A Girl by Any Other Name (14 page)

advantage.

“Momma! Cal just called me a name,” Mandy whined, running out of the kitchen.

“Go on, throw yourself a nice little hissy fit, princess,” I yelled after her.

Sylvie gave me a chiding look, but she was trying not to laugh. “You shouldn’t be so mean, Tex.”

I shrugged. “That’s what brothers are for. Someone’s gotta let her know she can’t sit on that

pedestal forever.”

“You know you put her up there too. I don’t know how many brothers would insist on taking

their sisters to ballet practice, coaching their softball team or taking them shopping for shoes. You’re

a good brother and she’s lucky to have you.”

Of course I did that. It was what my father would have done, and I was just doing my best to be a

pathetic replacement for him. The thing was Sylvie did all those things with me too. She was Mandy’s

best friend as much as she was mine.

I concentrated on gathering the silverware so she wouldn’t see my expression. “She didn’t have

a choice. She’s stuck with me. What’s really lucky is that she has you.”

“We’re all lucky, Cal.”

Sylvie was right. We were.

* * * *

“It’s really good,” I stated, staring at her painting.

“Thanks. It was my first time painting an actual person.”

It was a portrait of a beautiful woman with stunning brown eyes and cascading black hair. It

looked a lot like Sylvie, not as she was now, but maybe what she’d be in a few years. But I knew it

wasn’t a self-portrait. She’d named it ‘Renee’.

“It’s your mother.”

She nodded.

“I’ve been trying to convince her to enter it into the Young Artist nationals,” Mrs Peters said

behind us.

I hadn’t even heard her approach. Then again, I was usually so focused on Sylvie I ignored the

obvious. “What’s that?”

Matt Sampson moved over to us. I knew he had been listening. He watched Sylvie like a hawk

studying its prey. “It’s a national competition. You just need to enter a photo of your painting. If you

win, it’s displayed in a New York City museum with a photo and bio of the artist. Plus, you get your

name and photo printed in some national papers and art magazines. It’s pretty awesome. I’m entering

too. Sylvie, you’re so talented. You should totally go for it.”

“Thanks, Matt, but I don’t think it’s worthy of a national competition.”

“I disagree, Sylvie, but if you change your mind, I have the forms on my desk,” Mrs Peters

added.

“You should do it, Sylvie. If you win, you could start making a name for yourself,” I said,

placing a strand of hair behind Sylvie’s ear. She smiled, but shook her head.

“Yeah, it’s totally awesome,” Matt said. I’d forgotten he was still there.

She dropped her voice a few notches, standing between Matt and me. I didn’t like the fact that he

was sharing this moment with us. “I think it’s good enough for Mrs Peters, but I don’t think a national

art committee would look at it that way.”

“At least give it a try. You’ll never know if you don’t try,” I said, hoping I could change her

mind. Sylvie was talented in so many ways, but she always seemed to shrug off any compliments.

Almost as if she didn’t want people to notice her gifts.

“Hey, Cal, are we going to the movies tonight?” Wendy Watson asked, appearing out of

nowhere. She put her hand on my shoulder. I stared at Sylvie, who didn’t seem to notice. I wasn’t

dating Wendy or trying to make Sylvie jealous, but it rather annoyed me that Sylvie never reacted.

The girl could frustrate the hell out of me. I held her in my arms every night. I comforted her when she

had a nightmare. She confided in me. She cheered for me on the football field, ate supper with me and

sat beside me on the swings at church. But we never went further than that.

It was driving me crazy because I loved her so much. Granted, I hadn’t told her that, but she had

to know. I felt like she loved me too. Still, I thought voicing it wasn’t a good idea. I wasn’t willing to

fuck up what we had so I could call her my girlfriend. I would wait until she was ready.

Unfortunately, the stiffness in my pants every time she brushed up against me was having a harder

time…literally. Part of me worried she’d never be ready.

“I don’t know, Shell. I got practice tonight.”

“What about after?” Wendy asked, leaning her big boobs against my back.

“Sylvie and I have plans,” I replied. We were just going fishing, but it was still plans.

“Oh, hi, Sylvia,” Wendy said, eyeing Sylvie as if she’d just noticed her. I think Wendy called her

Sylvia to get some sort of rise out of her, but it never worked.

“We can cancel,” Sylvie replied quietly.

“Sylvie, I just got my license. Want to go over to Melba? They have a small art museum there

and we can go. I can take you to dinner after,” Matt asked.

Shit.

I had forgotten he was still here.

“Sure, Matt,” she said. I wanted to shake her and punch him. Was she actually accepting another

date right in front of me? The girl was torturing me.

“Okay, Wendy, I’ll pick you up at eight. And let’s skip the movie and just go for a drive,” I

replied, not taking my eyes from Sylvie. “A long drive.”

Wendy jumped up and down as if I’d just given her the winning lottery numbers. I could make

out her nipple through her thin T-shirt. I wasn’t ashamed of looking. I was a guy, after all.

“Awesome!”

The bell rang, signaling that class was over. I usually walked with Sylvie to her next class, but I

was so pissed off that I stormed out of there.

I decided to stop back after school, though. Mrs Peters was there, as she usually was, working

on her own art.

“Hello, Cal,” she greeted, adjusting her glasses.

“Hi, can I have one of those forms for the art competition, please?”

She stared at me in surprise. “Of course.” She rifled through her drawer and handed it to me.

“I’m surprised. I wouldn’t discourage anyone from entering, but I thought you really didn’t care for art

that much.” I could read between the lines. I sucked at it. I could barely make a stick figure, but that

wasn’t why I wanted an entry form.

I shrugged. “It kind of grew on me.”

