Poppies for Christmas

by Stacy Renée Keywell

  “Mm hmm.”

  Poppy returned her warm smile back to her perfectly painted lips. She nodded with excitement. Dancing was her bag.

  “Good,” I sighed in relief. I thought I would have to fight for Poppy to come to this event.

  Placing my pencil back in my mouth I chewed. Dancing, dancing, dancing. The thought of me dancing near Dexx sparked oodles of endless images, followed by images of my blushing buddy, Poppy. “Besides, Poppy, you love dancing.”

  Then it hit me. Totally perturbed, I remembered seeing Poppy glamming it up without ever telling me. She did that! She always did that. She went way, way, way, way out of her way to have a good time, and forgot to invite me!

  “And . . . well . . . gee . . . speaking of dancing, I saw that you attended some sort of downtown Detroit techno party? Hello? Clubbing? Techno? You know that’s my thing!” Upset that I had to find out about her dalliances by cyber stalking her ‘boyfriend’s’ site, I demanded, “Why didn’t you invite us? You never invite us to anything cool when you hang out with your ‘boyfriend!’ What? Are you embarrassed of Kit and me?”

  “It’s nothing like that. It was impromptu, a last minute thing. I didn’t even know it was happening until I heard the music playing on the street. I was at a play, at the Opera House, and I sort of stumbled upon it,” she stammered some lame excuse for excluding me.

  “Yeah, sure. I saw you. I saw the pictures of you dancing in the background,” I jeered.

  “I didn’t post those! Okay? They weren’t even my pictures. That couldn’t have been my page. I don’t even post anything to my page.” Poppy batted her made-up, caked on lashes.

  “So, you must have been scoping out his fan site. Some random stranger must have uploaded those photos

  I pouted, quivering my lower lip for effect.

  “I guess if I had known that it meant so much to you, I would have called,” Poppy offered, weakly.

  “Well, you didn’t,” I sniffed, hurt that Poppy never included me in anything cool.

  “Lenn, please. It was an honest mistake. I am so sorry,” she emphasized in her kindest voice.

  “Sure you are,” I spat, a bit bruised, knowing she humored me as if I was real pathetic and hating her for it.

  I picked up my sketchbook and stuffed it in my bag. I left so abruptly that I smacked my leg into the wooden chair. I bashed my knee as I tried to push it under the table. A dull pain shot through my nerves. My leg throbbed. I limped out of the library. Kit followed at my heels, leaving Poppy at the table with her lipstick-smeared mouth gaping open, confused.

  Chapter 2

  Lenn

  “Lenn, you shouldn’t be so hard on her,” Kit insisted, petite legs working overtime to keep up with my swift pace. “Poppy doesn’t mean to leave us out. She probably did get caught up in the moment with her boyfriend. She’s like that. Goofy and oblivious. Plus, she really is that innocent. Just look at her. She’s quite the prude.”

  I snorted, annoyed.

  We strode around the empty cafeteria. It smelled like dirty dishrags and grape jelly. Careless students left their garbage behind. Stray paper bags and empty wrappers dotted random tables. Chip crumbs covered sections of the chipped floor for the staff to clean. We dodged browning apple cores and PB&J crusts as we headed toward the restroom.

  “Lenn,” Kit chuckled, “she even shades her eyes during kissing scenes when we go to the movies. PG movies! Heck, that’s probably why she watches so many cartoons and super-hero flicks. Poppy displays an exuberant, childlike quality. I find it rather endearing. Dontcha think?”

  “Listen, Kitrina, I don’t buy it. She simply hides her undiscriminating habits well beneath that juvenile exterior. It’s why she’s dates an ‘older’ guy! Forget it! Never mind! It doesn’t matter! Why are we even talking about this? Why are you defending her behavior?”

  “Hello? Ouch! Because she’s our friend!”

  “Well . . . she knows how I feel about music, especially the techno scene . . . she could have at the very least . . . texted me that it was happening, even if she didn’t tell you.”

  “Right. I’m sure your mom would have allowed you to drive all the way to downtown Detroit all by yourself at the spur of the moment. All . . . alone!”

