Poppies for Christmas

by Stacy Renée Keywell

  The bell rang on Kit mid-word.

  “Anyway, thanks for the talk, Kit. Gotta go,” I butted in before she finished her thoughts, abruptly ending our conversation. I lightly patted her on the shoulder, my newfound source of information. I winked. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Kit’s cheeks reddened. This encounter gave me a sneaking suspicion she’d use discretion when discussing our conversation with her friends. I could tell she was the type of girl who didn’t like controversy, and would hate to get in the middle of a ‘love triangle,’ or, in this case, a ‘crush triangle’ between Lenn, Poppy, and myself. I bet I would be able to count on Kit to feed more intel on Poppy without selling me out and telling her friends.

  “Gee, great,” Kit stammered nervously, still giggling at me.

  I waved, and walked off, deep in thought.

  It literally took me the entire day to comb the school, seeking out this Poppy chick. I had to cut out of class on multiple restroom passes, receive several tardy detention slips, and sneak out the door at the end of several periods to roam the corridors in order to find her.

  Finally, near the end of the school day, I found her. She wore her hair in the same long ponytail that she did at the club. It swayed back and forth, hypnotically, as she walked. She carried her books in one arm, and a ripped paper shopping bag from a store at the mall in her other hand. The sack was held together with staples and mismatched pieces of tape.

  The bag had black and white photographs of boys in bathing suits posing on a beach. The boys stared me down. They relaxed in the sand, arms stretched out to maximize their muscles and obnoxious six packs. Under the scantily clad boys was some sloppy writing, messily scribbled on the white sandy beach.

  “Hey. Uh, Poppy, right?” I stopped her in the hall.

  “Yes?” She looked at me and smiled politely.

  “Do you remember me?” I asked, hopeful, ready to make a love connection.

  But, there was no spark. No recognition in her eyes. Poppy’s face went limp. She simply stared back at me, like the boys in the photo, almost standoffish. Fatigued. Bored.

  “It’s Dexx.” My voice wavered as did my confidence. “From The Hall? The other night? I was, uh, the DJ? Remember?” my voice cracked at the end.

  “Yes, I know who you are.”

  She stared at me with a blank face, and waited for me to make a point.

  I was on the spot. What was the point? I spent all of this time trying to find her, but I forgot to have a purpose. My brain scrambled to create a logical conversation. My talents belonged behind a table, spinning, or in front of a computer, producing, not speaking face to face with a girl, an intimidating one, like Poppy.

  “Right,” I said.

  Seriously? Was “right” all I could come up with? Failing! Seriously failing? Where was my swagger?

  I took a breath and looked down at her top. Oops. That was the wrong move. But I couldn’t help it.

  I briefly glanced back at her shirt. It sorta caught my eye. It was a magenta T-shirt with an iron-on puppy and kitty. The animals snuggled in a teacup with the caption “Tea 4 2! I Wuv U” in a thought bubble.

  My eyes darted back up to her mouth. Oh gosh, her mouth. The yummy strawberry scent of her breath drove me mad. I hoped she didn’t catch me drooling when I inspected her top, or her pouty mouth.

  Her luscious lips, painted in the exact same shade as her shirt, parted in anticipation, ready to hear what I had to say.

  “Yes?” she asked again. She opened her eyes wider, prodding along the conversation as if she were ready to end it soon.

  I chuckled nervously. Words. Words. I needed more words. Aha! The shirt.

  “Hey, um, that shirt is absolutely hilarious. You know? I dig how you rock irony!” I laughed.

  “What?” she snapped, looking down at her top. “This shirt was not meant as a joke! It was a gift!” Her lips curled, offended by my insult. She shook her head. Eyes watering, she looked up at the ceiling, hurt, ready to cry. She pitter-pattered away from me in her clunky shoes.

  “Wait. It was a joke. I mean, not a joke. Okay, I was kidding.” I didn’t mean it that way, didn’t mean to hurt her. “I like it. I like your shirt. Oh, never mind.” I dropped my hands, defeated.

