Tales of Unrequited INFJ Love: Guitar Class Part 2
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Guitar Class
A Short Story by Ashley C. Cantave
Part 2
One Tuesday night, Will calls me. I’m just as excited when I see his name flash on my phone that time as I was the first time. I don’t think that feeling will ever go away or get old.
“Hey, PA girl,” he says. That’s his new nickname for me, and I feel tingles all over when he calls me that.
“Hey, Will,” I say, smiling.
“So, we have a gig this Friday night in a friend’s basement. Do you think you can help us out with the sound?”
“Um, this Friday?” I think for a moment. I have plans to go to the movies with a friend on Friday. But I’m sure she’ll understand if I have to cancel. “Yeah, sure. What time?”
“The party starts at nine, so we should get there around seven to set everything up and do a sound check.”
“Ok, sounds good.”
“Ok. I’ll give you the address at school tomorrow ’cause I can’t remember it off the top of my head.”
“That’s fine.”
“Ok, bye.”
“Bye.”
He hangs up. I release a deep contented sigh, then fell backwards onto my bed and begin to fantasize.
I’ll arrive at the performance site and get everything set up quickly. This will impress Will enough for him to say, “Nicely done, PA girl. You really know your stuff.”
I’ll shrug and say, “I guess so.”
He’ll continue to be impressed—so much so that, during the show, before a love song, he’ll introduce it by saying, “I’d like to take a moment to dedicate this song to a very special girl who helped us out in a big way tonight. This is for you, Parker.”
I’ll be in the audience. And I’ll smile as he sings the song onstage and stares at me the entire time.
After the show, as I’m packing things up, he’ll approach me and say, “I really meant what I said onstage.”
I’ll turn to him and say, “You did?”
He’ll nod. “I did.” And then he’ll kiss me, and I’ll relish the kiss, feeling both delighted and overcome at the same time.
When the kiss is over, he’ll say, “Are you free next weekend?”
“Do you have another show?” I’ll ask.
“No. I was wondering if you would be free to go on a date with me.”
I’ll smile and say, “I’m free.”
I envision some version of that fantasy over and over every day until Friday. I know that, in real life, I’ll be operating the mixer and, thus, not be free to stand in the audience and just watch Will and his band perform. But that doesn’t stop me from imagining things differently.
And then Friday comes. (For the record, my friend is only moderately upset that I had to reschedule our trip to the movies. When I invite her to come to the show instead, she declines. She says Will’s band doesn’t play the kind of music she likes.)
My dad drops me off at the show site and helps me bring in the equipment I brought with me. Then he leaves graciously, but only after speaking to the parents of the person who’s hosting the party. My dad wants to be sure they’re really going to chaperone the entire event. Satisfied that they are, he leaves.
I get there so early that not even Will’s band has arrived yet. So, I just start setting up what I have—the mixer, a few microphones, and an amp. I didn’t put on anything fancy for tonight since I’m not technically attending the party, nor did I do anything special with my thick brown curls.
And as I’m getting things ready, I realize that yet another aspect of my fantasy won’t be realized in this room because there’s no real stage. There’s only an area of the basement with hardwood floor that’s sectioned off from the rest of the hardwood floor, and also darker. But everything is on the same level. Oh well.
As I’m arranging things, the band arrives with their stuff.
“Hey, PA girl,” Will greets.
I smile. “Hey,” I say.
“Glad to see you got here early.”
“Yeah, I definitely didn’t want to be late for this.”
“Cool.”
I greet the other band members and then finish setting up the rest of the equipment. Then the group does a sound check. I’m ecstatic to find that the acoustics in this room are infinitely better than those in the dance studio. The band’s music comes out much fuller and smoother than it did there. It’s possible that an expert PA person could bring out great sound from anywhere. But I’m convinced that good acoustics are always an ideal starting place.
Partygoers begin filling the basement almost as soon as the sound check is done. While the band and I wait for the party to commence, I approach Will.
“Are you excited?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “I guess so. I mean, this isn’t a big event.”
