A thousand Boy Kisses

Rune
Two years ago
Aged Fifteen

Silence fell as she settled herself on the stage. Well, not everything was silent—
the thunder of blood rushing through me roared in my ears as my Poppy
carefully sat down. She looked beautiful in her sleeveless black dress, with her
long brown hair pulled back in a bun, white bow positioned on top.
Lifting the camera that was always around my neck, I brought the lens to my
eye just as she positioned her bow against the string of her cello. I always loved
to capture her at this moment. The moment she closed her big green eyes. The
moment the most perfect expression drifted over her face—the look she wore
just before the music began. The look of pure passion for the sounds that were to
follow.
I snapped the picture at the perfect time, and then the melody began. Lowering
my camera, I focused simply on her. I couldn’t take pictures while she played. I

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couldn’t bring myself to miss any part of how she looked up on that stage.
My lip hooked up in a small smile as her body began to sway to the music. She
loved this piece, had been playing it for as long as I could remember. She needed
no sheet music for this; Greensleeves poured from her soul through her bow.
I couldn’t stop staring, my heart beating like a damn drum as Poppy’s lips
twitched. Her deep dimples popped out when she concentrated on the difficult
passages. Her eyes remained closed, but you could tell which parts of the music
she adored. Her head would tilt to the side, and a huge smile would spread on
her face.
People didn’t understand that after all this time she was still mine. We were
only fifteen, but since the day I kissed her in the blossom grove, aged eight, there
had never been anyone else. I had blinkers on to any other girl. I only saw
Poppy. In my world, only she existed.
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

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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

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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,

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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.
I lifted my head to see the freshman girls pointing at Poppy and whispering to
each other. Their eyes were focused on Poppy in my arms. My jaw clenched. I
hated that they treated her this way—out of jealousy. Most of the girls never
gave Poppy a chance because they wanted what she had. Poppy said she didn’t
care, but I could tell that she did. The fact that she stiffened in my arms told me
just how much.
Shifting in front of Poppy, I waited for her to lift her head. As soon as she did, I
ordered, “Ignore them.”
My stomach dropped as I watched her force a smile. “I am, Rune. They don’t
bother me.”
I tipped my head to the side and raised my brows. Poppy shook her head.
“They don’t. I promise,” she tried to lie. Poppy glanced over my shoulder and
shrugged. When she met my eyes with her own, she said, “But I get it. I mean,
look at you, Rune. You’re gorgeous. Tall, mysterious, exotic … Norwegian!”
She laughed and pressed her palm over my chest. “You have that whole bad-
boy, indie-style thing going for you. The girls can’t help but want you. You’re
you. You’re perfect.”
I shifted closer and watched her green eyes widen. “And yours,” I added. The
tension leaked from her shoulders.
I slipped my hand into the hand still on my chest. “And I’m not mysterious,