Girl By Any Other Name Page 5

  I wished the store were more crowded and there were people behind us. Although, I didn’t for one second believe Mona Simms would keep her opinion to herself, even to do her job.

  She tsked at Sylvie, shaking her head with a closed lip smile. I’d seen snakes with a more genuine smile.

  “We sell clothes here, dear. You should find something that actually fits you. Doesn’t your father feed you?”

  Sylvie didn’t respond, which wasn’t surprising. Some folks in our town swore she was mute.

  “If money is a problem, I could talk to the pastor about getting you some church donations from our clothing drive. You don’t have to be a member. We Christians want to help everyone.”

  Oh, hell no.

  “Is that where you get your clothes from?” My voice sounded even, but strained, my fists clenched so tight they hurt.

  Mona’s sugary smile shriveled into a deep frown, causing the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes to intensify. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m being stupid,” I added quickly.

  She nodded and opened her mouth to respond, but I cut her off.

  “You’re the biggest woman in town. They’d have to sew all the donated clothes together to get an outfit for you.”

  Her face reddened. Her jaw dropped so wide you could see the cavities in her teeth. I had accomplished the impossible. I had made Miss Mona Simms speechless. The few other shoppers in the vicinity stopped to stare at us. Mike Turner at register one and Stan Watkins at register three both gawked in our direction. I snatched the change out of Miss Simms’ palm before she could say anything else. I grabbed the two plastic bags that held our purchases, gripped Sylvie’s hand, and pulled her along with me.

  “Cal, why did you do that? She’s going to tell your mom,” Sylvie said once we were outside.

  “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” I placed the bags on the handlebars of my bike. We ran across the parking lot.

  When we got to the street, we slowed down. “You never answered my question. What happens if she tells your mom?”

  “Let her. She’s a bitch. She can’t talk that way about Mandy.” I stared at Sylvie’s tiny frame and added, “Or you.”

  She shook her head, but I caught the curl of her lips trying desperately not to smile.

  “Thank you,” she replied simply. “I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t do anything, Sylvie.”

  “I probably got you into trouble. Big, big trouble.”

  I winked at her, bumping her shoulder with mine. “It was worth it.” She was worth it. “Can you walk the rest of the way? I have to get to the game.”

  “’Kay.” She went to take the purchases off the bike, but her hand trembled and she dropped one of the bags. I reached for it, glad the maxi pad box didn’t fall out. The less I saw that thing, the better. She took two rapid breaths, a signal tears were in the forecast.

  “Dammit, Sylvie, what the hell is wrong now?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Spit it out, girl. I ain’t got all day.”

  She sighed. “I wish I had someone to talk to about this. Stuff is happing to me, and I have so many questions.”

  I held up my hands and backed away from her. “What the hell are you looking at me for? You think I have a clue in hell about this crap?”

  She choked out a sound between a laugh and cry. “You know less than I do.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Sylvie bit her lower lip, staring at her dark blue Chuck Taylor’s. “I just wish there was someone,” she said softly.

  I had no idea what the hell she wanted to talk about. I didn’t want to know either, but I did feel sorry for her. I didn’t feel so rushed to get to the game. “There is someone. Come on.” I took the bags out of her hand and placed them back on the handlebars of my bike.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Where we should have gone in the first place.”

  We both picked up the pace and headed home.

  Momma peeled potatoes at the kitchen table while Mandy sat on the floor playing with her dolls and their million tiny accessories. I threw the plastic bags on the counter, relieved to be rid of them. I should have made Sylvie carry them, but my momma had taught me a man should never let a lady cart something, especially when his arms were empty.

  “Sylvie, did you come to play with me?” Mandy asked, holding out a doll to her.

  “Not today, princess,” I answered for her. My parents called Mandy “princess” as a term of endearment. I used it more in a sarcastic manner.

  “Cal, I thought you were going to the game,” Momma said.

