Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Tuesday disappeared in a blur of determination and avoidance.
Madison dropped me off at school first thing in the morning.
The guidance counselor only came to her office fifteen minutes before the first period, but I used every minute to my advantage.
By the time I left her office, I had a printed document folded in my blazer pocket that felt more solid than anything I’ve held in weeks.
I avoided English by lingering in the library until the period was over. I avoided hallways where Ryder was likely to be and learned the school’s back routes.
Nobody noticed. Nobody said anything.
At Ashworth Academy, the easiest way to become invisible is to stop being interesting. Without Ryder acknowledging me in public, I’m halfway there.
When Madison dropped me back at Miranda’s after school, the house was empty. Ryder and Miranda were somewhere across town in rehearsals and meetings. I made myself a quick meal and carried it upstairs to spend the evening drafting college essays until my eyes went square.
Wednesday at school was much the same, and when I walk back into Miranda’s house this afternoon, I march with the single-minded focus on getting upstairs and continuing where I left off yesterday.
“Good, you’re home.” Miranda falls into step beside me. “Ryder should be back from practice soon. Remember, you’re meeting him in the library for that new English essay.”
I keep walking. “I’m going upstairs.”
“Alice, we discussed this on Monday.”
“You discussed it,” I say. “I didn’t agree to anything.”
“Alice, the showcase is this Friday. I’ve already stretched the essay deadline around the band commitments. I need this taken care of.”
I stop and turn around before I reach the sitting room. “I understand that, but I have my own deadlines. My guidance counselor gave me an accelerated course load, and I need to stay on top of it.”
Miranda blinks. “Guidance counselor?”
“I’m getting back on track academically. It’s my priority.”
Something shifts in Miranda’s expression, too quick to read. She checks her watch with a slight frown. “I know you see Ryder as a slacker compared to you, especially since he hasn’t been at school the past two days. But you’re gifted, Alice. He needs your help.”
I stare at her. “He hasn’t been at school?”
“Extra rehearsal time,” Miranda says simply. “He’s been practicing solo, trying to rid some of those nerves.”
Two days. I’ve been contorting myself into back hallways and library corners for two days to avoid a person who wasn’t even there.
“The library,” Miranda says, gesturing down the hall. “One hour. Two at the most. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Miranda, I’m not doing it.” I grip my backpack straps and back away. “I’ve got my own future to think about, and I’m going upstairs to work on it.”
Miranda opens her mouth, and I brace for the smooth pivot that turns my refusal into something that was her idea all along. But then, from somewhere deeper in the house, comes the sound of voices I don’t recognize.
Two of them. A man and a woman, overlapping each other with enthusiasm and anticipation.
Miranda stills, and then the front door opens.
Ryder makes his way into the house, carrying his guitar case. His head is down until the voices reach him too, and then his head tilts up with recognition.
The guitar case hits the floor with a resonant thud.
“Mom? Dad?”
Ryder bolts past Miranda and me, through the hallway and toward the sitting room.
I follow into the sitting room, just in time to see Ryder embracing his parents.
“What are you doing here?” he asks in a rush. “I didn’t think either of you could take the time off work.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Mrs. Hamilton says, cupping the side of Ryder’s face.
“Yeah, we’ve gotta see ya perform,” Mr. Hamilton says, throwing an arm around Ryder’s shoulder. “This is your big break.”
“Yes, they just showed up,” Miranda says beside me, flashing a fake smile. “But they promised they wouldn’t get in the way of your commitments, Ryder.”
Ryder keeps his back to us, instead focusing on his parents.
“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Hamilton asks, studying her son’s face. “I know you must be stressing out. Are you sleeping enough? Drinking enough water?”
“Mom, I’m fine.” Ryder pulls his face away from his mother’s grip. “More than fine. I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
The family embraces again, and the reunion sends something aching through my chest. I let it move through me, not trying to push it away.
“Miranda.” I whisper. “Let’s give them a minute.”
I back away toward the kitchen, because walking through the sitting room to get to the staircase feels monstrously awkward.
Miranda shifts reluctantly. I can tell she hates the fact that her precious schedule has been ruined. She huffs and moves toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
In the kitchen, Miranda sets her planner on the counter and doesn’t open it, which is unusual enough that I notice.
“I’ve got plans this evening,” I tell her, before she can reopen the tutoring conversation. “On my own. I’ve got my own essays to work on.”