“But it’s something.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, I think you guys are going to do great.”
“Thanks.”
I smile. And then I wait for him to say something to me, something encouraging—anything at all, really. But he says nothing. He just fiddles with his guitar.
“Well, good luck,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says. I nod, wish the rest of the band good luck, and take my place behind the mixer—which I put to the right of the instrument setup. (Well, it’s to the right from my perspective. To the audience, it’s to the left.)
Finally, when the room is full, Todd—the energetic junior who’s hosting the party—goes up to a microphone and says, “Thank you everyone for coming to my party! Now, are you ready for some music?” The crowd yells. “I can’t hear you,” he teases. They yell louder. “Ok, let’s do it!”
The audience cheers as Todd introduces the band. Then he practically leaps to a spot in the audience, and the band starts to play. They open with an upbeat song to which the audience dances enthusiastically. I can’t help but laugh at Todd’s over-exaggerated dance moves. But I do no dancing of my own. I just monitor the mixer and glance at Will from time to time.
As the first song is ending, I adjust some of the knobs on the mixer, allowing the band to transition seamlessly into another up-tempo song. The partygoers keep dancing. I keep watching Will, thrilled to be part of this moment with him. But as I prepare to adjust the mixer for the mid-tempo song the band intends to play next, Will begins to speak.
“We’re going to slow things down a bit now,” he says. “And I’d like to take a moment to dedicate this song to a very special girl in the audience.”
I gulp and my heart skips a beat. Whatever this next song is, the band didn’t practice it with me. Maybe Will was saving it to surprise me tonight. I’m definitely surprised. And I’m also having trouble breathing. Though it isn’t happening exactly as I had imagined, it seems my fantasy is coming true.
Will starts singing a rather coherent love song. Though he keeps his eyes on the audience the entire time, I have a feeling this song is dedicated to me. Maybe he doesn’t want anyone else to know who the song is really about—until he tells her himself, that is. I adjust instrument levels as the group plays and Will sings.
The band plays one more song—the one they were supposed to play after the second one—before taking a break. Todd turns on a mixtape to play in the background in the meantime.
I’m not sure what to do then. Should I approach Will and tell him thank you for the song? No, I should wait for him to approach me. After he puts his guitar in its case to rest, it appears he’s going to do just that. I quickly move from behind the mixer, smooth out my curls, and wait for him to come toward me. Then I watch as he approaches a blonde beauty in the audience. I can’t make out what they’re saying. But whatever he says to her makes her smile.
So, Will hadn’t been singing to me after all. He had been singing to her.
The color fades from the room just then, and everything starts moving in slow motion. I stand frozen, again unsure what to do. I don’t want to be anywhere near Will right now. What I really want to do is cry, preferably in private.
But before my glistening eyes let a tear fall, Rich, the other guitarist in the band, approaches me. He has shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes, and he’s also a junior. And of Will’s three bandmates, he’s the only one who has ever said more than a few words to me.
“Hey, Parker,” he says.
“Hey,” I say, struggling to compose myself.
“So, um, I don’t mean to pry into your personal life. But from the way you were looking at Will just now, can I guess that you’re sort of into him?”
I’m in no mood to deny anything now. “Yeah.”
He nods. “Yeah, I could tell. I mean, I noticed it even before. I’m sorry he’s been too clueless to notice.”
“It’s ok,” I say, wiping away a tear.
“Well, I just wanted you to know that I think you’re doing a great job. And I’ve really appreciated all the work you’ve put in to help us get this far.”
I manage a smile. “I didn’t really do much. I mean, you guys have been the ones practicing the songs.”
“But we wouldn’t sound half as good without your help. So, thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
He’s silent for a moment before he says, “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve sort of had a crush on you since I first saw you in guitar class.”
Whoa. I did not see that coming. “You did?”
He nods. “Yeah. But I could tell you were into Will, so I didn’t say anything. I wanted to see if he would ask you out himself. But he’s obviously not paying enough attention, which is typical Will.” I laugh. “So, um…did you want to maybe go out sometime?”