  I rolled my eyes and clicked my tongue at her. “Hold this!” I shoved my clunky bag in Kit’s arms. I entered the lav to take a potty break. Kit faithfully waited outside with my stuff.

  Kit didn’t always have to be right, or try to outshine my reasoning. Poppy didn’t always have to steal my spotlight with random posts of her dancing at super cool, spontaneous rave parties.

  I deserved to shine. Art was my thing. Dancing at raves was my thing. Music was my thing. I needed the support of my friends, not their competition. I needed them to help me light a spark so that I could capture Dexx’s attention.

  I decided to put all of their shenanigans behind me so I could concentrate on our big night at The Hall. I hatched a brilliant plan. I exited the restroom, and spun Kit back around toward the library. She twirled around like a dizzy duck. I snatched my bag from her arms, and ran. She tagged along behind me.

  Quivering with anticipation, I ran up to the beam that displayed Dexx’s flyer. I carefully removed it. I folded the tape with the musical notes over to the other side, so it wouldn’t stick to my fingers. Pulling Kit by the sleeve, we slipped into an empty classroom. It belonged to grouchy Ms. Gunderson. So old and out of it, the crotchety woman probably forgot to lock the door.

  I set my tote bag onto the floor. Placing the advert on Gunderson’s desk, I smoothed out the crinkled sheet of paper with my hands, straightening the edges so I could discern the details on the page.

  The Hall was just one of the latest underage clubs to sprout up in the area. Most of them had short shelf lives, shut down due to waning popularity or fights. But, being under eighteen, we were left with few options. Not all of us were as lucky as Poppy to jet off to exotic locations and dance at proper clubs with the ‘older crowd.’ So, what choice did we have but to hop from one kiddie bar to the next as they opened, momentarily, and shuttered, leading us to the next dance joint du jour.

  Breathing in deeply, I sniffed the sheet. It smelled like sweaty palms and energy drink. I exhaled dreamily, thinking of my charming Dexx.

  He only recently started spinning, flexing his prolific, musical muscles on the turntables at a school dance or two. Until now, he existed mainly in cyberspace. But, I’d been there from the very beginning, one of his original followers. A dedicated fan from the heart, I followed him before his popularity exploded. Before he broke out of being a mere high school legend, I listened to his beats. The Hall would surely secure his legendary status in the DJ world. And, I was determined to be there when it all went down.

  Kit grimaced and rolled her eyes. “What are we doing here, wasting time hanging out in an empty classroom? We need to hurry before we’re late to class. I’m not getting another a detention slip.”

  “Oh, Kit,” I grabbed and shook her shoulders. “I’m so excited. I feel like Cinderella before the ball! We have so much planning to do. I can barely concentrate.”

  My eyes moistened, on the verge of real tears. Nervous, excited, tears of joy. My time had come and I was ready!

  Poppy’s legs wobbled unsteadily, like a newborn doe, underneath the weight of a hefty stack of art supplies, supported by a pair of chunky, clunky shoes. Her knobby knees bobbed up and down within her light pink, thigh high stockings that reached the bottom of her pleated black skirt. In one hand, she clutched a phone secured in a sparkly, powder pink case. In the other hand, she held some empty plastic tubes. With her arms held out straight, she worked at balancing several curled up poster boards and rolls of butcher paper.

  “Hello, ladies.” Poppy smiled, her tone super sweet and honest. Powder pink
lips caught the light. They glinted, majorly dusted with glitter. They matched her phone case perfectly.

  “Poppy, I’m sorry about how I treated you the other day,” I said.

  Poppy nodded back. A woman of few words, she showed off a naturally warm and charming grin that she kept plastered across her face. Her arms lowered to her waist.

  “I guess I get a little worked up when . . .” I continued talking until I spotted the mess covering her black cardigan. “Oh, my goodness, Poppy. What happened?”

  Her sweater was covered in the same glitter that coated her lips. It was then that I realized her entire face sparkled, along with her neck, her ears, even inside her sleeves, which rained twinkling pieces of glitter down her arms. The sparkles led to her fingertips, and onto the floor, leaving a trail of pixie dust. It now all made sense. Her hands gripped the evidence. The empty plastic tubes formerly held a loaded stock of glitter.