“Alice…”
“I mean it,” I say quietly. “I’m not willing to be used anymore. By anyone. You have plans for me, and I understand that, but they’re your plans. I need to start making my own.”
“And how exactly do you think you’ll survive?” Miranda asks, her gaze flicking over me from head to toe. “You’re under my roof, remember? You need me to succeed in order to take care of you.”
“Not if I’m emancipated.”
Her mouth forms an ‘o’ and her eyes turn almost circular. “Emancipated?”
“I’d rather be on my own than be treated like this.”
As Miranda sizes me up, I hear voices fading into the hallway. The heavy swing of the front door, and then the crunch of gravel outside. Ryder’s leaving with his parents.
Miranda groans in frustration. “Where does he think he’s going? I need that essay written. Can’t one thing go my way?”
“Not everything is about you, Miranda.” I stomp my foot on the tiled floor. “Ryder and I can’t help that we’ve had good relationships with our parents. It’s not our fault you ruined your relationship with your father.”
Miranda’s nostrils enlarge, and her eyes slit. “What did you just say to me?”
“I found the letters, Miranda. I know what you did to your family. Why they had to shut you out of their lives.”
Miranda grows rigid with tension. “My office key. It wasn’t an accident that I found it in the foyer.”
“You didn’t notice you’d dropped it.” My knuckles crack as my hands form fists. “How could you? How could you berate my mother into giving you the money her father left to her?”
“Our father!“ Miranda snaps. “He was my father too, and he didn’t leave me a dime.”
“Because you kept taking from him while he was alive.”
“He couldn’t see the bigger picture. The part down the line where he was paid back his initial investment and more.”
“But he’s gone, Miranda,” I say, my voice growing hoarse. “He’s gone, and so is your business. What investment? He was right not to believe in you.”
Fire burns in her eyes. “How dare you! You ungrateful little wretch.”
I lift on tiptoes, hoping my petite frame doesn’t betray me. “How am I wrong?”
Miranda turns, slams a hand on the island countertop, and lets out a guttural scream.
My heels land on the floor. I shiver through a wave of goosebumps and force myself to step backward.
Then the scream fades.
Miranda’s hand slides off the counter. The wildness drains out of her face, leaving exhaustion.
“Emancipation? Exactly how do you plan on doing that?”
“How do you think?” My heart is racing. “I’m coming into money. My parents’ business and home are selling. I won’t let you get your hands on my mother’s money again.”
“That’s what this is about?”
“Of course. All you think about is money. Every time you get your hands on it, you blow it.” I throw my arms out wide. “Just look at this monstrosity of a house. Imagine what your father would’ve said. This was such a bad financial choice, but you made it.”
“You read some letters and now you think you have me all figured out?”
“No, I think you finally make sense.”
“Bravo. You can walk out on me like the rest of the family.”
“You don’t exactly make it easy to be around you.”
“Of course, it’s all my fault. Don’t you take any of the blame, Alice.”
“Me?” I press my hand firmly over the space above my heart. “How is it my fault?”
“Sarah was my big sister,” Miranda fires back. “I spent my whole childhood thinking that meant something. That she’d always be there, no matter how badly I messed up.”
I stay very still.
“And then one day she wasn’t.” Miranda’s jaw shifts. “She stopped protecting me because she cared about you more. I know you’re her child, but it still hurt. Hurt so much I couldn’t stomach the thought of being at her funeral.”
I blink away the blur in my vision. “She had a new family.”
“It’s not my fault I didn’t want to follow the same conventional path she took.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Sarah was infuriating,” Miranda says, but there’s something tender beneath it.
“She was so certain about everything. Her principles, her choices, and the way she lived. Yet, somehow she managed to be kind about it. That was the worst part. I could have handled her being self-righteous. But she was just... good.”
“Why is that a bad thing?”
“Because it made me feel worse about myself.” She looks me up and down. “You make me feel worse about myself.”
I scoff. “Me?”
“I shouldn’t have been resenting the four-year-old version of you all this time. I know you weren’t the one holding back my money. But Sarah blamed you for cutting me off.”
“Blame isn’t the right word—“
Miranda swiftly interrupts me. “No, right. Obviously, I never thought I’d have this conversation out loud with you. I’ve been missing your mother for over a decade.”
“Missing, or acting like she’s been dead all that time?”
“I was all alone,” she says softly. “Pretending she didn’t exist was the only way I could cope.”