That First Special Kiss

“You’re upset. Wouldn’t you like someone to talk to?”

There was a long silence, and then a hiccuping sob. “Is Shane out there?”

“Shane’s in the living room. It’s just us girls, okay?”

Another tense pause, and then the lock clicked on the other side of the door. To Kelly’s relief, the door slowly opened. Her relief turned to sympathy when she saw Molly’s wet, woebegone face. “Oh, honey, what happened?”

Molly drew her into the room, closed the door again and then burrowed into her arms. “I wish I was dead!”

Kelly winced. It seemed like she’d been hearing that a lot lately. Surely Molly was too young to have had her heart broken.

“Let’s sit down and you can tell me about it.”

When Molly nodded, Kelly led her to the bed and sat on the edge with her. Holding the girl’s cold little hands in hers, she squeezed reassuringly. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

Molly bit her full lower lip, looking down at their hands. “Amy Miller and Lacy Dixon made fun of me. They said I have carrot hair and freckles and I don’t have any boobs and I’ll never have a boyfriend.”

Kelly’s first reaction was relief that it wasn’t a far more serious problem. Her second response was a surge of pure anger. “Why, those snotty little toads!”

Molly was startled into a watery giggle. But her amusement was short-lived. She looked woefully down at her petite, reed-thin body. “They said I look like a boy. They both have figures—Amy’s just turned thirteen and she already wears a C-cup. And Lacy’s got blond highlights and she’s already won two beauty contests.”

“She didn’t win Miss Congeniality, I bet,” Kelly muttered.

Molly looked bewildered. Kelly shook her head. “Never mind. Why did they turn on you that way?”

“I don’t know.” Molly sniffled. “I was talking to Kristin—she’s the one who had the birthday—anyway, I was telling her about the barrel race I won on Sunshine last month, and all of a sudden Amy and Lacy started talking about how many boys they’d kissed and they asked me if I’d ever had a boyfriend and I said no and that’s when they told me I probably won’t get a boyfriend because boys don’t like flat girls with fuzzy red hair and freckles.” She stopped for a breath, then added, “Kristin and Patty and Montrieka tried to take up for me, but Amy and Lacy just kept making fun of me until it was time to come home. But I didn’t cry in front of them.”

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sp; “Good for you.” Kelly wrapped an arm around Molly’s shoulders and hugged. “You listen to me, Molly Walker. Amy and Lacy sound like a couple of bratty bimbos-in-training who don’t have the faintest idea what they’re talking about. My guess would be that they were jealous of your accomplishments, so they cut you down in a feeble attempt to build themselves up. So Amy’s won a couple of beauty contests...”

“Lacy,” Molly corrected.

“Whatever. Big deal. She knows how to walk down a runway in an expensive dress without falling on her face. She also knows that isn’t nearly as challenging and exciting as the competitive riding you do. I’ve seen you ride, remember? And Molly, you are pure poetry on horseback. You’re so beautiful when you fly around those barrels that it takes my breath away.”

Molly looked hopeful. “Really?”

“Absolutely. And your hair is lovely. The color of a fiery sunset. You look exactly like your mother.”

“My mother’s pretty,” Molly whispered.

Kelly smiled. “Yes, she is. You only have to ask your dad to know that. I bet he thinks she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.”

Molly seemed somewhat encouraged, but not entirely convinced. “Cameron calls me gorgeous sometimes,” she murmured.

“Well, there you go. If anyone should know a pretty girl when he sees one, it’s Cameron.”

“I’m still flat.”

“So was I, at your age,” Kelly confided. She wrinkled her nose. “I still don’t wear a C-cup. I’ve had to settle for a B.”

“You have a great figure, Kelly. And you’re so pretty.”

Giving the girl another hug, Kelly smiled again. “Thank you, sweetie. But believe me, I went through my gawky stage—all knees and elbows and ears and teeth. Why do you think I wear my hair so short?”

“I thought you just like it short.”

“Yes—but mostly because it’s straight as a stick. I can’t do a thing with it when it gets too long. I used to dream about having soft, natural curls like yours.”