  Fine. Poppy take one, a complete failure. I refused to give up. I had some regrouping to do.

  On my way out of school, I spotted my friend Jack walking to the parking lot.

  “Hey, bro,” I called.

  “Sup, man?”

  “Nothing much. Ever hear of this chick, Poppy, um, Paris?” I was dying to get more info on this girl.

  “Wait.” Jack practically choked on her name in disgust. “You don’t mean Poopy Pants Poppy, do you?”

  “What?” I bit my lip, racking my brain. That name sounded vaguely familiar. “Na, man, that can’t be right. Poppy’s pretty hot. I checked her out at the club the other night.”

  “Seriously, man? She’s not at all the type of girl I would ever check out!” He rolled his eyes.

  “Well, bro,” I countered, “I’m not that shallow.”

  Jack belted out a roar. He busted out laughing at me. “Sure you’re not! You’re not at all the type of guy to judge a girl like that, Dexx.”

  I snorted. I never caved to peer pressure. What was he talking about? I’d never been the type of person who listened to what other people thought. I existed at a higher frequency, one with depth. I preferred to judge people on an individual basis. Get to know them. Explore their personality. I could care less about what Jack thought of Poppy, or what anyone else thought of her either.

  “Besides,” Jack continued, “doesn’t she hang out with that loser, Lame?”

  “You mean Lenn. Yep, that’s her.”

  “Ouch. Good luck with that. So, anyway, you want to hang at my place, game, or something?”

  “Nah, dude. I’m going to head home. Chill. Maybe work on my music.”

  “Whatever. Later, dude.”

  “Later.” I waved him off to his car.

  A mixture of disappointment and optimism churned in the pit of my stomach, like I had simultaneously gained and lost ground with this girl. But, as it sometimes did when the soundtrack of my life began to play, my mind pulled me away. Ideas pumped though my brain along with some sick tunes. I rushed home to produce a fresh new mix of songs, all in honor of her. My Poppy. My flower.

  Chapter 4

  Dexx

  The minute I reached the driveway, the tires screeched to a halt. I bolted out of my dad’s beat-up car, a rusted out vehicle he’d handed down to me. I ran into the house. Flipping open the fridge door, I grabbed an energy drink. I slammed the door shut so hard that it rattled the freezer door open. Punching it closed, I ran to my room. After popping open the can, I took a big swig of the drink, and set it down next to my keyboard.

  I switched on my computer, placed my headphones over my ears, and pulled up my music from my files. I selected several songs that I played the other night at The Hall, and remixed them with a cross between electronic sounds and dance beats. I dubbed my new file “Petal Remix” for my newfound flower.

  Someone banged loudly on my bedroom door.

  “Hon?” My mom opened the door halfway. Dark shadows outlined her eyes from too much work, and too little sleep. Tiny crow’s feet crinkled in the corners.

  “Huh?” I answered, pulling off my headphones.

  “We’re having dinner soon,” she paused.

  I continued to work.

  “Okay?” She asked, breaking my concentration. She gritted her teeth.

  “All right,” I said, half here, half in my own world.

  “Ten minutes,” she emphasized.

  “Ten minutes,” I mimicked, still in a dream.

  S
he closed the door and left.

  I removed my headphones, deep in thought, but out of my zone. My mom broke my momentum, my musical spell. Yet, my mind still rested on Poppy. I decided to use the rest of my time before dinner for a bit of cyber stalking.

  I minimized my project, and pulled up the social net page. I searched Poppy’s name. Nothing came up. She must have set her page on private.

  There was no way she didn’t have some sort of online presence. Everyone our age had something. I racked my brain to come up with her friends’ last names to see if I could find her on their pages. I crossed my eyes. I twisted my lips. Kit . . . Kit . . . it was on the tip of my tongue, but Kit wasn’t even her entire name. Fine. Lenn. Lennon. Umm . . .

  “Dinner!” Mom shouted loud enough for the chandelier above the dinner table to shake. “Time for dinner! It’s time!”

  “Okay,” I screamed back.

  Totally fed up with my fruitless search, I abandoned my station for some well-deserved sustenance.