  “Sylvie needs to talk to you.” I pulled out the empty chair at the table for her. It was another mandatory gesture from Amelia Tanner’s ever-growing list of requirements to pass her Gentlemen 101 course. “Sit,” I told her.

  Sylvie looked around nervously. She came over to play with Mandy, and my mom liked her, but this kind of thing wasn’t the norm.

  “Cal, that’s no way to talk to a lady,” Momma admonished before turning to Sylvie. “What do you need to talk to me about, sweetheart?”

  “It’s private,” I said.

  My mother arched her eyebrows at me.

  “Women problems,” I explained.

  She gave Sylvie a knowing smile like there was a secret I wasn’t in on. Just fine by me. If I rushed, I could make the game right before halftime.

  “Watch your sister, Cal.”

  Shit.

  “I want to stay. I’m a woman too, Momma. You said so,” Mandy chimed in.

  “No, you’re not,” I interrupted before she went into full tantrum mode, but she wasn’t paying attention. She had honed in on the plastic bags by the counter. My sister was like a human hound dog when it came to sweets. I bet she could smell the sugar though the wrappers.

  “Candy? Give me some,” she squealed, running toward the counter.

  I slapped her hand away. “Not for you.”

  Mandy started her half-whimper fake cry she always did when she didn’t get her way. “Momma, Cal slapped me.”

  “I did not!”

  “He did, and now my hand hurts awfully bad. I need candy to make it better.”

  I laughed. Momma grimaced. Sylvie looked sympathetic.

  “Can she have some, Mrs. Tanner?” Sylvie asked.

  My mom was thoughtful for a moment. “Two pieces. It’s almost supper time, and I don’t want her to spoil her dinner.”

  “Thank you.” Sylvie walked over to the plastic bag and took out the packages we’d bought. Thankfully, she managed to keep the embarrassing item under wraps. She bent down so she was at eye-level with Mandy. “Which kind would you like?”

  Mandy would take longer than a Sunday sermon to make a decision. Sylvie was patient with her, though. Much more than I would have been. They sat there talking about the pros and cons of each kind of candy like some people debated the instant replay rule in baseball. I glanced over at Momma, hoping she would put an end to this stupidity and make Mandy choose, but she was too busy grinning at them.

  “Which one is the best one for me?” Mandy asked.

  “Your favorite one,” Sylvie said, brushing Mandy’s hair to the side.

  Mandy looked down at her hands, shaking her head so her pigtails flew, smacking Sylvie right in the face. “I mean, which one won’t make me fatter?”

  My mouth dropped open. So did Momma’s. Where had my little sister gotten it into her head she was fat? I wanted to punch whoever had a hand in that. Had Mona Simms said something to her? One of the girls at school? Was I allowed to kick a seven-year-old’s ass?

  Before I could ask, Sylvie took Mandy into her arms and embraced her. “You are beautiful. Do not let anyone tell you differently, because they are fibbing. Do you understand? You are perfect.”

  “Yes.”

  “You can eat any candy you want. Just eat a piece or two a day. ’Kay?”

  “Okay, Sylvie.” Mandy took the pieces Sylvie offere
d her.

  “C’mon, I’ll push you on the swings.” I grasped Mandy’s hand before she could say anything else. She always begged me to push her on the swings so I knew it was a sure-fire way to get her out of the house.

  Push her I did. I propelled Mandy on the swings for forty-eight freaking minutes. I checked my watch about every two minutes, sighing in frustration as the minutes ticked by as did the first three-quarters of the game. I tried to work out what the score might be.

  We may be an island, but we were an island in Texas. We had a kick-ass football team, and the ferry brought anxious rivals to our shores only for them to return defeated. This would be the first time I missed a game in years. Even worse, Mandy offered me a play-by-play of Ken and Barbie’s dream life. Definitely not the way I wanted to spend a Friday night.

  Finally, Momma came to the backyard with Sylvie towing behind her.

  Thank God, I could escape. I might catch the last quarter if I raced fast enough on my bike.