“You mean, like, to discuss sound stuff?” I wonder.
He laughs. “No, like on a date. Unless you don’t want to. I know this might seem kind of sudden to you. But I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a really long time.”
All my tears have dried. Now I’m just trying to reorient myself to the current situation. What’s happening now is so different from what I had envisioned that my mind is having trouble reconciling everything. Is Rich really asking me out? I think so. I think this is really happening. And that means I have to give him an answer.
“Sure, Rich,” I finally say. “That sounds great.”
“Great,” he says, smiling wide. “Do you think you could put your number in my phone? I can call you to discuss details later.”
“Sure,” I say. He hands me his phone, and I put my number in. Then I give the phone back.
“Thanks,” he says. And then he returns to his guitar. I watch him while he does.
*****
Will’s band finishes their set after the break. But the entire time, even though I do my best to perform my duties, I’m kind of lost in what just happened. I had no idea Rich liked me. And he just asked me out. And I said yes. And this is not at all what I had seen happening in the fantasy I had imagined leading up to the party. So, I’m still having trouble coming to terms with what really happened.
And what’s so amazing is that, even though I have a clear view of the blonde beauty who captured Will’s attention and even though I can see her staring at him the way I had wanted to stare at him—knowing he’s staring right back at her—it’s like I don’t really see her. I don’t even know if I’m fully here. My mind is so far away.
And I’m still trying to grasp how I feel about the events of the night. I’m really glad the PA stuff comes kind of automatically to me because I would never be able to focus on my duties in this frame of mind if they required my full attention.
The party ends soon after the band finishes their set. I start disassembling everything as the partygoers leave. And I barely even notice when the girl Will had been speaking to gives him her number. I’m too busy glancing at Rich, who I can see is glancing back at me.
The band members congratulate themselves on a great performance as I unhook, disconnect, and pack up my stuff. And they also thank me for helping them, even Will. But I barely register what anyone says except Rich. He takes a special moment to thank me before leaving, and I tell him that he and the band performed well.
*****
After I saw how Will dedicated a song to someone who was not me and spent the evening focused on her, I thought I was going to spend the rest of the night in tears as soon as I got home. But instead, as I lie on my bed after the party, I find myself searching my mind for memories of Rich.
I had never really paid attention to him all those times I helped Will and his band with their sound at rehearsals. I was too busy focusing on Will. And now I find that I can only recall a few brief conversations that Rich and I shared. And nothing about them stands out to me. I never noticed Rich paying me any special attention or giving any hint that he had feelings for me. He was very good at hiding them. It seems I wasn’t so good at hiding my feelings for Will. But I’m actually glad that Will didn’t seem to notice.
And to be honest, I feel silly for having focused so much attention and wasting so many emotions on him. It’s only now hitting me just how indifferent he was about me from the start. I know I thought that maybe spending more time together would change things. But I feel like I should have noticed at some point that he was clearly not interested. Why did I continue to like him for so long once that fact became apparent? Maybe because it didn’t become apparent until tonight.
Whatever. I can’t do anything about all the time and attention I wasted on Will. Now all I care about is getting to know Rich better.
*****
Rich and I do end up going on a date. We get smoothies at a smoothie place. And then we take a walk in a park afterward. It’s a low-key date, and I like it that way. It means we’re able to really talk and get to know each other. And I find Rich to be an incredible guy.
As we go on more dates and get to know each other better, he starts playing me songs that he’s written—songs that are beautiful and quite coherent, I might add.
“Why doesn’t the band play your songs sometimes?” I wonder when we’re seated outside the guitar room one day. Rich and I have been partnering in class since we started dating.
“I’ve never played any of my songs for them,” he says.
“Why not?”
Rich runs a hand through his hair. “Because they’re not like the other songs we play. And I don’t know if other people will like them.”
“Uh, but, no offense to Will or anything, but the songs he writes don’t really make any sense. Yours do.”
“I know.”
“Why not just play one song for them and ask if you can sing it live?” I wonder.
“I could never do that,” he says quietly.
