When the music starts, her face brightens.
She jumps out of the chair, runs over to me, grabs my hand and we dance. It’s amazing. She’s an entirely different person.
Poppy pinches my bra strap, licks her thumb, and rubs my cheek. “Chloe, I like your clothes today.”
“My mom died in clothes like that.”
I should have jacked her in the face. It’s hard enough being who I am, let alone knowing I have feelings for the one girl that treats me like garbage.
We have five classes together. This one, Senior Seminar, is only 15 minutes, and students rarely show up.
Today is different. The teacher Mrs Delles holds up a bowl and says, “For your Senior Seminar Activity you will be compiling a project with a partner about your experiences in high school and your volunteer work in the community. You are all going to pick a name from the bowl.”
One after another we draw names. Pairings laugh together, excited about their picks.
“Poppy McGee,” Mrs Delles announces. “Come pick …