  My lunchtime search went from virtual to physical. I combed the perimeter of the cafeteria for Poppy, but I could only identify Kit in the busily crunching and munching crowd. I yearned to locate my muse for ‘Poppy - take two. Dexx triumphs.’

  But, I didn’t want Kit to suspect I was using her, and only talking to her to get with her BFF. When my plan actually worked, Poppy and I would have to occasionally hang out with Kit and Lenn. So, I wanted to keep those two my allies. Well, at the very least, keep Kit my ally, in case Lenn still hated me.

  “Hey! What’s up, Kit?” I eagerly greeted her.

  “Hi,” she giggled, giddy, turning red. “I’m not sure where Poppy went, but . . .”

  “I’m not here to talk about Poppy.”

  “You’re not?” she asked, surprised.

  “Nope. I’m here to talk to you. We’re friends.”

  “We are?”

  “We aren’t?”

  “No. I mean, yes. We are. We are friends, Dexx,” she gushed, probably ecstatic I considered her a friend, and probably relieved I didn’t want to discuss Poppy.

  “Phew,” I pretended to wipe my brow in relief. “Good! Anyway . . . can I sit here?”

  I didn’t wait for her to answer. I simply set down my tray, and sat down next to her at the table. “Anyway, um, Kit, how’s your day going?” I casually took a bite of my burger. I looked up at her, giving her my undivided attention.

  Instead of answering me, Kit cowered. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “Over there. I think they’re laughing at me again.” She turned to me. “I really wish Poppy was here. She could probably put a lid on these things. Where is she anyway? She can’t control them, but, at least she might be brave enough to say something.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, totally confused.

  It was as if Kit started talking to me in the middle of a conversation. I had no idea who she was talking about. Who was laughing? What could Poppy stop?

  “Oh. Over there.” She pointed to a table populated by the posh, popular girls. “Denver and her stupid friends.”

  Denver was known at our school for her local modeling gigs and lavish lifestyle. She was the type of girl who wouldn’t look twice my way, in fear of enticing a low-class guy like me to speak to a metropolitan girl like herself. She was absolutely unapproachable by most of the high school population. Her long, lush, blonde hair and flawless features intimidated the average teen. Plus, she pretty much held court around here, her style copied and duplicated by many. Her opinions carried a lot of weight. She walked on water. Floated on air. She was teenage perfection to most of the girls at our school.

  “Denver? Do you mean Top Model over there?”

  “Yes!” Kit lifted her hand from her lap, and squeezed my fingers.

  I heard a crunch. Pain seared through my hand. Chick had quite a grip.

  She trembled with fear, like a mouse cornered by a cat. “Denver Davies! She’s not being very mice, I mean, nice today.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. That’s why I need Poppy. She’s dating Denver’s brother, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know. Poppy’s dating Denver’s brother?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I just said. I thought everybody knew that.”

  “No, not everybody.”

  “It’s pretty much broadcast all over the place.”

  Davies. Poppy’s boyfriend’s last name was Davies. I could probably find Poppy through Denver’s page. Or, I could use Denver’s brother’s page to get to Poppy. So, so many ideas sprung into my head. So, so many! I had a major “aha” moment explode in my brain.

  “Do you want me to talk to her?” I offered.

  “To who? Poppy?”

  “No. To Denver. I will go over there right now, and put the kibosh on the giggle fest.”

  “You would do that? Really, Dexx? You would do that for me?”

  “Sure. What are friends for?”

  “She doesn’t scare you?”

  “Actually, she does, a little, to be honest.”

  “Wow!” Kit’s eyes teared up. “We really are friends, aren’t we, Dexx?”

  “Of course,” I said kindly. “I’ll take care of this for you. See ya later, pal.”

  I got up with my tray and headed over to Denver’s table. While a girl like that wouldn’t be interested in a guy like me, she didn’t intimidate me either. Plus, I hatched a brilliant plan.

