Title: A Girl By Any Other Name
Author: MK Schiller
Publisher: Totally Bound
Genre: Romantic suspense
Publication
Date: 12th January
2014
Synopsis:
Everyone
tells him he needs to move on, but how can a man function without his heart?
Ten-year-old
Caleb Tanner wants nothing to do with Sylvie Cranston, the annoying weird girl
who moves next door to him and gets him in trouble for swearing. But at twelve,
they become friends when he teaches her how to hook a fishing line and she
shows him the value of a selfless act. At fourteen, he falls in love with her.
At
sixteen, she dies.
Or
so he’s told. But Cal never believes it. Sylvie has become part of his soul. He
knows her like the steady beating of his own heart. He’d know if she was dead.
Cal looks for her, prays for her and finally he just waits for her.
Nine
years later, she walks into the community college English class Cal is
teaching. Only this girl claims her name is Sophie Becker and she doesn’t know
him. Cal knows better. He’s determined to get the girl he loves back—and
protect her from the danger that took her away all those years ago.
Book Links:
Author Bio – MK Schiller
I am a hopeless romantic in a hopelessly
pragmatic world. I have a full time life and two busy teenagers, but by night,
I sit by the warm glow of my computer monitor, and attempt to conjure up
passionate heartwarming stories with plenty of humor.
I started imagining stories in my head at a
very young age. In fact, I got so good at it that my best friend asked me to
make up stories featuring her as the heroine and the boy she currently liked as
the hero. We'd spend hours on the phone while I came up with a series of
unrealistic, yet tender events led the object of her desire to finally profess
his love. You've heard of fan fiction... this was friend fiction.
Even with that, it took many years to
realize I could produce an actual full length book that readers would enjoy. I
try to make my stories humorous, realistic, with characters who are flawed but
redeeming. I hope you enjoy my stories and never stop searching for your
happily ever after.
Author
Links:
Author
Links:
Also by MK Schiller:
The
Other C-Word:
The
Do-Over:
EXCERPT 1
The worst part of being a kid was that
you never knew how good you had it until it was too late.
Childhood was simple. My parents told
me it was because I didn’t have bills to pay or mouths to feed, but it was more
than that. It was because nothing was planned. When you didn’t plan for it, you
didn’t worry about the consequences. They just happened naturally without the
coercion, manipulation or mindfuck games that came with becoming an adult.
I never planned for Sylvie Cranston to
be my best friend. I never expected her to be the muse in all my dreams, or the
girl who later haunted my nightmares. I certainly never planned to fall in love
with her, but that was exactly what happened.
Everyone
told me I needed to move on. That was like asking me to pierce my own flesh and
crush my empty, beating heart. They wanted me to toss it away and continue to
breathe. How could a man function without his heart?
EXCERPT
2
She sat down on her swing again. “I
think you’re the smartest boy I know.”
“You’re wrong.”
She blinked her eyes at my goofy grin.
“I’m the smartest person you
know.”
“That can’t be, because I’m smarter
than you,” she replied, jutting her chin out.
“You’re a smartass. There’s a
difference.” I returned to the passage I was reading, doing my best to ignore
her.
“Why don’t you want people to know you
like to read?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Sylvie.
You’re annoying me.”
“Will you read one to me?”
“We’re supposed to be paying attention
to the sermon. The only reason my momma lets me sit out here with you is
because she thinks we listen to it.”
“You’re not listening.” She had me
there. “Just read me one. Your favourite one. Please?”
I sighed. “Fine.”
I flipped to my favourite poem and
quietly read The Raven to her I flipped to my favourite poem and quietly
read The Raven to her. When I looked up, she was staring at me with wide
eyes and a wistful smile. Even my ignorant eleven-year-old self could
appreciate that smile.
“It’s so pretty. I wonder what it
means.”
“I know what it means. He thought he
heard the ghost of some girl named Lenore who he used to know, but it was just
some stupid bird screaming that he’d never see her again.”
