Chapter 25 #3
Madison’s face floods with regret, and she waves her hands at me.
“It’s cool, Alice. You don’t need to be ashamed of it or anything.
Like I said, we’re all trying to make something of ourselves.
” She presses a manicured hand onto my shoulder.
“That’s why I tried to reach out to you on your first day.
We all need something to legitimize our place at Ashworth. ”
I bump her hand off me. “I don’t care about my place at school. I’m just helping my aunt and the band.”
“Mm-hmm.” Madison sighs. “You’re so lucky. I wish I had nepotism to help me out.”
My mouth falls open. “That’s not… I’m not…”
Madison raises her phone. “Could we collab after the show? It’d really help me out. I’ll return the favor, I promise.”
I shake my head. “I don’t do social media.”
Madison gestures between my camera and the band performing on stage. “What the… These photos will literally be all over the guys’ feeds. What on earth are you talking about?”
I lift the camera and point it at the stage. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Of course, of course. Do your thing, girl.”
I exhale hard and try to block out everyone but Ryder. But Madison’s presence doesn’t leave my side. Worse, I catch her filming me.
Me.
I don’t look her way. I don’t give her the satisfaction. I just look as professional as possible and watch where I’m stepping. I don’t need to be caught on camera, falling over or damaging more equipment.
Oh, crap.
Madison ran into me. Was it on purpose? Did someone else record it?
Despite my inner voice telling me not to, I scan the crowd. Kimberley, Jessa, and their crowd are bopping to the music. More small groups are either talking or dancing together. But then I find Jasper.
His camera is lifted, aimed at me.
Dang it. Okay, yes, I’m an Ashworth student, but it isn’t a good enough reason to document me for the school paper. Shouldn’t he be getting my permission first?
With my blood now turning cold, I do my best to get more shots of the band. My confidence has shattered, and I start backing away from the stage.
“Okay, this is our last song of the night,” Ryder says into a microphone. The crowd roars as he lifts his guitar strap over his head. He then rolls his keyboard to center stage.
The damaged keyboard.
Ryder runs his hand along the cracked casing; the damage clearly visible under the stage lights. “You guys see this?” His voice carries through the venue, drawing every eye to the keyboard. “This crack right here?”
The crowd goes quiet, curious.
“Not too long ago, this thing took a hit,” Ryder continues, his fingers tracing the jagged line in the hard plastic. “But you know what? It still works. Still makes the same sounds. Still does exactly what it’s supposed to do.”
He sits down at the keyboard, his hands hovering over the keys. Across the crowd, Kimberley and Jessa are exchanging glances. Everyone at school knows the story. On my first day at school, Sky Chaos made sure everyone knew I was a walking disaster.
“Sometimes things look beaten up on the outside,” Ryder says quietly, but the mic picks it up perfectly. “Doesn’t mean they’re broken. Doesn’t mean they can’t heal. Doesn’t mean they can’t still make something beautiful.”
The crowd starts becoming animated again, waiting for the final track.
“This one’s called ‘Static,’” Ryder says, and his hands come down on the keys.
The piano intro starts, and my vision blurs immediately.
This is the song we played together in his practice room. His voice comes in soft, vulnerable, and the entire venue seems to hold its breath.
“When the feedback finally dies, there’s nothing left but me...”
I’m lifting my camera, but my hands are shaking so badly I can barely focus.
“I heard she did it on purpose,” someone says behind me. “Like, for attention or something.”
“And the ghost of who I was before they told me who to be...”
Ryder’s voice climbs higher, and my hands freeze on the shutter button.
More loud whispers behind me. “Makes sense. She lives in his house. Super convenient.”
The song swells with Ryder’s emotion, and suddenly the whispers behind me are no more. Now I’m not the most interesting thing. Ryder’s heartfelt song has won their attention.
“The static fades to silence, leaves me standing here alone...”
I force myself to lift the camera again, and this time I can focus on Ryder and the music. Through the viewfinder, his eyes are closed, and every word pulls from somewhere deep within him.
And my heart knows the truth. He’s singing about me.
“And in the ringing emptiness, I hear myself calling home.”
Mom and Dad’s voices feel as if they’re right behind me. “You’re doing great, Sprout. We knew you could capture magic with this camera.”
I capture the moment his voice breaks. The vulnerability etched across his face. The way his hands move across the keys despite the crack in the casing.
The song ends, and for a moment, there’s absolute silence.
Then the crowd erupts.
Ryder opens his eyes and looks directly at me, and even from this distance, I can see the question there.
I lower my camera and nod as tears pool in my eyes.
Ryder Hamilton just stood in front of hundreds of people and said that broken things can heal. I remember the same words when we sat on my bedroom floor, as he held my music box in his strong hand.
Yes, Ryder, I heard it. I understand.