  Poppy shrugged, putting on her brave ‘I don’t care face’, something she did very, very often at school.

  “Poppy, they turned you into a disco ball. Who did this?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She lifted her chin proudly.

  “Did you do this to you?”

  “No.”

  “Then who?”

  “I said it doesn’t matter.”

  “Come on. Just tell us.”

  “Some guys running through the hallway. You know, not looking where they were going. They shoved by me, and, poof, the glitter exploded. That’s all. No big deal.”

  “Did they at least say sorry?”

  “Um. No. Not really. But it’s fine. Really. Don’t worry about it.” Poppy shoved her sour encounter away from our attention to avoid further embarrassment.

  People picked on her quite easily. She found herself the target, more times than most of us, and the butt of many jokes. So, I let her off the hook from further interrogation. I figured the real story would eventually surface anyway.

  “So, what have you got there?” I relieved her hands of the empty glitter bottles, and tossed them in the trash. I pushed around the poster-boards in her arms to take a peek.

  “Well,” Poppy started with her trademark excitement, “I designed a mock-up of my senior project. I plan on decorating these posters to get a jump on things. I’m super stoked. I have the absolute best idea ever!” Schoolwork seemed to electrify her, and send her into an absolute frenzy.

  In my mind I rolled my eyes, so I wouldn’t hurt her feelings. I desperately needed a cold bucket of water to squelch her overeager flame, and wash off her dreadful fairy dust explosion. “Poppy, we are only in our junior year of high school. Nobody else has started their senior project. Absolutely nobody. Just you!”

  “Well, if I’m not ahead, I’m behind, I always say.” Poppy tended to block my honest realism with her chipper Poppyisms.

  “Great. I’m so happy for you. But, we’ve got more important business to discuss. The Hall! Remember? This weekend?”

  “Can’t wait,” Kit chirped.

  “Oh, you’re still here?” I turned to Kitrina who stood silently by my side during the entire glitter exchange, and hadn’t even bothered to lift a finger to help.

  Kit frowned.

  “I’m just kidding, Kit. But, come on. Focus!” I snapped my fingers. “This event is vital! Crucial! For all of us, to help me get closer to Dexx.”

  Ah, his name sent shivers up and down my spine, then up again and again. Dexx!

  “Gee, uh,” Poppy peeped, “I’ve got the best idea ever! You two can come over to my place and get ready. I can help you with your makeup. Perhaps, my mom can drive us so we don’t have to worry about finding a place to park, or driving home in the dark.”

  “Oh my gosh! This is so great!” My hands shook with anticipation. “Cool! I’ll get my mom to pick us up. That way I can tell her all of the details right away. She and I are like, best friends. We totally tell each other everything.”

  “Really? Wow!” Poppy said in awe. “You tell each other everything? Absolutely everything? Is it quid-pro-quo?”

  “I don’t know what that means,” I admitted.

  Poppy quietly chuckled at her petty comment.

  “We aren’t all as smart as you, Poppy,” I said.

  “I’m not that smart,” she replied modestly. “I just watch too much TV.”

  Pink plushies and overstuffed, puffy pillows populated Poppy’s bedroom. Twinkling rhinestones peppered the walls. A heavy scent of fruit perfume wafted past my nostrils. I stifled a cough. To make matters worse, perfectly poised rows of lipstick, in every shade known to the drugstore, lined up and down the vanity.

  Poppy’s room, the perfect image of an infantile dream house, appeared to belong to a doll dressed in bubblegum pink. And she was the one with the boyfriend? Great!

  Kit and I knocked lightly on Poppy’s posy-colored door to announce our presence. “Knock, knock,” I called.

  Poppy turned around and waved, smiling a buck-toothed grin. She pulled us both in by our arms. She wore a cropped, peach sweatshirt, and a pleated peach skirt. She’d added chocolate brown thigh high stockings with matching brown wedges on her feet. She painted her lips with the identical color as her top, like a bright, bright, bright piece of fuzzy fruit. She pulled her hair up in a trademark ponytail, allowing her thick, straight, dark mane to cascade down her back.

