by Thomas Hayes
Chapter Two
At 10:30 that night, I lay on the couch in the living room, while Tim sat on the floor, watching Back to the Future Part II. Flinging my finger across my phone, I came across a picture on Instagram of all my friends hanging out by a big bonfire. Sure enough, the girls were having an amazing time. I even saw a picture of Jacob—a guy I had a crush on—with his arm around Jess, my best friend. So that felt great.
“Emily?” my brother said. “Can I go get your iPad from your room? I wanna look something up from the movie.”
“Yeah, sure. It’s on the bureau near my bed.”
Surprised that I was letting him use my iPad, Tim jumped up and ran to my room. He was only gone a few seconds when I heard him call my name.
“Em? Did you invite somebody over or something?”
“No. Why?”
“Because there’s somebody on your balcony.”
“What?”
Kinda freaking out—but mostly thinking Tim must be joking or seeing things—I quickly walked upstairs.
“What are you talking about, how could—”
When I reached my room, I saw that Tim was right. There was somebody out on the balcony outside my room, behind the closed glass doors.
It was a teenage boy—about my age, sixteen or seventeen, with curly, dirty blonde hair. He was wearing a bizarre, brown-and-green shirt that looked homemade; it was covered in patches, which were all different shades of green. On his lower half he wore brown pants, brown boots, and a belt that appeared to be made from leaves and twigs. In the belt there was a sword, resting in a sheath against his hip, like a pirate. I could see its silver blade shining.
I grabbed my brother and pulled him back towards the door. He seemed to be frozen in confusion.
“What the hell?” I whispered. Squinting, I made sure I wasn’t seeing things.
“How’d he get out there?” Tim wondered.
The boy in green knocked on the window. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
“You know this guy?” Tim asked.
“No.”
The boy in green peered into the glass, with his hand cupped over his eyes, to see better. He was smiling.
Who the hell was this kid? He motioned for me to open the doors. I could hear his muffled voice.
“C’mon!” he said, waving his hand, like he was telling me to jump into a cold pool and join in on the fun.
I placed my hand on my brother’s shoulder and took a step forward.
“Who are you?” I shouted. “What are you doing out there?”
“My name’s Peter. And I know this is a little bizarre, but I need you to open the doors so I can tell you something.”
I looked at the boy. His hair was long and a little wild—thick and unkempt, curled around his ears. He stood with his hands on his hips and a big grin across his face. It might be weird that I noticed this—I know it is—but he was kind of cute. As freaked out as I was, I realized he reminded me of a certain type of guy from my school: the type of guy who, even though he was constantly cracking jokes from the back of the room, the teachers couldn’t help but like him, because he was always so funny and charming. Nothing about this particular guy was funny at the moment, however, seeing as how it appeared he was one step away from breaking into my house.
“I’m not letting you in,” I told him. “I’m calling the cops.”
I stepped toward the balcony, carefully, and looked outside. He must be some crazy idiot who jumped down from the apartment above mine, somehow. What a moron. His friends probably dared him to do it. He’s probably drunk. I listened to see if I could hear anyone else out there, or maybe above him, laughing from the balcony on the next floor.
“How the hell did you get out there?” I asked.
“I flew,” the boy replied. “Now let me in so I can tell you something even more amazing.”
He flew. Okay. He was definitely drunk.
“No way. I’m calling the cops.”
But, for some reason, I didn’t. I know it sounds insane, but I wasn’t really scared of the boy on the balcony. He wasn’t angry or yelling or anything. He looked my age, and just seemed to be some wacky kid playing a joke. Something about him made me curious. Mostly, I just wanted to find out how he got out there.
Then again, he did have a sword. Maybe I should have called the police.
“What, you don’t believe me?” he asked, smiling.
“Um, no. Bye. Leaving now.”
I grabbed my brother’s shoulder and pulled him toward the door.
“Well, how about this?”
The boy held out his arms, with his palms up. With a magical shimmer, a cloud of dust fell from his hands, drifting over his legs. When the dust hit the floor, he left his feet, floating into the air. He hovered there like a magician, with his hands on his hips.
“Well? What do you think now?”
“Whoa,” Tim said.
“What the…” I slowly walked toward the balcony. I didn’t want to get too close, but I leaned forward and peered up, checking to see if he had buddies up there pulling him on a rope. Nope. No buddies, no rope. He was literally floating in air.
Then, as if I had any doubt, he drifted backwards. Now he was floating hundreds of feet above the streets of Manhattan. It was impossible for him to be either standing on something or hanging from anything. There was only the night sky above him, and the city below.
“How about it?” he grinned. “Will you let me in? I’ve got amazing things to tell you.”
I thought it over, unable to stop my head from spinning. What on earth was happening? Was I dreaming? Did I hit my head? Was the Chinese food that Tim and I ate rotten or something?
“How are you…what…” I looked at the stars above the boy. I literally couldn’t finish a sentence.
“Let me in and I’ll show you how. I’ll show you how to fly.”
Without even realizing what I was doing, I reached for the balcony door and opened it. As soon as I did, the boy swooped into my room, landed on his feet, and stood up straight.
“There,” he said. “That’s much better. Thank you. It was getting bloody cold out there.”
I realized the boy had a slight British accent.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name’s Peter,” he replied. “And I know exactly who you are, Emily Beckett.”
