Chapter 26 #2
“No, I’m not happy.” I frown, pulling the straps of my backpack up, and turn toward the classroom door. “Are you coming?”
Ryder groans behind me, shuffling his feet as if he’s making the hardest decision of his life.
“Yeah,” he finally says. “I’m coming.”
We walk back into the classroom together, and Ms. Patterson looks up from her desk, surprise and concern crossing her face. “Alice, I...”
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I just needed some air.”
I slide into my seat, acutely aware of every eye on me, and Ryder takes his seat behind me.
Ms. Patterson clears her throat. “As I was saying, we’re going to discuss the use of imaginative language today. If everyone could turn to page 157...”
The lesson continues, and the whispers don’t stop. They’re quieter now, more careful, but I can still hear them.
“Did you see her run out?”
“Total breakdown.”
“I bet something did happen.”
Chloe leans over, her voice low. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay? That looked pretty intense.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat, not looking at her.
“Okay, but like, if you need to talk or whatever...” she trails off, and I can tell she’s fishing for information more than offering support.
I focus on Ms. Patterson’s lecture, taking notes to appear like a normal and functional human being.
“I heard they were together all weekend.”
“Like, together together?”
“Obviously. Did you see them walk in holding hands?”
We weren’t holding hands. But facts don’t matter here.
“She’s totally using him for his connections.”
Each whisper is a knife, confirming everything I already knew. These people will twist anything into ammunition.
Chloe nudges me, holding out her phone under the desk. “Were you at this gig?” she whispers, showing me the screen.
It’s Sky Chaos’s social feed, and Chloe has tapped on one of my photos from Saturday night. It’s Ryder mid-song, and the stage lights catch the intensity in his expression. I’ll never forget taking that shot. It’s one of my best from the night, and for a moment, pride swells in my chest.
I lean in and scroll down to read the caption. At the bottom lies the credit line, and it’s a blue clickable link.
‘Photo: @M_Knox_Mgmt’
My vision tunnels.
Not ‘Alice Winter.’ Not even ‘Alice W.’
M_Knox_Mgmt.
Miranda took credit for my work.
The pride curdles into fury so intense that it makes my hands shake.
“It’s a sick photo,” Chloe says, oblivious to my reaction. “Whoever took it is really talented.”
“Yeah,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Really talented.”
“But this one is way hotter,” Chloe says, tapping on another image.
My blood boils so fast that the steam screams out of my ears.
It’s a photo of Ryder, leaning against the window, on an overcast afternoon, in my bedroom.
My bedroom.
That was a private shot. That was me getting my courage back. That was a moment only for Ryder and me to share. Okay, maybe I didn’t clear the SD card, but surely that marketing woman knew only photos from the performance were up for grabs.
‘Photo: @M_Knox_Mgmt’
“I’m going to kill her,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
Chloe sucks in a breath, pulling her phone back to her chest. “What?”
I wave it off, turning to face front. Ryder shifts behind me. Maybe he saw the interaction. Maybe he didn’t. But I don’t need him playing protector right now.
Right now, I just want to get far away from him.
He told me in the car that some of my photos had been posted online. Did he know about that one? Did he say it was okay? Because he should know it’s not okay.
The bell rings, cutting through the classroom noise. I shove my notebook into my backpack with violent force. My movements are sharp and angry as Miranda’s social handle hangs like a neon sign inside my mind.
“Alice, wait,” Ryder starts behind me.
But I’m already up and moving. I push past desks and bodies with single-minded determination.
I need to get out of here before I explode.
“Alice!” Ryder calls, but I don’t stop.
I burst into the hallway, my heart pounding with rage instead of panic this time.
Miranda took credit for my work.
She took my photos. My art. The first thing I’ve been able to create since my parents died, and she put her name on them.
Like I have another function for her to use for her benefit.
Like my grief doesn’t matter.
Students flow around me in the hallway, but I barely see them. All I can see is that caption burning behind my eyelids.
M_Knox_Mgmt.
Not me.
Never me.
***
After lunch, I get to art class earlier than usual.
The usual has been me arriving late, faking an illness, and not returning for the rest of the period.
But today is different. Today I’ve been avoiding Ryder in the halls.
In my heart, I know he didn’t choose the photos that got posted, or have anything to do with approving which ones did.
But he’s entangled in this ugly mess, and I can’t look at him right now.
I find an empty stool at the far end of the middle table and open my sketchbook. That’s when the giggling and running enters the classroom.
