3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I walked down our driveway the next afternoon after spending all morning up in the attic, once again. I'd decided to place the box of letters from my dad and mom on my dresser, but I had not read another letter. For some reason, I couldn't read them all at once. The feelings that came over me when I read the one were so overwhelming, and although I did want to devour the box and sink my soul into every letter, I decided I needed to take my time.

I held a bag of trash in my hands as I walked down the long driveway to the sidewalk where the trash can stood beside the curb. It was trash day the next day, but in Mary's haste that morning, she forgot to take out the kitchen garbage. I doubted she wanted that trash sitting outside all week, rotting until trash day came again, so I quickly snagged it and took it out to the cans. I could honestly say I had never taken out the trash before. That had been my dad's job, so as I flipped open the lid and plopped the bag of garbage inside, I smiled, thinking about how often I had seen my dad do the very same thing.

Odd, usually a memory like that would make me sad, or even cause me to cry.

I couldn't help but notice that for the first time in quite a while, the bright blue sky and glowing, yellow sun beamed warmth onto my skin. I was grateful for my tank top and shorts. I noticed one small dandelion in our grass, and I suddenly remembered back to that summer when my best friend, Ryker, and I had hunted for them and had made so many wishes as we blew their seeds into the air. I'd been so excited for them all to come true. I bent down to pluck it from the light green grass and cool dirt. As I stood back up, the top of my head hit something, and I fell forward onto the lawn. I heard a grunt and looked up to see a boy peering down at me, clutching his chin. My heart raced, and my head was a little dizzy. I looked down at my chest. My heart was beating more crazy than ever. I could feel the hollow of my center fill up with something warm and soothing as I stared into a pair of golden eyes. I gasped as my heart thudded against my chest, and I wondered if I was having a heart attack.

"Um–hello," the boy spoke, his voice rich and deep. He was still only inches away from me. I could see tiny flecks of gold in his brown eyes, which made them appear golden.

"Hey," I said, weakly, resting my hand on my head, which started to throb. Had I head-butted him?

"Are you—" He didn't get to finish, because as the boy with golden eyes stood and reached his empty hand out to me, and as I took his hand, I felt a shock, a pulse or something swirling around me. A song, which I sort of recognized, started to ring loudly in my ears—and it was the most beautiful song, encased within the most beautiful sounds I had ever heard. His eyes locked onto mine as if he felt it, too. The boy pulled me up, and when he did, he kept my hand in his as he searched my face, seemingly looking for something there. My misery at losing my parents had always felt like some poisonous snake slithering about my insides, waiting to strike, but it never did. Looking up at that boy—just like that, the writhing, torturous snake of misery, which had made its home deep inside of me since my parents had passed, hissed weakly and slithered away; it was gone. The hollowness, the emptiness, it all just disappeared.

"Sorry," I responded, standing up a little straighter. There was something so familiar about that boy, but I knew I'd never met him before. He was the boy I'd seen from the attic window—the boy who had moved in across the street.

He let go of my hand; then his lean, muscled body bent down to pick up the dandelion that I'd plucked from the lawn and had dropped. I was hypnotized, as he twirled it between his fingers. I noticed that some of the little seeds had already blown away during my fall. He put his hand with the dandelion at his side as a song came floating into my mind—a song so familiar and calming that I wanted to listen to it forever. I almost closed my eyes to enjoy the hypnotic sounds within it when the boy spoke again.

"I—I can't believe it." His voice was low and almost breathless as he spoke, and I took in his entire appearance, because he seemed to be taking all of me in—so it was only fair, after all. He wore a similar outfit as the one he had on the day before; it looked like a school uniform with dress pants, a belt, a light blue shirt, and a black tie. His hair was long on top, but styled away from his face—his beautiful face, I noticed. Before I looked like an idiot, I glanced down at his hand, which still held my dandelion.

"Believe what?" I asked.

He reached out for my hand, and I thought he was going to give me the dandelion, so I moved my hand to his. But, instead of giving me my little wishing weed, he took my hand in his and held it, smiling up at me. The electric current flowing between us became unbelievably strong once again with that contact. I wondered if I was actually being electrocuted and if I would die from the shock. I concluded that must have been the case, and that after a while, I would become numb from any pain associated with being shocked to death. It felt wonderful, like the most amazing thrill I had ever felt—addictive, even like a drug.

"You are—" he began, but then cleared his throat, shaking his head. I watched as he walked closer to me. He touched the top of my head with his fingertips. "Are you alright?" he asked. As soon as his fingers started to make their way into my hair, I tried to hold back a gasp because the electric current was there , too, and as I looked at him, I glanced at his mouth, and all I wanted to do was to kiss him there. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck; I wanted to pull him into me and kiss his lips over and over again.

What is wrong with me? I can't be thinking about kissing a random stranger!

