The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,68

every girl in that room—including mine. “And I’ll, uh, be performing a song that I wrote.”

“What’s the name of the song?” Mr. Carter asks, sounding incredibly bored. He has his hand poised above his iPad to type it into some field on a form. Zayd and his music, he’s so much more than that. I fist my hand into the fabric of the black slacks I wore to perform. They’re so unbelievably comfy. If I had time for anything besides school, extracurricular activities, and time with my friends, I’d probably add creating a petition to abolish gender-specific uniform requirements to the list.

“I haven’t named it yet,” Zayd starts, slinging the strap of his guitar over his head and then reaching up to twist some of his gelled hair into spikes.

“Pick something, please.” Mr. Carter looks up and raises an eyebrow as Zayd glances over at me again.

“How about …” He turns back to our music teacher and grins. “Charity?”

Mr. Carter nods, and Zayd sighs, clearing his throat, closing his eyes, and exhaling. When he opens them again, he’s got his performer vibe going strong. His inked fingers strum the guitar, and he starts this beautiful, sweet-sad little melody that makes my heart thump.

Watching his tattooed fingers tease the instrument to life gives me chills.

“That first look in the morning, such a honeyed sweetness, the only thing I’m living for.” Zayd continues to strum, getting into the song and biting his lower lip as he plays. “Nothing could never take away the first blush of morning, the glossed gold of her hair; the way she hates me makes me want her.”

“This is fucking stupid,” I hear Harper snort behind me, but there are too many teachers back here for her to do a damn thing. I’m not concerned.

“There’s no girl that burns so bright as Charity, no sunray that gives off so much light. Summer storms could never sway me, that sweet-hot rain, the taste of her warm mouth.” He closes his eyes and strokes his guitar like I wish he’d stroke me … Eek. Did I just think that?! I did. I did, and I’m not ashamed. “So complex, so un-confusing. Just the way she likes it, the whole world as her oyster, the everything I need.” He draws this last word out, and I swear, I’m swooning. Sucking my bottom lip under my teeth, I wait in tense anticipation for him to finish the song. I want to kiss him so damn bad right now.

Someday soon I’m going to an Afterglow concert, I think, trying to imagine Zayd with an electric guitar, dressed to the nines, putting on a full-blown performance for an adoring crowd. I’ve looked up some of his previous shows on YouTube, but as impressive as they are, I bet it’s nothing compared to seeing him live. There’s this charismatic energy he brings to a room that’s impossible to convey over media. Impossible.

When Zayd finishes the song, I find my feet moving before I can stop myself.

I end up on the stage, throwing my arms around his neck. Several girls that are sitting in the auditorium seats boo, but I ignore them. The inked asshole that I hated, then liked, then hated, and now … whatever it is that I feel for him, he grabs me around the waist and kisses me like he really believes all those things from his song.

We kiss for so long that Mr. Carter has to tap the microphone and ask us to stop.

I’d be embarrassed if I weren’t so elated.

My turn is next, and one of the first-year orchestra students wheels my harp onto the stage.

I sit down to play John Thomas’ Watching the Wheat (an obscure piece from the eighties—told you I was far from hip), and I swear, the harp has never sounded prettier.

I’ve always played with my heart. It must just be that my heart is fuller now.

To think that has something to do with these boys … is terrifying.

I’m going to have to be careful to keep all these new feelings safe.

“They’re all performing at the talent show,” Miranda says, standing in the courtyard with water bubbling in the fountain behind her. She has a nice, high ponytail, black shorts, and a white razorback top with the Burberry Prep logo on it. Fall break is here, and it’s like first year all over again: Miranda is off to a volleyball camp, and Charlie is at a job in Napa. I don’t think he should be working