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With zero hesitation, Tyler takes it, slings the strap over his head, and stretches his neck as if to getcomfortable.
He turns his back to theclass.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Carly murmurs to one of herminions.
We don’t have to wait long, because a single note splits the buzzingsilence.
Before the vibration swells enough to fill the room, the rustle of fabric says bodies are already shifting forward in their seats tolisten.
But my eyes are onhim.
The song begins slow, deliberate, as if he’s coaxing a story from this instrument that isn’t evenhis.
As he picks up the tempo, the guitar lights up under his hands as if recognizing it’s in the presence ofgreatness.
By the time Tyler turns to face the class, we’re all recognizingit.
His fingers fly over the strings, but it’s the rest of him that has me transfixed. The tension in his body as he bends over the guitar, every ounce of him flowing through it to us. The way his hair falls over his face, the dark streak of blue catching the light from thewindow.
I press my thighs together under the desk,squirming.
It’s like watching something intimate. It’s sexual, it’s holy, and the combination of the two has me more uncomfortable than everything else that’s happened in the last twenty-four hourscombined.
I always knew Tyler was good. Not “bowling alley gigs every weekend” kind of good. The kind of good that fills stadiums. The kind that has fans staying up until midnight to get new tracks on release day, that makes them drop hundreds or thousands for a chance to see him, to seethis.
I want to shift out of my seat and close the distance between us. To run my hands through the thick hair falling over his intent face and pull that firm mouth against mine. I want those beautiful hands on me anywhere.Everywhere.
I tear my attention away to scan the room. Everyone’s riveted. Even the teacher. I don’t know if they’re more shocked or if Iam.
Jealousy spurts through me, hot and liquid and irrational. I don’t know if I’m jealous of them for seeing him like this or jealous of the looks on their faces. The shock, the intrigue, thewanting.
The unplanned performance is over before it's begun. Tyler lets the final note hang in the thick air before he hands the guitar back to Brandon. It takes a second for Brandon to put the guitar away, as if his brain turned off and he can’t quite find his motorfunction.
“Well, that was very compelling. Thank you, Tyler.” The teacher turns to the board. Even she seemsshocked.
Tyler’s barely dropped into his seat before Brandon leans toward him. I can just make out his words from my seat a few rows back. "We have a band. We could use a backupguitarist."
"I'mgood."
Brandon laughs nervously as Tyler opens his notebook, shifting back in his seat and shoving a hand through his hair as he faces theboard.
I don’t think Brandon’s ever been told no before. I want to photograph it, document it forposterity.
The teacher barely has time to put up the homework assignment from yesterday on the board before Brandon leans across the aisle again. “Lead guitarist,then."
Kellan Albright scoffs from the seat behind Tyler. “You have a guitarist. Mickey’s gonna lose his shit if you give his jobaway.”
But Brandon doesn’t flinch. "What do yousay?"
The intensity in Brandon’s profile dials up as if every second Tyler doesn’t respond makes him want itmore.
My ears strain for aresponse.
"I'll think about it,” Tyler says atlast.
I sneak a look around the room to see everyone is either still watching Tyler or talking under theirbreath.
The teacher asks a question, and I try to force my attention toclass.
