“I’ve heard about that guy,” Linc says. “He’s trouble.”
“You know as well as I do you can’t believe everything you hear in this town.”
“Yeah, well, everything I’ve heard is nothin’ good. Stay away from him, Sylvie.”
I blink at the demanding tone of Linc’s voice and open my mouth to tell him off but I’m interrupted. “Hey, Matthews, grab your guitar. Let’s crank this party up,” Nelson shouts.
The crowd raises their drinks in unison and the music blaring from a nearby truck fades out.
Linc grabs his old Gibson from the cab of his truck. It’s scarred and discolored because he carries it everywhere with him, but it is tuned to perfection.
Pushing aside my annoyance with him, I smile. I love hearing him sing. It’s my favorite sound in the whole wide world. He props half of his behind on the edge of the tailgate and rests the base of the guitar on his upper thigh.
He tosses me one of those special smiles he only reserves for me before addressing the crowd. “What’ll it be?”
“‘Waylon,’” Nelson bellows.
And the crowd cheers in agreement.
Linc nods, strumming his guitar. He makes a few minor adjustments before he begins to pick the familiar melody. The crowd loves this one. Linc first started singing at these parties last year. Said he needed to practice singing in front of people if he’s ever going to stand on a big stage and do it for real. He was nervous at first but it didn’t take him long to get comfortable.
He’s a natural.
The crowd lets him have the verse but they always join in at the chorus. This is a fun one to sing, but I love it best when Linc sings ballads. His deep, mesmerizing voice has a way of bringing me to my knees.
He closes his eyes, losing himself in the words.
Music is his life.
His passion.
I want to be that passionate about something.
Anything.
I still have no idea what I even plan to do after graduation. I want to go to college, but I have no idea what I want to study. I want to travel, but I have no means to do so.
He finishes the song and everyone goes nuts. He’s already a star. A wheat field star, but a big, bright shining star all the same.
His mischievous eyes swing to mine. “So, today’s my girl’s birthday,” he announces, and the hoots and hollers ensue. I love it when he calls me that, even though I’m not really his, not the way I wish I were anyway.
“Happy birthday, Sylvie!” Nelson hollers, and everyone echoes his sentiment. My cheeks flame with embarrassment as I shuffle on my feet, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Whatcha wanna hear, Syl?”
I shrug, hating when he puts me on the spot like this.
“I think you know this one,” Linc says with a wink, finding the chords he needs. A gasp falls from my lips when he begins to play the song he sang to me on the Ferris wheel. The song we danced to at prom.
But Linc’s version is so much better.
The crowd doesn’t dare sing along with this one, the powerful words paired with Linc’s voice leave everyone in awe of him.
Once he finishes, everyone goes crazy. I stand there with my mouth gaping, completely blown away.
Laying his guitar down on the tailgate, he wraps me in his warm arms, my cheek to his chest. “Happy birthday, Syl.”
Moments like this give me hope. Maybe someday he will want to be more than friends. Maybe someday he will finally tell me how he feels, if he feels anything more at all.
