Stolen Kissses at Midnight (On Hold)

Prologue

Prologue

*Anna*

“He knows if you've been, bad or good, so be good for, goodness sake. Ohh,” I launched into the obnoxious Christmas song while rinsing the shampoo out of my hair. I drew out all of the notes changing the tune.

I finished rinsing out the shampoo and turned off the water, but before I took my hand off the knob I pulled it off, because I know inevitably it somehow will end up falling on my toe if I didn’t. The knob has been broken for some time now. But we have just been too lazy to fix it.

I rapped a towel around my torso and another around my wet hair. I then started to sing ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ as I walked down the hallway and towards my room.

“Anna! Could you freaking shut up?! Christmas was 5 months ago!” Chris yelled when I passed his room.

“Ha! You’re just jealous because I can sing better than all the guys in your band put together,” I answered. He came out of his room with an annoyed look on his face.

“You’ve never seen us preform, so how would you know?” he shot back.

“Uh. Okay fine, but you can’t say that they’re better than me,” I said.

“Why?” he asked flatly.

“Because, I’m the best,” I said confidently.

“Go away. And put clothes on,” he said before slamming the door in my face.

“Huh, someone’s in a bad mood,” I huffed.

When I went to my room I slipped on my comfy pajama bottoms and a tank top. I brushed out my wet hair and then pulled it into a messy bun. I heard my phone vibrating from in my purse so I got off of my bed and grabbed it. I dug through it until I found my phone. It was just a text. Clair flashed across the screen. I opened it and it said, ‘don’t forget to wear your drama t-shirt tomorrow!-XOXO Clair’. It was no doubt a forward to everyone in the drama club.

“God I hate her,” I mumbled.

She is in the middle of everything and I mean EVERYTHING. She is the student body president, a member of the orchestra, book club, yearbook, nature club, science club, newspaper, drama club and math club. ALL of the teachers like her and she is always looked upon as a good influence by all the parents in Eastwood. She is worshipped by all adults but at school she is just “that chick that tries too hard”. She has a few friends but I would call them more of a posy or maybe wanna be’s, yeah that’s a good term for them. They follow her around like puppies and try to do everything she does.

I lay back on my bed and pulled the blankets up to my chin. I tried to sleep, but like every other night I kept looking at the pile of letters the in basket under my night stand. Those are just the ones from this month. There are about 300 more in the cabinet under my window. I’m not joking when I say 300. I’ve been getting them for about six years, at least one a week. They are all poems from this guy I met when I was 10 years old.

We were on a vacation for the summer at a little cabin in the woods (well it wasn’t little, but I’m trying to set the mood here). When I was out playing in the woods one day I met a boy named Emmett. He was cute, that’s for sure; I had a MEGA crush on him. But, his looks weren’t what drew me in. It was his personality; he was the nicest person I have ever met. He always would meet me at the same place every day and we would play and talk, mostly about music. He wrote poems, and he shared a few with me. I would play with the words and instead of saying it to him, I would sing it. That’s how it worked for us. He would write the poems, I would give it a tune and sing it. But, I never told anyone about him other that my mom, because my mom and I were really close back then. When the summer came to an end, I knew that we would have to say our goodbyes and our childish affair would be over.

The last day we spent in the woods was the best. We mostly talked, but at the end of our day, I stopped him and said, “I have something for you,” I then pulled out a thin sheet of paper folded neatly. “It has my address on it, so you can send me the poems you write,” I smiled at him.

“But it would be nearly as fun for me, because I wouldn’t get to hear your voice sing it,” he said. I had frowned at him, which made him frown. “I’ll write to you every week, I promise. Until we see each other again,” he had said. He then did something that surprises me still to this day, he kissed me. Right on the lips! I had blushed like crazy. Then he said, “We will see each other again,” and then we parted ways. I haven’t seen him since, but I still get a new poem in the mail each week.

The only problem is they never come with a return address, which makes me mad every time I see one of the yellow envelopes in the mail. Does he not want to hear from me?  But then I open it and read his beautiful word’s and forget my anger. I still sing to the words. And I still wonder about him every day. Is he the same person I knew 6 years ago? Will I ever see him again, or was that just a hollow promise? I started to hum softly to the tune I made up for the last poem. I got quieter and quieter until I stopped all together and fell asleep.