  “I’m taking Sylvie shopping, Cal,” Momma announced. “Watch Mandy.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, young man.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I grumbled.

  “So, Ken and Barbie had their own car. A pink corvette,” Mandy continued.

  Someone save me.

  * * * *

  That night I lay in bed, wondering what else Sylvie needed to buy. Nate had called to tell me about the more heroic plays of the game to make me jealous. I wasn’t jealous, though. Okay, well, maybe a little.

  Either way, my thoughts kept drifting to Sylvie. She’d gone straight home after the shopping trip.

  I snuck out my window and made my way over to her house. I would be in a heap of trouble if I got caught, but my dad was a heavy sleeper and Momma wore earplugs due to his snoring. I tapped on the screen, expecting Sylvie to freak out or tell me off. Instead, she opened the window, smiling brightly.

  “Can I come in?”

  “’Kay.”

  I looked through the window into her brightly lit room. I’d never been in her room before. It was a more girly version of my own with pale pink walls and floral crap everywhere. Sylvie had never seemed especially girly to me. I’d expected her room to be done up in black and gray with a tombstone or two in the corner. “Is your dad home?”

  “He’s always home, but he’s asleep.”

  I thought she was confusing sleep with being passed out, but I didn’t correct her. I lifted my foot over the window frame and entered, trying not to snag her frilly drapes.

  My eyes stopped moving when I looked at her—really looked at her. I had to blink a few times to make sure I was in the right place. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. If you could call the God-awful white powder makeup. She didn’t have on a weird old-lady dress either. No, sir. She wore a pair of navy-blue pajama shorts and a tank top with a pattern of tiny yellow polka dots. Her hair came down to her waist in spiraling curls, falling against her olive skin. She was beautiful. Of course, some part of me had already known that. Still, I did a double take seeing her this way.

  “What did you buy?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent and cover up my surprise.

  She sat on her bed. “Want to see?”

  I sat next to her. “Well, I asked, didn’t I?”

  She put the two shopping bags on the bed. They were from a mall store in the city. Momma must have taken her on the ferry. She proceeded to take out a few bras and other undergarments. “There was so much I needed. I was so confused, but your mom helped me a lot.”

  “You’re showing me your underwear? You’re such a weirdo.”

  She shrugged. “You asked, Cal.” She threw a bra at my head. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t bite.”

  “Shit, I hope not,” I replied, snatching it off my head. Part of me wanted to study the foreign garment. I’d never seen a bra up close. It kinda looked like two tiny inverted pyramids, but it was utilitarian in design. Nate’s sister had Victoria Secret catalogs, and I’d taken more than my fair share of close looks. There was nothing pretty about Sylvie’s bra, though. I rubbed the cotton material between my fingers. “This is plain. I thought you’d get something fancier.”

  “It doesn’t need to be fancy. It just needs to hold my boobs up,” she replied, readying to seize it out of my hand. I jumped off the bed and slingshot it across the room before she could.

  “Dammit, Cal! You’re going to stretch it out.”

  “Well, something should.” I cracked up at my own joke.

  She started giggling, too. I walked over to retrieve it and stopped, noticing the almanac on her desk. I started scrolling through the pages. There were several cities circled in different-colored markers and notes written on the margins with little facts about each state. Things like Braden, Arkansas had the lowest cost of living or Eau Claire, Wisconsin was the safest city in the country.

  “What’s this? Are you trying to get extra credit in geography?”

  “Just research.”

  “Research on what?”

  “On where I want to live.”

  “You’re moving?” I felt an intense anxiety course through me with the idea.

  “Not now, but …when I’m older.”

  She lay down on her bed. I stared at her, unsure if I should leave, but then she slid over and patted the vacant area next to her. I stretched out on my back. Leaving the most space I could between us, I crossed my arms under my head.

  “If you could live anywhere, where would you go?” she asked.

  “Prairie, Texas,” I said.

