Bro Code

Chapter Eight - Ryder

Why would anyone want to be like me? I skimmed through a fan twitter in confusion, mostly because they had pictures of me I’d never even seen. I mean, of all the people you could long to be (with), why me?

 

“Are you coming?” Christian asked, ducking his head into my room.

 

We were in the house in California, and hating every minute of it. Well, I was. The others loved it. I wished I was home in Ohio. But kill me if I ever said that out loud. I should be thankful, right?

 

“Coming where?” I asked, shooing his hand away from my bed post. I wanted to be left alone and think about all the things I had to get done. Maybe this was one of them.

 

“Rehearsals,” He deadpanned.

 

“Oh,” I replied. Rehearsals was something I needed to do. And pack what I needed from this house. And call Arabell to sort things out. And call Mom to make sure she got back to Ohio just fine. And call Whyatt to discuss flight arrangements. And sort out the selling of my car in Wales.

 

I felt stress surge through my veins and it made me sick. I had only thrown up from stress once when I was younger, and it was right before my first audition for a Nickelodeon show.  That didn’t go well in the first place.

 

“Ryder! Are you coming or not?”

 

I jumped, snapping out of my thoughts. I shook my head. “No, I’m going to stay here.”

 

He ran a hand through his bleached hair, frustration on his face. “Why?” He voice pitched, and I knew he wanted to force me out of bed.

 

“Because- . . . I don’t feel well?” It wasn’t a lie, so I was sticking to it.

 

He nodded. “‘kay, man. What do you plan on doing?”

 

I shrugged. “I don’t know?” This time, my voice pitched. I cleared my throat. “Probably make some phone calls.”

 

Toryn agreed, said goodbye, and left. I waited approximately fifteen minutes, until the house was still, before getting out of bed and grabbing my laptop. With it under my arm, I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing water from the fridge. My stomach felt empty and my hands shook, but I chocked it up to lack of sleep.

 

I sat on a stool and pulled up Skype on my laptop. Surely, Mom had to be up at this time . . . Whenever that was. When I was younger, before we moved to California, Mom would sleep very little. I had nightmares like none other, but they were always irrational. From those times, I knew she was a light sleeper. And, maybe it was insensitive of me, but I just needed to talk to my mom.

 

While I waited, I began thinking about Ohio. It was strange how little I’d been there over the past few years. When I was five, I confessed to my mom that I wanted to be an actor (which I thought I did). She knew there were little opportunities in Ohio, so we moved. She was always all for going and getting what you want, but I still think it’s weird that she took me seriously. Anyways, we moved to California, where I did that previously said audition for a Nickelodeon show. I wasn’t very good, then, which was to be expected. But I kept going until I was seven, and finally landed a big(ger) Hollywood role: Young Lachlan in a film adaption of the book Men to Monsters. I wasn’t entirely aware of what that was, but Mom convinced me to take it. From there, I continued with the series and made a name for myself, all up until I was 12. Then, I dropped acting and went to school for a year: not my thing. I dropped out again and decided to do something else.

 

“Ryder?” My mom picked up, but she was definitely awake. “Why are you up?”

 

“Because it’s almost seven here.” I smiled.

 

She laughed at herself. “Right.”

 

That something else was singing. I had been taking guitar since I was ten, and I was pretty good, but Mom said my voice was astounding. So, when I was fourteen, I auditioned for American Idol and the rest is, as cliche as it is, history.

 

“Well, then,” Mom smiled, tugging her robe closer to her body. “What’s up, Buttercup?”

 

“Just wanted to make sure you were doin’ good, Mother dear.” I replied, tapping my fingers against the counter. They oddly echoed back in the empty house. I glanced at my nails and put my hand down at my side.

 

“Doing well, Ryder.” She corrected. “Articulate.”

 

When she wasn’t my mom, she was my teacher. She was the only reason I could read and write. Instead of getting a tutor, we would be driving down highways in the dead of night between Anaheim and Santa Clarita reciting multiplication. I never found that weird until I got bashed by Chapman for it.

 

“Okay,” I replied. “Now how are you?”

 

She nodded. “I’m okay. It’s been a long day, though. I’m trying to sell the house an-”

 

“Why?” I asked. That house was the one she had for years, and, while I’d never really grown attached to it, I wasn’t there to help her find a new one.

 

“I just want to get out of Ohio, honey. At least, southern Ohio. I was thinking somewhere around Lake Erie? What do you think?” She asked, petting my cat as it jumped onto her lap.

 

“Just send me pictures of places you’re thinking about before you do anything, okay? Maybe I’ll take time off to come visit you.” I replied, absentmindedly chewing on my lower lip.

 

She laughed softly. Her brown/green eyes lit up whenever she did, just like mine. I looked a lot like her, except she had strawberry blonde hair, and mine was more golden-brown. And I was a few inches taller than her, but that was it. “I will. I love you, Ryder, but I need sleep. Call me next week when you’re in Maine, okay?”

 

“Okay, Mom. Love you, too. Bye.” I waved to the camera and logged off, laying my head on the table. Well, the call was out of the way, now I had to help her find a house. Well, I didn’t have to, but I apparently didn’t think about that. I felt like I needed to.

Though, at this rate, I would never get around to it.