It Started on a Summer Day

I always thought it was funny how one flap of a butterfly’s wings can send the whole world spiraling. Well, not literally a butterfly but a simple action, something that seems inconsequential. For example, a melting popsicle on a summer day or a skater’s decision not to wear knee pads. Or perhaps that fact that I had overslept and therefore was walking outside later than usual. 

It was just another week stuck in quarantine, and I had made it my mission to spend fifteen minutes outside every day. Unfortunately, I had overslept, so the whole schedule I had formed during those lonely months had somewhat shifted. I still managed to grab one of my homemade masks and step into the sun.

“Good morning, Ms. Cooper,” I greeted the neighbor as I sat on the porch. The old woman just smiled, and I noticed her grandkids sitting on the edge of the grass, eating popsicles. The sweet treat was melting all over the sidewalk, but Ms. Cooper didn’t seem to notice. That’s when a boy sped by on his skateboard. I wasn’t sure if he was oblivious to the juice or just didn’t care. In any case, the wheels slipped in the puddle, and the boy skidded off. Before I knew it, I was on my feet running across the street.

“Oh, my gosh, are you okay,” I questioned as he sat up. He was flung a couple of feet from the board, and his knees were bleeding. “Come on. Let me help.” 

“I can take of myself,” he snapped, but he obliged and stood. I helped him across the street and into my house. Yeah, risky move, but the boy seemed alright. Plus, he was bleeding. Everyone needed to help each other, especially now, right? That’s what I was doing, helping a stranger. 

“Wait here. I’ll get the first-aid kit,” I said as I set him down in the bathroom by the entrance. He grumbled but sat still. I took that as a sign of agreement and ran off. 

“What happened,” Dad questioned when I asked him where the kit was. He actually looked grateful that I was interrupting his work. 

“A boy scraped his knees on the sidewalk. I’m just trying to help,” I answered, rummaging through my parent’s nightstand. Aha, I thought as I finally found the red box beside my parents’ bed. 

“Be careful,” he warned as I ran out. I found the boy exactly where I left him, though this time, I could get a good look at him. His hair was bleached white, blinding actually. He was tall and gangly like the Douglas Adams quote about David Bowie. When he looked up, his piercing green eyes almost made my heart stop. Stunning. That’s what he was. 

I washed my hands, trying not to blush. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, so that was good. I got a cloth wet and dab at the scrape. He winced but played it off well. 

“You do realize that you just brought a strange boy into your house, right,” he questioned.

“Yeah, but you were hurt, so,” my voice trailed off. 

“You do also realize that we’re in the middle of a pandemic, right,” he asked. 

“Look, I just wanted to help. You can leave if you want.” He didn’t. He just sat still as I applied the antibiotic ointment and the bandage. 

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because I like to help people, and because you needed help.” And because you’re kinda cute. He looked at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. His mouth was covered, but I knew he was smiling. Gosh, he was adorable. When his hand brushed against mine, a jolt went through my body. 

“I wasn’t aware you brought him inside,” Dad said from behind me, and I nearly jumped. For a moment, Dad just stared at the two of us. 

“Sorry, sir. I was just leaving,” the boy insisted. He stood and hurried off, racing to the front door. I watched him run across the street and pick up his skateboard. He was on it, gliding away before I could stop him. Soon, his bleached hair disappeared around the corner, and I sighed wistfully after him. He had seemed nice. He wasn’t too bad looking either. I was half tempted to chase after him but decided against it. He had run off. I wasn’t going to make him come back. 

“I didn’t mean to scare him away, but I didn’t think you would actually bring him inside,” Dad admitted. I just sighed, turning back to the bathroom to clean up. That’s when I saw it. 

“Uh oh,” I muttered. 

“What is it?”

“He dropped his wallet.” Knowing he was already long gone, I started rifling through it. I don’t know exactly what I was hoping to find. Maybe an ID or a debit card with his name on it, but all I found was a twenty, a school picture, a pass for the museum, and a punch card for the coffee shop nearby. No names. 

“Find anything,” Dad inquired. 

“A start,” I answered and stood. “I’m going out.”

“Are you really going to track down this boy in the middle of this mess?”

“I need to get him his wallet back. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be careful.” 

“I didn’t like the look of him.”

“You don’t like the look of anyone.” He just sighed. He knew I was right. I was a 16-year-old girl with a really overprotective Dad. If Mom were home, she’d tell me to go after the boy. Too bad she was stuck at the hospital in the middle of the pandemic, so Dad was the only one home. I was his princess, after all. That’s literally what my name meant. My princess. Since I was little, I dreamed of finding my prince, and now, I thought I had the chance. I didn’t know what I’d do if Dad didn’t let me go out. 

“Bring your phone and call me at lunch,” he relented. I pulled him into a hug, relief flooding my veins. 