"Uh, ya, I think I'm okay," I finally answered. My body hummed to the melody of a beautiful new song, which had made its home inside of me, and I thought:

He's mine.

He's mine.

He is mine.

Those words echoed inside of me, and I jumped away from him, away from those feelings, disconnecting myself from his touch, and I felt a powerful loss from being away from him, making me sad.

Why? I don't even know this person. What is happening to me?

"I found you—" He came closer to me as I backed up.

Oh, no, does he think I am someone else? Is this really my life now, just one tragedy after another? I am not who he thinks I am. I wish I was.

"Excuse me—I mean, good, I am glad you are okay," he smiled at me.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. Are you alright?" Clearly embarrassed, I felt my cheeks grow warm again, and I tried to pretend I wasn't fighting an inward battle to not kiss him or hug him.

He cleared his throat.

"Oh, yes, I am wonderful, just a small bump. I was just getting to know the neighborhood, going for a walk."

"You just moved in, right across the street?" I asked, looking at my feet.

"Yes."

"Well, welcome," I said, finally looking at him, wishing I could touch his face. Then I noticed he was still holding my dandelion. "Are you going to make a wish?" I said, motioning toward the weed.

"Wish?" he asked, confused, looking at the bloom.

"You've never made a dandelion wish before?" I asked, surprised. Shut up, Emma. You sound like a baby, going on about wishes. Do you have to be so weird?

"Can't say that I have." He smiled.

That smile–it's more beautiful than light—than sunshine, which seems true but odd for me to think that about a mere smile, right? I asked myself, not ready to answer. Then–

"Well, you're missing out on life," I said, returning his smile. "My mom was adamant that this plant is a wish-granter. You blow all those seeds off with one breath while making a wish, and your wish will come true. She used to tell me that pixies will then give you your heart's desires, and all of that starts with wishes, but–" Luckily, I stopped myself from prattling on. It was just all kids' fairytale stuff. The last thing I wanted was for that boy to think I was strange. I didn't know why I was saying those things; I didn't know why I was smiling. I was feeling and breathing like normal, but I knew that I was more like myself than I had been in a long time, probably more than I had ever in my entire life if I was to be truly honest about it. That boy had awakened me. The destructive snake was gone, and its coils which had been around my heart were no more, and as much as that was a needed relief, it also scared me. So many different feelings and emotions came at me at once, all directed toward him, and I didn't even know him.

"Ah, yes, I have heard tales of pixies–rather devious creatures, although they mean well, I hear," he said with a wink.

Well, that is an unexpected response. Mom had said similar things when she told me bedtime stories during my childhood, beautiful stories which she wove from her own imagination. They were the kind of stories a child could never forget, even after they grew up. My favorite story was the tale of Cinderella, although her story wasn't exactly the same as the version I had read in the story books from the bookstore. Mom's version included mistaken identity, a hidden princess, and a masked prince who wanted love–as well as a kiss within a glowing field of flowers. My friends, when I was younger, used to make fun of my mom's stories when I shared them, and they insisted that what my mom told me was not the true story of Cinderella, but I knew better. One could not fall in love in a single evening, and do not even get me started on how it was impossible that he would not even remember what his true love looked like, so that in order to find her, he had to try the glass slipper on every maiden's foot. Ridiculous.

"What were you going to wish for?" he asked, his eyes becoming serious, pulling my thoughts back to him.

"No, can't tell. It's the rules of dandelion wishing. If I ever want it to come true, I cannot tell a single soul."

He smiled.

Really, Emma—do you have to sound like a child? I reprimanded myself.

"This little plant holds that much power?" He held me with his gaze, and I noticed that the curl of his lips matched mine. I wondered if it was a strange feeling for him, too—the act of smiling. It felt like forever since I had done that thing myself without forcing it.

Maybe, he smiles every single day. He's probably normal , I thought.

"Yes, you would be surprised. I tell you, it's worked for me before." I ran a hand through my hair, twisting a curly lock between my fingers, trying to distract myself from the pull he had over me. It was silent for a time, and I figured that the conversation was over. "Well, anyway, I better go inside," I said as I started to walk past him.

"What's your name?" he asked as he stepped in front of me, and I was proud of myself for not pulling his body into mine for a hug.

Emma, get a grip. You're going to look like a crazy person, I scolded myself again.

"Oh, it's Emma," I answered, his closeness doing strange things to my insides once again. I bit my lip.

"My name is Shad." Then he turned his head, lifted up the dandelion, and blew. All the seeds fell from the plant and drifted into the air with that one breath.

"Ah, your first wish. Hope you made it a good one."

"I demanded a lot from that dandelion," he said. Then he added, "It was very nice to meet you, Emma. I will see you again soon, I hope." He smiled, nodded toward me, then tucked the stem of the dandelion into his pants' pocket and walked across the street and up the porch into his new home. As I turned around and walked to the porch of my own house, I noticed that the smile I gave him had never left my face.