Poppy’s fingers tightened in my hair. I cupped her cheek to keep her in this kiss as long as possible. If I didn’t have to breathe, I imagine I would never have stopped kissing her.
Too lost in the kiss, we only broke apart when someone cleared their throat from across the fire. I lifted my head to find Judson smirking. When I glanced down at Poppy, her cheeks were blazing. Our friends hid their laughter, and I squeezed Poppy tighter. I wouldn’t be embarrassed for kissing my girl.
Conversation picked back up again, and I lifted my camera to check it was okay. My mamma and pappa bought it for me for my thirteenth birthday, when they could see that photography was becoming my passion. It was a 1960s vintage Canon. I took it with me everywhere, snapping thousands of pictures. I didn’t know why, but capturing moments fascinated me. Maybe it was because sometimes all we get are moments. There are no do-overs; whatever happens in a moment defines life—perhaps it is life. But capturing a moment on film keeps that moment alive, forever. To me, photography was magic.
I mentally scrolled through the camera roll. Pictures of wildlife and close-ups of cherry blossoms from the grove would occupy most of the film. Then there’d be photos of Poppy tonight. Her pretty face as the music took its hold. I’d only ever seen that look on her face one other time—when she looked at me. To Poppy, I was as special to her as her music was.
In both cases, a bond that no one could break.
Reaching for my cell, I lifted it out in front of us, the camera lens facing our direction. Poppy was no longer taking part in the conversation around us. She was silently running her fingertips along my arm. Catching her off-guard, I snapped the picture, just as she looked up at me. I let out a single laugh when her eyes narrowed in annoyance. I knew she wasn’t angry though, despite her effort to look so. Poppy loved any picture of us I took, even if it was taken when she least expected it.
When I focused on my cell, my heart immediately started slamming against my chest. In the picture, as Poppy stared up at me, she looked beautiful. But it was the expression on her face that floored me. The look in her green eyes.
In this moment, this single captured moment, there was that expression. The one she gave to me as readily as she gave to her music. The one that told me I had her just as much as she had me. The one that ensured we had stayed together all these years. The one that said even though we were young, we knew we’d found our soulmate in the other.
“Let me see?”
Poppy’s quiet voice pulled my attention from the screen. She smiled at me and I lowered the phone to let her see.
I watched Poppy, not the picture, as her gaze fell upon the screen. I watched as her eyes softened and a whisper of a smile ghosted on her lips. “Rune,” she whispered, as she reached down to take hold of my free hand.
I squeezed her hand and she said, “I want a copy of that one. It’s perfect.” I nodded and kissed her head.
And this is why I love photography, I thought. It could pull out emotion, raw emotion, from a split second in time.
Turning off my phone’s camera, I saw the time displayed on the screen. “Poppymin,” I said quietly, “we have to head home. It’s getting late.”
Poppy nodded. I got to my feet and pulled her upright.
“You heading out?” Judson asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll catch you Monday.”
I threw them all a wave and took hold of Poppy’s hand. We didn’t say much as we made our way home. When we stopped at Poppy’s door, I took her in my arms and pulled her to my chest. I placed my hand on the side of her neck. Poppy looked up. “I’m so proud of you, Poppymin. There’s no doubt that you’ll get into Julliard. Your dream of playing at Carnegie Hall will come true.”
Poppy smiled brightly and tugged on the camera strap around my neck. “And you’ll be at Tisch School of the Arts at NYU. We’ll be in New York together, like it was always meant to be. Like we’ve always planned.”
I nodded my head and brushed my lips along her cheek. “Then there would be no more curfew,” I muttered teasingly. Poppy laughed. Moving to her mouth, I pressed a soft kiss to her lips and backed away.
As I let go of her hands, Mr. Litchfield opened the door. He saw me moving away from his daughter and shook his head, laughing. He knew exactly what we’d been doing.
“Night, Rune,” he said dryly.
“Night, Mr. Litchfield,” I replied, seeing Poppy blush as her daddy gestured for her to go inside.
I walked across the grass to my house. I opened the door, walked through to the living room and found my parents sitting on the couch. They were both sitting forward in their seats, and they seemed tense.
“Hei,” I said, and my mamma’s head snapped up.
“Hei, baby,” she said.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?” I asked. My mamma shot a glance at my pappa.
She shook her head. “Nothing, baby. Did Poppy play well? Sorry we couldn’t make it.”
I stared at my parents. They were hiding something, I could tell. When they didn’t continue, I slowly nodded my head, answering their question. “She was perfect, as always.”
I thought I glimpsed tears in my mamma’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. Needing to escape the awkwardness, I held up my camera. “I’m going to develop these then go to bed.”
As I turned to walk away, my pappa said, “We’re going out as a family tomorrow, Rune.”
I stopped dead. “I can’t come. I’ve planned to spend the day with Poppy.”
My pappa shook his head. “Not tomorrow, Rune.”
“But—” I went to argue, but my pappa cut me off, his voice stern.
“I said no. You’re coming, that’s final. Poppy can see you when we get back. We won’t be gone all day.”
“What’s really going on?”
My pappa walked to stand before me. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Nothing, Rune. I just never see you anymore because of work. I want to change that, so we’re having a day out at the beach.”
“Well then, can Poppy come with us? She loves the beach. It’s her second-favorite place to go.”
“Not tomorrow, son.”
I stayed silent, getting pissed, but I could see he wasn’t going to budge. Pappa sighed. “Go develop your pictures, Rune, and stop worrying.”
Doing as he said, I walked down to the basement and into the small side room my pappa had converted into a darkroom for me. I still developed film in the old style instead of using a digital camera. I thought it made for a better result.
After twenty minutes, I stepped back from the line of new pictures. I had also printed the photo from my phone, of Poppy and me at the field. I picked it up and carried it to my bedroom. I stuck my head into Alton’s room as I passed, checking my two-year-old brother was sleeping. He was, curled up tight to his brown stuffed bear, his messy blond hair spread out over his pillow.
I pushed through my door and turned on my lamp. I looked at the clock, registering it was near midnight. Running my hand through my hair, I made my way to the window, and smiled when I saw the Litchfield house in darkness, save for the dim light from Poppy’s nightlight—Poppy’s sign that the coast was clear for me to sneak in.
I locked my bedroom door and switched off the lamp. The room was plunged into darkness. I quickly changed into my sleep pants and shirt. Silently, I lifted the window and climbed out. I sprinted across the grass between our two houses and crawled inside Poppy’s room, closing the window as quietly as I could.