  I paused, and took a deep breath. I shook my head a bit to give my flat hair that messed up, casual look. Then, I put on my best smolder to charm those fancy girls. I sauntered over to a chair directly facing Denver. I turned my head a bit and winked back at Kit. She nodded enthusiastically. I turned back toward Denver, and sat down with my food.

  “Well, hello ladies,” I addressed Denver and her clique. “How are we all doing this fine, truly lovely day?”

  They all just stared back at me haughtily, with their noses pointed in the air.

  “Awe. What, Denver? Cat got your tongue? Or, have you been one naughty kitty? Did you swallow a parakeet? Is that why you can’t talk to me?”

  Denver’s icy glare melted. She laughed. “Why, DJ Dexx, for what reason do you honor us with your presence? You’re in quite high demand these days with your trending status.”

  “So, you do know my name.” I teased.

  “And why wouldn’t I?” Denver flirted from the other side of the table.

  Denver was so beautiful. I had never taken a good look at her before. With thick, golden locks, and crystal blue eyes, her flawless features were stunning up close. No wonder she kept busy with her modeling gigs. But, I had to keep a clear head. I did approach her with an ulterior motive, another woman.

  “The gorgeous Denver knows my name. I should be the one who is honored.” I took a bite of my burger, acting extremely flippant, and super nonchalant.

  “What on earth were you doing sitting over there for lunch?”

  Denver gagged for effect. Her snooty friends snickered with approval.

  “Chatting up a friend. I hear her BFF is dating your brother.”

  Denver rolled her eyes. “Ugh. How embarrassing. Yes, Poopy Pants Poppy is going out with my brother.” She stuck out her tongue, and gagged.

  “Does that mean you don’t like her?”

  “Um, who does? We used to be, like, best friends. I stress, used to be, when we were little. That was a very long time ago, elementary school. Early elementary school! But now, thanks to Declan, I’m stuck having her around, all of the time. Yuck! Can you believe it? Poopy Pants Poppy! But, believe me, I do not associate with her on school grounds.”

  I smiled, and nodded, empathetically.

  This was perfect! I go
t Poppy’s boyfriend’s name. Declan Davies. So, I could look him up on-line.

  I took a second to analyze . . . it seemed that Denver didn’t want to talk to or be seen with Poppy, but, it sounded like I could probably find Poppy at Denver’s house. Cha-ching! My brain fizzed with possibilities.

  “Wow, sounds great,” I responded, absentmindedly, deep in thought.

  “Huh? What sounds great? What do you mean?” Denver implored, confused.

  “Bell’s about to ring. Need to get to class!” I ignored her questions.

  I stood up and grabbed my food. I stuffed the rest of my burger in my mouth and ran.

  “Wait,” she said in a panicked voice. “Will I see you around?”

  I stopped. “Definitely. Later!”

  I turned around and left, smiling. Wow! Did I, DJ Dexx, accomplish the impossible?

  Did I just get a girl to like me? One very popular girl? Was it possible? Did the gorgeous and posh Denver Davies like me? Heck, yeah she did!

  Finally, I was ready to do some serious research, eager to prepare my quest for ‘Poppy- take two.’

  Chapter 5

  Dexx

  Energy drink in hand, I exploded into my room. I tossed my stuff in the center of the floor. I whipped my hoody on my bed. I blasted some music from my phone. I shoved a pile of crushed empty cans and thumb drives to the side, and hunkered down at the desk in front of the computer.

  My hands shook with excitement. I powered up my laptop. I steadied myself and pulled up my fave search engine. I typed in the name “Declan Davies.” Hundreds of images and links popped up instantaneously.

  “Holy schnikies! This can’t be him. It can’t!”

  I put my face close to the screen. I took a good look. All of the images were of the same guy. Perfect, porcelain skin. Dark, wavy hair. Expressive eyes, looking off to the side. Chiseled chin. Muscular yet fit figure. Straight, shiny, white teeth. Not a flaw in sight. He was in a suit. He was in a T-shirt. He posed as a lifeguard. He rode a horse. He walked down a runway. He and a perfect girl held a delicate bottle of perfume while almost kissing. Endless photos appeared as I scrolled down the page.