“Thanks, Dad,” I muttered and grabbed my purse and keys. My car started with no problem, and Dad waved as I pulled out of the driveway. Okay, I thought, examining the wallet. I figured I would start with the museum pass since it was closer. I hadn’t actually been there for a long time, but it seemed that this boy had. His name was smudged on both cards, just my luck. I had nothing but a card to go on. I didn’t even know if anyone would know who he was. 

Finally, I walked into the art museum. It was a small facility, but the art there was amazing. Honestly, I was surprised that the boy had a pass to such a place. He needs a name, I thought but decided that it would be better to actually learn his name. Until then, he was just Boy. 

I walked around the gallery for a minute, wondering which of the paintings was his favorite. I was particularly fond of an ocean landscape with a small ship in the background. When I was younger, my mom would take me to the museum and ask me questions about the painting about what I thought was going on. When I was younger, I told her the ship was the prince’s ship. He would be married to his princess there like in the movies. Now, I told myself that the sailors were exploring new lands. 

“Can I help you,” a voice asked, and I turned to find one of the employees standing there.

“Uh, yes, actually. I’m, uh, looking for a boy. He’s about my age with bleached white hair and green eyes. He’s tall too,” I explained, remembering my mission. 

“Oh, I know him,” the employee said, and I saw her name was Jacqueline. 

“Can you tell me his name,” I inquired eagerly. She shook her head.

“Sorry, I can’t. He doesn’t really talk to anyone.” I must have looked disappointed because she said hurriedly, “Can I help you with anything else?”

“No,” I muttered. She started to turn away, but then I remember. “Wait!”

“Yes?” I debated whether or not to actually ask, but she looked at me expectantly. Too late now, I thought.

“Do you, um, know his favorite painting,” I stammered. 

“Well, I don’t know about his favorite, but the two of you seem to have similar tastes,” she answered, pointing her thumb at the ocean. “He stares at this painting all the time.” My heart leaped.

“Really?”

“Yep, though I don’t know what he sees.” Maybe it’s the mysterious ship in the back, I thought. 

“Thanks for your help.” She smiled and nodded, walking off to talk to someone else. I just gawked at the painting, wondering if Boy saw what I saw. Could we really be focused on the same thing? Was it just a coincidence that we shared the love of this painting? I reached into the wallet and grabbed his picture. I couldn’t help but imagine him standing in the same spot I was. I found myself yearning to actually meet Boy and learn his name. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to learn anything in that gallery. 

Sighing, I walked out and headed back to my car. The next item on the list was Starbucks. If I didn’t find him there, I wasn’t going to find him anywhere unless he decided to cruise down my street. Though, judging by the fact that I hadn’t seen him there before, I decided that was unlikely. At least I’d get a cup of coffee out of this trip. 

I pulled into the small parking lot and headed inside, rehearsing what I was going to say. I’d order my usual and casually ask if anyone knew who the boy was, though I didn’t want to sound like a stalker. With any luck, I’d at least learn his name.

That’s not what happened though. I came to the counter and reached into the wallet to show the barista Boy’s picture, but she took the whole wallet from me. 

“That’s my brother’s wallet,” she exclaimed. “Where did you get this?”

“Well, um, you see, he was,” I stammered. 

“Did you steal this? Are you trying to pay for your coffee with his money,” she demanded.

“No, no, no. I was just—”

“Just what, huh? Spit it out.”

“Hey, ease up, Tiffany. Let the poor girl explain,” the other baristas scolded, giving me an apologetic smile. I tried to smile in return, but Tiffany was pretty intense.

“Your brother, he was skateboarding by my house, and then he sort of fell,” I explained. “I was just trying to help, so I took him into my house and, um, tried to patch him up. He, uh, dropped his, he dropped his wallet, and I was just trying to return it.” Tiffany narrowed her eyes at me and sighed. 

“Well, that does sound like my brother,” she muttered, looking me over. “Sit over by the window. He’ll probably in for his usual in a few minutes.” I nodded gratefully and hurried off, grabbing my coffee on the way. I sat there eagerly, watching everyone who came in. When Boy finally arrived, he walked up to his sister, and she marked his order. I was pretty close to the window, so I could see exactly what she put on the cup. My hope only grew when I realized that his order was the same as mine. Tiffany gestured to where I sat, and his green eyes met mine. I could swear that my heart stopped as he walked over to my table. 

“So, we meet again,” he mused. “Tiff says you were trying to return my wallet.”

“Yeah, I was. I tried the museum first, but you weren’t there,” I admitted, and amusement danced in his eyes. 

“That’s some dedication,” he noted. “Amir.” 

“I’m Sarah,” I replied. When he looked at me, only one thought crossed my mind: I found my prince.