“Why not? Your songs are good.”
“I don’t have the stage presence Will has,” he says. “Plus, I think I would get too nervous.”
“I understand what you mean,” I say. “But does this mean you’re just going to play Will’s songs forever?”
He thinks for a moment, then says, “I don’t know.”
I try not to do it too often, but I keep encouraging Rich to play just one of his songs for the band. And eventually, after enough asking, he does. And the band likes it enough to allow him to perform it at their next gig.
*****
The performance takes place at a barbecue that one of Will’s friends is hosting. Before the band performs, Rich approaches me.
“I have to tell you, I thought I would be more nervous tonight,” he says. “But I don’t know. Something about you being here, working on the sound—something about it is helping me tap into confidence I didn’t know I had.”
I smile. “I’m glad,” I say. “And I know you’re going to do great.”
“Thank you, Parker.”
Rich plays his song in the middle of the band’s set. And when he does, everyone goes quiet. It’s a slower song, but it’s full of emotion. As Rich sings, I watch him with admiring eyes. And I glance at the other kids in the audience, who are watching him the same way.
When he finishes, everyone roars in applause. And then they scream that they want him to sing another song. He has to tell them that’s all from him for tonight. And then Will returns to the central microphone. Some of the audience members are clearly disappointed when this happens.
After the band finishes, person after person comes up to congratulate Rich. They tell him they want to hear more from him. More people approach him than they do Will or the other band members, and Rich isn’t sure what to do with all this attention. But he tries to take it in stride.
“Congratulations,” I tell him as I hug him afterward. “I told you your songs were great.”
“Thank you so much for your encouragement, Parker,” he says. “I feel like I’m just getting started.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
“But I don’t think I could have done it without you. Thank you for being here.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, smiling.
For days after the show, kids at school come up to Rich and tell him how much they liked his song and how much they want to hear more. But when he tells Will about this, Will says no. One song is all he gets per performance.
*****
At the the next show, Rich again has a few minutes in the spotlight where he sings a different song. But this time, fans who heard him play at the previous show insist that he gives them another one. Rich looks at Will, and Will agrees to let him sing the same song he sang the first time. The kids are ecstatic. But they still want more. And when Will goes back to the central microphone, they begin shouting.
“We want Rich! We want Rich!” they scream.
“That’s all from Rich for tonight,” Will tells them. But they keep screaming for Rich. Eventually, Rich comes back to the microphone, and the audience cheers.
“That’s really it for me tonight, guys,” he says. “Next time.” The audience is clearly deflated, but they listen to Will and the band play the rest of their songs.
After this happens at another performance, however, Will tells Rich he’s out of the band.
“Oh no,” I say after Rich relays this to me. “This is all my fault. I should never have—”
“No, Parker,” he interrupts. “This isn’t anyone’s fault. This is the best thing that could have happened to me.”
“What do you mean?” I wonder.
“I mean, if Will hadn’t just thrown me out of the band, I don’t know if I would have ever wanted to really go off on my own. But now I don’t have any other choice, not if I want people to hear my music. And that is what I want. I want to keep going. And I would love to have you there beside me, if you don’t mind doing the sound for a solo act.”
“Not at all.” I smile. “So, you’re not mad?”
He shakes his head. “No way. I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to see what we do next.”
“Me neither,” I say.
*****
Rich does start playing his own gigs by himself, and I do the sound for him. (I stopped working with the band when they kicked him out.) After a few performances, each one increasing in audience size, Rich starts to become something of a celebrity at our school. And as I watch all this unfold, I keep waiting for the day when he tells me I’m not cool enough for him anymore. But he never tells me that. He always seems genuinely happy to have me at his shows, doing the sound for him.
But a time comes when his performances are at larger venues and where my PA abilities aren’t enough. So, with money he’s earned from some of his performances, Rich pays for a professional PA person to do the sound for him.
I don’t mind at all. I don’t want to hold him back in any way. And besides, it’s nice to watch him without having to monitor a mixer at the same time.