  “Seriously? I’m talking anywhere.”

  “And I’m answering your question. I love it here.”

  “Why here?”

  “Where can you feel as comfortable in cowboy boots as you do in Doc Martens or Chuck Taylors? Where can you spend the whole day watching or talking or playing football? Where can you go fishing and surfing and lay out on the beach any time you want?”

  She shifted onto her side toward me and leaned her head against her hand. “What about college?”

  “Oh, sure, I’ll go to college. Probably Baylor or Texas A & M. I mean, I have to if I want to play football for the Cowboys, but then I’ll come back here when it suits me. This is my home.”

  “It must be nice to belong.”

  “You’d fit in better if you didn’t dress so weird.”

  “But I am weird.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, grinning like a fool.

  She grabbed the pillow and flung it at my head. “Jerk.”

  “Why’d you do that when I can’t fight back? I can’t hit girls.”

  “First you make fun of my bra and then you agree I’m weird.”

  “You said you’re weird.”

  “You didn’t have to agree.”

  Would I ever understand girls? Definitely doubtful. “I’m not making fun of your bra. I just thought you’d get something pretty…like you.”

  She sat up, staring at me with those dark eyes. “You think I’m pretty?”

  I cringed, realizing how stupid I sounded. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  “Cal, can I try something?”

  I shrugged. “I guess it depends on what—”

  Before I could finish, she smacked a quick kiss on me. Right on the lips. Her breath was warm and sweet like the spring wind. The blood pumped faster in my veins as it made its way to my lower extremities. She lowered her face toward me again, but I couldn’t take anymore. I jolted off the bed, landing right on my ass. Luckily, her thick rug protected my butt from any lasting injury. My head though…my head would never be the same again.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” I spat out.

  “What? You didn’t like it?”

  I wiped my mouth. “You don’t just kiss a guy whenever you feel like it. Besides, if I wanted to kiss you, I would have. It’s my job to make the first move.”

  “You didn’t want to kiss me?” She sounded upset, maybe even hurt.
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  “It’s just… I wasn’t ready.”

  “Well, do you want to kiss me back now?” She lay on her back where I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her rapid breaths, or maybe that was me.

  “Uh, no. I’m gonna hold off for a while.”

  “Am I a bad kisser?”

  “You’re not the best, but it’s okay cause it was your first time. You’ll get better.”

  She peered her head over the side of the bed and stared at me as I lay sprawled on the floor. “How many girls have you kissed?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “Lots.”

  “Like who?” she demanded.

  I tapped my fingers on my chest and smiled with measured cockiness. “Shelly Watson for one. Now that girl’s a good kisser.”

  “Ew, she wears a ton of lip gloss, and her perfume makes me puke.” An ironic statement coming from a girl who caked her face with white powder, but some things are better left unsaid.

  “Yeah, and her lips taste like the sweet cherries at Durbin Farms.”

  “So, you’d rather kiss her than me?”

  Shit.

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just I can’t kiss you right now. You ruined the moment, and you’d be expecting it.” I almost wanted to pat myself on the back for pulling that one out. I wanted to kiss her, but I was too dang scared to admit it.

  “So, you’re going to surprise me?”

  “Yeah, I am. When I kiss you, it’s going to be the best kiss you’ve ever had.”

  She laughed. “Cal, I’ve only had one kiss. Just now. I think you were there.”

  “Shut up, smartass. I’m saying it’s going to be the best kiss you will ever have in your entire life. No other kiss is gonna compare.” I was really talking out of my ass on this one, but I was on a roll of bullshit that stretched for miles.

  “So, when will I get this kiss?”

  “Jesus, Sylvie, have some patience. All good things come to those who wait.”

  “’Kay,” she sighed.

  I picked up a baseball wedged between her bed and nightstand. It had to be from one of my Little League games, but I was surprised she had it. I threw it in the air and caught it, happy to have something to occupy me from the conversation.