* * * *

It was close to midnight when I snuck into her room. She always left the window unlocked for

me. I’d thought of forgoing our nightly ritual, but the truth was, I couldn’t sleep alone anymore. I

needed her as much as she needed me. It wasn’t sexual, although I wouldn’t have minded if it became

that. We just talked and sometimes I held her. Sometimes she held me. I don’t think I would have

gotten through that dark period of mourning my father’s death if it hadn’t been for those talks.

I lifted the covers and slid next to her. She had her back to me, her shoulders tensing with my

presence, making it clear she was faking sleep.

“How was your date?” I asked not hiding the animosity in my voice.

“It wasn’t a date. We just hung out. You were the one on a date.”

I smiled, relishing the hint of sharpness in her voice. “You were the one who canceled our plans,

remember?”

“We can go fishing anytime. You don’t always get a chance to make out with Wendy Watson.”

I laughed, because the girl had no idea what she was talking about. You always had a chance to

make out with Wendy Watson, at least if you were on the football team—and I was the star

quarterback. I had a free pass anytime I wanted to cash in.

Wendy had even brought condoms, but I hadn’t been fool enough to go there with her. I’d kissed

those gooey glossed lips of hers until we were both chapped, but it was only because I was

pretending she was someone else.

“I’d rather have gone fishing with you. Doesn’t it mean anything that I’d rather be bitten by

mosquitoes catching smelly fish with you than making out with her?”

Sylvie rolled over on her stomach, burying her head in the pillow. It was her signal that the

conversation was over, but I wasn’t going to accept that…not this time.

“By the way, it was definitely a date to Matt, even if you didn’t think of it that way.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Tex, so shut the hell up.”

I moved my face so it was close to hers, even though she wasn’t looking at me. “Are you really

this naïve, girl? Did he try anything with you?” My voice was chock-full of agitation.

“Keep your voice down. My dad’s sleeping.”

“You mean he’s passed out, don’t you? He won’t hear us.”

“I’m warning you.”

“You shouldn’t live with him. He doesn’t take care of you like a father should.” I moved her hair

away, trying to get a better look at her face, but she screwed her eyes shut.

“Cut it out, Tex. I’m serious.”

“Fine, I’ll drop it like I always do, but we
are
going to talk about Matt Sampson.”

“We didn’t do anything. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You’re my business, Sylvie. Whether you admit it or not.”

She turned her head, and even in the moonlight, I could see her eyes blazing. “Is that so? Well

then, did you do anything with Wendy Watson?”

Shit.

“We just made out, that’s all. Jesus, Sylvie, I’m a man, you know?”

She sucked in a long breath, jutting that lower lip toward me. Although on some level I was

relieved she was jealous, I hated being the cause of her discomfort. She knew she was the only girl

for me. Hell, I’d told her as much many times before.

“Did you enjoy the fine cherries of Durbin Farms? I hear they’re popular with all the boys,” she

murmured sarcastically.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You don’t owe me anything.”

I chuckled. “You really believe that? I’m so fucking confused by you. You know I don’t want

Wendy Watson or any other girl in the world. You know what I want. And it’s not that I want to have

sex with you either.”

Her frown crinkled at the edges, wavering slightly in her battle to fight a smile. “You don’t want

to have sex with me? Why not?” There was a lilt in her voice. She’d caught me fibbing.

“Shit, you know what I mean. I want to, but not until you’re ready. We have this really weird

relationship and I just want to define it. Can’t you give me some peace of mind?”

“You have it. We’re friends. You’re my best friend, and that’s enough for me. You can go out

with other girls, Cal. You don’t need my permission.”

I laid my forearm across my face and sighed deeply. “Woman, you’re fucking frustrating as hell,

you know that?”

“Go to sleep. It’s late. You woke me up reeking like cheap perfume.”

“It’s cologne, smartass. The stuff you bought me last Christmas, remember?”

“It’s not your cologne I’m complaining about. It’s her perfume, and it’s making me sick.”

“Why don’t I leave then?” I replied, sitting up.

She reached out and clasped my wrist. “No. Don’t go. Stay, please.” There was something needy

in her words. I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to and I sure as hell didn’t want to.

“Whatever.” I crossed my arms behind my head and lay down on my back. I stared up at the

starry sky we’d painted on her ceiling last year. It was reminiscent of Rembrandt’s painting. I could

just make it out by the dim moonlight that streamed through her window. Sylvie had done most of the

work. I’d just helped wherever she had needed me to. Mostly, I’d held the ladder and handed her

paintbrushes so she wouldn’t fall on her beautiful ass. I hadn’t minded. It was a nice view.

I lay there for at least twenty minutes. I knew by the way she was shifting that she wasn’t asleep

yet.

“Keep it friendly with Matt if you want, but nothing else. I won’t go out with Wendy either…or

anyone else, okay?” I whispered in the dark room.

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t matter what we call ourselves. We belong to each other.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, but then she patted my stomach. “’Kay.”

* * * *

It had been a few months since my date with Wendy Watson. True to my word, I hadn’t gone out

with anyone. Sylvie had kept going out with Matt, but she insisted they were friends. I trusted her, but

it didn’t stop me from having a few man-to-man conversations with him after gym.

Our team had lost the championship last year, but we were in it again. It was exciting. The whole

school was buzzing about it. In Prairie Marsh, Texas, you could seldom have a conversation that

didn’t involve football, and the fact that we might have a nice shiny trophy to adorn the empty spot in

the glass case made everyone hopeful. Everyone on the football team was treated like they were

celebrities.

People would insist on paying for our food at restaurants. The hallways would part when we

walked down them. Classmates offered to do our homework. The principal looked away if we cut

class. It was somewhat surreal, especially for me. As captain and quarterback, I was the star of the

show. It made my head swell like a balloon, but all the women in my life kept me grounded, letting

me know my head was so inflated it was liable to pop. Everyone held up signs and cheered me on,