I like to just stand back and see him perform, especially since now he’s singing songs that he wrote for me. And I smile wide and get tingly inside whenever he plays them. Sometimes I even shed a few tears. This is so much better than pretending that someone wrote songs for me.
(In case you were wondering, although I haven’t really kept up with Will’s band, I heard that they broke up soon after Rich and I left. Something about creative differences. Plus, I think they were having trouble finding a good rehearsal space after Rich said they couldn’t use his sister’s dance studio anymore.)
*****
One night, after one of Rich’s performances for about one thousand people, I’m coming to congratulate him backstage. This has been his biggest performance to date. But before I reach him, I see him talking to that same blonde girl that Will was singing to at that first show I helped with.
I freeze when I see them together. And I don’t know what to think. My first thought is, this is the moment I had been bracing myself for. I should have known something like this would happen. I’m not cool enough for Rich now. This is the kind of girl he’s into now, and it won’t be long before he forgets all about me.
With all these thoughts rushing through my mind, I figure I might as well just turn around and go home now. But as I start to head toward the exit, I see Rich turn away from the girl. He sees me, smiles, and comes toward me, his guitar slung onto his back.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me. “Why does it look like you were about to leave?”
“Uh, well…I just kind of thought you were busy.”
He looks confused. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you talking to someone.”
“Oh, that? No, that’s nothing.”
I sigh. “You know, Rich, if you don’t think I’m good enough for you anymore, that’s fine. You can just tell me now.”
“I really don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Why were you talking to that girl?”
“She was just telling me I did a good job and wondering if I knew of any good restaurants nearby.”
“Are you sure that’s it?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he says. “What’s with you, Parker?”
I sigh again. “You’re becoming more popular, Rich. And I know you were ok being with me when you hadn’t reached this sort of celebrity status. But things are changing. And I kind of feel like that’s the kind of girl you should be with now.”
Rich stares at me for a long time before saying anything. But finally he says, “Wow, Parker. After all this time we’ve spent together, it feels like you don’t know me at all.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You really think I’m that shallow? All of a sudden people know who I am, so that means you’re not good enough for me anymore? And my taste in women has changed?”
“I’m just saying—”
“No, Parker,” he interrupts. “No, I need you to listen. The attention is nice, and I like that more people are listening to my music. But my heart belongs to you. I don’t fall in love easily. And when I do, I go all in. So, unless you don’t want to be with me anymore, I’m not going anywhere. You’re the only one I want to be with.”
I look at him with apologetic eyes. I read the situation all wrong. I guess the flashbacks I had to that night I first helped the band with their sound didn’t help.
“I’m so sorry, Rich,” I say. “I’m sorry I jumped to crazy conclusions.”
“Yeah, what’s with that? I’ve never given you the impression that I’m that shallow, have I? Or that my feelings can change so easily?”
“No, you’re right, you never have. It’s just…that’s the same girl Will was talking to that night I first helped you guys with a performance. I guess it just brought back memories.”
“Oh,” he says. “Now it makes more sense. But I’m serious, Parker. I’m with you. I love only you.”
I smile. “Did you just say you love me?”
He nods. “I do love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say.
We kiss then. And even though we’ve kissed before, this one is the most passionate of the kisses we’ve shared so far. It feels so freeing to know that Rich’s heart belongs to me—that he loves me—that we love each other. He’s right, he’s never once given me a reason to doubt his affection for me. And I need to stop doubting it.
*****
Rich and my relationship only grows stronger the more famous he becomes. And even though I do still occasionally feel hints of jealousy, they’re all erased every time I hear him play a song he’s written for me—especially when he’s performing live. Because even though he’s singing for hundreds of other people—soon to be thousands—I know he’s really only singing to me.
And to think, none of this might have happened if I hadn’t had a crush on a guy in my guitar class—and if Rich hadn’t had a crush on a girl in his.
Copyright © 2025
I hope you enjoyed the story! If you want to read more like it, you can click here. And if you haven’t already read Part 1, you can read it here.
Last updated: March 20, 2025