A Girl by Any Other Name (54 page)

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,

but my eyes always searched for Sylvie in particular when I entered the field. It was part of my pre-

game ritual. That, and looking up at the sky to say a little prayer for my dad. I knew he was there too.

I sat next to Sylvie in art, watching her sketch the stuffed bear that sat on the table. I was

supposed to be doing something along those lines too, but I found it difficult to look away from her

delicate hands when she was drawing.

“Cal, do you want to come to Sadie Hawkins with me?” Wendy asked. As usual, I wasn’t paying

attention to the fact that she was sitting on the other side of me.

Sylvie jerked her shoulders, managing to drop her pencil. I picked it up.

“No, I’m sorry, Wendy, I can’t go,” I replied, hoping she’d drop it.

“You’re not going to the dance?” she asked in shock, like I’d told her I was dropping out of

school or something.

“I’m not sure yet.” I was talking to Wendy Watson, but staring at Sylvie.
Ask me,
I kept saying to

myself.
Ask me to the dance, you stubborn girl.
She never did. She just resumed drawing that stupid-

looking bear instead. I would have asked her, except that this was Sadie Hawkins and the tradition

was that girls asked the guys. S
tupid-ass tradition
.

“Okay, class, I know everyone is excited about the prospects of our team making the

championship, but I wanted to draw your attention to another great accomplishment for our school,”

Mrs Peters said, clasping her hands.

We all turned our attention to her. Usually art class was brief instruction followed by lots of

drawing, or, in my case, doodling. It was rare that Mrs Peters interrupted us in the middle of class.

“I was informed this morning that one of our students won the National Art Competition.”

I sat straight up, suddenly nervous. I knew Matt Sampson had entered, but I hoped to God it

wasn’t him that Mrs Peters was talking about.

“Please join me in congratulating our very own Sylvie Cranston, whose work will be displayed

in New York and in some major papers for the portrait she did in this very room entitled ‘Renee’.”

Everyone turned to Sylvie. I smiled proudly, but it didn’t last long when her eyes went wide and

her lower lip trembled in panic. I put my hand over hers to calm her, but it didn’t seem to help.

“I… I…um…don’t understand. I didn’t enter,” she stammered nervously.

Mrs Peters wrinkled her brow. “They have your entry, dear, and your photo. I don’t know how

they would have gotten it otherwise.”

“My photo?”

“Yes, they needed one for the article,” Mrs Peters said, walking over to Sylvie. “They sent me a

mockup. As your art teacher, they called me for a quote. They will be calling you too. Probably

tonight, since the article’s supposed to go to press tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? But I don’t want that.”

“Oh, dear, well, I don’t think we can stop it now. Now, I know you’re just nervous, but this is a

great opportunity for you. I believe they will even fly you out so you can view your artwork

personally. You’ll get to stay in New York and visit all the museums with the other winners. Your

father will be so proud of you, dear.”

I doubted that. Mr Cranston didn’t even talk to her, except in slurred commands. The only real

conversations he was having these days were with Mr Glenlivet. They were old friends.

Mrs Peters walked over to the empty easel where Sylvie’s painting had been. “I sent it out this

morning. I would have waited, but I thought you’d already know about it and I wanted to make sure it

got in the mail.”

Sylvie’s face became whiter than it did when she put all that powder on it.

“Relax, girl, you’re going to get me in trouble. I entered you,” I whispered into her ear.

She turned to me slowly. My heart sank with the look she gave me. It wasn’t gratitude, surprise

or even anger. It was disappointment as if I’d betrayed her somehow. It was definitely not the

reaction I’d been expecting.

“I have to go,” she announced, standing up and gathering her books.

“Class isn’t over,” Mrs Peters stated more firmly.

“I’m sorry. I’m sick. I have to go home.”

I stood up. “I’ll walk her home,” I said.

“No, you won’t,” Sylvie barked on her way out the door.

I got up anyway, but Mrs Peters called out my name. “Cal, I know you think you can do what you

want since you’re the captain of the football team, but let me be clear that in my classroom, I am the

captain. Now sit down. Sylvie can leave, but you, young man, need to stay.”

I stared after her, wondering what the hell had just happened. I’d only meant to enter her as a

way to show her that her art was really good—New York museum good. It was to give her

confidence, but her reaction was so harsh, I knew I had made a serious mistake.

I considered skipping practice, but I knew it would be a mistake this close to the championship. I

shouldn’t have gone, though. My mind wasn’t in it, and Coach Brown made us all stay late and run

extra laps because of it.

Sylvie didn’t come over for dinner either. I shoveled food in my mouth to appease my momma,

but as soon as I could, I ran out the back door, making a beeline for Sylvie’s bedroom window. I tried

opening it, but it was locked with the shades drawn. She’d locked me out. I tapped on it gently. When