeteria,” he continues. “Do you two still hang out?”
The disgust is on my face before I can hide it.
Ryder flinches. “Sorry, I was just hoping you’d make a friend.”
Despite my better judgement, I look up at him. “How am I supposed to make friends when you’ve gone out of your way to isolate me?”
He frowns. “I didn’t do that.”
I’d spittake if my mouth wasn’t so dry.
“I asked you to stay away from me,” he doubles down. “I didn’t say you couldn’t make friends.”
“You called me a walking disaster and warned people to stay away from me.”
He groans, stepping back as he looks away from me. “I was frustrated, okay.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to make friends with any of these people, anyway.”
“But you can’t just keep hiding away.”
The irritation gets the better of me, and I raise my voice. “Why do you care?”
“Why don’t we just get out of here?” Ryder offers. “Wouldn’t that help?”
I wince, shaking my head. “What is this? Do you need me as an excuse to get out of here or something?”
“What? No.”
His tone went up an octave. Sounds guilty to me.
He huffs, lifting his guitar case and stepping out of the alcove. “Look, I’m heading out either way. You coming or not?”
He pauses before his last step enters the hallway.
Okay, what are my options? Go home and sit across from Miranda at dinner, biting my tongue every time I want to ask about Mom. Swallowing every question about what broke them apart.
Miranda doesn’t want to talk about my mother, and I’m supposed to accept it in silence. But Ryder has acknowledged my parents’ passing. He was there when I couldn’t breathe. I told him things I’ve never told anyone, and it hasn’t become hallway gossip.
Ryder might be inconsistently cruel and confusing, but he’s never asked me to pretend my parents didn’t matter. And right now, that’s enough.
I stand, shouldering my backpack. “Okay, Ryder. Show me around Main Street.”