This is Shyness by Leanne Hall Read Free Book Online

is a long, brightly lit room with matchstick people at the other end. The proportions are all wrong, as if I’m squinting into a diorama. I blink. It’s not until there’s a low rumble and something rolls towards me that I realise I’m looking into the bowling alley from behind the pins.
    When I reach the back of the room Wolfboy is staring so reverently up at a wall of guitars that I don’t want to interrupt his moment.
    â€˜Oh man.’ He whistles through his teeth. ‘He’s got a Les Paul Custom.’
    â€˜A whatty-whatsy?’
    The guitars all look the same to me, with only slight variations in shape and colour. Wolfboy leans forward and strokes a black guitar like it’s a thoroughbred horse. It rocks lightly on its hook. Is it possible to be jealous of a guitar?
    â€˜A 1957 Gibson Les Paul Custom. Isn’t she beautiful?’
    She looks like a guitar to me. A black guitar with strings and the things that hold the strings in place, and those knobby bits at the end of the neck. I watch Wolfboy look at the guitar, his yearning painted all over his face. It’s pretty adorable, even though I’d prefer he look at me like that instead.
    â€˜Well, let’s buy it. We’re here to spend money, aren’t we?’
    â€˜I already have a guitar.’
    â€˜Yeah, but you don’t have that guitar. How much do they go for?’
    â€˜No.’ Wolfboy turns away. ‘I don’t deserve a guitar that good. I don’t play well enough.’
    â€˜That’s ridiculous—’ I begin but Wolfboy holds his hand up in my face.
    â€˜Not everything is an opportunity for an argument, young lady.’
    I slap his hand away, smiling at his teacher voice. I walk along the wall, stroking the instruments as I pass them.
    â€˜Maybe I’ll buy one and join your band.’
    â€˜Can you play the guitar?’
    â€˜That’s not important, is it? I’ve got the right look for it.’
    I stop at a collection of ukuleles. There’s an awesomely ridiculous hot-pink one that’s only fifty dollars. I pluck it from the wall and strum experimentally. Wolfboy leans against a bin full of headphones with his arms crossed, expectant. I clear my throat.
    I don’t know any chords, so the sound I’m making is admittedly terrible. But enthusiasm has got to count for something, right? I croon along to my discordant strumming, making the words up as I go.
    Oh, I’m so lonely in the night
I’m so hairy
There’s no light
I got the Shyness blues
I wear high-heeled shoes
The moon shines so bright
I’m so howly in the night
    Time for the big finale. I thrash the ukulele for all it’s worth.
    Pants! So! Tight!
    End-less-night!
    Aa-wooooooooh!
    I attempt a howl but it comes out sounding more like a yodel. I compensate with some cock-rock thrusting and a few signs of the horns, before bowing.
    Wolfboy claps slowly. He is devastatingly impressed, of course. More importantly, he seems to have forgotten all about the Ortolan business that got him so down in the first place. He is so sweet when he smiles. I want to see him do it more.
    â€˜Is that an original?’
    I put the ukulele down and brush the hair off my face.
    â€˜Oh no, that’s a cover of one of yours. You didn’t recognise it?’
    We grin at each other. I feel genuinely silly, not like earlier at the pub with Neil and Rosie when I was just doing a really good job of acting like I was having a good time. Wolfboy seems to like me acting the fool. That’s good. I’m no stand-there-and-look-pretty kind of girl, and I’m not interested in anyone who wants that.
    â€˜So am I in? Do I make the cut?’
    â€˜You can be in my band any day. But we’d better get a move on, before Sebastien throws us out for being drunk and disorderly.’
    Sebastien glances up as we approach his desk. He doesn’t give any sign that he’s heard anything. Out