9 years old
The door of Mrs. Delombre’s manor opened to reveal beautiful, stormy eyes.
They were silver gray, without a hint of blue or green, just like the rain around us. I clutched my violin case tighter to my chest, facing the unsmiling, silent boy—he must’ve been Mrs. Delombre’s son. He looked like he’d come out of a black-and-white movie, his wet, dark hair framing his pale face.
I used to watch the kids playing outside from my window before Dad closed the curtains. While the other kids were loud and playful, this boy wasn’t like them. He wasn’t afraid of the silence, like me.
He didn’t move to let me in or offer me shelter from the rain. He just stood there, letting it pour down on me.
“I’m your mom’s new violin student,” I explained, my voice a little shaky. I didn’t talk to strangers much, and I’d never been this close to a boy before. Not that I’d met many. Dad said that boys were bad. “She said I could come in while she parks her car.”
I peeked to the side. Mrs. Delombre’s car maneuvered into her garage, and the doors gradually sealed shut behind it. She seemed nice. She’d let me listen to my favorite classical music on the car ride.
For the first time, I was allowed to leave our estate. Neither Dad nor Grandma could teach me how to play music that wouldreach the heavens so I could talk to Mom. Mrs. Delombre was the only music teacher in town.
“I know who you are,” the boy said, his words sharp.
The wind played with the shutters of the old manor, rattling them like the giggles of ghosts. I flinched, but he didn’t. I felt frozen in place, unable to blink until my eyes started to burn. He had the coldest gray eyes I’d ever seen. They were so dark and intense, it was like they could banish monsters with just a glance.
I shook off the spell he cast on me and glanced down at the glass jar in his hands. A butterfly was trapped inside. Her wings fluttered as she struggled to get out. It seemed like the boy, too, didn’t have any friends to play with.
I clasped my hands together. “What’s her name?”
“This is 1111. I just captured it. The last one lasted two days,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “You have abnormal hair.”
I reached up to touch the ribbon holding my hair in a half ponytail, feeling it slip through my fingers. “My mama’s hair. She said that white is the presence of all colors, so my hair is like a rainbow.”
I felt a twinge of sadness. I couldn’t style my hair as well as Mom used to, creating princess hairstyles with ribbons. Dad was always too busy with work to help me out, and Grandma’s firm grip hurt me with the brush.
“You have a big, ugly spider crawling on your rainbow hair.”
“Oh.” I stepped forward to him, crossing the creaking threshold. “Can you help me without hurting her?”
The boy blinked, his brows creasing as he backed away, avoiding my touch. “You’re not scared?”
“Why? It’s not her fault she’s a spider.”
“This house is haunted; there are ghosts.”
I smiled for the first time in months. The boy was funny. The interior felt so tiny, like it couldn’t fit any ghosts. It resembled anantique store filled with cracked porcelain dolls, 3D puzzles, and a tall clock with frozen hands on the wall.
“Your eyes are red.” He took a little step closer, bending down to my eye level. He smelled like pine trees, like he had just come out of a spooky forest. “Were you crying?”
Grasping my violin case with a firmer hold, I dropped my gaze to his hands, which were delving into the jar. They were dirty like he’d been playing with something grimy.
“I make people cry easily,” he continued. “Do you think I could make you cry?”
I thought he was playing a game with me, so I played along. “Do you think I could make you smile?”
His frown sank even more as Mrs. Delombre emerged in the room, likely coming in from the garage. She and the boy looked so similar physically, but her gentle smile contrasted with the drab, monochrome boy.
“Sorry to have made you wait, Dalia. I’ll show you to my music studio.” She pointed at the door to the left, next to the wooden staircase.
I nodded and instinctively reached for her hand. I used to hold my mom’s hand a lot. Realizing what I’d done, my eyes bulged. Mrs. Delombre’s smile faded. I’d made her uncomfortable. Grabbing strangers’ hands wasn’t polite. I still sometimes forgot that my mom wasn’t here anymore. I sometimes still searched around every corner of the house but could never find her.I would never feel her hand in mine again.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Delombre. I…”
“It’s okay.” Mrs. Delombre graced me with another smile, not pulling her hand away but clutching it tighter. “But call me Lucie, okay?”
