Page 23 of On the Beat

“Have I convinced you to give up?”

“I’m just taking a vacation,” I snap. “From your childish pranks.”

A break from my supposed holiday. The irony isn’t lost on me.

He puts up both his hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You put a lizard on my pillow like this is seventh-grade sleepaway camp,” I snap.

His eyebrows rise, as though about to touch the curl that swoops over his forehead like a graceful—nope, he is theugliestman I have ever known. Ever. If I tell myself that, maybe I’ll believe it. “I’m not a twelve-year-old boy, despite your accusations. I didn’t put a lizard on your pillow. Have you considered not sleeping with the window open?”

I almost flush red beneath the faint tan I’ve garnered during my stay here. But I don’t believe him. “Okay, then why did I find my books and my notebook tossed over the beach?”

“Itcanbe awfully windy here, especially when you leave the window open.” He looks at me like I’m a conspiracy theorist, dragging red threads and pushpins across a wildly constructed board of lies.

“What about the singing on my first night here?” I demand, planting my hands on my hips. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t you.”

“Okay, fine, that was me, but I couldn’t sleep. I thought I would sing myself to sleep, but that obviously didn’t work.” He has the temerity to blush, pink colouring his cheeks. “As you heard.”

“It had quite the opposite effect,” I say.

“I’m not as petty as you think I am,” he says finally. “Whatever you want to think of me, I’m not that.”

“What about your feud with Naoya Sugawa?”

He shrugs. “It’s good publicity.”

“It seems like a convenient coincidence that you have so many excuses at hand.”

“Isla, I’m not responsible for your life or your belongings.” Ryder shakes his head. “Get a grip, and get out of my way.”

It’s as close to an admission—or maybe as close to a dismissal—as I’ll get.

I sigh, holding my head in my hands. There’s another reason I want to leave, and it’s one I won’t reveal to him. Last night, I went to an Internet cafe right after he left. Apparently, no one cleared their search history between users, so I found my name all over it.

Thankfully, I write celebrity gossip underIris Hartas a pseudonym, and my blog,On The Beat Music Reviews, is anonymous. If the situation weren’t my own, I’d be laughing at the dramatic irony. I came here to stalk him. He ends up nosing into my life. But it was a close enough call that I knew I had to get out of here, even if just to get a break from Ryder Black after the three weeks I’ve been here.

Moments later, when Paulo marches up the stairs. He spies my bag, asking, “Where are you going?”

“Tita Evangeline invited me to go with some cousins to have lunch and then go for a spa day,” I say. “She’s supposed to pick me up right about now.”

“My motherisperpetually late,” Paulo says, laughing, but the chuckle doesn’t erase the worry from his eyes. He sounds absentminded, as though he’s mentally far away from here.

“What’s wrong?” I touch his arm and he turns toward me, as though only just realizing I’m there.

“It’s my family in the Visayas,” he says with a frown. “My aunt and uncle recently moved there for their new job, and now there’s been major storm warnings. They’re worried it will be like Yolanda all over again.”

“Yolanda?” I repeat with a frown. It sounds vaguely familiar to me, but I can’t place it. “What storm was that?”

“In 2014… I guess you would have known it as Typhoon Haiyan,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “It was one of the worst storms to hit the Philippines in ages. People are still missing from that storm.”

“Oh, God, that’s awful.” My hand claps over my open mouth in horror. “I’m sure… I’m sure it won’t be like that this time.”

But who am I to give him any assurance? I don’t live here. I’m not a local. In fact, I’ve never even so much as been caught in a thunderstorm. How can I tell him that this will end well?

“I hope so, too. I’ll keep you posted.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Have fun with my mom.”

Chapter 12: Ryder Black

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