  “My pretty Kitty!” Poppy dropped our hands and moved over to take care of Kit’s face. “I simply can’t wait to give you a makeover.” Then she turned to me and added, “I can help you too, if you like.”

  “No. Thanks. I’m good,” I replied.

  I preferred simplicity. I lined my eyes in black, and went with a simple red lipstick, leaving the rest of my face untouched and natural.

  “Are you sure? I will paint your eyes the way you like. I can make them look very big, and pop, like all of those animé characters you tend to admire.”

  I thought about it for a moment. I contemplated her offer, turning it around in my head, imagining all of my favorite characters, and how fantastic their eyes looked on paper. “Nah. But, thanks.”

  “Okay. Simple cat eyes it is. Speaking of cats. Here, Kitty, Kitty, let me put on the finishing touch, some sparkly lip gloss.”

  After she applied Kit’s gloss, Poppy jumped around the room, and offered Kit a glittery top to match her lips. Kit politely declined. She wanted to emulate some emo-shabby chic look her favorite online celeb wore in a hilarious meme.

  Poppy’s nonstop flittering and fluttering started to make me nervous. With the whole night ahead of me, and my impending encounter with Dexx, my stomach tied in anxious knots. My insides gurgled like some imaginary sailor was in there twisting the rope that prevented me from drifting out to sea. My tense stomach pulsed with butterflies.

  “Would you just stop already?” I screeched. “I’d like to get going soon,”

  “All right.” Poppy backed over to her door. “I’ll go get my mom.”

  I sniffed back my tears, exhausting my breath. My chest shook with mad anticipation. I ran over to Poppy’s outlandishly big mirror that hung over her vanity. I checked my visual status. I smoothed down my hair a bit, and then tried to shake it back into some sort of style. It was useless. I frowned.

  Kit stood next to me to admire her thickly applied makeover. Now she too had tarantulas crawling up her lashes. She beamed with pride.

  “Nice,” I commented.

  Kit’s lips turned upwards, then shot downward, unsure whether I complimented or criticized her new look. She puckered her lips and narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing her freshly applied makeup. I nodded approvingly and patted her on the back so she didn’t keep us any longer.

  We piled into the rear of Poppy’s mom’s car. We crowded the narrow backseat, instead of
nominating a girl to ride shotgun. Nobody wanted to miss out on the pre-club convo.

  But, for me, the entire car ride passed in an utter blur. The multicolored stoplights, the streetlights, the headlights, they all swam in front of my eyes. The lights blurred my vision, like flashes from a slew of cameras in a blizzard of paparazzi. Lasting longer than a momentary flicker, white spots floated midair, preventing from clearing my sight. Listening to the rumble of the tires, my ears went numb. The grinding noise drowned out Poppy and Kit’s chummy chatter.

  My sweaty palms wrapped around my lap belt. My nails dug sharply into the palms of my hands, which I didn’t even notice until I unclenched my fists. I removed them from the seatbelt. I found eight, deep indentations. I quickly wiped my moist hands off on my vintage black dress, and tried to take my mind off Dexx. But, it didn’t work.

  Poppy’s mom flipped past several channels on the radio. Between the crunch of the tires, the music, and the flashing lights, my thoughts drifted right back to him. Dexx and his amazing talents. Dexx and his killer smile. Dexx and his long arms being wrapped around me for a tight squeeze. Dexx and I kiss . . .

  “We’re here,” Poppy and Kit sang out loud, shrilling in unison.

  We’re here. My mind blanked. My legs refused to move. My entire body froze rigid in the backseat of the car. What did I set myself up to do? Was I staring at destiny’s face or destiny’s failure? My cheeks flamed like Poppy’s shockingly bright blush. I clammed up with sticky sweat. Did I have a game plan? What was my game plan? Was I ready to speak to him in person? For real? IRL?

  Poppy whipped open the door. A blast of cold air refreshed my nerves, and revitalized my energy enough for Kit and Poppy to pull me out of my seat.

  Crammed between two vacant storefronts, The Hall stood like a lonely island in a dingy strip mall. The amateur signage had been put up in haste, as if permanency hinged on acceptance by the fickle teenage social scene.