“That sounds sad and romantic.”
“Romantic? He was crazy,” I said,
twirling my finger next to my head.
“I think it is. He had to love her very
much if he kept searching for her.”
“Maybe he just went batshit.”
“Cal,
don’t swear. We’re in church,” she scolded, wagging her finger at me.
“It’s
okay. We’re outside of it,” I said, gesturing to the open space between us and
the building.
“God can hear everything.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, but my momma can’t.”
She punched me in the arm. “Did you just punch me or was it the wind? ’Cause I
can’t tell.”
“Very funny.” She looked off into the
woods, and I wondered if she was going to bolt early. “I think there might be a
raven calling to me too. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Heck yeah,” I replied, impressed with
myself for not saying ‘hell’. I felt lousy, though, when she looked at me with
those big chocolate-coloured eyes full of sorrow. I wanted to make her feel
better. I wanted her to smile again. I knocked my knee into hers. “Girl, you’re
such a weirdo,” I said, finding the most poetic words my childish mind could
muster.
She laughed in that cynical way of
hers. “Yeah, you’re right. Bye.” She took off, sprinting into the woods.
“Hey, Sylvie,” I called after her
before she blended into the landscape. She stopped and turned, almost out of
earshot. “Let’s go fishing tomorrow after school.”
“I
knew you’d take me,” she yelled back, giving me a real smile.
EXCERPT
3
She put her hand on my arm. Her voice
wavered, shifting into a soft whisper. “I can’t sleep at night and it helps me.
Sometimes I get so scared that it actually hurts. I feel it in my bones, like
they might crack open any minute, breaking my insides apart.”
I shifted my pole and reached for her
hand. I hadn’t quite comprehended the value of hugging. “Maybe you should pray
on it. Pastor Morrison says that prayer can solve a lot of problems.”
“You really think that will work?” she
asked dubiously.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know for sure.
I don’t pray right myself.”
She frowned, wrinkling her nose. “How
can you pray wrong?”
“Momma says I do it wrong all the
time.”
“I don’t get it.”
I sighed, staring up at the blue sky.
“She always asks me what I prayed for. The first time she asked, I told her it
was for a new bike and football cleats. She got real mad and said ‘Son, you are
praying to God, not Santa Claus’.” I used my best Amelia Tanner impression, and
the edges of Sylvie’s mouth curved upward.
“That sounds like your momma.”
“Yeah, but I guess I didn’t learn my
lesson because I asked her what I should pray for then. She said I should pray
to be a better person.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“That’s
what I thought too. I started praying that I could throw the football longer
and run faster so I could make the team in high school.”
Sylvie
cupped her hand to her mouth to cover her laugh. I didn’t care. I wanted to
make her laugh, even if it was at my expense. “What did she say?”
“She got pretty mad and said that’s not
what she meant. She told me I was being selfish and since I couldn’t pray for
myself correctly, I should pray for someone else.”
“Who did you pray for?”
I stared down at the lake. “I prayed
for Mandy.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Yeah, I asked God to make her less
annoying.”
Sylvie cracked up so much I was sure
she’d run all the fish away, but I didn’t care. It was one of the best feelings
in the world to make this girl laugh. “You didn’t.”
“I did, but at least now I know what I
need to pray on.”
“What’s that, Cal?”
I
squeezed her hand, noticing how hypnotic her eyes were. “I’ll pray that you’re
not scared anymore, Sylvie.”
EXCERPT
4
“Cal, you are such an idiot!” Sylvie said for
the twentieth time since we’d been walking home from school.
“It’s not a big deal, Sylvie.”
“Not a big deal? Look at your face.”
“You should have seen his,” I said with
a cocky smile.
She stopped and shook her head at me.
“Why did you get into a fight with Nate?”
“He deserved it.”
“Y’all are best friends.”
“Girl, you’re so cute when you try to
sound Southern.”