Jessa and Kimberley cannot contain themselves as they ambush my table. They take the stools across from me, and there is a wild frenzy in their eyes.
A cold sweat prickles along the back of my neck. Whatever this is, it can’t be good.
“Did you have a good weekend?” Jessa asks, twirling a finger through her ponytail.
“Fine,” I say to the page.
“We saw you at The Factory on Saturday night,” Kimberley says, thumbing through the pages of her sketchbook. “Sky Chaos were incredible. Except for a few slip-ups.”
“Yeah,” Jessa says, fishing inside her pencil case. “Poor Ryder. Must be so difficult to perform when you have this charity case following you around.”
My back stiffens as my muscles contract. Are we really doing this again?
“Yeah, no wonder he choked at the beginning,” Kimberley continues. “He has to deal with this orphan who moved in.”
My breathing completely stops, and everything around me spins.
Orphan?
Did she really just say orphan?
Jessa’s hand lands on my wrist, pulling me back into my body. “We just heard about the car crash. What a way to end up here.”
I reef my hand away from her, and Jessa leans back onto her stool.
“It’s really not fair to Ryder, you know?” Kimberley says with an insincere pout. “He has so much going on. You can’t expect him to handle your damage as well.”
I can’t even react. How are they saying these things? How do they know?
“Alice, seriously, it’s so sad. But you didn’t need to keep it a secret,” Jessa says. “I mean, we know nepotism is getting you closer to the band, but—“
I break a pencil in half, stopping Jessa’s train of thought.
“Whoa.” Kimberley laughs. “Hulk strength over here.”
Jessa clears her throat. “All I’m saying, Alice, is we get why you’ve been such a basket-case since you got here.”
My hands are flat on the table. My knuckles have gone white.
“But,” Jessa continues, “following around a musician like a lost little puppy isn’t a healthy way to deal with grief.”
“Don’t,” I grunt.
“Don’t what?” Jessa asks.
“Don’t talk about my grief.” My voice quivers, and I hate it. “You don’t know anything about me or where I came from.”
“We’re not trying to be mean,” Jessa says, and she almost sounds like she means it. “We’re just saying, losing your parents would have to be hard.”
“Don’t!” I yell, pounding a fist against the paint-splattered desk. “Don’t you dare talk about them!”
The girls blink at me, and our non-committal teacher jolts in his seat.
“Girls?” he questions, not getting up. “Is everything okay over there?”
Kimberley nudges Jessa, and they move to a different table. My whole nervous system scatters, and I notice twitchy glances in my direction.
Let them stare.
Because apparently everyone knows, and there’s only one person who would’ve told them. One person who wanted to set everyone straight. One person who thought it’d be easier if everyone knew the truth about me and my family.
The one person I deliberately avoided at lunch.
After class, the hallway offers no relief. There’s no grief. No panic. Just white, burning rage.
I find him near the lockers at the end of the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, talking to Brooks about something I don’t care about. Brooks sees me first, and his smirk appears like a reflex.
Ryder turns.
“Hey,” he starts. “I haven’t seen you all day, and I wanted—“
“How dare you,” I cut him off, my words slicing through the air like a blade.
Brooks raises his eyebrows and takes a small step back.
Ryder’s face shifts to confusion. “What?”
“It was the one thing I asked you to do.” My voice is steady, which surprises me.
The anger holds me upright like a spine I didn’t know I had.
“When I came here, you gave me all these rules. Act like we don’t know each other.
Don’t touch anything. Don’t even breathe too loudly. I followed every single one.”
“Alice, I…”
“I only asked one thing of you.” I step closer, and he doesn’t move back. “One thing to keep your mouth shut about, and you couldn’t even do that.”
“Slow down,” he says, his voice dropping. “Just take a breath and—“
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t do the breathing thing right now.”
“Alice, just tell me what happened. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“No, you tell me.” My voice cracks at the edges. “I want you to tell me why you did it. I told you exactly what would happen, and you did it anyway. I guess keeping your rep was easier than keeping my secret.”
“Secret? Alice, I didn’t…”
“Dude,“ Brooks murmurs. “What’d ya do?”
I groan and step away from them. “Forget this. I’m going to class.”
“Alice? I think I deserve to know why you’re ripping me apart.”
I keep walking, not looking back, and repeat, “I’m going to class!”
The scent of the developing chemicals hits me in the chest the moment I push the door open of the photography room.
My feet almost stop moving. I was in such a haste that I didn’t even hesitate to enter.
But now that I’m here, I need to conquer the mission of taking a seat for my first photography lesson at Ashworth Academy.