The piano is hopelessly broken.
“You’ll be pleased to hear, Chloe,” my mother sighs in the morning, “that there will be no piano lesson this Saturday.” She is well aware of the mutual dislike between Will's mother and myself, and looks at the matter rather condescendingly.
“Is it really that bad?” I ask.
“Worse,” she affirms.
A coil of frustration winds its way around my insides and I walk around all day with what feels like a weight inside of me, dragging my thoughts lower. I won't get to see Will. I try to tell myself that I feel this way because I need to demand an explanation for the last kiss.
It is Friday, and I am usually upbeat and cheerful at school. It doesn’t take long for Kate to realise that something is wrong.
“You alright?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m-”
“Don’t you dare say you’re fine! I'm not falling for the world's most common lie! Either you tell me what’s going on, or I steal your lunch and put you in a worse mood.”
Some days, Kate can be a little tiresome, but you can always count on her to be the type of friend who will stick by you whatever, even if you have been acting distant and grouchy for a whole morning. She can kick a moping attitude right up the ass, that much is for sure.
“Okay, I’m not fine. I’ll tell you what’s going on if you promise me one thing.”
“Unless it’s like a murder, or a suicide, or, like, sleeping with Dylan Hildred, then it’s done,” she laughs. From across the room, Dylan Hildred turns in his seat and flips us off, so I bite my lip hard to keep from giggling.
“Just keep your voice down, and don’t tell anyone else,” I hiss across the table with a blush.
“Deal, hun!”
I suck in a deep breath, and then begin the story, from the beginning, about Will and the list and the kiss on the knuckles and the kiss in the dark, and the auction stools and Facebook and the way I ran from him instead of demanding to know what was going on. The emotional outpouring feels so good that the words keep coming and coming. Thankfully, Kate keeps listening and listening.
When I finish, she looks at me with her mouth hanging open. For once, the only sound that comes out of her mouth is the sound of her breathing. And then:
“I don’t know whether to be offended because you didn’t tell me any of this,” she says, “or over the freaking moon because Chloe-bloody-Golding finally lost her lip virginity!”
My face turns scarlet as people begin to turn around.
“Kate! Voice. Down,” I growl.
“Oops! Sorry!”
****
The end of the day nears, and I am completely glad of it as by then I have been forced to reiterate every miniscule detail about each kiss I received. Also, I have been persuaded to give an extensive description of Will, and participate in a Facebook stalking session that Kate thought was a brilliant idea. Oh, and I can’t forget to mention that I have sworn to keep her updated every time he is even so much as mentioned in conversation.
So, in overview, I am glad when the final bell releases us from hell.
When I get home, I check my phone for updates and scroll through my Facebook newsfeed. I load messenger and check to see if Will is online. He is. I curse under my breath.
Is it just me, or do you sometimes check to see if someone is online every other second, telling yourself that when they are, you’ll get up the courage to send them a message? And then when they finally do go online, you have no idea what to say?
YOU ARE READING
Her List of Kisses
Teen FictionWhen she was thirteen, Chloe Golding wrote a list. On this list was every type of kiss she hoped to experience in her teenage years. They ranged from an innocent peck on the back of the hand, to passionate make-out sessions and kisses on the private...