She squared her shoulders in a stance I
recognised as pissed-off Sylvie mode. “But you’re wrong,” I said, tugging on
one of her pigtails. “He’s not my best friend. You are.” She shook her head at
me, but I could see the smile curling at the edges of her beautiful mouth.
“Are they going to suspend you? Oh, my
God, are you going to get kicked off the team for this?”
“Are
you on crack? We’re in Texas and I’m the reason we’re in the state
championships. They are not going to kick me off the team. They care more about
us winning than Nate’s busted nose.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t get in
trouble.”
“Principal Sherman said he’s not even
going to tell Momma. Nate’s parents won’t either.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “I’m the kid who lost his
dad. I’m getting a lot of free passes these days. Everyone thinks I’m just
acting out.”
“Is that why you hit him? Did he say
something about your dad?”
I got quiet, not sure if I should tell
her. I readjusted our backpacks, one on each shoulder. She reached out for
hers, but I took a step back. I always carried her backpack when we walked home
together. Today was no different. “No, we just had a disagreement,” I replied,
hoping it was enough to stop her interrogation. It wasn’t.
“What kind of disagreement would cause
you to pummel another kid like that? You could have gotten hurt. You risked
injuring yourself before the championship game. What the hell was worth all
that?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, staring me
up and down, as if she could find the truth by studying my body language. Hell,
she probably could. “He said something about me, didn’t he?”
Bingo. “It’s not a big deal.”
“What
did he say, Tex? Spit it out and don’t lie.” She stood on her tippy toes as if
trying to intimidate me. It was funny because she only came up to my chest
either way. She jabbed her fingers into me as she asked every question. “Did he
say I was a freak? Did he say I was a retarded mute? Did he say I was a psycho
anorexic? I’ve heard them all and they don’t bother me. They shouldn’t bother
you either.”
I grabbed her shoulders and brought her
face close to mine. “They fucking bother the hell out of me.” Her eyes widened
and her breath quickened. I let go, realising I was probably scaring her. “But
that’s not what he said.”
“Then
what?”
I
sighed, knowing she’d keep asking until I relinquished the information. “He
said you had nice tits and a fine ass.”
To
my annoyance, she started laughing. “Hell, Tex, that’s kind of a compliment.”
“Not
to me. He can’t check you out like that.” I was getting pissed. Not at her. She
couldn’t help it that she was hot. She had started wearing regular clothes and
doing away with the powder crap. She was wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt.
She wasn’t trying to be appealing, and the clothes were still loose on her, but
her beauty was apparent. How could it not show through with those long, silky
curls that made a man’s hand twitch with desire to run his fingers through
them? That perfect creamy complexion that looked like the sun had blessed her
with a perfect tan. Those pouty kissable lips with the bottom one slightly
plumper than the top, jutting out so invitingly. Guys noticed and I didn’t like
it one bit. I’d always known she was beautiful, but that was a fact I really
wanted to keep to myself.
EXCERPT
5
“What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking
rapidly.
I took a deep breath, telling myself to
calm the fuck down. “I wanted to dance.”
“Why didn’t you stay at the dance
then?” she asked, with a weak smile.
“The girl I wanted to dance with wasn’t
there.” I walked over to her and held out my hand. “She’s here.”
Sylvie stared at my hand for a minute,
biting her lower lip nervously. She finally took it with measured hesitation,
but I grasped it tightly and pulled her up.
“We don’t have any music.”
I chuckled. “I’m your Huckleberry,” I
replied, taking out my cell phone.
“Is that new?”
“Yeah,
it’s cool. I can download music on it.” I scrolled through the selections until
I found the song I was looking for. Brown-Eyed Girl started playing. I’d
downloaded it because it reminded me of her. “You like Van Morrison, right? You
were listening to them the first day I met you.”
“You remember that?”
I slipped the phone into my pocket. “I
remember everything.” She slid her arms around my neck and I grasped her waist.
