Short Story: Boy Wonder

I wrote this story for my 8th grade English class, and really liked it. It was based off of a 'Harris Burdick' art piece. 

Boy Wonder

"True love will triumph in the end- which may or may not be a lie, but if it is a lie, then it's the most beautiful lie we have." -John Green

December 29th, 1922

     I do believe in magic.

     No matter what my mother says about witches, and what my father says about boys, I somehow believed that the fortune teller I saw at the carnival last week wasn't joshing me when she told me the love of my life would appear before the next full moon.

      I was even more sure when he showed up at my house.

     Mother had given me some notice about this boy staying over at our house. She had told me he was boarding with us, and was going to teach in the little kids' school a mile away. This was a normal thing, although the two teachers we had kept since I can remember were both young, average women who just wanted to follow in their mother's footsteps. I just didn't expect someone so young, so educated, so- well, different.

     On a snowy Thursday afternoon, the last week of winter break, he appeared on our porch and knocked lightly. My parents were both out, father working and mother shopping with friends. That's really how it's always been-- he makes lots of money and she spends it.

     "Hello, sir." I answered the door with the smiling face my mother had told me to use when addressing an older man. But he wasn't what I had expected.

    A young-looking boy who could be no more than sixteen smiled back at me. "Good afternoon, miss. Is this the right house? My name is Archie."

     "You're a teacher?" I asked incredulously. I immediately tried to take back that rude sounding question. "I mean, you look my age!" I looked him over once more. He had big brown eyes, dark blonde hair, and was only a few inches taller than me.

     He laughed as if he had heard it before. "I get that quite a lot, miss. They call me the fifteen-year boy wonder."

     A cold breeze lashes at us from the door, and I saw him shiver. "Oh, come on in. You didn't take much here, did you?"

     He stepped inside and set his two suitcases down on the floor as I closed the door. "Nah, I didn't think I'd need much." He looked at me. "How old are you?"

     "Fourteen." I answered quickly. "My name is Violet, by the way. But I'm not shy at all." I added, in an attempt to warm up the cold prickliness that accompanies meeting someone for the first time.

     He grinned at my joke, and ran a hand through his sun-blonde hair. "Where's your mother?" He asked me.

     "Out." I said simply. "But she'll be home soon. I can show you to your room."

     "That would be lovely." He said, sighing and lifting the suitcases back into his hands. He didn't look strong at all, but in the way he talked you could tell he's very intelligent. His face looked weary from the travel here, like those suitcases weighed as much as the sky, and he was Atlas.

     His room was across the hall from mine, and looked almost identical. Tall, slender windows facing the North, framed with thick, velvety curtains. Although his was still plain, mine was furnished with everything I would imagine a princess would need.

     Unlike mine, there was a snow-white grand piano in one corner of the room. I pointed at it, "No one has played that instrument for years. I gave it up for the violin."

     He smiled, and cracked his knuckles. "Then I guess I should give it a bit of fun, eh?" He sat down on the old, creaky piano bench and prepared to play. After warming up with a few scales, he started to play an upbeat tune, his fingers dancing across the ivory and ebony keys. Once the song was finished, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed happily. "That was fun."

     "Do you need any help with your room, sir?" I asked him. His smile was evidently contagious, because I was grinning from ear to ear.

     "Don't call me sir." He answered. "A pretty green-eyed girl like you can simply call me Archie." He lifted the suitcases up off the ground and opened them on his bed. He ran his fingers over a small model boat. "I'd rather get this done myself, if you don't mind."

    I nodded, trying my best not to leap in the air over his compliment. "Then I will see you at supper, when father gets home." I said, and quickly exited the room.

     I barely spoke when we ate later in the day. Him and my dad discussed politics and fishing, while me and mother nod our heads like we understand every word, when really we haven't a clue.

     They seemed to get on well, only disagreeing about a few small things. When I first looked at Archie, he looked simply like a little boy. But once I heard what he had to say, it was an entirely different story. He spoke with purpose, using big words with a proper sound. His eyes constantly glittered with laughter, as if everything is a party to him. Which, in my experience, is never a bad thing.

    After supper, we both headed back up to our rooms. He played the piano for hours, non-stop, a sweet sound seeping through the walls into my room.

     From the time he closed himself in the room again to when it was time for bed, all I could here was joyful music from the piano, a sweet sound seeping through the walls into my room. Such a classical instrument for a classical boy, I thought.

     That night, after my parents and Archie had all gone to bed, I couldn't sleep. I had felt uneasy since he stopped playing. Like there was a part of me missing.

     As quiet as a baby mouse, I crept down the hall and into the boy's room. I stood at the door. It was so dark I could only make out the model boat hanging on the wall, a light from the candle I had brought with me, and a small figure in the bed. I could also feel a slight, cool breeze from the open window. Something about being in his presence felt right, like we ought to be together at all times.

     A tiny voice asked, "Is he the one?"

