I wince at the coldness in his tone. I want to ask more but I have a feeling it’s not something he wants to talk about right now, so I tuck it away for later.
“How old are you, Sylvie?”
I want to lie. Tell him I am much older, thinking that will impress him for some reason, but I know in the long run the truth is best.
“Seventeen.”
“Shit.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“What?”
“You do not look seventeen, babe.”
‘Babe?’
Babe.
He called me babe.
I like that.
A lot.
“How old are you?” I ask, hesitantly.
“Twenty-one.”
From the corner of my eye I watch as he lights up his cigarette, and I try not to think about what my father will say when he smells smoke in here tomorrow.
“How long have you lived here?”
“All my life, but I’m planning my great escape after graduation.”
“Oh yeah, where to?”
“Nashville. My best friend, Linc, who you met the other night, is moving there and wants me to come with him. He’s gonna be a star someday.” I smile thoughtfully.
“And what do you want to be, Sylvie?”
That is a good question. A damn good question. A question I still don’t have the answer to. “I don’t know yet.”
He nods as if he understands my dilemma. “So your best friend is a guy? Should I be worried?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Nope.”
My heart surges with relief. “Linc and I are just friends.”
“You wish it were more though?”
My stomach dips with nervousness. “What?”
“I can see it on your face. You want to be more than friends.” I shrug, not wanting to have this conversation with him. “Want to know my opinion?” I don’t respond, but he continues on anyway. “He’s fucking crazy. If I were him, I would have made you mine a long time ago. And I’m kind of glad he’s a blind idiot, because then maybe I have a shot after all.”