It wasn’t the slowest song, but we danced to it as if it was. I held her in my
arms as tightly as I could, knowing this was where I belonged. I loved her and
although she’d never said, I knew she loved me too.
“You smell good,” she commented, her
body relaxing as we shuffled to the music.
“You smell like dead fish,” I replied.
This elicited a hearty laugh from her.
Sylvie always got my weird sense of humour. I was kidding, though—she smelt
fine. Actually, she smelt divine.
“Cal, I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish
things were simpler. I wish—”
“Shush, girl, I’m trying to dance with
you. Just stop talking and let me hold you.”
She
did and when the dance was over, she surprised me by putting a hand on each
side of my face and pulling me towards her. It was a passionate kiss,
open-mouthed with our tongues exploring hungrily. Her lips were soft, and she
smelt of mint and strawberry. I breathed her in, tasting her scent. I let my
hands travel up her back and felt my dick grow hard when she pressed her body
closer to mine. There we were, two figures against the pale Prairie Marsh
moonlight, me in my Sunday suit and her in her fishing outfit, but it didn’t
matter what we were wearing or where we’d come from. We belonged with each
other. To each other.
EXCERPT
6
I hesitated, finally looking at it,
knowing it would piss me off no end to see her naked body on display. I blinked
in confusion, perplexed by the large canvas. She had told me it was abstract,
but I wasn’t prepared for this. It looked more like a landscape scene than the
gorgeous girl beside me. I had just thought about how a woman’s body was all
peaks, valleys and curves, and that was literally what Rome had painted without
any clear perspective. Well, at least I didn’t have to worry about anyone else
seeing this.
“How many hours did she pose for you,
Rome?” I asked him.
“About six in total,” he replied, not
taking his eyes off Sylvie.
“It’s very…interpretational, isn’t it?”
“It’s modern abstract, so yes.” He
turned his attention back to Sylvie. “I have to walk around, but have a drink
with me later, okay?”
“’Kay. Congratulations, Rome.” She
smiled at him and somehow this jackass took that as a sign to hug her. My hands
twitched, but I let it pass. She was a beautiful girl and if I went around
punching every guy who developed a crush on her, I’d be a pretty busy man.
I stared back at the painting, putting
my arm around her. “So, what do you think?” she asked.
“Six hours, eh?”
“Yeah, it would have been less, but he
kept getting the lines wrong and had to start over a few times.”
I felt the grin tugging at the corners
of my mouth. I bit my lip to keep her from seeing it, but I failed miserably.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded. I
choked on a laugh. She narrowed her eyes at me, “What?”
I couldn’t control it anymore. I
full-out laughed so hard, people turned to look.
“I’m glad I bent down to whisper in her
ear so we wouldn’t be overheard. “Baby, isn’t it obvious to you? That guy just
wanted an excuse to see you naked.”
She released my hold. “No, that’s not
true. This is his interpretation of me. Jesus, Tex, that’s very petty of you to
say.” She hissed the words in my direction, managing to keep her voice to a
very low level, although she was shaking mad.
I pulled her back against my chest and
put my arms around her so I could have full access to her ear and she could
clearly see the painting while I explained myself. “I know you’re an artist,
and you know art much better than I do, but I’m a guy, and I know the male
head—both of them—much better than you. Right now, I’m struggling whether to
kick Florence’s ass or pat him on the back.”
“His name is Rome,” she replied, trying
to keep her composure.
“Whatever.
I’m not trying to be a jerk here. In fact, I think the idea was fucking genius
as hell and very creative, but then again, he is an artist. I’m just being
honest with you when I tell you that this”—I gestured to the painting—“has no
resemblance to this.” I ran my hand down her neck, over the swell of her
breasts and down her trim waist. We were in a corner and the way I was hovering
I knew we wouldn’t be seen, not that I cared, but she would. Her breath hitched
with my touch. “I know I’m way too possessive of you, but it’s not something
I’ll ever apologise for because I love you so damn much. And the fact is, you
are too free-spirited and look at the good in all people. It’s the thing I’ve
always loved most about you and the very thing that scares the hell out of me
too. Do you understand?” Her body was melting into mine, and I knew from the
way she shivered it wasn’t from the cold.