     It wasn't real, of course, just from my head. But the words of the fortune teller echoed inside of me. Slowly, I turned around and closed his bedroom door behind me. I tried to fall asleep, but to no avail. The sleeping boy in the other room was somehow keeping me awake.

     Like magic. 

     It wasn't until the next morning that I woke up to the sound of the piano being played. That same upbeat tune, but this time with words. He was singing. Something about a girl, a train, a city. Something about green eyes and songbirds. It was beautiful.

     The music suddenly stopped. After a moment of silence, I heard his feet moving on the floor. "Violet!" He called.

     I jumped up from my bed and nearly ran to the door. His wide blue eyes greeted me with surprise from the other side when it opened. "Hey there. No need to freak out." He laughed. Then his face grew serious, and he took my elbow in his hand. "I've got something I want to show you. Come here."

     I followed him into his room, where we both sat down at the piano chair. He hesitated, then pulled out a sheet with music on it. Archie cleared his throat. "I know I just met you, and this is really odd, but I wrote a song for you, Violet. You wouldn't know it, but you can be a great muse." He smiled, then stretched his hands. He suddenly stopped looking nervous and began playing.

     The song was about me. 

     I'm not sure if I started crying right at the beginning, or somewhere near the bridge, but tears fell from my eyes like a waterfall.

     Archie wasn't the best singer ever, but he sounded just like my dad had. Before he got a job at the law firm, back when we would sit at this very piano and he would play for me. Now the music was joyful and fun, like it had been waiting all these years for an Archie Smith to come along.

     When I knew he was done playing, I rested my head on his shoulder, memories flooding back through my brain. Although Archie had no idea why I was crying like this, he comforted me just the same.

    "Are you alright?" He asked quietly, once the sobbing had subsided and I was wiping the tears from my face.

     I nodded. "You just- you remind me of my dad before he got too busy."

     "Did you like the song?" I nodded again. He smiled. "Thank you. That's what I was going for. Although it's always been a dream of mine to win a girl over with music. Or to have someone cry over a song I created."

    I sniffled. "You did both those things just now."

     We spent the rest of the night sitting at that piano, playing music and talking. And we did the same for the rest of the winter break, becoming closer and enjoying time together. With every word, every note, I saw just how right the fortune teller had been.

     "I can see a lot of your future, darling." The woman behind the desk said, her eyes closed, her hands wrapped around mine. "I see a man- the love of your life."

     I nearly pulled back at her words. But when I saw that she wasn't done, I held on. The room we were in looked exactly how you'd imagine a fortune teller's hut. Lots of scarves, tropical colors, glitter and mystic shining everywhere. 

     "But I also see something bad." She continued. "I see... A fire." Her eyes opened, and I nearly gasped at their bright red coloring. "Beware, child. Beware." 

     She let me go, and I threw a coin into the bucket at the entrance to her hut, thinking nothing of her words. 

    "Violet! Violet, wake up! Wake up, please." Archie's voice called to me, snapping me out of my sleep. He coughed violently, and I could smell smoke, and feel heat. "Fire!"

     I sat up quickly, and he pulled me to my feet. "I think that man who was charged in one of your father's cases set the house on fire." He said to me. Dad had just finished a robbery case, and the losing man had been fined thousands. He had run out of the court room screaming about his revenge like a mad man, cursing out my father. Although it really wasn't my dad's fault he had lost-- the evidence simply wasn't in his favor, and he was proven guilty quite quickly.

     "Where's dad?" I coughed through the smoke. My room was filled. The fire must have been burning for a long time.

     "He and your mother already left. I woke up, and I couldn't see my feet." He answered, pulling my hand toward the door. It felt as if ashes coated the insides of my lungs, and tears pricked my eyes.

     Archie pulled me out the door, and to the hallway. Now I saw the real fire, bright red and orange. We ran out of the house as fast as possible, sputtering onto the grass.

     "Wait. My-my cat." I said, falling to the ground.

     "Macie?" Archie blinks, getting the ash out of his eyes. "I'm going to go get her. I swear." He said.

     Before any objections could escape my mouth, he ran back inside. After a few minutes, he didn't come out. People showed up with water to put out the fire, but it was a lost battle. My home collapsed, everything inside. The beautiful piano, my song, my room, the kitchen, Archie.

     "Archie." I coughed onto the grass. As I repeated his name over and over, Macie the cat trotted over to me, rubbing her face against mine. Father must have let her out in the morning. I don't know what it was, but at that moment, her eyes looked to be a piercing red color.

    I sat there for hours, rejecting the condolences people offered me. It wasn't until my father arrived from work that night that I agreed to drink some water and clear my dry throat.

   I don't think I really loved Archie Smith, the fifteen-year-wonder. I didn't know him long enough. But I miss him so much more than I ever cared for him, somehow. And somewhere, somehow I know he would have felt the same way about me.

     "Are you okay?" My father asked me, actual emotion in his voice that I hadn't heard since grandpa died when I was ten. I shook my head, and let his arms and the smell of washed-out fire encircle me like a horrible yet lovely welcome home.

     I knew, from that moment onward, that my life would never be the same.