Beethoven

chapter three: his name is actually eric

         "Repeat after me. My name is Eric."

         "My name is Eric. But why? My name is Ludwig."

         "No shit Sherlock. Ludwig's an unnatural name so from now on your name's Eric. Got that?"

         Ludwig grumbled to himself under his own breath. I fished out my keys from my pocket so I didn't have to listen to the boy's complaints about his sudden name change.

         "I'm home!" I said while swinging the door open, stepping in before Ludwig. I motioned with my hands for him to come in as well. "Take off your shoes," I ordered him as I kicked my own sandals off.               

         Reluctantly, he did the same. Just the taking off his shoes, not the kicking part. He jumped at the sudden voice coming from the kitchen down the hall.

         It was my mom. "I'm in the kitchen!"

         "Act normal," I said to Ludwig. That was a dumb statement, though, because Ludwig probably didn't know how to act normal. Or his definition of normal was abnormal. Leading him into the kitchen where my mother was making god-knows-what, I said, "I want you to meet someone. This is Lud--Eric. His name's Eric."          

         Her dark brown hair that matched mine was tied back in a tight bun, but it looked like she was about to let a hair fly loose at the sight of a boy. Being my own mother though, she regained her rational thought and became reserved like she always was. "Nice to meet you . Kiara, is he your . . .?"

         Before I could retort an answer of indignation, Ludwig chipped into the conversation himself. "Good day to you, too!"  He then, knelt down on one knee, took my mother's hand, and kissed it.

         She was just as baffled as I was. "Kiara?"

         "Uh," I said, and laughed nervously. "Eric, you're so funny."

         Ludwig frowned at me, and I wished I could've said something to him, but I couldn't. He gave a look as if he did nothing wrong, when he was doing everything wrong.

         "Eric, can you leave me and my mom alone for a second?" I said, and then added to correct myself to the boy from the classical era, "Or maybe a few minutes?"

         "Yes, of course," he said, did a little kneeling thing, and then walked off.

         I think it was my mistake when I had told him to act normal, because he was probably thinking to be as polite as possible.

         Her eyebrows quirked into suspicion, I had to turn to plan B now. "Look, he's not my boyfriend. He's just kind of a weird person I befriended during Honours Calculus. He's really smart. All his courses are advanced placement next year." My mom being the strict German she was, she likes the fact that I hang out with "other smart people". "His parents sort of . . . kicked him out of his house for not getting an A plus in his English class," I said, purposefully lowering my voice so that it sounded like I was telling her a secret. "I sort of feel like we should give him a roof to stay under because he's helped me so much with my homework and studying last school year for my math course. Just for a week maybe? Then maybe his parents will let him back in."

         If I were Pinocchio, it would've been a story that would have stretched my nose so far that it would probably break off.

         She seemed to have bought it though, her aged brown eyes appearing sympathetic as the sides of her mouth wrinkled. Guess the blabbing paid off. "Only for today."