EXCERPT
7
She cupped her hand over her mouth.
“Did you just quote Mr Darcy?”
“I did. You see I can appreciate art,
but I prefer the written word to the visual experience. So please allow me to
paint a picture for you.” I cleared my throat. “‘I have faults enough, but they
are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I
believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the
world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor
their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every
attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good
opinion, once lost, is lost forever.’” I finished the Darcy monologue with
another bow.
“Holy hell, that was hot.”
I stood, grinning at her, backing her
farther against the wall, a hand on either side of her head, in our own little
world. “That turned you on, my love? Let me assure you, it’s just the tip of my
knowledge base. Would you prefer poetry? Maybe Keats, Wordsworth or Blake? How
about the female perspective? Emily Dickinson, perhaps? I know them all. I can
sonnet you all night. And yes, I use the term as a verb because the way I do it
is an action.”
She
waved her hand in front of her face, fanning herself. “All night?” she asked,
arching her brow, a sexy smile curling her lips.
“I have plenty of material. I hold a
Master’s in literature, and words are my medium of choice.”
“I think you may have just mastered me,
sir.”
I jerked my head towards the exit.
“Shall we take our leave?”
“Yes,”
she whispered.
EXCERPT
8
“Shit, that hurts.”
“Good,” she replied. “It serves you
right for getting into a fight.”
“Do you get off on my pain or
something?”
She laughed, placing a bandage on my
wound. “I finished the book by the way.” Sylvie and I had our own private book
club. Whenever I bought a book, I’d lend it to her afterwards or vice versa.
She was the only person my age who loved to read as much as me.
“Did you like it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Why not? It’s a classic.”
She sat on the bed next to me. “I don’t
think Steinbeck liked women very much.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, there was only one female
character. She wasn’t very likable, and he didn’t even give her a name. He
called her Curly’s wife, for God’s sake, throughout the whole book.”
“Not
every single character needs a name.”
“I think you’re wrong, Tex. Everyone
needs a name. It’s a right, not a privilege.”
“I think you’re reading too much into
it. It wasn’t intentional, I’m sure.”
She stood up and put her hands on her
hips. “How could you say that? I mean think about it. Sometimes a name is the
only thing you own. For instance, I’d hate it if people started calling me
Cal’s nutty neighbour or Cal’s crazy friend.” She looked so damn beautiful when
she was aggravated. I grabbed her waist and pulled her onto my lap.
“What about Cal’s hot girlfriend? Would
you be okay with that title?” I whispered against her ear.
She stood up, pushing my hand away.
“We’ve talked about this.”
“Shit, why not? Is there something
wrong with me? I recall you mentioning that I was perfection so I just don’t
get it.”
“Yeah, and you let it go straight to
that big head of yours,” she replied sarcastically.
I smirked. “Girl, stop acting hard to
get.” I patted my chest, knowing full well she’d been checking out my abs at
the pool yesterday. “You know you want this.”
“I know vanity is a sin,” she said,
crossing her arms and fighting a smile.
“Seriously, Sylvie, why not? You have
to know how I feel about you. Don’t you feel the same?”
“I care about you, Tex. It’s not you. I
told you, my dad won’t let me date.”
I laughed cynically. “Your dad? You
mean the man who’s so drunk he can’t even remember your name? That guy?”
She clenched her fists, and I winced,
knowing I’d majorly fucked up this conversation. “You need to leave.” She hated
it when I brought up her dad’s drinking. Instead of agreeing with me on any
level, she made excuses for the guy.
“Sylvie—”
“Leave!”
she choked, pointing at the window, my usual exit.
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