Kismet and Prestige had to cross a small brook and trudge up and slippery, weed-infested hill before arriving to Shirley’s house. The house itself was built more like a cottage with its plaid curtains, dark wood, and stone path. Kismet always stopped to smell the fresh flowers planted by Shirley – she loved lavenders. Prestige trotted up to the door and sat down patiently with his nose directed at the door handle. Kismet walked up, cleared his throat, and raised a hand to knock.
“Should I?” Kismet mouthed as he began squeezing the plucked flowers in his hands. His other hand trembled in front of the door and he wished he had never come until he spotted Shirley’s golden hair flash pass the window. Kismet tugged at his shirt collar, loosened his shoulders and neck, and did a small jig before he could stand completely still.
The door swung open and the sweet faced girl, with her soft blue eyes, stood in the door way. She gave a small curtsy to Kismet and he returned it with a stiff bow.
“What’s his name? Name?” Shirley asked, throwing a finger to Prestige.
Seeing her attention on the wolf, Kismet patted his pockets in search of a pen and paper. His mouth twitched in nervousness and his hands began frantically clapping his torso, even in places where it would be impossible to conceal writing material. He looked up at Shirley with such desperation and sadness that Shirley couldn’t help but giggle.
“It’s fine! Come on inside!” Shirley motioned Kismet inside and was about to close the door before she turned to Prestige. “What about him?” She thumbed in the wolf’s direction.
Kismet looked down at the wolf and stared at him. The wolf plopped down and rolled onto his side, his paws stretched out in comfort. Kismet smirked and placed a gentle hand behind Shirley, letting her know that it was alright to leave Prestige outside.
Shirley’s face reddened at his touch and she had to duck her chin so that her blushing wouldn’t become noticeable. She closed the door.
“Papa? Mama? Kismet Whitmore stopped by, you mind him staying for supper?” Shirley called out as she checked over her shoulder for Kismet. Kismet walked behind her with his bottom lip sucked in and his hands clasped in front of him. Once in awhile he threw a hand up to his hair to tuck a few strands behind his ears.
The tall and thin Mrs. Simmons flowed from the bedroom with a shimmering smile on her face. She had long golden hair bundled up in a tight bun. She was an elegant woman and was always a positive influence on anyone she met. She was like an aunt to Kismet, and he liked that – he had never met his real aunt.
“Why! I haven’t seen Kismet in a long while!” Mrs. Simmons declared, putting the book she had been reading on the dinner table. She glided over to Kismet and gave him a welcoming hug. She raised her eyes in questioning of his health.
“I’m good,” Kismet mouthed, holding back the urge to say it out loud. He feared he would strain his voice to the point where it would be impossible to talk at all.
Shirley hooked her arm into his and led him over to the table. She sat him down and skipped to the kitchen where she pulled another table setting for him.
“How long have you known him?” Mrs. Simmons asked, a touch of cautiousness flicked off the end of her tongue.
Shirley shrugged as she squinted on eye and looked down at the bottom of a glass. “He goes to our school and church, Mama. Don’t think he means any harm. He probably wants to be friends. He is a nice boy.”
YOU ARE READING
The Wolf's Boy
DobrodružnéKismet and Prestige are just as unusual as their names. Though one is a boy and the other a wolf, they both desire the same thing: love. Through the years, their friendship grows and they become inseparable. But when their town is hit by a natural...
