A Thousand Boy Kisses(8)

And she was different to any other girl in our class. Poppy was quirky, not cool. She wasn’t concerned with what people thought of her—she never had been. She played the cello because she loved it. She read books, she studied for fun, she woke at dawn just to watch the sunrise.

It was why she was my everything. My forever always. Because she was unique. Unique in a town full of carbon-copy bimbos. She didn’t want to cheer, or bitch, or chase boys. She knew she had me, just as much as I had her.

We were all we needed.

I shuffled on my seat as the sound of her cello became softer, Poppy bringing the piece to an end. Lifting my camera again, I snapped a final shot as Poppy raised her bow off the string, a contented expression gracing her pretty face.

The sound of applause made me lower the camera. Poppy pushed the instrument off her chest and got to her feet. She gave a small bow, then scanned the auditorium. Her eyes met mine. She smiled.

I thought my heart might smash through my chest.

I smirked in return, pushing my long blond hair back off my face with my fingers. A blush coated Poppy’s cheeks, then she exited stage left, the house lights flooding the auditorium with light. Poppy had been the last to perform. She always closed the show. She was the best musician in the district for our age group. In my opinion, she outshone anyone in the three age groups above.

I once asked her how she was able to play like she did. She simply told me that the melodies poured from her bow as easily as she breathed. I couldn’t imagine having that kind of talent. But that was Poppy, the most amazing girl in the world.

When the applause faded out, people began to leave the auditorium. A hand pressed on my arm. Mrs. Litchfield was wiping away a tear. She always cried when Poppy performed.

“Rune, sweetie, we need to get these two home. Are you okay to meet Poppy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, and quietly laughed at Ida and Savannah, Poppy’s nine-and eleven-year-old sisters, sleeping on their seats. They didn’t much care for music, not like Poppy.

Mr. Litchfield rolled his eyes and threw me a small wave, then turned to wake the girls to get them home. Mrs. Litchfield kissed me on my head, then the four of them left.

As I made my way out of the aisle, I heard whispers and giggling coming from my right. Glancing over the seats, I spotted a group of freshman girls all looking my way. I ducked my head, ignoring their stares.

It happened a lot. I had no idea why so many of them paid me so much attention. I’d been with Poppy for as long as they’d known me. I didn’t want anyone else. I wished they’d stop trying to get me away from my girl—nothing would ever do that.

I pushed through the exit and made my way to the backstage door. The air was thick and humid, causing my black t-shirt to stick to my chest. My black jeans and black boots were probably too warm for this spring heat, but I wore this style of clothing every day, whatever the weather.

Seeing the performers begin to pile out the door, I leaned against the wall of the auditorium, resting my foot against the white painted brick. I crossed my arms over my chest, only unfolding them to rake my hair from my eyes.

I watched the performers getting hugs from their families, then, catching the same girls from before staring at me, lowered my eyes to the ground. I didn’t want them to come over. I had nothing to say to them.

My eyes were still cast down when I heard footsteps coming my way. I looked up just as Poppy threw herself onto my chest, her arms wrapping around my back, squeezing me tightly.

I huffed a short laugh and held her right back. I was already six feet tall, so I towered over Poppy’s five feet. I liked it though, how she fit perfectly against me.

Inhaling deeply, I took in the sugary-sweet scent of her perfume and pressed my cheek against her head. After one last squeeze, Poppy pulled back and smiled up at me. Her green eyes looked huge under her mascara and light makeup, her lips pink and lush from her cherry lip balm.

I skirted my hands up her sides, stopping when they cupped her soft cheeks. Poppy’s lashes fluttered, making her look all kinds of sweet.

Unable to resist feeling her lips on mine, I slowly leaned forward, almost smiling as I heard that same hitch of breath Poppy expelled every single time I kissed her, in that moment just before our lips touched.

As our lips met, I exhaled through my nose. Poppy always tasted like this, of cherry, the taste from her lip balm flooding my mouth. And Poppy kissed me right back, her small hands gripping tightly to the sides of my black shirt.

I worked my mouth against hers, slowly and softly, until I finally pulled back, laying three short, feather-light kisses on her swollen mouth. I took in a breath and watched Poppy’s eyes flutter open.

Her pupils were dilated. She licked along her bottom lip before casting me a bright smile.

“Kiss three hundred and fifty-two. With my Rune against the auditorium wall.” I held my breath, waiting for the next line. The glint in Poppy’s eyes told me that the words I hoped for next would spill from her lips. Leaning in closer, balancing on her tiptoes, she whispered, “And my heart almost burst.” She only ever recorded the extra-special kisses. Only the ones that made her feel her heart was full. Every time we kissed, I waited for those words.

When they came, she almost blew me away with her smile.

Poppy laughed. I couldn’t help but smile widely at the sound of the happiness in her voice. I pressed another quick kiss to her lips and stepped back to drape my arm over her shoulders. I pulled her close and rested my cheek against her head. Poppy’s arms wrapped around my back and stomach, and I led her away from the wall. As I did, I felt Poppy freeze.