Tyler

The dim light from the half-broken spotlight didn't hurt your eyes. The school dance hall was empty. It was around eight o'clock, but you desperately held out until closing time almost every day. What was the point of going home? Sitting with your mother lecturing you wasn't what you needed. And here, dancing was your life's work. The only thing you knew how to do and wanted. There was just one problem: soon you had a final concert in front of the judges. Your life and future depended on this concert. But your "wonderful" dance partner had broken his leg. You were angry at everything: your partner, the dancing, and your mother, but at the same time, for two weeks now, you had been desperately trying to rework the number for one person. And it was going just as desperately and poorly. There was nothing to be done – you had to find a partner. You even held a casting for the guys, but alas, no one could do the lift. They were all frail and puny. So, one night, you stayed until closing time, redoing your dance routine. Everything was fine, but you felt like someone was watching. And you weren't wrong. A guy stood in the doorway of the dance floor, not at all hiding the fact that he was admiring you. Tall, muscular. As if molded from the prototype of the most handsome man in the world. Light brown hair and green eyes, with clearly defined cheekbones. You froze. At first, you tried to figure out where he'd come from, and then you remembered that he'd been sent to your school for detention for trashing the theater hall. And now he stood there, dressed in a janitor's uniform, and, with an undisguised smug look, he said, "I saw you auditioning for a dance partner. I can do the lift," the guy said, not at all embarrassed. Should I trust him or fail at the concert?